by K. A. Tucker
And here we go. Jimmy is gathering information.
“No, you wouldn’t have. Just a girl who lives in my building.” To try and steer him away from any assumptions about Cain and me being a couple, I add with hesitation, “She’s his girlfriend.”
I feel Cain’s cutting glare but I don’t turn to meet it.
Jimmy’s cheek puffs out as he presses against it with his tongue, taking the two of us in as he nods slowly. Deciding something, he glances at his watch and announces, “Well, my dear Charlie. I think we have somewhere we need to be.” Making a point of standing up, Jimmy sticks his hand out. “Pleasure to meet you. Now if you’ll excuse us.”
Cain takes it. “Likewise, Jimmy.” He doesn’t hide the iciness in his glare.
I follow suit, standing and collecting my purse and keys—the rental car keys—from the table.
“Charlie, a moment please?” Cain’s tone is clipped.
I can see annoyance flash in Jimmy’s eyes but he doesn’t want to make a scene . . . yet. He pulls on the jovial voice and chuckle. “I’ll be just over here, Charlie,” he says, moving off no more than ten feet away, pretending to check his messages.
I know what he’s doing. He’s trying to get a picture of Cain.
No doubt, for Sam.
I grab Cain’s arms and swivel them so his back is to Jimmy. “What?” I whisper harshly. My level of panic has reached new highs.
“Charlie . . .” Cain’s eyes roam over my face and hair again. I’ve experienced so many intimate moments with this man, and yet right now I couldn’t possibly feel farther away from him. “Please don’t do whatever you’re about to do. I can’t—” He cuts off abruptly, that jaw that I’ve had my mouth on countless times growing taut.
A painful lump fills my throat. He’s figured it out. Maybe not entirely, but he knows it’s something bad. “Can we talk about this later?”
I can see the internal struggle inside him. Will he even want anything to do with me later? Cain could do a lot of things right now. He could put up a fight. He could pull me into his car.
Or he could just walk away.
Finally, with narrowed eyes, he asks, “Are you in danger?”
“No,” I lie quickly, my eyes flickering to where Jimmy stands, his head turned and tilted as if he’s trying to catch the conversation.
“Charlie! We have to go. Your father is waiting for you,” Jimmy calls out in a sterner voice than I’ve ever heard him use with me. Maybe that’s his normal tone. I don’t know anything about Jimmy. He could be a cold-blooded killer. He could be planning Cain’s death right now.
I don’t have to look up at Cain’s face to know that there’s a cyclic storm of unanswered questions brewing in his head. Is he wondering about the father that’s in jail? Or the one who called today?
I don’t need to look, and yet I do. My heart stops.
I don’t miss the subtle shake of his head, the clenched teeth.
The disappointment.
The anger, as he realizes that the woman he’s been nothing but kind and generous and loving to is a liar.
I hear the agony in my voice as I whisper, “You need to let me go.” For good. I’m no good for him.
“You want me to let you go? Fine.” I see him swallow hard and then his face turns stony. “Consider yourself gone.”
■ ■ ■
“What is this?” The guy flips a few strands of my black hair through his fingers. “A wig?”
“You want to borrow it?” I ask smoothly, letting my eyes shift pointedly to his receding hairline.
I get a cold, flinty glare in return. “You’ve got a smart mouth, don’t ya?”
It’s the only thing keeping me from pissing my pants right now. I bite down on my tongue to keep quiet and scan the small hotel room for anything important to note. It’s a different hotel than before, but just as high end. Eddie and Bob are here—without any family as cover—but so is this new guy. He’s on the heavier side, with beady eyes and a couple of days of dark scruff that camouflage the pockmarks on his cheeks. He calls himself Manny. Apparently he’s Eddie’s new partner. Maybe he is, but there’s standard protocol and Eddie has clearly broken it.
Manny is not supposed to be here. The second I saw him sitting on the bed, I made a move to leave but Bob was there, blocking my exit, grabbing my purse before I could think to pull out my gun.
I knew I was trapped.
The pain in my chest instantly blossomed. There’s nothing I can do except pray this isn’t a setup, try not to lose control of my bladder, and get the hell out of here the second I have the chance.
Bob goes about his body search again. Thankfully it’s silent and quick this time—with less groping involved—and I let myself breathe a tiny sigh of relief. I’ve received not a glare, not a word, not a flicker of an eye to do with “the incident.” I can’t help but notice that his nose looks somehow different. A bit swollen. And there’s a lump on the bridge. I wonder if that was courtesy of Nate.
I remind myself that this is a business. A disgusting, illegal business but, as Sam rationalized before, everyone in this room just wants to make a lot of money. I just need to chill out and—
The sound of a small click is the only warning I get before the cool metal of a gun presses against my temple.
One heartbeat.
Two.
Three.
Each one slower, louder, harder. A strange wave of calm washes over me for a moment. And then my stomach drops out from my body, taking with it my ability to speak, to think, to breathe.
“So, what kind of fucking moron is this Sam guy, anyway? I mean, who sends a little bitch in for this kind of deal? You’re good for shoving eight balls up your snatch and driving across the border. Did he really think we wouldn’t put a bullet in you and walk away with the money and the goods? He’s not the only one who can bring this in for us.”
I fight against the shakiness in my legs as Manny drags the barrel of the gun along my cheek toward my mouth, to trail my lips. I can’t stop my knees from wobbling. They’re barely holding me up. “Not so mouthy now, are we?” He pushes the gun in slightly, just enough that I can taste an odd mixture of dirt and metal and salt and oil. The tiniest whimper escapes me. “Of course, a bullet is messy. I hate dealing with that kind of mess. It takes hours to clean up.”
His words aren’t missed. The promise in them stops my heart from beating altogether, as if someone has put his hand over the pendulum to stop time. My time, that is.
A calming numbness begins to swell through my body, mingling with the terror, and my thoughts drift morbidly away. I wonder how much of my blood will actually hit the gold-and-tan striped wallpaper. That would leave a lot to clean up. Will they do it here or somewhere else?
A loud click sounds in my ear. Not the safety, not the chamber loading . . .
The trigger.
Manny just pulled the trigger.
Cold rushes in a sudden wave from my head down to my feet, every part of my body paralyzed except for my eyes. They take in hotel room, Eddie, Bob. I’m still here.
I’m still alive.
Maybe I didn’t hear that. Maybe it was just my imagination.
Manny’s mouth is moving again. It takes all of my focus to hear his words. “ . . . or we could also cut this tight little body up into a thousand pieces and feed it to the gators.” He shows me two silver teeth when he smiles. I stare at them, wondering how long he’s going to drag this out, as he moves the gun from my mouth, sliding it down my chin, following the contour of my throat. I swallow hard as it keeps moving down my neck to my chest. The barrel of the gun tugs down the top of my shirt until it exposes the lace on my bra. “Of course, I’d make good use of this first. Such a waste not to.”
My focus slides to his hands—big, rough-looking, hairy-knuckled hands. I’m sure he’s not gentle. A
single shudder courses through my body. I’m sure this is going to be ten times more horrific than what I lived through with Sal.
And I won’t be walking away this time.
I wonder what will happen after I’m gone. Will Sam care? Will he seek revenge? Or . . . was this the plan all along? Botched drug bust that leaves girl dead in hotel.
Maybe Sam does truly love me.
Enough that he can’t actually do the killing himself and so he’s set Manny up to do it.
I wish I had kissed Cain today. Just one last kiss. Will he care that I’m gone? Will he even bother trying to contact me again? Will he figure out that I’m dead?
Now I can see the gun, see Manny’s hands, see his finger on the trigger as it pulls. I jump with that clicking sound but otherwise stay still. Stay frozen. How? I don’t know. How have I not lost consciousness now?
“Damn clip. Not sure how many bullets I have in here,” Manny murmurs with a cruel smile.
“Manny,” I hear Eddie call somewhere in the background. At least I think I do. My senses are sharper and at the same time feel completely unreliable. “Quit playing games. It’s unnecessary.”
“You are an odd one,” Manny murmurs, ignoring his partner. “I have a few bitches bringing stuff in from Mexico. They drop to their knees for me as soon as I show them my gun, groveling and crying. But you . . .” His jaw offsets as he ponders me, his eyes shifting down to my chest. He pushes the metal harder against my chest . . . harder . . . harder . . . until I grit my teeth to keep from crying out in pain. “Trying to be tough. I’ll bet you’d cry by the end. That’s all right, though . . .” With the gun still pressed painfully against my chest, his free hand reaches down to grab hold of an inner thigh. I can feel the heat from his fingers as he squeezes my flesh painfully hard. “I’ll make you scream one way or another.”
The cool feeling deep inside me spreads wider and wider, fully taking over my senses now, as my breathing turns shallow.
And I know that shock has settled in.
Shock is good.
Shock will get me through this.
If anything can get me through this.
Eddie’s still talking in the background. “This is good stuff, Manny. Don’t burn this bridge for us right out of the gate.” He’s sitting on the bed, his hand over the suitcase, his face calm but his eyes full of wariness.
At first I don’t think Manny heard him. But then I see his eyes tighten, and I can tell he’s weighing his options. I imagine I know what they are: on one side of the scale is a valuable shipment of drugs that he could walk out of here with for free, but have to deal with a body and possible repercussions; and on the opposite side is a long-term business relationship. How long-term, really? Will it be two drops or ten before he make good on his promise? I imagine it’s only a matter of time.
“It’s all good. All here,” Bob says, thumbing through the multitude of vials. “Let’s finish this up and move on. We don’t need a mess to clean up.”
“Just remember this moment if you ever think to come in here with the cops in your pocket.” With one last long, hard look at my face, Manny drops his arm and steps away. I don’t allow myself to take a full breath, even as Bob hands me the camera bag full of money, opened.
I struggle to keep my focus on the money as I flip through a few bundles, making sure they’re not just newsprint or blank paper. Though, really, I don’t see what the point is. If these guys want to rip Big Sam off, they easily can. If they want to rape me and chop me up into a thousand pieces for the gators, they can do that too. Manny’s right. Young women are used as expendable mules across borders for small deliveries, not to complete massive transactions in hotel rooms. Sending me in here is just a disaster waiting to happen.
“We’re good,” I manage to force out, though my throat is bone dry. I throw the strap over my shoulder and turn, my hearing warped, my vision blurry as it focuses intently on the door.
“Look forward to seeing you again,” Manny calls out with a wicked voice as Bob walks me to the door. As I step out, a fist seizes my wrist. “Girl.”
The last thing I want to do is talk to him, but I don’t have much choice. He’s leaning out the door, glancing over his shoulder, as if he doesn’t want them to hear him. “If I ever see you again, I promise I’ll make good use of that bed, do you understand?” He speaks in a low, fast, harsh whisper. “Get the fuck away from here and don’t come back. I’m not taking the heat from your club friends when you turn up dead.” He releases my wrist with a throw and slinks back, the door shutting quietly behind him.
Leaving me standing alone in a hallway with a bag of money, a bubble of vomit rising, and the knowledge that I was seconds away from dying tonight.
chapter thirty-seven
■ ■ ■
CAIN
“So . . .” Storm’s arm is still linked around mine as we walk along the sidewalk, the oppressive summer heat making our pace extra slow.
“Are you sure we should be walking out here?” I ask, glancing down at her ever-growing belly.
She swats away my concern with her free hand. “Yes, I’m fine. And if I’m not, you can carry me back. Now, stop trying to change the subject.” She peers up at me with that cute, curious stare of hers. “What made you show up on my doorstep tonight with that sad look upon your face?”
With a sigh, I mutter, “I don’t know where to begin, Storm.” Storm is the most nonjudgmental person I’ve ever met. I know I can tell her anything and not worry about her disapproval. Nor will she divulge anything. With my free hand lifting to rub the tension out of my neck, I give her the basic rundown of the last few weeks, ending in today’s disastrous events.
She groans. “Oh, Cain. I’m so sorry. Fucking China.” It sounds so off-kilter to hear Storm swear. Then again, no one would think she used to swing from a brass hoop above my stage only a few years ago. But if anyone can make Storm swear, it’s China.
“I know. But China has issues. You know that.”
“Everyone has issues, Cain. Stop making excuses for her,” Storm scolds. “And if you have any hope of a relationship with Charlie then you know what you need to do.”
I sigh, dreading the words. “China’s got to go.” Already, my chest is tightening, visions of the raven-haired woman kneeling on a dingy carpet in front of some asshole assaulting my conscience. Fuck. “But she’s just so close to—”
“She’s got to go, Cain,” Storm says more forcefully. “We all make our own choices. You’ve helped her more than anyone ever has and probably more than anyone ever will. Now she needs to help herself.” She stops and steps in front of me, poking my chest with a manicured finger. “And you have to stop living in your past or you’re going to die a very sad, very lonely man. The thought of that breaks my heart.” Stepping back, she gives my arm a gentle rub and then prods the conversation. “So you saw Charlie at the café, in a wig, with this uncle . . .”
I tell her the rest, including the phone call from the guy who’s supposedly her father, “Sam.”
“And it doesn’t match up with what John’s found out for you?”
“No.” Part of me feels like I’m betraying Charlie by divulging this, even to Storm, but I don’t know what else to do. I don’t know what to think. With a hiss through my gritted teeth, I shake my head and admit, “I was so close to throwing her over my shoulder and walking out of there.”
“I am surprised that Caveman Cain didn’t make an appearance,” she says with a giggle, her vision clouding over as her thoughts drift to the past, I’m sure to the time that I did that to her. I’ll never forget it. The first day Storm came in with heavy makeup around her eye and a story about an unfortunate tumble into the wall, my gut told me to call John and ask him to do some research on her husband. When she came in with a fat lip a week later, my gut said fuck the research. Nate and I drove her home to find a coked-out asshole on
the couch and a toddler crying in the crib. Storm started babbling about how he was stressed, how she’d said something stupid to him, that he’d never hurt Mia. All typical excuses used by an abused woman. I had heard it all before. That’s why I scooped Mia up in one arm and, leaning down, hoisted a teary-eyed, scared Storm over my shoulder. In hindsight, I probably could have escorted her out on her own two feet but at the time, all I could think of was filling my arms so I didn’t have a chance to beat that asshole senseless.
But I couldn’t bring myself to do that tonight, to Charlie. I wanted her to make that decision on her own, to come home with me willingly. I didn’t want to force her. I’ve never wanted to force her.
I need to know that she chooses me.
But she asked me to let her go, instead.
And I did. With my words, anyway. In those few seconds, I wanted her to feel the pain that I was feeling.
“Well, I’m sure you’ve figured this out, but it sounds like she’s into something. The question is what.”
“There are only a few things it could be.” The very thought of her fucking another guy makes my fists ball up. But my gut says that’s not it. She’s not practiced enough to be doing that professionally. If not that, what else? Theft . . . extortion . . . drugs?
Shit.
Drugs.
“What?”
“Nothing.” As I glance at Storm through the corner of my eye, her wrinkled brow tells me she may have come to the same conclusion on her own. Still, I won’t voice this out loud. I can’t put Storm in that position. I know her. She’d tell Dan. Not because she wants to get Charlie into trouble; she’d think she was helping. But Storm is naïve in that sense. Getting the DEA involved without knowing exactly what’s happening could put Charlie’s life at risk. I’ve seen this all before. They’ll put her into a little room and drill her for information, and it will be up to her whether she wants to spend the next twenty-five years in jail or turn on whoever is making her do this.
Turning means testifying. Testifying means someone will want her dead.
