Mad Dog

by Ophelia Bell

  “Mija, I’m sorry. My options are limited from the road. I can do more when I get home, but it will be a couple hours.”

  “You don’t understand. Maddox’s brother was there. He’s the man who took Amador’s money and his guns the night Leo was shot. Gustavo will kill him if we don’t intervene. You know how he works! And after he’s done he might—” My voice breaks and I take a deep breath, but tears spring to my eyes when I speak again, my voice quavering. “He might kill Leo and Maddox too if he hasn’t already. There’s no time, Papá.”

  “Gustavo enjoys inflicting pain. That was why he was useful to me. He will keep them alive until they are of no more use to him.”

  “Oh God. Please don’t tell me that!” Gustavo’s lack of empathy was not lost on me, but I had no idea he was that much of a sadist. “Both of those men would die for me. Please don’t let that happen!”

  He doesn’t answer and I worry the call has been dropped, but then he finally speaks in a measured tone. “What were you doing last night with them?”

  I’m so frustrated I could scream. “That is none of your goddamn business! The only thing that matters is that I love them both. I’ve loved Maddox all these years, despite what you did when we were kids. Leo means everything to me, and I started to believe you saw him as a son. If you have any compassion for them or love for me, you have to help now. Not when you get home—now.”

  He curses and I sense a lecture but he rethinks it and just says, “This is a discussion for another time. My hands are tied right now. I don’t carry certain contacts with me when I travel because I don’t want to take the risk of associations being discovered if something were to happen to me. The information for the people who can help quickest is at home under lock and key. I have the key.”

  “There must be a spare. Or another way for me to access it.”

  “Celeste . . .” His reluctance to give even a little finally shatters my patience and I throw one last bomb at him.

  “Marcella’s two oldest sons might die today if you don’t do something. You might think I need to learn a lesson about giving in too easily to love, but what about her? This would destroy her, and it would be your fault.”

  He replies with a frustrated groan, but that taunt finally gets through to him. “Ay Dios, you have your mother’s fire. Are you prepared to take this step, Celeste? You always appreciated the excuse to avoid this part of the business, but if you contact these people, there is no turning back.”

  “I’m ready. Give me access to your contacts. The ones who can do something.” I don’t have to elaborate because he knows what I mean. Despite my elevated role in our family’s business, he still maintains sole access to the stable of mercenaries and thugs who do his dirty work. Right now, I’m more than willing to get my hands dirty.

  “My contact list is on a flash drive in the top drawer of my desk. The key to the drawer is with me, but there is a spare in the safe behind your mother’s portrait. The code is zero-three-one-five.”

  “Thank you,” I say, suppressing an unexpected smile over the fact that Maddox and Papá both chose my birthday for their locks. I may have to have a serious discussion with them about appropriate security. Papá should know better.

  We hang up just as Amon pulls the car into our driveway. When he doesn’t continue into the garage, I shoot him a quizzical look. “Aren’t you coming in?”

  He gives a terse shake of his head. “I wish to return to the scene. I have sharper eyes than the others. Perhaps I can find a clue they missed.” His lips are pressed into a tight line, but the concern in his icy blue eyes gives him a warmth I never knew the quietly efficient man possessed.

  “Please call me if you find anything,” I say with a nod before heading inside.

  In Papá’s office, I rush to Mama’s portrait, which swings open on silent hinges to reveal a wall safe behind. Inside, I find a stack of manila folders, some cash, our passports, and a handgun. On top of the files rests a small key, which I grab, but the label on the top file catches my eye. Operation Broken Heart.

  My heart pounding, I reach for it and sit down at the desk, opening the file and glancing at the first page as I fit the key into the lock on the desk drawer.

  The drawer is quickly forgotten as the contents of the file become clear to me. This is Papá’s agreement with the feds to act as informant in exchange for immunity. As I read, I discover that the deal extends to me as well.

  My mouth goes dry as I find even more. Behind the agreement are pages of intel on the Amador cartel, including timelines and counts of all the various RICO offenses Amador has engaged in. Behind that is a list of team leaders with multiple intelligence agencies involved in mounting a case against Amador and coordinating a planned surgical infiltration of the man’s compound in Cancún.

  They’re evidently already building a black-ops team in Belize but are awaiting intel before deploying them for an attack. I turn the page and find records of a previous operation that failed, leaving an entire team of soldiers dead. I wince at the grim report of the operation’s outcome. The men were captured, tortured, and their bodies left in the jungle to be picked over by animals. That failed operation must have raised Amador’s standing on every “Most Wanted” list. At least enough to give Papá the leverage to make this deal.

  There’s a phone number at the top of the page next to the name Katherine Longo, who is tagged as the head of the committee assembled to coordinate the operation. My eyebrows shoot up at her title. She’s a United States senator.

  I sit back and stare at the number, processing all this information. A senator would have the power to mobilize more than just a unit of mercenaries to find Gustavo. And considering he’s linked to the very man they’re trying to bring down, the promise of capturing him might be enough of a lure to make them move fast.

  I hesitate, my heart in my throat. Should I take matters into my own hands this way? I shift my gaze to the portrait of Mama, her soft smile as enigmatic as the Mona Lisa, a look in her eyes filled with secrets. She would not wait to let him decide for her, and neither will I.

  With that thought, I pick up the phone and dial.

  37

  Leo

  Hard, cold concrete chills my cheek, chest, and belly as I come to. The acrid scent of diesel fuel permeates the air. I blink to clear my wobbly vision but can’t make sense of my surroundings. A horizontal band of gray light illuminates the immediate area, and I stare for several seconds until it coalesces into the windows in a huge garage door. The air around me is frigid, and the sound of falling rain on corrugated aluminum tells me I’m in some sort of hangar or barn.

  Somewhere nearby are the rhythmic thuds and grunts of someone being beaten. I remain still, and when footsteps approach I shut my eyes again, not wanting to give away that I’m conscious until I get my bearings. My wrists are bound behind my back, and the barest flex is enough to tell me I’m zip-tied, but my feet are unbound. The footsteps fade into the distance and I open my eyes again, listening, then turn my head to face the other way.

  Maddox lies a few feet away, bound on his belly with his hands behind his back like me and his eyes closed.

  “Mad Dog,” I whisper. When he doesn’t respond I try again. His eyelids fly open and he stiffens, then sees me and relaxes, scowling.

  “Gustavo,” he whispers.

  “Yeah.” I narrow my eyes. “Did you know he was alive?”

  He nods, his shoulders flexing as he tests his bindings the way I did. He turns his head, craning to look around. The place rumbles with the deafening noise of a plane taking off outside, an obvious clue to where Gustavo brought us. The twin-prop plane parked at the opposite end of the building is another.

  “Is it clear behind me?” he whispers. I nod, and he rolls onto his side, then levers himself up to his knees and looks around. I follow suit to gain a better vantage.

  The sounds of beating have stopped and now only low voices come from somewhere to our left, from beneath a set of stairs and
a catwalk not unlike the one in Maddox’s garage, rust brown with flaking paint. A door there leads to some kind of office. Between us and the office is a stack of crates—the guns we just unloaded into his garage. A black Mercedes and a pickup truck are parked nearby.

  Just outside that office, half a dozen thugs are huddled together, attention fixed on something, then they burst out laughing. One peels away and turns, chuckling to himself as he continues looking down at his phone, then slips it into his pocket. We drop back down where we were and I feign unconsciousness. Maddox goes still at the same time.

  Footsteps close in again, and I crack one eyelid, watching a pair of scuffed cowboy boots stride between us. The owner of the boots pauses, stretches out one leg, and nudges my shoulder with his toe. He does the same to Maddox, snorts, then wanders off, muttering something about faggots as he disappears. I open my eyes and Maddox is already rolling over, hooking his arms beneath his ass to bring his hands to the front. He grabs the loose end of his zip tie in his teeth, pulling tight. Then with two sharp swings, the bindings snap, and he scuttles toward the stack of crates, huddling at the edge and peering carefully around the corner.

  I use the same trick to break my bonds and join him a moment later. A sudden, pain-laden howl erupts from somewhere behind that doorway and we both flinch. The noise didn’t sound like a woman, so I hope to God that means they didn’t grab Celeste, but the only other person unaccounted for is J.J. Maddox shoots me a stricken look and nausea roils in my gut.

  The thugs on guard are scary fuckers in black who look like mercenaries, which is to say Maddox would probably fit right in. He eyes the one who appears the most alert—and the most dangerous. He’s big and stocky, with a handgun secured in a tactical holster strapped to his thigh. These aren’t typical street muscle. They’re older, seasoned, and probably aren’t people we really want to fuck with while barefoot in nothing but boxers, but we don’t exactly have a choice.

  Maddox makes a hand motion to me, silently demonstrating a takedown maneuver on the big guy with the gun, who is making a circuit back toward us. I glance down at his boots, recognizing them as the ones that nudged me earlier. He turns toward the hangar door, stalking over and peering out the window. Maddox takes the opportunity to dart behind the pickup truck and hide, and I crouch down and wait, intending to flank the man once he comes back this way to check on us.

  His footsteps grow louder, and I crouch at the ready. He rounds the front of the truck and stops. The second he sees the spot where Maddox and I should be, he lets out a yell and reaches for his gun. Maddox and I leap from two directions. He hauls the man into a choke hold, dragging him back behind the truck while I grab his gun and dive back behind the crates. I peek out at Maddox, who holds tight to the man’s throat for a few seconds until he goes limp, but the others are already running our way.

  I fire from behind the crates and the men scatter, leaping for cover. One lands behind a row of barrels and Maddox darts from behind the truck to his hiding place, taking him by surprise. He slams the man’s head into the concrete floor and disarms him, then checks the magazine of his pistol, pulling it out, then shoving it back in with a snap. His cold, calculating focus is the same when he tattoos, yet in this environment, the efficiency of his actions are evidence of his years spent in combat situations. I doubt I can measure up to that level of discipline, but despite my less formal upbringing, I have enough training to hold my own in a fight.

  I peek out from behind my cover. The other thugs are hiding, but at least Mad Dog and I are both armed now. He catches my attention from across the hangar with a shrill whistle, then makes a series of hand signals, indicating for me to cover him while he makes his way to the door where the sounds are coming from. I nod and ready my gun.

  Two men lurk just within the shadows in the doorway he’s aiming for, guns drawn. I lift my gun and aim, firing a shot into the doorjamb. Wood splinters fly, and the shot has the desired effect. One man peeks out, then leans farther and takes a shot in my direction. I duck and the shot pings off the wall behind me. Another shot rings out and I steal a look in time to see the shooter drop like a stone, blood soaking through his shirt just beneath his armpit.

  The other man doesn’t make a move, and Maddox slips to the outer wall of the door, then inside.

  “Vaya con Dios,” I whisper. I hunch low as another shot hits the corner of my hiding spot. Assuming the two men inside the door were part of the group, that only leaves two more still conscious and hiding in cover out here.

  I take stock of the surroundings. Not many places to take cover, but I need to move, preferably without being seen. In a perfect world, I’d make it into that office to back Maddox up. Gustavo’s in there somewhere, I have no doubt, and I don’t want to miss when my boy Mad Dog takes him out. I’d like my own chance to put a bullet in that fucker’s skull too.

  I raise the gun and fire wide, aiming in the general direction where the shots at me originated. As I fire, I run in a crouch to the pickup where Maddox took down the first guy. He’s still out cold, but the shiny corner of his phone peeks out from his pocket and I grab it. I start to dial as I move at a crouch, hoping to follow the same path Maddox took and get to him.

  Celeste answers on the first ring and I sag with relief. “Celeste. Thank God,” I whisper.

  “Leo! Baby, are you okay? Where the hell are you?”

  I make it to the barrels where the other unconscious man lies and pause to answer. “Not sure. An airport, I think. Gustavo has J.J. Mad Dog’s going after him. Where are you?”

  “I’m at home. I saw Gustavo take you and managed to get out before he saw me. We managed to track Gustavo to a private airfield using security footage. Just stay alive for us, okay? Can you leave the phone on so we can track it? It’ll help pinpoint your exact location.”

  I didn’t know Papá had that kind of tech. When is the man going to stop surprising me? “Yeah, I’ll leave the line open. I’ve gotta try to help him though. I don’t trust Gustavo not to kill him.” My throat tightens with fear for the first time when it hits me how likely that possibility is right now. Maddox ran in there in nothing but his boxers, and I haven’t heard any sign of him since.

  “No! You need to stay safe, Leo. Please don’t put yourself at risk.”

  “Ángel, you know I have to.” I can’t bring myself to say more. Losing Manny destroyed me, but Maddox is half of what’s kept me going, even if he wasn’t physically present during the past few months. After last night, if Maddox dies . . .

  She sighs. “I know. Be careful. I love you.”

  “I love you too, ángel.” I tuck the phone in the gap between the barrels to make sure it stays intact.

  Movement in the shadows beneath the pickup catches my eye. Booted feet creep past the unconscious body, heading in my direction. Rather than just wait, I move, darting toward the man rather than away. When I round the front of the truck and come face-to-face with him, he looks up in surprise. I coldcock him with the butt of the gun and he goes down in a heap.

  Gunshots ring out again and I drop to the ground to take cover, but the agonized yell that accompanies the shots makes me turn on my heel and run toward the office instead. That was Maddox’s voice, and I’ll be damned if I don’t come when he needs me.

  38

  Maddox

  While Leo keeps the rest of the mercs occupied, I slip through the door beneath the steps—and come face-to-face with the barrel of a gun. Even before the sight registers, I’m smacking the man’s wrist aside, grabbing his arm before he can fire. The gun lands on the floor, and I twist his arm around his back and jab my knee into his spine. I seize him by the hair and slam his head against the floor. He goes limp and I roll into the shadows beside the door.

  “Tell me what the fuck is going on out there!” The yell comes from farther in, so I dart to the edge of a doorway and peer through to another room beyond. J.J. hangs limp from a chain attached to the ceiling, face a puffy, mangled mess. Blood and burn marks cover
his torso and one entire side of his body is mottled with red bruising. His head lolls, and I can’t tell from here whether he’s even breathing. Jesus, how long was I unconscious?

  I don’t see Gustavo until he’s right in front of me, swinging around the door with a swift uppercut to my jaw that knocks me for a loop. The punch is so hard my teeth clack together and blood rushes into my mouth from the chunk I just took out of my own tongue. I flail as I fly back against the wall, the gun flying from my grip. Shots break out from outside again. I’m still seeing stars as Gustavo looms over me, eyes ablaze and the reddened streak of his scar bright despite the shadows. One clenched fist shines with the brass knuckles that are his trademark.

  He flips me over and I struggle uselessly as a fresh zip tie is secured around my wrists. Then he hauls me up by my elbow and drags me into the room, tossing me onto the floor at J.J.’s feet.

  Up close, the bruises that cover J.J.’s torso are disturbingly familiar. I remember the searing pain of every punch Gustavo gave me when I was seventeen. J.J.’s a whole lot worse for wear than I was back then. His eyes are swollen almost shut, but still cracked and he’s looking right at me with unnerving clarity.

  Relief floods me when I realize he’s alive, but then Gustavo hauls me up again, forcing me onto my knees, facing my brother.

  “Feels like old times, huh, Mad Dog? Except now you get to watch me turn your little brother into bloody pulp.” He targets a punch with precision at J.J.’s stomach and I wince as the solid thwack forces the air out of my brother’s lungs. He coughs, spewing blood that I hope is only from cuts inside his mouth.

  J.J. groans, then speaks, but the slurred syllables are muffled by his swollen mouth. “You’re a motherfucking asshole, Gustavo. I told you where the money is half an hour ago.”