by Ophelia Bell
He chuckles and sighs. “Sounds like her. What about Nina? You probably don’t know her, though . . .”
“Nina’s good too,” I say, tilting my head at his eager look. “She was in LA a few weeks ago with your mother. I got to meet them both.”
He seems tongue-tied for a moment, just standing there staring at the floor with a haunted look. Then his expression shifts to hopeful determination when he returns to me with his knife. I reflexively recoil from the blade.
“You’ve given me enough to use, I think. Enough to keep you alive until I can figure out a way to let you and your girl go.” He shoves the blade between the ropes binding me, slicing through them. “But for now you’re going to have to trust me, okay? Just hold tight when we get to the compound. Act like I’ve worked you over. Trust that I’ll follow through, because I’m fucking ready for this to be over.”
“Got it.”
He binds my wrists again and bags my head, then makes me climb into the back of his SUV before settling in the driver’s seat and starting the engine.
24
Toni
The room they throw me into is no more than a cinderblock cell with rough concrete floors that bite into the soles of my bare feet. I’m shivering when the steel door clangs shut behind me and multiple deadbolts slide home.
It’s bright in here, but not from sunlight. The light comes from a row of recessed fixtures in a ceiling that looks to be made of solid concrete, just like the floor and walls. The acrid scent of ammonia pervades the air.
There’s a hole in the floor in one corner. Stepping close, a faintly putrid aroma breaks through the industrial cleaner scent, marking that hole as a latrine. There are no windows; the only view out is a narrow slit in a heavy steel door that doesn’t even have a handle on this side.
“Let me out, you fuckers!” I yell for the thousandth time. The plea scrapes out of my throat, raw from the screaming I’ve done ever since I came to, hog-tied in the back of an SUV.
Goosebumps cover my arms and legs and I rub them for warmth. Not only have I been fucking kidnapped, but I have to suffer the indignity of having been taken in nothing but lingerie.
“Why am I here? Just tell me! Please!” I stretch up on tiptoes and grip the ledge of the small window. Can they even hear me? The door’s solid, cold, and heavy. It doesn’t even have bars—just thick security glass.
“Please!” I wail again until the arches of my feet cramp and I have to lower myself again. Not that I could see anything out the small slit anyway.
I turn and slide down the door and pull my knees to my chest for warmth. This makes no sense. I’m nobody to the cartels, and I can’t imagine who else would’ve taken me. They warn us before crossing the border to be careful if we leave the safety of our hotels, but I’ve been inside a goddamn all-inclusive resort the entire time. They came into my room to grab me.
How could I have known? I was changing and freshening up while I waited for Sam to get back. My mind was filled with one thought only: making love to him all night. I wasn’t prepared to plan beyond that, but I had some vaguely hopeful thoughts about how things could change for the better for us both once we got back to San Diego.
When I heard a knock on the door, I had no reason to think it would be anyone but him. That was when the door slammed open and a man in fatigues and a black tactical vest grabbed me. A second later, there were two other men grappling for a hold at the same time. I’d just rubbed my skin down with moisturizer and was all but naked, so I managed to put up a pretty good fight while they struggled to hold on, but eventually they got me pinned down to the bed and tied me up, shoved a rag in my mouth and a bag over my head.
Everything after that was a blur. All I can recall is being thrown into the back of a vehicle and driven somewhere for what seemed like forever. I grew hoarse trying to scream through the gag. I heard the men talk, but only in murmurs too low for me to make out the words.
And now I’m locked in a fucking dungeon with no fucking clue as to why.
I reflexively scratch at my forearms, nails digging in until I force myself to stop and breathe. I’m not going to flip out. If I want to survive this, I need to keep my shit together. Sam will come back to the room and know something’s up. And it isn’t like I don’t have connections. Mom and Flores have always been close. Arturo will know what to do. Sam will call them and they’ll send help. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that Sam will never let me down.
I have no sense of time or space in this tiny room. An entire day or only a few hours might have passed when I hear a clink on the other side of the door like a keychain hitting the metal. I scramble up and stand in the far corner—the non-latrine corner—and brace myself.
The door swings open and the same bearded, blue-eyed man who forced himself into my room scowls at me.
“In here,” he barks to a pair of men behind him. They’re supporting the beaten and bloody figure of a man between them. The man’s head hangs as they practically drag him into the cell. They throw him to the floor and he rolls over with a groan. Blood covers his face, soaking the front of his T-shirt, but I recognize the faint designs that still cover both his arms.
“Oh God. Sam?” I run to him and fall to my knees beside him. “What did you do to him? What the fuck do you want with us? Please tell me!”
They just slam the door behind them and secure all the locks once again.
Sam heaves a shuddering breath and opens one eye. “Are they gone?” he whispers.
“They’re gone, honey.” I bend closer to look into his eyes, trying and failing to rub some of the blood off his face. His lip is swollen and split, one eye bloodshot and puffy, but otherwise I see no damage that would account for all this blood.
His gray eyes fix on my face. and he lets out a slow breath and gives me a half-smile. “Thank fuck you’re in one piece.”
He reaches up and hooks a hand around my neck, pulling me down into an embrace, but doesn’t move to get up when he releases me. Instead he leaves a hand against the back of my neck, keeping me bent over him with his mouth at my ear.
“Are there cameras in here?”
I glance up and see a single black dome anchored just above the door.
“Yeah, one I think.”
“Fuck. Okay. I’m not as messed up as I look, I promise. Just play along.”
He looks like he’s in agony as he struggles to roll over and push himself up halfway. He spits blood onto the floor, holding a hand over his side.
“Oh God, what’d they do to you?” I reach for him and he holds my hand against his cheek. “Wait . . . if you’re in here . . . Please tell me you managed to call someone before they took you.”
This time his wince looks real as he shakes his head. “I did talk to Mason, but that was before I knew they’d taken you. I kind of talked my way in, though. That’s why I’m here. In retrospect, it would’ve made more sense to call for help, huh?”
“Ya think?” I gawk at him, then sigh. “Fuck it, I’m glad I’m not alone at least.”
He glances up at the camera, then scoots back to the wall beside the door and motions for me to join him. I crawl over and settle against his side, close to tears at how fucking good his warm, strong body feels in the chilly room.
“They won’t be able to see more than my feet at this angle,” he whispers. “And I didn’t see an audio pickup on the camera, so we’re safe to talk, but keep your voice low either way. Snuggle close.”
He holds me tighter, and I have no objections when he nuzzles against my neck, his lips brushing my ear. “Like this?” I ask. “God you’re so warm.”
“You smell amazing,” he says, breathing in deeply. “Not hurt?”
“Just my dignity,” I say, glancing down at the skimpy black lace getup I’m in.
“Jesus, Toni. I’m so sorry.” He releases me and reaches over his head to pull off his T-shirt. “It’s not much, but better than a bra and panties.”
“Sam, your tattoo is still too fr
esh.”
“It’ll be fine.” He presses the deliciously warm, soft fabric into my hands.
I gratefully shrug into his shirt, which covers my arms to my elbows and comes halfway down my thighs. Then I return to the crook of his arm. “You’re a fucking idiot to let them capture you.”
“It’s part of my plan,” he says, still rumbling in a low voice against my ear. “The guy who grabbed me . . . blue eyes? Turns out he’s on our side. We just need to sit tight until he can find a way to let us go.”
“Any idea when that’ll be? Or why we’re even here, for that matter? How do you know he’s on our side?”
He squeezes me a little tighter and clears his throat. “No idea when. As to why . . . There’s something you need to know. Something I shouldn’t have to be the one to tell you.”
His grip on me is almost enough to constrict my breath and I look up into his face with alarm. “Sam? What is it?”
He seems to steel himself, inhaling deeply then looking into my eyes. The anticipation doesn’t settle my nerves in the least.
“Arturo Flores is your biological father, Toni.”
25
Sam
She’s dead silent for several breaths, her hazel eyes wide with disbelief. Then she starts to shake her head, slowly at first as she absorbs the bomb I just dropped.
“No . . . Hector Quiñones is my father. He was Arturo’s friend. That’s not possible.”
“It’s why Amador took you. He found out this weekend that Arturo has two illegitimate daughters. You’re one of them. He evidently believes Celeste is his by blood and wants some kind of trade, I guess? The details were not all that clear on what he hopes to get out of taking you, but that’s what I gather.”
“Celeste? Wait . . .” She pulls away, scooting back on her knees and holding her hands out. She’s breathing faster, panic flaring. I move to reach for her, but she shakes her head. “You stay the fuck there.”
I settle back against the door, stung, but not all that surprised.
“What you’re suggesting is that Mom and Arturo . . . thirty years ago . . . but my parents’ anniversary . . .”
She blinks and stares at her hands. In a small voice, she says, “They got married on Valentine’s Day. Two months before I was born. Mom says that’s how she and Daddy picked my middle name. They were in love, Sam. I just can’t believe . . .”
“That Arturo wanted to cover up for his indiscretion? He’s good at that, but not perfect. The man’s just loaded with secrets, and now Amador knows most of them and is exploiting them. You know it makes sense. You just did the math.”
“You’re saying my own mother lied to me all this time! But why?”
“To protect you. Obviously we are living proof of what happens when Arturo’s secrets get out.” I wave around the cell we’re trapped in. I also silently pray that Elle’s somewhere safe.
“How the fuck do you know all this, Sam?” Her voice is shrill now. She’s holding herself by her elbows, fingers curling in to claw along her forearms in rapid, raking strokes.
Fucking hell.
“Toni. Take a deep breath baby.” I move toward her, closing in even as she rears back, shaking her head. She scrambles away until her back hits the wall, then resumes her frantic scratching.
“How do you know all this when I don’t even know? Why didn’t you tell me before?”
I carefully reach for her arms and pry them apart, curling my fingers around hers to still her mindless clawing. The bandage she wore to cover her tattoo is long gone, but she doesn’t seem to have caused any damage to the still-healing ink, so that’s a blessing. Both her forearms are scored with upraised welts, though, skin broken in places.
“I know because my family’s tangled up in it too. Arturo’s the one who faked Mason’s death three years ago. Who roped him into that op that nearly got him killed for real. But that’s not even where it started for us.”
I hesitate to share more because I still haven’t properly processed the truth about Arturo’s ties to our family. But Zavala’s intel included a handful of old correspondences between a twenty-something Flores and a young, French ballet student recently transplanted to Los Angeles.
I can’t even fathom the circumstances that brought the two of them together. He and Amador must have been partners back then—drug traffickers back when cocaine was the thing everyone wanted.
I have a bad habit of diving into rabbit holes of research about that era, trying to understand their history, but always wind up exhausted and confused about why the hell my mother would’ve given Arturo the time of day when she was young. But also, why Dad? That’s just as big a question, because Dad wasn’t any less questionable an option. He wasn’t a criminal, but that was just about the only thing he had going for him.
But she had ultimately chosen Julian Santos over Arturo Flores, and from the pieces I’ve been able to put together, that’s what sent Arturo to Mexico and into the arms of Lola Prieto.
I can’t keep any more secrets from Toni, so I take a breath. “I think I have some idea of what’s going through your head right now.”
“How could you? My God, Sam. Everything I knew about my mother is a lie.”
“Because your mother wasn’t the only woman Arturo slept with. He and my mom had a relationship long before he even knew yours, I think. It didn’t last,” I hurry to add. “I’m not suggesting he’s my dad. Trust me, that was the first thing I needed to make sure of when I found out the truth. But he is Elle’s father.”
Her shoulders rise and fall as she heaves a breath that’s part laugh, part sigh. “Oh my God, I knew I had a good reason for staying out of his business. It’s a fucking mess, isn’t it? But I guess it’s my business now, since I’m in this shit.” She waves her arms at our cold little cell. “And now you are too because of me.”
“I wouldn’t blame yourself for my presence here. Pretty sure we’re both equally in it up to our eyeballs. I just knew before you did.”
“For how long, exactly?”
“Just since Mason came home. I promise there’s no way in hell I’d have been able to hold onto this secret all this time working with you and not tell you. I wanted to—intended to on this trip, in fact—but my brothers talked me out of it. Said it wasn’t my business.”
“Well, they are right. It isn’t your fault. I know that. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt that you knew and didn’t tell me.”
I grimace, my heart sinking. “Toni, you have to know how sorry I am . . .”
She holds up a hand, tears welling in her eyes. “But you came for me. You’ve always had my back, and this is no different. Do you promise that man is going to help us? Because I don’t want you to die because of who I am. Manny already took a bullet to protect Celeste . . . Oh God, she’s my sister!”
Tears are already creeping down her cheeks when the realization hits her. She smiles, lets out a soft laugh, then groans as she swipes the edge of her shirtsleeve across her eyes.
“It would seem so. Not according to Amador, though. He seems to believe she’s his, but it doesn’t take a DNA test for someone with eyes like a Santos to tell the three of you are related. Honestly, the intel we got only confirmed what most of us already suspected for a while about Elle. Mad knew long before the rest of us. I guess he put the pieces together earlier, because he was older when . . . when she was conceived. I was still a baby, thank God.”
“Your sister’s how old?”
“She’ll be twenty-one in the fall.”
“It’s starting to make a little more sense now. She would’ve been conceived around the time Aunt Lola died. I remember how devastated Celeste and her father were. Dad—Hector, I mean—was still alive. If Arturo needed comfort, he wouldn’t have come to Mom.”
“I really don’t want to spend much mental effort imagining the man with anyone’s mother, much less my own, if that’s okay. I’m just happy you and I aren’t technically related.”
“Well, we do share a sis
ter.” She chuckles. “Which means Celeste and Mad Dog are in the same boat. God, I can’t wait to talk to her. Wait, does she know?”
“I can’t say for certain, but I don’t think so.”
“You’re probably right. Celeste wouldn’t have held out on me like you did.” I give her a hurt look and she reaches for my hand, squeezing. “It’s never boring with us, is it?”
I squeeze back and pull, feeling more grounded when she lets me haul her onto my lap. Closing my eyes, I press my face into her neck, inhaling as I hold her.
“This was why you tried to talk me out of the trip last month, isn’t it? You were worried something bad might happen.”
“I’d just learned the truth, and Mason drilled into me what a dangerous bastard Gustavo Delgado is. I didn’t tell my brothers about the trip until last week, though. And it looked like it’d be an uneventful trip, all told. The only reason you’re on Amador’s radar now is because Delgado took out Zavala and has all the intel Mason worked so hard to get.”
She sighs and clings tighter, careful to keep her arms low around my waist to avoid irritating my tattoo.
After a few minutes I realize she’s crying, and I tilt her chin up to look into her eyes. “What is it?”
“I just realized that if it’d been Manny with me, he would’ve done something boneheaded and gotten killed. He knew it was his job to take a bullet if it came to it. I’m just glad you’re nothing like him.”
“To be fair, I’d absolutely take a bullet for you. But we’re just lucky I have more ammo to throw back at them stored away up here.” I tap my temple. If I hadn’t remembered Chris Longo’s face, I’m not convinced he wouldn’t have just killed me.
“Just promise me you won’t do that, okay? I really don’t want you to die without following through on my promise.”
“Your promise to tattoo me?” I ask.
She shakes her head and leans in, holding my face in both hands. “My promise to make love to you, Sam Santos.”
