Unruly

by Bethany-Kris

  “You don’t—”

  Evira didn’t get to finish her sentence. Catherine nodded at Miguel.

  In a flash, he was behind the woman. Turning her back to either of them had been Evira’s biggest mistake next to entering that hotel room. Had she turned her back to Catherine and gave her the chance, she would have shoved a knife deep into the back of her neck, straight through her spine. A bit of a cleanup, sure, but she didn’t mind.

  Instead, Evira turned her back to Miguel.

  He grabbed her head with one hand, wrapped his beefy arm around her shoulders with the other, and snapped her neck with one hard twist.

  Evira’s dead body hit the floor with a thud.

  Wide, unseeing eyes stared upward at Catherine.

  “Was she saying what I think she was saying?” Miguel asked.

  Catherine sucked air in through her teeth, making a hissing sound. “Apparently.”

  “You want to—”

  “Nope.”

  Miguel nodded. “All right.”

  Catherine would deal with her feelings and what she had learned from Evira when she finally got her mother face to face. And not one fucking second before.

  There were still things left to do, after all.

  “That’s that,” Miguel said.

  Catherine scowled. “We’re not done yet.”

  She looked over at the blinking red dot hidden in the corner by a vase placed just so. A small camera about the size of her pinky finger.

  “Extract the video and send it to my burner phone,” Catherine said. “Destroy the camera once you’re done with it.”

  “Anything else, reginella?”

  “You handle the body.”

  “Okay.”

  Catherine smiled, although, less cold this time. “I’ll handle the girls.”

  Catherine rested comfortably on the white leather sectional inside the Four Seasons penthouse suite. One by one, girls trickled in. She had given any girl that was living in California currently—most did—a set time to meet at the hotel.

  Finally, the majority had arrived.

  Catherine counted heads.

  Twenty girls.

  Seven were currently indisposed. Some because they lived too far away—two in Miami, one in New York. And another two ladies were currently handling client drops that had come up.

  Catherine didn’t mind.

  The twenty ladies in front of her would do the job for now. Hell, she would deal with the other seven the next time she saw them. It wasn’t a big deal.

  As for the girls’ handlers?

  Miguel was passing the same message along that Catherine was about to.

  “Sit or stand,” Catherine said with a wave of her hand. “I don’t care either way, ladies, but make it quick. I have a plane to catch in a couple of hours, and I would like to get home sooner rather than later. Make this easy on me, please.”

  Murmurs passed between the beautiful women.

  None of them had seen Catrina in months.

  Catherine couldn’t help but notice in those moments how none of the girls seemed very surprised or concerned that it was only her, and not Catrina. Sure, she had those meetings with them a couple of months earlier, but she figured their patience with her would eventually wane.

  Apparently not.

  None of them asked about Catrina.

  None of them started speaking before Catherine.

  She figured it was time to get to business, then.

  “As you all know—or a good portion of you ladies—we have had an issue arise over the last year, or thereabouts. It became apparent to me over the last few months.”

  Some of the girls nodded.

  Others stayed quiet.

  Catherine expected both those reactions.

  “Someone—a girl who used to do business with us—had decided she wanted to step out on her own,” Catherine said with a little shrug. “Now, when a girl is done doing business with us, she is done. We’re not forcing any of you ladies to be here for longer than you want to be. Right?”

  Confirmative responses answered Catherine back.

  She smiled.

  “And we treat you all well, don’t we?”

  Again, more confirmations.

  Catherine waved jeweled fingers in the air with a sigh. “Right, we do. Or we try. We supply you with what you need, find your clients, and make sure you’re well compensated. And what do we ask in return for that, ladies?”

  No one spoke up.

  Catherine let thirty seconds pass, and then a minute.

  “I asked a question. I intend to get a proper answer, girls. What do we ask in return for what we provide to you all?”

  “Respect,” one girl said quietly.

  “Trust,” one closer to the window said.

  “Loyalty.”

  Catherine’s gaze met the girl sitting directly across from her.

  Sonya, her name was.

  A pretty Russian girl who not only knew how to peddle her drugs, but also how to disarm, charm, and steal her way through life.

  Yet, she never stole from Catrina or Catherine.

  She knew.

  “Loyalty is exactly right,” Catherine said, flashing a warmer smile. “And I don’t think that’s much to expect, considering.”

  “Of course not.”

  “Not at all.”

  Catherine waited the echoing voices out.

  Across the room, her personal cell phone buzzed on the desk. She assumed it was just Miguel calling to let her know that his job with the handful of men who dealt product, and the girls’ handlers was finished. She ignored it for the moment.

  Lifting her hand from her lap, Catherine waved a black remote. Without a word, she pointed it at the flat screen television across the room, and pressed the power button. Once the blue screen was lit up, she picked up the burner cell phone resting beside her leg.

  Catherine had already set up the Bluetooth on the device to stream the one saved video on the phone. She had made sure that everything was in working order before the girls showed up to the meeting.

  She didn’t have time for fuckups today.

  Soon, a familiar video was playing on the television.

  Catherine, Miguel, and Evira from that morning.

  Every single girl in the room was glued to the television. The crack of Evira’s neck being broken by Miguel echoed throughout the suddenly quiet space.

  Deathly silent, Catherine thought.

  Not one person moved.

  Not one person said a thing.

  She hit replay, and let the video go through one more fucking time. She wanted her point to be absolutely clear, and not one question to be posed once she was done. Nothing more, nothing less.

  At the end of the video, Catherine lifted the remote, and shut the television off. She said nothing as she flipped the phone over in her lap, pulled off the back, and yanked out the SD card. Tossing it into the glass bowl on the coffee table in front of her, Catherine lit a match from the pack next to the unused ashtray, and tossed it in.

  Then, she lit another and another.

  As many as it took until a tiny black plume of smoke lifted out of the glass bowl. Once she was satisfied the SD card was effectively ruined, she leaned back on the couch, rested against the arm, and let her gaze wander over the girls.

  “So, I took care of the issue,” Catherine said, grinning slyly. “Do know, girls, this is the one and only way this sort of issue will be handled in the future. There are no second chances in this business. There is not—and has never been—any forgiveness for those who betray us. Have I made myself clear?”

  A beat of silence passed.

  Then another.

  Catherine expected that.

  She was going for shock, after all.

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, reginella.”

  “Yes.”

  One by one, each girl spoke.

  Once they were finally done, Catherine waved at the door and said, “Have a good da
y, girls. I’ll be back in a month for another meeting. You know how to contact me should you need me otherwise.”

  Quick as a blink, the girls moved to leave.

  Catherine had one last thing to say.

  Of course …

  “And remember, we’re a family, ladies. We don’t talk about the family.”

  Soon, the hotel room was empty, and Catherine was alone. She let out a heavy breath, and sunk further into the couch. Knowing she had a few minutes to spare, she kicked off her heels and reached for the water she had set aside earlier.

  She was ready to go home.

  She wanted to call her husband.

  Cece was probably missing her like crazy.

  She really wanted to sit back, rest, and enjoy the rest of her pregnancy with as much peace as she could manage. It was as though all of the things she had needed to take care of finally caught up to her. The exhaustion was strong.

  Your job is finally done, she told herself. You’ll have all those things soon.

  Sometimes, it was good to remind herself when everything else felt like it was holding her back from the wonderful things in her life. The things that made her most happy. The things that she liked to keep close because it kept all the sad, difficult thoughts and feelings at bay.

  Yeah, she really needed to get home.

  Catherine didn’t get up to go get her phone to call Cross, despite how much she wanted to. She knew he was on his run—he only used a burner, and it was for absolute emergencies only. Once he was across the border, had made the drop, and safely on his way home, he would pick up a second phone and give her a call to let her know.

  For him, she would have to be patient.

  For Cece, she would see her first thing in the morning after she got in a decent sleep.

  Catherine wasn’t sure how long she stayed like that on the couch. Eventually, Miguel made his way into the room.

  “The men are handled,” he said, passing her by.

  Catherine waved a hand high. “Good, good.”

  “How did the girls go?”

  “Fine.”

  Miguel dropped down beside her on the couch with a heavy thump. “Did you think it would be anything different?”

  Catherine shook her hear. “Nope, Ma has trained them well.”

  “And you, Catherine.”

  She looked at her friend.

  He simply smiled at her.

  “You think?” she asked.

  Miguel shrugged. “They see you, but they see just enough of her, too.”

  Catherine let out a small sigh. “Good.”

  “You look tired, reginella.”

  It was only then that Catherine realized she had not told Miguel her little secret.

  “I’m pregnant,” she said.

  Miguel’s brow shot up high. “Congrats.”

  “I was just thinking it’ll be nice to finally enjoy it.”

  “Are you already packed up?”

  “Yep.”

  “Not even surprised.”

  She pointed at her friend. “I fully expect you to take the whole month to relax with your wife. Take her somewhere, Miguel. The kids, too. Do something.”

  “Already got plans, reginella.”

  Catherine grinned. “Of course. Oh, was that you who called me earlier?”

  “When?”

  “When I was in here with the girls.”

  Miguel cocked a brow. “No.”

  It couldn’t have been Cross. That would have been too early for him. His run wouldn’t nearly be close to being over.

  “Probably my mother or father for Cece,” Catherine said. “I’ll grab a shower, and then call them back. I need to relax after a day like this. You good here?”

  Miguel leaned back, and covered his eyes with a beefy arm. “Perfect, Catherine.”

  “Don’t fall asleep and get drowsy. You still need to drive me to the airstrip.”

  “I’m on vacation for a month, remember? No bossing me around.”

  Catherine poked him in the forehead as she passed. “Still your boss, vacation or not.”

  “Your phone has been ringing for the last fifteen minutes nonstop,” Miguel mumbled into his arm.

  Catherine dragged a towel through her damp hair as she crossed the room. “And you didn’t think to answer it?”

  “Not my phone, reginella.”

  She got his point without him directly saying it. He never answered her personal phone because he had his own. Should something be wrong with Cece at her parents’ home, or even if Cross could not get ahold of her, those people had Miguel’s number. They knew to call him when she wasn’t answering.

  She hadn’t bothered to put her heels back on after her shower. She’d simply changed into a more comfortable jeans and blouse outfit. It made crossing the room to pick up her ringing phone faster, anyway.

  “Hello?” Catherine said into the receiver, balancing the phone between her shoulder and ear. She kept running the towel through her hair, trying to get it to dry faster. The noise in her ear made it difficult to hear whoever was talking on the other end. “Just a sec, I can’t hear.”

  Putting the phone on speaker, Catherine said, “Okay, go ahead.”

  “Do you have access to a television?”

  Catherine’s brow furrowed at Zeke’s voice. “Yeah, why?”

  “Can you turn it on?”

  Over her shoulder, Catherine waved at Miguel to do what Zeke wanted them to. She heard the television click on, and then voices from a romantic comedy fill the room. “TV is on, Zeke.”

  “Get to a major news channel.”

  “Like CNN or some shit?” Miguel asked.

  “CNN works considering they’ve been running the fucking story on loop ever since they got word of it.”

  Catherine nodded, as she supposed that would work. Turning on her heel, she waited to see whatever had Zeke in such an uproar. Like he said, the loop of highlights for the latest news run was going through.

  Three soldiers killed in a sneak attack in Siberia.

  The President taking his daughter to visit colleges.

  A shipment of smuggled guns stopped at the border between Maine and—

  “Oh, my God,” Catherine whispered.

  “Yeah,” Zeke muttered heavily.

  Miguel’s gaze drifted to Catherine, and then back to the television. No one said a thing for a long while—too long, she thought.

  Someone needed to say something.

  “Where is he?” Catherine asked.

  “Not caught,” Zeke said, “but that’s all I know right now.”

  “How can that be all you fucking know?”

  “I—”

  “Where is my fucking husband?”

  “Somewhere … there,” Zeke said, his own frustrations leaking through. “You know how Cross is with his runs and shit, Catherine. He lets very few people in on the details. He’s probably thought up ten different escape routes planned for each goddamn road. It’s like thirty damn miles of trees and fields beyond that border. Trees and fields.”

  And cabins, Catherine thought.

  Creeks, cabins, and a river.

  She knew what Cross had been looking at.

  “The brownstone,” she said, wishing her voice didn’t sound so faint, “there, Zeke.”

  “What?”

  “His maps and routes for this run. They’re packed away in the desk at the brownstone. He had Google Maps up, too, so he could look at photos of the area from an aerial view.”

  “Okay, but again, he has a million backup plans, Catherine. And besides the ones he sketches out, he keeps ones in mind that he doesn’t even put down on paper. Do you know what there is to see in Canada?”

  “No.”

  “Fucking trees and fields!”

  Catherine bristled. “Don’t shout at me.”

  “Listen, I’m sorry, but—”

  “It’s cold as hell. It’s March. By the looks of the video, it’s raining down there and they still have some snow on
the ground. He’s going to freeze to death in those woods, Zeke.”

  “Cross is smart. I’m sure he’ll be okay until I figure something out.”

  “Find him.”

  “I am trying, Catherine.”

  “Find my husband!”

  Cross could not remember a time in his life when he had been wetter or colder than he was in that moment. Soaked to the fucking bone with cold March rain. His fingertips and feet were numb, and when they did give sensation, it was only pain.

  He didn’t know how many miles he had walked, ran, and jogged by now. Thirty? Forty? Far more, likely. He had a good idea of where he was, and he knew where he had gotten out of his truck. That gave him a basic idea of how many miles it would have been on the road.

  But in the woods?

  On foot?

  Trying not to get fucking lost?

  Circling the same tree three times twice?

  He had no clue.

  Still, he kept moving.

  That track of water he thought was a goddamn creek?

  Neck deep and fast moving.

  He supposed it probably helped him to lose the dogs, though.

  Unfortunately, jumping into it without looking had fucked him in another way. The phone he had taken from the truck?

  Worthless, now.

  Entirely ruined.

  Cross tried to turn it on and make a call only for the screen to splutter with life, and then blacken with death.

  Coldly appropriate, considering.

  He pushed on through that shitty circumstance, too. He didn’t have the first clue how he was going to get himself out of this mess. He only knew that for now he had to keep moving.

  One step in front of the other.

  Cross couldn’t stop.

  Still, he didn’t dare come out of the woods after the first night. He didn’t trust himself to shack up in the first cabin he came across on the second day he was in the woods because he thought for sure it would be his downfall.

  He’d fall asleep, maybe.

  Succumb to the cold, and get a fire going.

  Alert somebody.

  No, he didn’t stop.

  He just kept moving.

  Cross had come out to the main road several times after following quad trails. He was somewhere between New Denmark and Bluebell—small New Brunswick counties with a hell of a lot of trees and fields.