by JA Huss
Right? Right?
“Tyler,” I whisper softly, closing my eyes. The barrage of yelling and gunfire is still happening all over the compound. “Do not get yourself killed because you’re worried about me. Because if you do, I will hunt you down in heaven and kill you again myself.”
The closet doors open, startling me so I stumble backward into the hanging clothes, and Carlos is standing two inches away, glaring down at me. “What?” he barks over the compound commotion. “What did you say?”
Holy fuckin’ shit! How the hell did he hear me? “Hail Mary, full of grace,” I stammer, trying my best to remember the prayer.
Carlos squints his eyes at me and for a moment I swear to God, I think he’s gonna shoot me in the head too. But then his eyes soften and he places his hand on my cheek and says, “Don’t worry. We’re getting out of here.”
And then he leans in and kisses me. Right on the lips.
I don’t kiss him back, but he doesn’t have a chance to notice, because Logan is behind him, yelling, “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” in Spanish. And it strikes me that this all seems like a massively disproportional reaction to seeing a drone. But then I also remember that drones drop bombs on people sometimes, so…
And then Ricky is there, grabbing me roughly by the arm. I try to catch his gaze, but he refuses to look at me as he drags me behind Carlos and Logan and we make our way through the house just as all the gunfire ceases.
Things go quiet—like unearthly still—as I’m forced to follow them down hallways and through rooms until we finally make our way outside and through a courtyard to a small building where inside a little pick-up truck is waiting.
“Get in,” Logan says in Spanish. Not pointing to the cab of the truck, but to the bed.
I frown. “What?”
Carlos leans into my ear and says, “We have to hide you under the tarp until things are safe. Don’t worry, there’s a mattress to keep you comfortable.” And then he throws back the tarp to reveal an old, stained, lumpy piece of shit that looks very much like something that used to be a mattress like… fifty years ago.
Well, that’s fuckin’ wonderful. And I almost hesitate, but then I replay the whole head-splatting-against-the-plaster-wall scene and decide to do what I’m told.
I’m still wearing the stupid stringy bikini, so I do not—like absolutely do not—want to crawl into that bed, giving them all a view of my ass. But I have no choice. I do it. I climb in and crawl across the mattress, and to my horror, Carlos climbs in next to me. His arms automatically reaching around my waist, he pulls me close to his body as Ricky throws the tarp over both of us. I catch Ricky’s gaze for one second, but then the tarp covers us, and everything goes dark.
It’s eerily quiet for a few seconds. No gunfire, no shouting, no nothing. Just the sound of my own heartbeat thumping in my chest and then… “Shhh,” Carlos whispers in my ear. Just before the truck doors slam in unison and the engine starts up. “We’ll be fine. Logan won’t let them get us. He’ll die before he lets that happen.”
Will he? I mean, Carlos beat the ever-loving shit out of Logan last night. His face is swollen and purple. I don’t even think he can see out of one eye, that’s how puffy it is. So will he? Really? I just don’t believe it. There’s a part of me that wonders if Logan isn’t here to do exactly the same thing Ricky and I are doing. Not for the same reasons, of course. But family or not, underlings sometimes have grand ambitions. And Logan definitely strikes me as that type of nephew. Maybe he’s just biding his time? Waiting on Carlos to get himself killed so he can take over. And if that happens I think… I think I’m just a piece of property that Logan would inherit.
What have you started, Tyler?
Carlos pets my head, snapping me back to the reality of this current situation. And the only thing that keeps me from gagging in revulsion at that disgusting display of affection is the fact that one hand is no longer pressing on my lower belly.
The truck is on the move now. Heading God knows where. My heart begins to flutter with panic. The dirty roads around here are bumpy, so of course we hit a pothole going around a corner and my body goes flying up in the air, which gives Carlos an opportunity to pull me closer and when I stop flopping from the bumpy road, his hand slips right between my legs. The bikini is so skimpy, his fingertips actually flitter across my clit. And I do not care who the fuck he is right now. I don’t care if he’s goddamned Scarface incarnate. I break free of his grasp, throw the tarp off of me, and I’m ready to jump out of this stupid truck and run.
“Madison!” he barks. “Get back under the tarp!”
He grabs me by the arm so hard, there’s no getting away. And a moment later, I’m back under, pretty much on top of him now, and his hands are all over my ass. Caressing me, like this is supposed to make me feel better.
“Carlos Castillo,” I growl, trying to find his eyes in the hazy darkness. I’m so pissed off.
Easy there, Red, Devil says. Play it cool, bitch.
So I close my eyes for the count of one, take a deep breath, and in my calmest Scarlett voice I say, “This is not my idea of a glamorous getaway. You should have an airstrip. A private plane ready to take me to a yacht. I mean, what kind of bullshit is this? I actually think I’m getting bit by something. Does this mattress have fleas? Were there goats sleeping on this disgusting bag of filth before today? Because I’ll tell you what. You’d better not so much as scowl at me when you see all the bedbug bites I have when we get to wherever we’re going. And you better have antibiotics waiting for me too. After all I’ve been through in my life I refuse—refuse—to die of typhoid, or tetanus, or some equally third-world bullshit just because you’re afraid to fly!”
There’s like… five or six seconds of silence. Just the rumble of the engine in this old-ass truck and the wind flapping against the heavy canvas tarp as we race away to parts unknown.
Oh, shit, Angel says. Now you’ve done it.
And I might’ve. Ricky’s right. I really do have a temper problem. Because I think Carlos is holding his breath. And now I’m holding my breath and I’m pretty sure he’s gonna pull out a knife or a gun and cut my heart out or shoot me in the head.
He laughs so loud I startle. And he laughs so long, I figure he’s actually gone insane. I brace myself for the violence. For the sharp pain as he sticks a knife in my ribs. Or the crack of a gun as he blows my brains out.
But instead his long laugh devolves into a chuckle and he kisses me on the lips again. “I love your spirit. I have been right all along! You’re the perfect woman for me.”
“I… I am?” I stammer, unsure where this is going. Thoroughly disgusted at the second kiss, but too afraid to say so.
“You know what you want and go after it. I love that about you.”
OK, Devil says. Lay down the ground rules, chica. This is your only chance. Scarface respects you. Time to remind him of your deal.
“We had a deal, right?” I say, finding his eyes and staring him down. “You be patient with me, I’ll be patient with you. And that means you do not take advantage of me because we’re in this dangerous situation. You keep your hands away from my pussy, Mr. Castillo. Or I’ll… I’ll…”
“Or you’ll what?” he asks, but not angrily. Kinda… playfully. Which is revolting. “Tell me what you’ll do if I don’t respect you, Madison Clayton.”
Make it good, Angel says. God helps those who help themselves.
I want to punch her. But she’s right. Carlos expects some classic Maddie right now. So I pull myself together, take a deep breath, and say, “I’ll make you weak with want. I’ll give you just enough to make you crave more, and then withhold all the very best parts of me. I’ll be with you, but never truly with you, Carlos Castillo. I’ll be yours, but you’ll still be alone. Because we made a deal and if you break your promise to me on day two, then how could I ever trust you with my heart?”
He blinks. Three times in a sliver of sunshine filtering its way through a crack in
the tarp. But says nothing.
“I couldn’t. Trust you, I mean. And relationships are built on trust, Carlos. Trust is earned, so if you want me, truly want me, then we have to do it right and build that trust together.”
Angel and Devil stand united on my right shoulder, high-fiving each other.
Nailed it, Devil says after their hands slap.
But Carlos remains silent.
Shit.
Don’t. Say. A. Word. Angel whispers. Let him come to you.
The seconds tick off and I start counting. One-one-thousand, two-one-thousand… and when I get to eight-one-thousand he says, “You… are the only woman I want. We can do it your way.”
I smile. I even force it to reach my eyes. Place a hand on his cheek and gaze lovingly into his hard gaze—a move that might’ve won me an Academy Award if I was an actress—and say, “One day, Carlos… I think we’ll look back on this moment and think this was the moment when we redefined our future. And I will kiss you on the lips as we replay it in our minds, and say, ‘This was the beginning of everything that came next.’”
I kiss him now. Force myself to do it. To make him believe. To remind myself why I’m doing it. It’s awful, but I do it.
It’s the forced cohesion of two like ends of a magnet.
Parts of a whole that are decidedly repulsive. Entirely repellent.
And what comes next, when he kisses me back, isn’t the explosive fever of love, but the inevitable combustion of two volatile chemicals.
His kiss is an agreement to be patient. Mine, nothing but the promise of payback.
Our truce is tentative. Like that moment when a match is being held over a puddle of gasoline. Right before the fingers holding it let go and it falls, like angels fall from Heaven, and Carlos and I are there together.
This is going to end badly… but revenge always has a price.
And I’m willing to pay it.
Chapter Nineteen - Tyler
We’re headed west. The winter sun is already starting to set and it’s not even five o’clock. I don’t think. I don’t have a watch and the battery on my fucking phone is dead. There’s a clock in the Defender but I tried to change it when Daylight Savings Time ended, and I think I managed to set it to Tokyo time somehow.
Fancy fuckin’ car.
But I’m pretty good about tracking time, and I’ve been counting in my head to keep myself focused, and it feels like we’ve been driving just about three hours or so. It would seem that I’ve been doing a good enough job of keeping my distance from the truck that I haven’t called attention to myself. Or, if I have, Ricky DEA has chosen to ignore it. No way to know which, I guess. There was one moment where it sped up a little, which made me think they might be trying to lose me, but then it pulled over at a gas station and Logan hopped out and ran to the little boys’ room.
The whole time, there was no movement in the back. I kept willing Maddie to throw the tarp off and jump out and then I’d grab her and we’d make a break for it, but there’s no way for her to know that I’m still here, I suppose. The idea of her pressed up against this Carlos fuckweed for all this time has got me seething, but I’m keeping it together. He must really be scared of whoever he thinks is after him if he’s willing to lie in the back of that busted-ass ride for this long. Of course, Maddie is there cushioning the trip for him, but… Nope. Not gonna fucking go there. Stop. Head in the game.
Speaking of gas stations, I hope to hell we get where we’re going soon, otherwise I might just run dry. The gauge is sitting right on fucking empty. All in, I’ve driven damn near seven hours today. I’m actually impressed I’m still going. It’s a nice car and all, but it ain’t no hybrid, that’s for damn sure.
There’s a sign just up ahead. Ensenada.
And now I can see a huge Mexican flag coming into view right at the edge of the water where the final streaks of light from the setting sun are being cast off the ocean.
The flag is gigantic. Towering over the city like a watchman. There’s a harbor and a cruise ship all decorated with Christmas lights. Maybe it’s just because I was in the Navy and I have a “been there, done that” attitude about being on the sea, but I hate cruise ships. And I really can’t imagine going on a fucking cruise for a holiday vacation, stuck with a bunch of jerkoffs in madras shorts, being coerced into forced frivolity. But right now, comparatively, I’d take Maddie, a piña colada, and shuffleboard in a second over the bullshit we’re into.
The truck turns left up ahead, and I follow. It’s dark enough now that I should turn on my headlights, but I don’t know if that’d call more attention to me, so I leave them off. The whole time my eyes are fixed on the gas gauge. The mileage meter told me that I was going to run out of fuel about fifteen miles ago and I don’t know how much of a reserve this thing has built in, so I’m just keeping my nuts crossed that we’re almost to wherever ‘there’ is. And then, mercifully, once again, as if willed by the Christmas gods, unto me is delivered news of great motherfucking joy.
The truck pulls up to a guard gate right along the beach. There’s a long, tall, brick wall that runs parallel to the ocean, spanning easily a mile or more in either direction from the guard station. Looks like a fancy gated community. A private beach probably, only for the rich assholes who live beyond its walls.
I don’t know why I’m so hung up all of a sudden on the fact that Carlos is rich. Because who cares? But it’s not that he’s got money that’s bothering me. It’s how he got it and what he does with it and how he uses his money and power to serve himself only.
I guess it bugs me because in some ways he reminds me of another selfish, rich asshole I know.
And as soon as we’re out of this clusterfuck, I want to talk to Maddie about doing something good too. Something that means something. Just like how she signed onto this because it was important for her to do something meaningful so she can move forward with her life, I want to do that also. And I want us to do it together.
And I’m fully aware that there’s a chance she’ll be pissed as all hell at me for showing up here in the first place (I’m not a kid, Tyler! I had everything under control!) but there are other ways she can move forward and still do good. Ways that don’t involve imminent mortal peril. She’s sacrificed enough if you ask me. And, while I have zero idea how I can contribute value to the world, I’m sure there are ways.
But I want us to figure out what those things are as a unit, as a team, because I never want her to be away from me like this again. Not if there’s another option. New Year’s is right around the corner, and even though I’ve never made a resolution before—because I’ve always known I was just gonna break them, so why bother?—this year it feels like it’s worth it to try. And even though I realize that resolving to be a better person than a murdering drug trafficker is a pretty low bar… you gotta start somewhere.
This is what’s running through my head as the Defender’s engine whines and gasps, trying to force one more drop of gasoline to combust into forward-moving energy. But it can’t. There’s no more left. The car wheezes and coughs one last time, and then sputters finally to a stop.
It’s pretty well dark now, and there aren’t really any other cars that I can see. Presumably, most people are home with their families putting presents under trees and lying to their kids about Santa Claus and shit. But I can’t risk someone coming along and finding me or it, so I need to get it off the road. I throw it in neutral, hop out, and push this heavy bastard into the overgrowth on the other side of the street. It’s harder than I thought it’d be. That roll cage adds some serious weight. Fuckin’ roll cage.
Now. How best to breach the wall that protects whatever’s on the other side? I could try and scale it, but it’s tall, it’s stone, and I’m not Batman. So that’s out. I could also try and survey how far it runs along each side and determine if there are any possible access points, but the shit seriously looks like it goes on forever and I also risk exposing myself.
Think. Think.
And that’s when I hear the ticking sound of the Defender’s cooling and exhausted engine, and I have an idea. It’s not the best idea I’ve ever had. It’s dangerous, unpredictable, arguably excessive, and could very well make things worse. But unless I figure out how to get inside there, I won’t know how bad things are for Maddie over that wall, and not knowing or being able to do anything about it seems worse. So. Fuck it.
I grab my rucksack out of the back and pull out the t-shirts I have stuffed in there. I toss them onto the front seat. Then I gather up some dried palm branches and other foliage that’s laying around on the ground and throw that on top of the shirts.
I have an eerie moment of déjà vu, thinking back to Halloween. The night I set my apartment on fire. This is different, of course. I was a bit out of my mind then and I had just discovered that Maddie was Maddie and that she pretty much hated my guts, and it seemed like my life was ending and so I kind of went insane. Setting my place on fire was a reaction to everything that was happening that night.
This, on the other hand, is a decisive action that I’m taking to rescue Maddie now that we’ve declared our love for each other and we plan to be together. Because that’s what lovers do. Shit, that’s just what decent friends do. They show up for the other no matter what, and they’re there when they’re needed. When the time comes, they’re the one person you can count on. The one who has your back. I’ve had that illuminated for me over these last couple of months with startling, hi-def clarity.
And that’s what this is that I’m doing now. It’s decent. It’s romantic. It’s needed. And it’s totally, totally sane.
Right?
Anyway.
I go to the back of the car again and lift the mat that covers the spare tire and roadside emergency kit. I grab up the kit, open it, and pull out the two road flares that are inside. I take a breath, looking at my car. There’s a moment of wistful nostalgia. A few weeks ago I didn’t even want a car, but now I’m kind of attached to it. Not because of the car itself, but because… because it’s one of the first things Maddie and I talked about, back when she was Scarlett and I was just jabbering to her. Because it’s what I was driving the night I found her running from Logan and Ricky in the alley behind Pete’s. Because… shit, because of the thing Raven said to me when she was giving me advice about how to handle my situation with Maddie. Your car, she said. It’s a Defender, right?
