Ignite
Page 1
Table of Contents
Title
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Bibliography
Ignite
Holly S. Roberts
Ignite
Holly S. Roberts
Published by Four Carat Press
Copyright 2016 Holly S. Roberts
Printing History
eBook edition 2016
Paperback edition 2016
Edited by Michelle Kowalski
Cover by Fantasia Frog Designs
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be multiplied, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted in any form or by whatever means. Electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without express written permission of the writer. This eBook is licensed for your use only.
This is a work of fiction. ALL characters are derived from the author’s imagination.
No person, brand, or corporation mentioned in this Book should be taken to have endorsed this Book nor should the events surrounding them be considered in any way factual.
Chapter One
Rack
THE KNIFE WOUND RUNS down my side from under my arm to the top of my hip. It burns like a motherfucker, and the tequila does little to stop the pain as the needle sinks into my flesh. The stitches are far from professional, but they’ll do the job and close the skin, keeping muscle and tissue on the inside where they belong.
Never strangle a man with a knife in his hand is my new motto. He sliced into my side before I could stop him. He’s dead now and I’m alive, so I’ll take it as a lesson learned. Putting up with Gomez’s shit for my stupidity isn’t helping me feel the love as he stitches me up.
“Fuck,” he swears as he wipes his bloody hands on a blood-covered cloth. I look down at myself as he readjusts his grip on the large needle. “You can’t do things halfway, can you?” he taunts as the needle punctures my skin again.
I take another pull from the bottle and suck in a breath as he works the needle through the skin on the other side and ties off another stitch. “The son of a bitch is dead, so why the hell are you complaining?” I hiss the last of the statement.
Gomez is a cold motherfucker—someone you don’t cross and also someone I trust with my life. His steely dark eyes drill into mine. “Every time you pull this shit you’re on light duty at the main house. I need you at full capacity. Just call me an unfeeling son of a bitch if it makes you feel better.”
I laugh even though it hurts. “I’ve always performed my job and you know it. I’ll handle whatever comes our way or die trying.”
Gomez shakes his head and I see something rare in his gaze. Celina, his girlfriend, has changed him. Not in a way that will get him killed; no, it’s something inside him that wasn’t there before she came into his life. He’s at peace with who he is and what we do. A peace that I can’t manage. Will most likely never manage.
Gomez brings me out of the alcohol fog. “At least tell me you acquired more names for us?”
By “us” he means Moon’s organization. Moon controls the criminal underworld of Arizona and New Mexico. Gomez is Moon’s right hand. If there’s a left hand, it’s me. This is because Moon and Gomez understand vengeance. I won’t rest until each man responsible for killing my brother Andrew is dead. Moon and Gomez want more than those last two names. They want to take down the Ocana Cartel. I’m good with that even though taking out one cartel means two more will replace it.
Moon mostly leaves the cartels alone if they remain on their side of the border and keep their drug business in Mexico. Doesn’t matter that the U.S. contains the majority of their customers; Moon controls the southwest border. This is his territory and he has strict rules, which the cartels heed or die. Ocana is not playing nice and never has. We’re putting an end to their border jumping.
“I have a name,” I say with a painful gasp. “It will help Moon with Ocana more than it helps me find the last two responsible for my brother. I’m getting closer, though.”
Gomez nods and I inhale deeply when he helps me sit up. I lift my arms and allow him to wrap gauze around my chest. The room spins and my stomach lurches. “You gonna make it?” he asks.
“Yeah, I’ll fucking make it.”
He grunts, which is his idea of a challenge.
I slide my legs off the dirty counter where I’ve been laying. We’re in one of Moon’s safe houses. It’s a small shack that secretes mold from the walls, has minimal furniture, and windows so dirty they’re nearly impossible to see through.
The sudden sting of a needle going in my arm is nothing compared to the burn in my side. What the house lacks in cleanliness it makes up for in first aid supplies, which stay hidden behind a cabinet in the bathroom. Gomez just shot me full of antibiotics. I turned down pain medication and chose the tequila, which I have more practice in handling. Pain meds mess with my head. Give me alcohol any day.
Gomez is back to assessing me. “We need to get out of here.”
I’m holding onto the counter and loosen my grip to take a wobbly step forward. I can handle the tequila; it’s the blood loss kicking my ass right now. I slap Gomez’s arm away like a bird flappin’ its wings. Gomez grins.
“Let’s get the fuck back to the U.S.,” I say with far more grit than I feel. He hands me a shirt and I shrug it on casually as if my side isn’t a fireball. I do this to convince myself I can make it out of here. Pain is good. It reminds me I’m alive.
We walk between shanty houses along narrow dirt roads for an hour. We see more roaches the size of rats than we do people. This part of Tijuana is far from inviting at three in the morning. Most of the so-called homes are little more than scrap wood covered by tarps and cloth. An entire family can live in an eight by eight home. People from the U.S. don’t understand poverty unless they’ve been to a place like this. We continue our trudge through open sewage. Breathing heavily through my mouth does little to keep the smell at bay. My head stays up and I do everything I can to look tough instead of how I feel—like bird shit dropping on my shoulder could take me down.
“Rendezvous up ahead.” Gomez’s hushed voice barely penetrates the fog that is now my brain. He’s not dumb and knows I’m barely staying upright. His words give me the added incentive to keep my legs moving. A minute later, his hand on my arm stops me mid-step and he guides me farther into the shadows. Gomez squeezes my arm twice. He’s checking out the car ahead without me. Usually it’s the other way around, but I know when I need to hang back.
He releases me and maneuvers silently until I can’t se
e him. I recognize his whistle a minute later and know all’s clear. I move forward at least ten feet before I drop to my knees and then face-plant onto the ground. The world thankfully goes dark.
***
I groan as I come to in the back seat of a car. I have no idea how long I’ve been out.
Gomez, who’s sitting up front, answers the question without waiting for me to ask it aloud. “Ten minutes.” He leans between the seats and hands me a bottle of water.
Austin is driving. I have no idea if Austin is his first name or last. He’s Victor Corbin’s enforcer. This makes him a scary dude. Austin’s about 2 inches shorter than me and Gomez and he doesn’t carry as much muscle. His pale blue eyes are as cold as Gomez’s dark ones. Austin is a killer and one I never want to go up against. Corbin, his boss, runs the drugs and guns in Cali. We pre-arranged this pickup with Corbin. It surprises me he sent Austin. Things must be slower in California than they are in Arizona and New Mexico.
After drinking half the water, I close my eyes as the old rattle-trap car bumps along over what must be a dirt road. The last thing you want to do if you’re interested in avoiding attention in Tijuana is drive something expensive. I have no doubt the engine of the car far outshines the exterior. Gomez and Austin allow me to regroup my strength while we travel.
We hit a short line of cars at the border crossing, and when it’s our turn a K-9 circles the car with his handler. We aren’t carrying anything that will get us in trouble, though we must appear highly suspicious. Thankfully we’re on our way in a matter of minutes. The next stop we make is a private airfield, where a plane and pilot are waiting. I breathe easier once we’re in the air and headed back to Arizona.
I’m seriously getting too old for this shit and I’m only thirty-three.
Chapter Two
From: Nick.Hoffman@us.gov.org
To: Beth.Hoffman@mymail.com
Dear Baby Sister,
Yeah, I know you hate when I call you that. Too bad, you will always be the baby. Life is good but dirty as in dirt everywhere. You don’t need to hear all the dirty details but this man’s balls are gritty and I’ll leave it at that. This pretty much explains Afghanistan to a T. My friend Rack saves my sanity. This is his third tour and he knows his shit. You would like him and I know he would like you. Hint, hint!
Your favorite and only big brother,
Nick
****
Beth
THE MEN WATCH ME around the clock. Getting my hands on a cell phone is a fluke and I still can’t believe my luck. I need to send a text and get out of Peter’s room quickly.
I don’t have much time to think about what I send, but I need to be smart. I can delete the history after sending the text. This opens up a new set of problems. If Peter notices his missing messages, he’ll check his phone account online and trace the text. If that happens, it won’t be just me in danger. Fear travels through my veins and makes my already rapid heartbeat speed up even more. I put myself into this mess and now I’m endangering someone else. I shake off the fear and look back down where my fingers clench the phone.
Shakily, I type his number followed by my message.
This is Beth Hoffman, Nick’s sister.
I’m in trouble and being held by Angelo Gimonde
Westly Ranch
Camp Springs, Montana
Phone compromised
I take a deep breath and click Send. The trembling in my fingers doubles as I delete the text history. I’m so screwed. It’s little comfort that Angelo won’t immediately kill me. He’ll hunt Rack down and kill him first. I’ve endangered Rack even if he checks Angelo’s name on the Internet and decides I’m not worth saving. If only I were more intelligent in the beginning and never stepped into this mess.
I don’t know Rack well. He was my brother’s best friend in the military. Seeing Rack through Nick’s eyes really doesn’t count. Nick told me more than once if I ever needed help and he wasn’t around, to call Rack. A shiver passes through me. Did Nick somehow know that he wouldn’t be around, that an IED would take him out only a few months before his return to the States?
I only met Rack once. It was a few months before my first wedding date. My fiancé delayed the first one and then the second. I squelch the stupidity I feel that there was ever more than one. The last few years of my life are one bad decision after another. When Rack visited me his expression had none of the carefree qualities my brother described. Oh, I expected the dangerous undertone, just not the dead eyes. His gaze held a complete lack of humanity. And still, my body betrayed me. Rack is a force of nature and like nature, he’s raw and compelling. His insanely green eyes turned my insides to jelly. His muscles stretched his polo shirt to near bursting. His square jaw spoke of strength and determination. His dark hair with its closely cropped military cut took the danger he radiated up a notch. Everything about him made me think of silk sheets and hot sex. I swear, by the way his luscious mouth smirked he was reading my body like a map. He didn’t miss the shortness of breath, sweaty palms, or my accelerated heartbeat. He couldn’t have. God, I actually wondered if he could smell the desire my body exuded via wet panties. His eyes literally changed color to a deeper green and his nostrils flared as I came undone at his proximity. The experience was mortifying and made worse by my engagement to another man.
I held so much guilt over that one meeting. Or at least I did until I discovered my fiancé in bed with my best friend the night before our third calendar wedding date. Now my ex-best friend and ex-fiancé. I hope the two of them spend eternity together making each other miserable.
I sigh into the quiet room. Even with all the trouble I’ve brought down on my head, I’m a vindictive bitch and I’m not ready to forgive and forget. I check the time on the phone. Angelo will return shortly and I need to get out of Peter’s room.
If Angelo finds out about the phone, he’ll kill Peter for this. Peter is a young fool. He’s infatuated with Angelo’s lifestyle. The lifestyle of a mobster where kidnapping is just another walk in the park. I have absolutely no reason to feel sorry for Peter. Like me, he’ll need to live with his decisions.
I rest the cell phone back on the nightstand and walk to the door. There are cameras in the hallway. I’m carrying one of Peter’s long-sleeved flannel shirts, which is the reason I entered his room to begin with. I need Peter to pocket his phone when he returns and keep his mouth shut about leaving it behind this morning. My only chance is that Peter knows Angelo will kill him for the mistake. I still can’t believe my luck in discovering it.
I pull the heavy shirt over my shoulders and head downstairs. Because of the building weather front moving in, there’s a chilly wind blowing. Angelo didn’t provide me with a jacket because it’s the middle of summer and up until today it’s been warm. That’s Montana for you—one day it’s in the nineties and the next in the forties. I need to exercise to drive the crazies away. It’s one of the few perks I’m granted. I’m required to sit at the dinner table with Angelo each evening if he’s here on the ranch. I don’t consider joining him a perk, it’s more a punishment. The look in Angelo’s eyes is scary and predatory when he sits across from me. I’m his possession.
I met Angelo a month after my breakup with Kevin. I was not in a good place mentally and Angelo swooped in and picked up the pieces of my broken heart. I had no idea who he was. Handsome and charming, I fell for his baited hook having no idea he was the embodiment of pure evil. I shudder at the memories I’ve tried hard to forget even though forgetting will never happen. To make a point about those who betray him, Angelo shot one of his men in front of me and laughed when the blood splattered my face. I hyperventilated and vomited. Angelo walked from the small room with a look of disgust and locked me inside with the body for hours. Before the man died at my feet, he offered to help me escape if I slept with him. Sadly, I was willing to do anything and that included allowing Angelo’s man to touch my body. He died before I agreed. That was six months ago. Sending the text is the fir
st time I’ve tried to escape since.
I pull the large shirt tightly around me and head out the back door off the kitchen. I keep to a well-established path within the sphere of the outside cameras. I’ve learned not to incur Angelo’s wrath. The consequences of no more walks aren’t worth it. I’m barely holding onto my sanity as it is.
I do my best to take deep breaths and slow my breathing, allowing nature to soothe me. I struggle with the slight hill and my breath comes in small gasps. I circle the entire house. Before I can take a third trip, I notice Angelo’s black pickup truck driving up the long drive.
I place my hand on my large belly.
He may be your father but I swear I’ll never allow him to infect you with his evil.
Chapter Three
Rack
AFTER DR. SANTOS EXAMINED me and shot me full of more antibiotics, he shook his head while rewrapping my chest and told me to rest for the next few days. He was well aware that would never happen. I slept around the clock. One day of sleep and I craved the gym, tender wound be damned.
The stitches pull during my workout, so I take it easy—two miles on the treadmill, push-ups, chin-ups, sit-ups. Gomez attended a meeting with Moon this morning and I have the gym to myself. I’m finishing my workout and thinking about a hot shower when Celina walks in. I rise from the floor after my last ten push-ups and try to grab my shirt before she sees the blood seeping through the gauze.
Her hands go to her small waist. “Don’t bother. Carlo told me what happened.”
Carlo is Dr. Santos. “Whatever happened to doctor-patient confidentiality?” I grumble.
She ignores my question. “He told me to keep an eye on you and make sure you take it easy. I’ve already failed and you should be ashamed.”
I pull the shirt over my sweaty torso. “I take it you don’t want to spar this morning?”