Impossible Choice

by Sybil Bartel

  Seventeen minutes.

  “You hear me?”

  My body began to tremble.

  “Don’t fucking make me count down,” he threatened.

  My breaths came, quick, short.

  “Breathe,” he warned.

  Breathe, breathe, take a breath.

  “Fight back, Layna. You know how to do this.”

  Fight. Fight back. Fightbackfightbackfightback. I sucked in deep and air filled my lungs. I could do this. “How many minutes left?”

  Relief washed over his face. “That’s my girl.” He kissed my forehead. “Deep breath. Fifteen minutes.”

  Fifteen. Three sets of five. A shower took fifteen minutes. I could sprint for five minutes, three different times. I could stare at Buck for fifteen minutes. I could stare at him forever. My heart settled down in my chest. “Okay. Fifteen.”

  His voice softened. “Fourteen. You got this.”

  Maybe it was the concern in his voice, maybe it was the conviction behind his words, but it reminded me of my mother. I squeezed my eyes shut, not wanting to go there, but her beautiful face swam into view and her delicate voice spoke. I couldn’t hear what she was saying.

  He touched my temple with two large fingers. “What’s going on?”

  And the words, they came. Angry and ugly and cathartic, they spilled out of my mouth like poisoned debris. “I miss her. I miss everything about my mother and I’m angry at my father for getting them killed. I’m angry and I’m sad and I’m tired of being sad. I don’t want to be angry. I just want this to go away. He got them killed and me followed and I know it’s not his fault but I hate him for this. I hate my father for leaving me with this.”

  “He didn’t pull the trigger.”

  “But you know who did.”

  A silent war raged across his features. “His name doesn’t matter.”

  “Yes, it does.”

  “Give me one reason.”

  I knew what he was asking. He wanted justification for telling me. One reason, one good reason why he should burden me with the name of my parents’ killer. I didn’t have one. He was right, I didn’t need to know but I wanted to know. And that was as good of a reason as any. “I need closure.”

  Eyes intent, watching me, studying me, he didn’t move. Finally he nodded once. “James Maldonado.”

  The shock was there, so were all the feelings, rage, hatred, despair, but they were quickly replaced by surprise. He had the same last name as Shorty. “They’re related?”

  “James was his uncle.”

  Was. I knew Miami was dead, but this was the first time Buck had actually confirmed it. Then the pieces started to click together. “What happened to Miami’s business?” I wasn’t going to speak his name. He didn’t deserve to have me speak it, not now, not ever.

  “His nephew inherited it.”

  Something in the way Buck said those four words was off. He knew something or he was hiding something. “Shorty is a general contractor now?”

  “Is, was.”

  It was my turn to study him. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “Nothing. Maldonado’s trying to run a business and failing. He needs money and he came looking in the wrong place.”

  His words were too casual. “Why is he failing at it?”

  “He’s not a good businessman.”

  There was more to it than that. “What are you doing?”

  “Not a thing.”

  Then who was? “What’s Talon doing?”

  “Nothing.”

  The conversation I’d overheard him and Talon having suddenly made sense. “It’s Neil. What is he doing?”

  Silence then Buck sighed. “He’s making sure Maldonado gets undercut on all of his bids.”

  “That’s dangerous. It’ll come back to him.” And Buck and Talon. “He has to stop.”

  “It’s already done. Maldonado’s business won’t last through the month.”

  His voice said we were done discussing it, but my panic was rising. “And what happens when he goes after Ariel?”

  Buck’s jaw ticked. “We’ll be there.”

  Oh my God, was he insane? This was dangerous, worse than dangerous. He couldn’t stop Shorty. He couldn’t watch him and his asshole partners around the clock. They’d find a way to get at her, her and her son. “You can’t be everywhere at once.”

  When his face shut down, I knew I’d made him angry. “What do you want, Layna? There are no guarantees in life. I can’t control everything, but I’m not going to let a piece of shit criminal like Maldonado touch you or anyone you care about.” He pulled back the towel covering my body, distracting me from any retort I might’ve had. “I’m done talking about this.”

  I grasped at the towel. “I’m bleeding.”

  Strong fingers gripped the sides of my face. “And I hate the reason why but I don’t give a shit about the blood. I’m gonna hold you with nothing between us.”

  “I’ll bleed on you,” I protested, embarrassed.

  “Don’t care.”

  “The sheets.”

  “Buy new ones.” He lowered his body and snaked an arm under my head. Turning slightly to his side, he pulled me close and slid a leg between mine. One hand feathered across my incisions and his voice turned gruff. “You okay?”

  His body heat, his scent, surrounding me everywhere, the panic receded, and for now, I gave in to him and his comfort. “Yes,” I whispered.

  He stroked my hair and kissed my temple. “Go to sleep.”

  His body settled around me and his breathing evened out.

  But I didn’t go to sleep.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  There was a way out of this.

  I knew now what I had to do. I glanced at the clock and silently cursed. I was almost out of time. Slow, careful, I untangled myself from Buck. Making a sound low in his throat, he shifted and I froze. One heart-thumping minute later, I slid off the bed and dropped to the floor in a crouch. I stared at him, silently counting, waiting.

  When I hit one hundred, I crept to the closet and grabbed what I needed as quietly as I could. Clothes in hand, I risked opening the bedroom door inch by inch. The excuses were already on the tip of my tongue if he woke up. I was thirsty, I didn’t want to wake him, my stomach hurt, whatever. Please, God, don’t wake up.

  The bedroom door open a scant ten inches, I looked back at the larger-than-life man sleeping in my bed. A thread of doubt left a twinge in my stomach, and my heart caught in my throat. I shimmied through door.

  I found my purse on the kitchen counter and took my cell and wallet. Padding to the guest bath, I cleaned up with a washcloth, thankful the bleeding had all but stopped. Hastily dressing, I fluffed my hair and pinned a few strands away from my face. I found some cheap earrings and old makeup in one of the drawers from when the bathroom had been mine and made myself up. Two minutes later I studied the results. I looked desperate and scared. Perfect.

  At the keypad by the garage, I thought through my options. All the doors and windows beeped now when you opened them. I could turn the volume down on the keypad but the succession of beeps as I pushed the down arrow might wake Buck. My other option was to turn the system off completely. I couldn’t remember why they’d shown me that feature, maybe something about resetting it after a break-in or something, but I remembered how to do it. Problem was, I didn’t know if it would alert André or his company. All I knew? It’d taken three minutes for him to get here last time. I wasn’t going to risk taking the Tahoe so I needed all the head start I could get. Three minutes would be cutting it close.

  I was out of time.

  Fuck it. I disabled the alarm and went out the slider door in my old room.

  Adrenaline pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears, I
took a calculated risk.

  Instead of going to the main road that led out of my community, I headed across the lawn in the opposite direction. Four neighbors down, the old man who owned the house had a boat. When I was in high school, he kept the key under the seat. We all knew about it and he made sure to let anyone know who was looking for a joyride that he’d better not come out to an empty gas tank the next morning. I was hoping nothing had changed in three years.

  Clutching my side, running across the lawns, I made it to the boat in one minute. I didn’t glance back and I didn’t slow. I stepped on the boat, reached under the seat and refrained from whooping when my hand closed around the key. Jamming it in the ignition, I started the old Key West bow rider then rushed to undo the tie downs. Less than a minute later, I was on the intracoastal.

  I headed straight out to the channel and once I was out of the no-wake zone, I throttled the single engine. I knew I was visible if you looked out the back of my house, so I didn’t glance behind me until I passed the finger of land jutting out into the water. No longer in sight of my house, I let myself take a deep breath, then I steered toward one of the restaurants on the water that had a dock. The bar should still be open.

  I found an empty slip, moored the boat and made it inside without incident. I went straight to the bartender and asked him to call me a cab. My shaking hands wanted a shot of tequila so bad, I almost justified it but the leering bartender made the decision easy. I threaded through the drunks and waited for only a few minutes by the front door. The cab pulled up and I hopped in the back.

  When I asked him to take me to the Pandora Club, the driver turned in his seat and looked at me like he wanted to say something but instead he started the meter. Then stupidly, belatedly, I remembered the tracker on my cell phone.

  “Pull over,” I barked at the cabbie.

  “Here?”

  We were in the middle of a dark street with closed-down storefronts. The cabbie slowed but didn’t pull over.

  “Now!” I yelled.

  The cab pulled to the curb and I opened the door as I took the sim card from my phone. Dropping the phone to the ground, I brought my heel down and crushed it. “Pandora Club.” I pulled the door shut.

  Five minutes later I was standing outside the club. Palms sweating, my stomach sore as hell, I ignored the bouncer as he took too long to check my ID. I’d used my real ID with a discreetly folded bill under it.

  The bouncer handed my ID back, the bill missing. “Looking for work?”

  “No.”

  A low belly laugh shook his flabby torso. “Kinky.” He pulled the door open for me.

  Blaring music, pulsing lights and all dark corners, the place was straight out of a movie set. Except in the movies you weren’t hit with the smell of sweat and desperation. Three different stages, doors to back rooms and chairs I never would’ve touched in another lifetime filled out the space. Ariel wasn’t one of the three girls onstage. A quick glance at the patrons told me Shorty wasn’t here either.

  Careful not to make eye contact with any of the drunks checking me out, I made my way to the far end of the bar.

  A woman who had to be older than my mother would’ve been threw a coaster toward me. Her breasts were barely covered by two wisps of fabric straining against the evidence of the superior air-conditioning.

  “Two drink minimum.” She eyed me.

  “Double Patrón on the rocks.” I gingerly perched on a stool.

  “Four tequilas’ll knock you on your skinny ass.”

  No, it wouldn’t, not normally. “That’s why I only ordered a double.” I smiled.

  She poured my drink and set it in front of me. “Like I said, two drink minimum.” She walked off to help another customer.

  I sipped at the Patrón, almost sighing at the familiar burn. Spinning on my stool, I watched the dancers and tried to act like one single thing about me being here was normal.

  The bartender showed back up. “Why you here?” Her voice sounded like she’d been a smoker for years.

  I turned back around. “Excuse me?”

  “We ain’t hiring and you’re not here to watch the girls.” She leaned against the bar, one hand on her hip.

  I studied her, wondering how honest I could be. “I’m looking for someone.”

  “If they’re here, they don’t wanna be found.”

  No kidding. “It’s not like that.”

  “Then what’s it like?”

  “I need to warn someone.” And ask her a very important question.

  “Who?”

  We stared at each other.

  I caved. “Ariel Walsh.”

  For a split second I saw a glimpse of something, then she quickly covered it up. “Never heard of her.”

  Bullshit. “Trouble’s coming for her...and her son.”

  Hardened eyes that’d seen way more than I had in my life watched me a moment, then she nodded toward one of the stages. “She’s up next.”

  I turned on the stool as the music changed. Three beats in and Ariel and two other girls strutted out. Shiny black knee-high boots, matching black boy shorts and a top that looked more like strips of leather than a bra. I stared as Ariel grabbed a pole and spun around it. Two seconds later her top disappeared and I reached for the tequila. Tossing the drink back, letting the burn take over, I leaned back. For ten minutes, I watched her simulate sex with sick fascination.

  “Are you fucking crazy?” she hissed. “What the fuck are you doing here?” She didn’t even bother to cover up, she just strutted from the stage the second her act was up and made a beeline straight toward me.

  “Your bruises healed.” I tried not to look at her sisters in all their naked glory.

  She grabbed my arm with long, bloodred nails and yanked. “You’re getting the fuck out of here before you get us both killed.”

  The bartender raised her eyebrows and I smiled. “It’s okay, we’re old friends. She just hasn’t forgiven me for stealing her high school boyfriend.” The lie eased off my tongue with a practiced flair. At least that’s what I told myself.

  “Shut up!” she whisper-yelled, jerking me forward.

  Her nails dug into my skin. “Ow.” That hurt. I tried to shrug out of her grasp but I stumbled and Ariel cussed.

  “What the fuck, bitch? You drunk?” She looked at me like I was dogshit.

  “No.” Maybe. That was a lot of tequila. And I’d had a rough day. “Do you know what I had to do to get here?” She needed to be a little more appreciative if you asked me.

  “Fuck your man into a coma?”

  But she didn’t say it like she was kidding. She didn’t even smile. “Ah, no.” Wait. My forehead scrunched up. “Is that possible?”

  She sneered at me, shook her head then looked over her shoulder. Reaching for her G-string, she pulled out a wad of cash and thrust it at me. “Just get the fuck out of here.”

  I stared at the money. “You made all that tonight?” Damn. That had to be hundreds of dollars.

  “Please,” she implored, shoving the cash in my hand.

  I looked up and suddenly she didn’t look like the sexual vixen onstage. She looked scared. Really scared. “Did you kill him?” I asked.

  Her face shut down, her eyes went cold, her lips thinned out and hatred took over every feature. “He was going to kill me.”

  No denial, no remorse, just survival. Kill or be killed. I got zero satisfaction that my hunch had been right. I didn’t judge, I didn’t admire her but I owed her and I had nothing to give except words. I grasped her hand. “Thank you.”

  Ariel looked over my shoulder and her eyes went wide with panic.

  “Stupid bitches, you make this too easy.” Shorty jammed a gun into my side.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  I was stupid
. Colossally stupid. I’d been so worried about getting past Buck and André’s men that I hadn’t been worried enough about Shorty.

  “Make a sound and you’re dead.” Shorty shoved the barrel harder into my ribs.

  “Whatdaya gonna do? Kill her in front of a bunch of witnesses? You always were dumb as shit, Manny.” Ariel snorted like she wasn’t practically naked and like a gun wasn’t eight inches from my heart.

  “Shut up, whore.” Shorty nodded at two men next to him and they inched behind Ariel. “I know where you live.”

  That was all the threat Ariel needed. Panic edged back into her eyes and she shrank three inches.

  “Both of you, move.” Shorty shoved me toward the back of the club, and the two men flanking Ariel took her arms.

  I desperately glanced back at the bartender, but she was studiously wiping down the bar. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. “Blaze will be here any minute,” I lied.

  “Good. Then he can choose. Get his bitch back or buy his freedom. Double the price and he can have both.” Shorty reached around me and pushed the release bar on the back exit.

  For some reason I wasn’t in complete panic mode until I saw the SUV waiting with its doors open.

  Ariel snorted. “You think I wanna be arrested? I’m not walking outside with no clothes on.” Despite the bravado in her voice, I heard the tremor of fear.

  “Yeah, where’re your manners?” I purposely slurred my words and swayed. The tequila was still in my system but the gun to my ribs had been more sobering than a kick in the face.

  Shorty halted and leered at me. “Why don’t you give her your dress?”

  “Get me my clothes, Manny!” Ariel stomped her high heel.

  The slap was fast and loud and Ariel’s head snapped back from the force. “Shut up, bitch,” Shorty snarled.

  Looking furious as hell, Ariel didn’t even reach for her red cheek. Spitting on the floor, she leveled a glare at Shorty and bit out her words. “Get me my clothes. Now.”

  Glaring back, just as furious, Shorty barked an order at one of the men, “Grab something from the dressing room.”