Flesh Into Fire (Original Sin Book 3)

by JA Huss

  But, hell. Now Pete’s is gone. And so is Pete, for that matter. And Maddie’s Maddie, not Scarlett. And I’m me, not fuckin’ Ford Aston. (Heh. I still chuckle every time I think about the fact that that’s the name I came up with. “Ford Aston.” Ha. As if.) And the simple truth is that nobody gets what they want in life without paying a price. Everything comes at a cost.

  It’s been that way since the beginning of time. Adam and Eve wanted to eat the apple, but the price they had to pay is that paradise was taken from them. And if that myth is true (and hell, it’s Christmas Eve, so if we’re gonna buy into a friggin’ virgin birth, then Adam and Eve is no more implausible) then we’ve all been paying for their fuck-up ever since. And that is an expensive goddamn toll to ante up for.

  So, I guess if—in order to get Maddie back in my arms—I gotta torch a Land Rover Defender that I paid five hundred thousand dollars for… Well. While it stings a little, it really ain’t nothing compared to all that other shit.

  I pop the top off one road flare, ignite it, toss into the car, and then do the same with the other.

  If you set it right, a car can go up in flames pretty goddamn fast. They don’t really explode though. When I see that in a movie, I usually roll my eyes. Because it just ain’t likely to happen. Unless, of course, there’s a flammable metal or some other explosive component involved. Like magnesium. If a car has magnesium components, boom. Huh. I don’t know if mine does, when I stop to think of it. This could turn into a much bigger deal than I’m anticipating. But… only one way to find out.

  What’s guaranteed is that the dampeners that hold the hood and tailgates and stuff will absolutely explode and blow shit off the car. The wheels will explode too. And that’s what I’m expecting to happen first.

  After I toss the flares, I throw on my pack and hoof it out of the way as fast as I can, trying to position myself where I can see the guards. I’m maybe a thousand feet away at this point. Just under a quarter of a mile or so. And when they hear the gunshot-like sound of the tires exploding, they should come running. Again, this plan is unpredictable, dangerous, possibly excessive, and may not result in anyone being pulled away from a guard gate to investigate shit. I have no idea. But I’m fucking in it now. So I wait.

  The interior goes up in flames really fast, as expected. Leather burns quickly. It’s just skin, after all. And skin burns pretty fast when it’s all lit up.

  I know.

  There’s a nice, toasty, marshmallow-roast-sized inferno baking away when I see that the flames have spread up inside the interior panel, because I can clock smoke and a hint of fire peeking out from under the hood now.

  And in under a minute…

  Pow. The hood supports blow and the hood slams up, cracking the windshield. And that actually seems to have been loud enough to draw some attention. Two guys who I guess are community guards, even though they’re not dressed in uniforms or anything, step out to the road and crane their necks to see what’s going on. This is encouraging.

  And then the tires explode.

  Holy shit!

  I was not expecting it to be that loud. Nor was I expecting the Defender crashing down to make the squealing noise it does. But it sure as shit gets the job done. The two guys come running in the direction of the fire, which is now burning enough to be seen from where they are. One of them grabs up a walkie-talkie and shouts something in Spanish and suddenly two more guys are running out in the direction of the fire, too.

  Looking through the binoculars, I can see no one manning the gate anymore, so I decide this is my shot. I gotta get in there and see if I can find the truck and hopefully find Maddie. But when I go to take my first step, I find it hard to will my legs to move. Fuck. Please, not again. Not now. Don’t do this to me. I have no idea how long these dudes will be away before they run back to get a fire extinguisher or call for reinforcements or whatever. I have to go now.

  So I close my eyes and I think of Maddie’s face. Underneath me. Smiling. Telling me she loves me. And in a second, that image gives way to an almost too-soon forgotten lifetime of memories. Scotty, Maddie, me. All jumbling together and cascading over one another.

  And I take that first step.

  It feels like I’m running through molasses or quicksand, but I’m moving. And as the memories tumble past, faster and faster, my gait gets faster too. And before I know it, I’m in a full sprint and tearing past the unmanned gate at the entrance to see…

  Are you kidding me?

  Wow. It’s not a private community.

  I mean it is, but…

  Jesus.

  Fucking Carlos Castillo.

  Chapter Twenty - Maddie

  What a way to spend Christmas Eve. I mean really. You’d think God would cut me a break or something.

  The drive is pure torture. I’m talking I’d rather strip for the devil in eternal damnation than spend one more goddamned minute listening to Carlos whisper his grand plans for our future together in my ear.

  I want to throw up.

  And we’re on the run from… whatever he thinks we’re on the run from. But all he keeps talking about is us. What the hell have I gotten myself into?

  I’m freezing, hungry, and there’s a cramp in my leg that’s been burning for hours. And no matter how I try to change positions, I can’t make it go away. Plus, every time I move to try and get more comfortable, Carlos’s hands are there, pulling my body back next to his.

  I can’t deny needing his body heat. It’s been hot as hell out, and I’m sure it still is, but I can’t feel it. I feel the cold. Maybe it’s fear and I don’t know it. Or maybe it’s that I’m wearing an outfit that’s nothing but strings and strips of fabric.

  I’ve had enough. Several hours ago.

  Finally, well after dark, the engine finally cuts off and there’s the sound of many sets of feet as they rush over to the truck. The tarp is pulled back to reveal a perfectly dark, starlit night above my head. I squint up at it as Logan helps Carlos out of the bed. Then Ricky has my arm, pulling on me to follow.

  “Where are we?” I ask Ricky. But he says nothing, just hands me off to Carlos, who takes my arm and begins walking towards a… house? Mansion? Hotel? I plant my feet, making Carlos stop, and say, “Where the fuck are we?” Only this time, it’s loud. And ragey. Because I’ve had enough. I need some fucking reality right now.

  “You don’t need to worry about where we are—” Logan starts.

  But Carlos cuts him off with one raised hand. “We’re home. I don’t normally spend a lot of time here. I prefer the open desert. I’ve had a deal with the Federales. I stay out of Ensenada, they let me live in peace.” He stares down at me, his dark eyes suddenly blazing with anger. “But they broke our deal today.”

  And that’s when something explodes outside the compound.

  Men start shouting in Spanish. Everyone, and I do mean everyone, in my sight has a gun out. Half a dozen armed men are rushing towards the front gates.

  Carlos points to Logan and says, “Llévala a mis apartamentos. Now!”

  Logan grabs my arm—not roughly, but not gently either—and starts pulling me away.

  “Wait!” I say, resisting. “Where will you be?” I’m happy to be out of that truck and I’m delighted that Carlos is no longer touching me… but Logan. I do not want to be alone with Logan. I’m the reason his face looks like pulp today.

  “I have work to do,” Carlos snaps back. Like I’m sorta stupid if I can’t figure out that an explosion outside his safe house trumps my needs. “We’ll have dinner soon. Take a bath and dress so you’re ready when I call for you.” Dinner? A bath? What the fuck?

  And then Logan stops pretending to be gentle and yanks on my arm. I look back over my shoulder to see if Carlos caught that, but he’s already walking away, talking in hushed whispers to other men as a stream of black smoke fills the air above the concrete block walls around this new compound.

  The only good news is that Ricky follows Logan. That is my first lucky b
reak today. He stays well behind us, but at least he’s nearby. I need to get him alone. I need to know what the hell is happening. I need to know if that really was Tyler flying my drone and I need to make sure he’s OK. I mean, I know it was Tyler. I’ve seen his drone moves. And then the memory of our date night out at the Hoover Dam comes to mind and I smile.

  “What the fuck are you smiling at?” Logan barks, pulling hard on my arm again.

  “Your uncle,” I say, letting him pull me along the outside of the—house? Mansion? Hotel? It’s huge, just like the compound. But this new place is very different than the last one. It looks and feels more like a small town than a residence.

  “Why is this place so big?” I ask, trying to take it all in. It’s pretty dark, but there’s lots street lamps as Logan drags me down a sidewalk towards a group of buildings away from the main one where we parked.

  “Because,” Logan says. “My uncle needs to keep our smugglers happy and close to work. And this place is how he does that.”

  “Oh,” I say. Good to know, Logan. Thank you very much for the first real piece of intel all day!

  But Logan stops abruptly and tightens his grip on my arm. Squeezes it hard enough for me to feel a bruise forming in real time.

  “What are you doing?”

  “You speak Spanish?” he growls.

  And that’s when I realize Logan just made that impromptu confession in Spanish, not English. And I just gave myself away. Not that I was hiding the fact that I understood them or anything. But I certainly never let on that I understood to anyone but Ricky. And he’s on my side, so…

  “Everyone speaks Spanish,” I snap, trying to pull out of his grip.

  But he holds tight, his fingernails digging into my flesh. “Does my uncle know this?”

  “Know what?”

  “That you’re spying on him?”

  “I’m not fucking spying on him, you idiot. Like I said, everyone knows Spanish.”

  But Logan grins. It looks painful too. His left eye is swollen completely shut now. So it’s more like a sinister wink than a smile. But it gets the job done. Because my stomach flips with fear.

  “Oye, vamos,” Ricky says, coming up behind us. “Es Nochebuena y quiero llamar a mi novia antes de ir a la cama.”

  I stare at Logan, not even daring to look at Ricky, even though I want nothing more than to see his familiar face and know that he’s got my back. Because I think I might’ve really fucked things up here.

  “What did he say?” Logan asks, nodding his head to Ricky.

  I shrug. “I dunno. Something about calling his friend before bed.”

  Logan glares at me. “Mentira pequeña perra.”

  I force myself to laugh. “Now that, I understood. And I’m going to tell your uncle you just called me a lying little bitch.”

  “Go ahead,” Logan says, pulling me along the sidewalk again.

  We walk past what looks to be a private gas station where dozens of trucks are lined up for fuel. I bet this really is the staging point for Carlos Castillo’s drug-running route. I mean, it sure looks the part. And it’s all hidden behind massive concrete block walls. In fact, now that I look around a little, I notice a lot more too. Dozens of people. All rushing around looking very fucking busy. And it’s Christmas Eve. Maybe this is like the biggest night of the drug-running year? Like… all the US border agents are busy being festive and shit, so no one’s minding the store.

  “Tell him, puta,” Logan growls. “He’s gonna be very interested in your new skillset as a translator.”

  You better up your game, Angel says, popping up on my shoulder. Because shit is getting real. This is the major league, Scarlett. Not schoolyard kickball.

  It suddenly pisses me off that she’s referring to me as Scarlett. Because Scarlett has retired and fuck Angel for bringing her back from the dead. I’m goddamned Maddie Clayton now and forever.

  But I don’t have time to respond to her. Not when I need to respond to Logan. Because she’s right. He’s out to get me. If I fail and get myself killed for being a DEA informant, it’ll be because Logan turns Carlos against me.

  So I swing for the fuckin’ bleachers and say, “And I’ll tell him you slipped up and sold him out. Told me all about his business. And we all know what he does to people who disobey him, right? I can only imagine what he does to traitors. So you better be very careful about spreading rumors. Your uncle loves me. He wants to marry me. Wants me to have his babies. And I love him back just as much. I can’t wait to give him sons. Sons who will one day take over his business.” I have to choke that last part out. But I do it. Because a guy like Logan wouldn’t put up with the abuse Carlos hands out if he didn’t think he was gonna get something big in the end.

  “Puta,” he spits.

  “Hijo de mil putas,” I spit back.

  “OK, OK,” Ricky says, coming between us. “Vamos a dejarla, Logan. Tenemos trabajo para hacer esta noche.”

  “Yeah, vamos, Logan. You’ve got work to do. Don’t want to piss your uncle off again. You don’t have another eye to spare.”

  “Cállate, perra!” Ricky shouts. It’s so loud I startle backwards.

  “Fuck you!” I yell back. “Fuck both of you!”

  Ricky takes my arm and drags me away, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll handle this whore. Meet me at the house.” Except he says all that in Spanish.

  I don’t look to see if Logan follows us or not, but he must take off and leave me to Ricky, because a few seconds later Ricky leans into my ear and says, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” in English.

  “Fuck that asshole. I’m not gonna let him get me killed, OK?”

  “You’re doing a very good job of that yourself. Just shut your fucking mouth for once and let things go!” He whisper-shouts that last part.

  “He called me a slut,” I seethe.

  “And you called him the son of a thousand whores. Nice way to escalate a battle you can’t win.”

  “What the fuck is going on?” I ask. “Where the fuck is Tyler?”

  “I thought that was him I saw. Son of a bitch. I can only hope he’s still back in Mexicali, where he was not supposed to be in the first place. Fuckin’ asshole. The two of you are an undercover agent’s nightmare, you know that? This whole thing is FUBAR. I’m getting you out of here tonight, you understand?” And then he takes my hand and slips something into it.

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  “It’ll knock Carlos out cold. Slip it into his drink at dinner and be ready for evacuation at three AM, got it?”

  “Oh, OK. Fuckin’ James Bond,” I say.

  “Don’t screw with me, Maddie. Just do it.”

  “Fuck that!” I say. And now I’m the one whisper-yelling. “I didn’t just spend most of a day pressed up against his disgusting body listening to him daydream about all the babies I’m gonna give him for nothing! I’m not leaving until he’s dead.”

  Ricky’s lips tighten, but he doesn’t say anything else. Just keeps me moving along. We finally make our way to Carlos’ apartments and stop in front of a large double door guarded by two gigantic men with assault rifles at the ready.

  Ricky says, “She’s to stay inside and not leave, understand?” in Spanish.

  They nod their affirmation, and Ricky opens the door, shoving me inside so hard, I fall to my knees on the floor. “Keep your fuckin’ mouth shut and do as you’re told.” Again, in Spanish.

  I’m about to tell him where he can stick his orders, but he slams the doors closed and I hear the unmistakable sound of a key turning in a lock.

  “Asshole!”

  I shower and pick a dress out of the fully stocked closet. One with a pocket, where I stash the pill Ricky gave me. Whose clothes are these, anyway? I force myself not to think about it. Instead I pace the room for what seems like hours. It’s already ten o’clock and there’s no way I’m leaving at three AM with Ricky if the job isn’t done. It’s goddamned Christmas Eve and Santa’s bringing baby a pres
ent. Carlos Castillo in handcuffs and Logan whatever-his-last-name-is dead.

  Which means, Devil says, you just gotta get the job done before then, right?

  Don’t be stupid, Maddie. I smirk at Angel’s change in nomenclature. But yeah. Fuckin’ right I’m not Scarlett anymore. Put the drug in his drink and get out of here. Your Christmas present is living to see another day.

  I’m just about to answer her back when the locks on the door disengage and it swings open.

  Carlos walks in, slams the doors behind him, and lets out a long breath of air as he stares at me.

  Oh, shit. Logan told him and he’s pissed.

  But then he smiles. “Madison,” he says, coming towards me, arms outstretched. “You look lovely tonight.”

  I force a smile back and say, “Thank you,” relieved that my threats to Logan actually worked. “But I’ve been waiting forever, Carlos. And I’m starving. Are we having dinner yet? I’m so hungry.”

  That’s not even a lie. I am starving. But I just want to be taken to the dining room so I can slip the drug in his drink and then go scout out the property. I need to find something to bring this whole operation down before whatever Ricky has planned comes into play.

  “I have more work to do. It’s a big night. We have lots of business happening.”

  “But it’s Christmas Eve,” I whine. It’s a stupid girly whine that makes me feel stupid, but I don’t care. I need to get this shit on the road. “We’re just starting our new life together”—funny how it’s getting easier to lie about this fake future we’re not planning together—“and we need to celebrate it properly.”