by AJ Adams
I worked on the ATV, mindlessly stripping down the engine as I put events in perspective.
If the Zetas had their territory, they’d be busy for weeks securing it. Then the casinos would come, and they’d be busy with that. Rip had been their secret weapon, but he was useless to them for everyday work. Worse than useless—he’d set the cat among the pigeons in one snarky aside.
Don Valentine would be busy securing his Dawson Heights stronghold. He would have to settle his own men, repair his relationship with the Sinaloa, and God knows what else. It would take him months to fix all that. And with the cartel’s literal interpretation of ‘dead man’s shoes’, the boss would be lucky if someone didn’t take him out. Don Valentine would be too occupied to bother with me.
It only left the Bratva. Amazing, right? Only the Bratva? But frankly, having been living in terror from one thing or the other over months, my perspective had changed. I wasn’t focussing on the crazy Russian bastards coming to kill us anymore. All I was seeing was two problems down, one left over.
Looking out of the workshop and spotting the halcones, I actually felt pretty good. As long as Rip made it home, we were safe where we were, in the warm protection of the Zetas. While we might not be able to go about freely, the prospect of staying forever in the pretty home by the river seemed paradise.
Come home when you’re done. Love, Morgan. The undelivered text to Rip’s phone told me it was still switched off.
The apprentices were scheduled to come for the day. I’d promised them the opportunity to strip down an engine, and as Solitaire had promised to send down five Italikas, I’d soon be busy.
I was feeling optimistic, which was of course asking for trouble. Flipping into Facebook, my heart stopped.
Anyone with news of Emma or Lucy, please contact me, Roberto’s post said.
Emma, Lucy, for God’s sake call! Tim and Jake posted.
All fear of the Gulf hackers watching died. With shaking hands, I called Roberto. “I just saw your post. What the hell’s going on?”
“Chica! You’re alive! Ohmigod! We were so worried! What happened to you?”
“Long story. I just saw about Emma and Lucy. Tell me everything.”
Roberto’s voice was shaking. “It’s insane. We were in Barnyard last night, dancing. The girls went to the restroom and just vanished.”
I remembered Neto pouncing on me. It had taken him just a second to drag me through the back door and into the alley behind. Now someone had taken Emma and Lucy in the same way.
“The cops won’t help. They say the girls are off partying somewhere.”
“Ohmigod!” I was frantic with worry. “I can’t think. Who’d take them? I should be there!”
“Chica,” Roberto dropped his voice, “Don’t come back. When you disappeared, the cops gave us the run-around, and Mitch warned us off. We went to Poncho, thinking he’d help, he was at school with us, for fuck’s sake! But he said the word came down from Don Valentine himself to shut up.”
“You did all that?” It made me feel warm all over.
“Of course! You’re a pain in the ass, but we love you,” Roberto exclaimed. “Listen, you should know, when Mitch boasted about killing you, Poncho and Ben gave him a good beating for it.”
I was teary just hearing it. “Really? Roberto, did you ask if they’d help? Poncho always liked Emma and Lucy.”
“They’ve vanished. All hell’s breaking loose in Templado and Don Valentine is in the middle of a war.” Roberto was listening to someone. “Look, we’re going to check with Emma’s cousin in San Antonio, just in case. Don’t come! You can’t help, and we don’t want you killed for real.”
“Update me, okay?”
As I hung up, there was a ping. A video was scrolling up on Facebook. Like a devil popping up from hell, Mitch’s voice rang around the room. “Hello, chica. Thought you’d check in.” The snarl went straight to my guts, freezing me in fear. He was holding a knife in his hands. A long, sharp shining stiletto. “Yesterday I was being fast-tracked for promotion. I was going to get my own territory. And now that’s not happening.”
Like I thought, Mitch was being blamed for losing Templado.
He was white with rage. “You know, ever since I met you, everything’s gone to hell.”
I couldn’t move. Just looking at that face, twisted with hate, gave me the shakes.
“But now I have something to cheer me up,” Mitch hissed.
“Ohmigod, no!” It was Emma, tied to a chair and shrieking in fear.
“Oh God, oh God!” Lucy was next to her, tears running down her face.
“You lucked out, but I can amuse myself with your friends,” Mitch chortled. “I’m going to cut them to ribbons. I’ll post pictures later, okay? So you can enjoy the show.”
As the video clip stopped abruptly, I knew what had to be done. There was no doubt in my mind where they were. I recognised the furniture in the shot, and through the open door in the background, Mitch’s tiger sheets were still gracing his bed. I had to rescue them.
I clicked on the post and typed in my comment. You win. I need some time to return.
The comment underneath was flashing instantly. At noon I start cutting.
On my way.
Looking around, I knew the halcones wouldn’t let me go. They’d want to alert Zeta central, there’d be discussions, and in the end they’d not want to help two civilians deep in enemy territory. I couldn’t text Rip, either. Not with the Bratva around.
If Emma and Lucy were to live, I’d have to take action, and fast. It was almost nine. The apprentices would arrive soon with the Italika bikes. I went into the workshop and went to work.
Just before ten, I was done. I put my phone into the custom-built SuperLow’s saddlebag. I didn’t have boots, but running up to the bedroom, I raided Rip’s wardrobe. He had a leather jacket among his props that would do me.
Waiting for the apprentices almost killed me. When they turned up ten minutes late, roaring in on their borrowed Italikas, I was chomping at the bit. Smiling and pretending all was well while the halcones did their frisking almost had me screaming.
But finally it was done, and the apprentices were raring to go. “Okay, gang. For starters, let’s rip up and down the field at the end of the lane,” I called out. “We get these bikes nice and muddy, okay? Because in the shop, nobody hands over a new shiny bike.”
I wheeled out the SuperLow. “Let me show you how it’s done.”
We took off in a gang, whooping and roaring. As the kids did wheelies in the field, ripping up mud and muck, I quietly peeled off. I broke the land speed record, and by the time the halcones realised I’d pulled a fast one, I was showing my nice new passport at the border and racing up the road to Dawson Heights.
The SuperLow was a beautiful machine. We ate up the miles, blasting north. An hour and a half later, just short of noon, I was cruising into Dawson Heights. It had only been a few months, but I felt as if I were moving back in time. Everything was as I’d left it: from the high school football field to Notre Dame’s church.
Mitch’s house stood at the end of the cul-de-sac, with a brand new Porsche sitting in the drive. I pulled up past it, parking the SuperLow against the wall. Looking inside, I saw Emma and Lucy still tied to their chairs. They were frightened but unharmed. I breathed again.
Mitch was sitting on the sofa, stiletto in his hand. There was a look in his eyes that I recognised; Rip had it when his monster was in charge. “Just in time,” my ex laughed. “Want to party?”
“Sure.”
I went inside.
Chapter Twenty-Nine: Rip
Templado was in chaos and the Gulf in full retreat. Cortez had brought in enough troops to beat the Los Osos gang; they had annihilated them, but he’d taken such a bad hit that he had to pull out.
Arturo would be ecstatic, and I could go home to my girl. I was humming as I entered the underground car park where I’d stashed my ride.
I spotted Kyle standing by
the Cayenne from a mile away. Heard him, too. “For fuck’s sake, you useless bastard!” he screamed into his phone. “Check the border!” The Zeta security chief was pissed off. The moment he saw me, he was calling to me. “Rip, thank God!”
The straight line of his mouth and narrowed eyes silenced the crack I was about to make. The enforcer had bad news, and my gut told me it concerned my girl. “Morgan? Someone got to her?” I felt sick just asking.
“She pulled a fast one and slipped away,” Kyle snarled.
“Slipped away? What do you mean?”
Kyle was punching buttons on his phone. “Oh fuck.” Bleakly, he showed me the screen. “This was on her Facebook feed.”
Mitch Cortez, brandishing a knife, poison in every word.
“Ohmigod, he has her friends.” I knew what my girl would do. “Oh Jesus! She’ll go straight to him.”
“She crossed the border,” Kyle was checking his phone again. “We’ve tracked her on the highway, going north.”
Where would Cortez be? At Gulf central? In an abandoned warehouse? Barnyard, perhaps?... It was no good. I couldn’t channel him. All I could think of was my Morgan at his mercy. “Oh Christ, where would he go?”
“Rip, calm down.” The massive hand was on my wrist. “Take a breath.”
I was so scared that I wanted to punch him. “He’ll kill her.”
“No, he fucking well won’t.” The silver eyes were hard. “Our intel says he fell back to Dawson Heights.”
The rat had gone back to his sewer. “I know where he lives.”
“Wait.” The hand was tight on my arm. “You can’t just walk in, Rip. Dawson Heights is crawling with Don Valentine’s men.”
“So?” I’d kill anyone who crossed me.
“Joder, think! It won’t help Morgan to get yourself killed. We need to assemble a team.”
“It will take too long.” Cortez had almost beaten her to death. This time he’d make sure. And a bullet would take just a second. “I have to go now.”
“We’re assembling now,” Kyle was tapping away on his phone. “Shit!”
“What?”
“Alyosha Nikolayev’s private plane just entered our airspace.”
Great. The Bratva were here. “The more the merrier!” I opened the Cayenne door, determined to go to my girl.
He was still tapping away at his phone, texts flying. “Don’t be a damn fool. You can’t go. It’s not safe.”
“Watch me.” As he reached to stop me, I was punching him, my fear powering my fist. I hit him right on the button, and he was out on his feet as he folded. I picked the Magnum out of his belt. “Sorry, Kyle.”
As I took off, I knew he’d be spitting mad when he came to again. Possibly angry enough to step aside as the Bratva homed in on me. I didn’t care. All that mattered was Morgan.
Breaking the sound barrier on my way to Dawson Heights, I was praying I’d be in time. “Please, God, let me save her. Take me, not her.”
I got there in no time flat and made my way straight to Cedar Boulevard. I saw the SuperLow parked in the driveway. She’d been working on it the day I’d left. The sight of it sent a shaft of pain lancing through me. I was shaking as I walked up to the house, the giant Magnum in my hand.
“I’m here.” Morgan’s voice drifted out of the open front door. “Emma, Lucy, are you okay?”
She’d only just walked in. He hadn’t hurt her. I breathed again.
Nobody was even watching the front door. I could see her, muddied up to her eyes but unhurt. “Let the girls, go, Mitch.”
Cortez was standing behind a dark-haired girl, Emma, holding a knife to her neck and pointing a gun at my girl. “Drop your gun to the floor, chica.”
“I don’t have one.” She was stripping off thick leather gloves and dropping her leather jacket on a chair. She was perfectly calm. “You can stop worrying, Mitch.”
Her scorn for him rang in every word. She was steel through and through, brave as a lion. It terrified me. Cortez was going to kill her. I didn’t have a clear bead on him; my girl was standing between us. Quietly, I went closer, hoping to get a clear shot.
I might have strolled up with a marching band in tow because Cortez only had eyes for her. “You nasty little bitch,” he snarled. “You’re going out slow.”
Morgan shrugged. “Like I haven’t heard that before.”
“Please,” Emma was white and shaking. “Don’t make this worse.”
The other one, Lucy, was weeping steadily. “Why is he doing this?”
“It’s going to be okay,” Morgan assured them. “You’ll be walking out of here soon.”
“You think?” Cortez was shaking with rage. “But I have other plans.”
“Do you?” Morgan sounded bored. “But they so seldom work out.”
“Pinche puta!” The gun in his hand was shaking as he raged. “It’s all your fault.”
“You lost Templado, I heard,” Morgan taunted him. “How careless of you.”
“I will shoot you where you stand.”
“Come and get me,” Morgan snapped back, adding, “Coward.”
He was going to shoot her, and she was still blocking my line of sight. I went in and stood between the gun and my girl, “Actually, you lost Templado because of me.”
“You took out Meme Pastor and John Burton?” Cortez asked.
“I did, indeed.”
“And Drew Martinez, Bill Smith, and Christian Navarro?”
“You’ve been following my work. How flattering!”
“Oh crap,” Morgan sighed. “Rip, you’re not supposed to be here.”
“Actually, he’s the one I’ve been waiting for,” Cortez chortled. Then he called over his shoulder, “He’s here.”
“Excellent. Just like you planned.” He came out of the bedroom, a gun in his hand. I recognised the greasy little bastard instantly. Neto, the chemist with a lust for rape. This wasn’t going well. “Mitch, you’re a genius.”
Cortez was grinning. “Told you! All it took was the right bait.”
It was a trap within a trap.
“Put down the gun,” Cortez snapped.
With both of them covering Morgan, I had no choice. Kyle’s Magnum dropped to the floor.
“You killed Meme,” Nemo snarled. “I liked him.”
I saw the punch coming and blocked it easily. He wasn’t so handy. My fist landed square on his nose.
“Hey, English!” Cortez was standing next to Morgan, his gun at her head. Seeing me freeze, he grinned. “You move, and the girl gets it.”
“What a very unoriginal line!”
Offered no resistance, his friend the chemist went to town. The gun came smashing down the side of my face. There was a moment’s numbness, then fire. A second later, the gun was raking down the other cheek. I stood there and took it.
“You fucking coward!” Morgan yelled.
Through a haze of blood I saw she was crying. “Don’t worry, love. He hits like a girl.”
He bashed me on the nose. “Fucking English capullo!”
“You swear like a girl too. Trying to impress your boyfriend?”
Neto didn’t like that. “You son of a bitch!” Then he hit me again. Standing about and letting him was very dull. He was punching me in the gut when a car drew up.
“What the fuck?” Don Valentine, the bling pig himself. “It worked?”
With the Gulf boss and his three bodyguards, the room was becoming crowded. Cortez took his eye off Morgan for a moment and instead of running for it, she made straight for me.
“Oh God, Rip!”
I leaned against the soft curves, taking in the gold hair and soft eyes. Despite my taunts, I was hurting. My ribs were aching, and my face was dripping in gore. “The course of true love never did run smooth.”
“Jesus, Shakespeare at a time like this?” She was smiling through her tears. “You idiot. What the hell did you come here for? I had it under control.” She glanced towards the tied-up girls, both of them weeping. “Wa
it,” she murmured.
A surge of hope went through me. My girl had a plan.
“What are you whispering about?” Neto hissed.
Morgan didn’t bother to answer. She was holding me up, her entire attention on her ex and the Gulf boss.
“It worked out just like I said,” Mitch said to Don Valentine. “They totally fell for it.” He turned to me, sneering, “You thought you were so clever, setting us Gulf against the Sinaloa, right? You didn’t fool me. I knew there was something wasn’t right.”
“Too many bodies,” Don Valentine nodded, “and too many clever kills.”
“I’m told my kills are as unique as a fingerprint,” I informed them.
“I went through all the traffic cams in Modesto after you killed Drew Martinez,” Mitch snarled. “I spotted you going into the alley behind his warehouse.”
“Dressed like a ho,” Neto sneered.
“Jealous, darling?”
Morgan giggled. “Rip, you’re spoiling Mitch’s story. Let him have his moment.”
Cortez was spitting with anger. So much so that he didn’t even notice Morgan quietly inching the two of us backwards towards the girls.
“You were saying,” she prompted.
Like a stage villain, Cortez couldn’t help but gloat. “It took me weeks but I traced you all the way back across the border. Imagine my surprise at seeing my ex alive and well.”
“I saw the glint of field glasses,” Morgan said calmly. “You weren’t exactly covert.”
Cortez was stung by her criticism. “I took your friends, knowing it would bring him,” he snapped.
Mitch had trapped me, just as I’d trapped so many. It was all my fault. I’d killed Morgan.
“I got an interesting call from Alyosha Nikolayev,” Don Valentine told me. “The Bratva are landing in an hour.”
Mitch grinned. “But they don’t want Morgan. So before we parcel you up and hand you over to our Russian friends, you can watch us take care of her.”
“Slowly,” Neto growled.
“With you out of the picture, we’ll patch up our relationship with the Sinaloa,” Don Valentine growled. “And with their help, we’ll take back Templado.”
“Right,” Mitch sneered. “It will be business as usual.”
