by Lisa Cardiff
I popped open the metal band around my wrist. I hadn’t fully closed it earlier. I wiggled my fingers. My hand and arm still throbbed, but I could bend all of my fingers. Rolling onto my stomach, I army crawled through the pool of blood. It seeped through the front of my shirt and coated my knees, but I kept inching forward.
I needed to search his body for a weapon or a phone. I ignored the acid swirling in my stomach. I didn’t want to touch his dead body, and I sure as hell didn’t enjoy crawling through his blood, but I’d run out of alternatives. Raul intended to help me. Now that he was dead, I had to help myself. I needed to be strong. I needed to be smart. I had to take risks because cowering like a mindless drone wouldn’t get me out of here.
My chains wrenched me backward like a bungee cord, and I couldn’t move another inch. I stretched out my injured hand, trying to reach Raul. My fingers brushed across the hem of his pants. Tuning out the pain pulsing in my fingers, I curled my hands around his pants and yanked his leg. Pain shot up my arm, and I screamed, but I didn’t let go. I gritted my teeth together and pulled as hard as I could.
When I’d moved his body a few inches, I wrapped one end of the dangling chain around his ankle and the other end around mine. Squeezing my eyes shut, I crab-walked backward, using my entire body to drag him closer to me. The chain bit into my skin with so much force I thought my ankle would split in half. Sweat beaded on my forehead. My muscles burned.
Finally, my back brushed against the cement wall, and my shoulders sagged in relief. I did it. Now, I could search his body.
I patted down one leg, then the other. I felt a lump around his ankle. I tugged up his pants and unstrapped a small pistol. Popping open the ammunition cylinder, I checked for bullets. It wasn’t loaded.
Dammit.
I slid the pistol back into the holster.
Not wasting a second, I dove into the front pocket of his pants. I found a silver money clip filled with a quarter inch of folded bills. I leaned over his body and patted my hand on his other pocket. My fingers brushed against a rectangular object resembling a cell phone. My heartbeat rocketed inside my chest, echoing like a freight train in my head.
I fumbled, unable to find my way into his pocket. I inhaled through my nose to steady my nerves, and the smell of rotting flesh wafted into my nostrils.
“Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God,” I mumbled repeatedly as I shoved my hand into the opening and snagged the object from his pocket.
A phone.
A freaking phone.
A thread of hope wrapped around my chest and a light laugh bubbled from my mouth. I swiped my finger across the screen. It only had twenty percent battery left so I had to move fast. With trembling fingers, I dialed Ryker’s cell phone number, silently praying he’d answer his phone.
“Ryker Vargas,” he said after the first ring.
“It’s Hattie,” I whispered, cupping my hand over the phone.
“Hattie, where are you?” His voice was clipped with urgency.
“I don’t know. In some basement I think.”
“Whose phone is this?”
“Raul’s. He said he wanted to help me.” I cleared my throat. “But he’s dead. They shot him right in front of me.”
“They shot him and left his body.” It wasn’t a question.
I nodded before remembering he couldn’t see me. “Yes.”
He didn’t say a word for a few seconds. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m alive,” I answered. I didn’t want to catalog my injuries for him. We could do that if I ever got out of this place.
“I’m going to find you. I’m going to get you out of there. I promise. Just hold on another day and I’ll be there.”
I closed my eyes as relief flowed through my veins. Tears beaded like dewdrops of hope in the corners of my eyes. “Okay.”
“What else can you tell me about where you are?”
“I’m chained to a cement wall. The room has a metal door and no windows.” I glanced around the room, looking for any details I’d missed. A sliver of light peeped into the room above my head. “Wait, there are three glass blocks near the top of the wall. They’re really dirty.”
“What about the exterior of the building?”
“I haven’t seen it. I woke up in this room, and they haven’t let me go anywhere.”
“That’s okay.” His voice dropped. “How much battery is left on the phone?”
I pulled the phone away from my ear. “Eighteen percent.”
“Turn it off, but turn it back on tomorrow night and put the ringer on vibrate. I’ll text you when I’m close.”
“You know where I am?”
“I think so,” he answered. A long drawn out sigh echoed like a faint breeze through the phone. “I’m sorry I let you down.”
My insides twisted with regret, forgiveness, and anger at him and myself. I shook my head, willing all my conflicted feelings to disappear. “I should’ve stayed on the hotel grounds. I should’ve waited for you to come back.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong. I shouldn’t have left you alone. I shouldn’t have asked you to go back to Mexico with me.” He cleared his throat. “I made so many mistakes.”
Chills trickled down my back. “Maybe. Maybe not,” I said because I couldn’t ignore the truth in his declaration, but it didn’t stop me from wanting him. Needing him. Loving him. He held my heart in his hands. He always would regardless of what he did.
I closed my eyes for a second to gather my thoughts. “Why did you do it?”
“What?”
“Help Rever.” A sob erupted from my mouth. I gulped humid air into my lungs, trying to stop the torrent of sadness pounding on my chest. “Didn’t you know you were putting us in danger?”
“I didn’t think they knew about you.” His breathing turned heavy, whistling through the phone in jagged pants. “And even if they did, I thought I could protect you. I thought I could outsmart them. I thought I could get us out of Mexico before they found you.”
“Okay,” I mumbled as I processed his answer. Anger pulsed through my veins, but it fizzled as fast as it materialized. As much as I wanted to hate him for failing to grasp the danger of the situation, the emotion seemed irrelevant when I could die tomorrow or five minutes from now. I didn’t want to waste time hating him, punishing him, regretting him. Fate had already conspired against me enough times. I didn’t need to give it another reason to kick me in the face.
“No matter what happens after this, remember I love you, Hattie. I always will,” he said, interrupting the strained silence.
I bowed my head, resting it against the tops of my knees as I squeezed the phone like it was my one and only lifeline. I rubbed the budding ache in the center of my chest with the palm of my hand. This conversation felt awkward and wooden, and yet, I wanted to snag his words out of the air, and put them in my pocket forever.
I closed my eyes and summoned his image. In my mind, I traced the angular line of his jaw, down the strong column of his neck, following it over the smooth rise of his muscular chest and around to the thick bands of muscles bracketing his spine. I licked my lips as I recalled the salty taste of his skin. I inhaled, pretending his familiar scent filled my nose instead of the stench of death and despair. I missed him. I needed him.
“Yeah, I know. I believe you. I believe in us,” I said.
Even though I denied him the reciprocal profession of love I thought he wanted to hear, it didn’t stop the words from getting stuck on repeat, struggling to escape the confines of my mind.
I love you.
I’ll always love you.
Forever.
The words simultaneously slaughtered and fortified my soul, but I didn’t feel like I had the strength to console him or offer him forgiveness. We both had so many sins on our hands. We were broken, I realized with sudden clarity, and I didn’t know how we’d fix it. I just knew we had to find a way.
“I’ll see you soon, Hattie. Stay strong. Keep fighting.”
<
br /> “Okay, I will. Bye, Ryker,” I murmured almost soundlessly.
I powered off the phone and hid it in the zippered pocket of my running shorts. I didn’t want to hang up. It could be the last time I would ever hear his voice or hear him declare his love.
I closed my eyes, willing my brain turn off, even for a few hours, but sleep eluded me. Visions of Ryker and me skated through my mind. Fragments of conversations rang in my ears. The feel of his fingers ghosting over my skin assaulted my senses. After minutes that moved like hours, I fell asleep.
Chapter Six
Ryker
Groaning, I clutched the sides of my skull. Why did I think it was a good idea to drink last night? I opened, then immediately closed my eyes. What the hell? The morning sun streamed through the open window. The next time I had a date with a bottle of tequila I needed to remember to shut the fucking blinds.
Bang.
And put in some earplugs. I curled my pillow around my head to block out the sound and the sun.
Bang.
“Ryker, are you awake?” Ignacio shouted through the door.
I added taping a do not disturb sign on the door to my list of things to do next time I drank too much.
“I’ll be up in ten minutes. Leave me alone.”
The door flung opening, clattering against the wall. “You should’ve been up two hours ago,” Ignacio barked.
“Yeah. Yeah,” I grumbled. I swung my legs over the side of the bed. “What time is it anyway?”
“Almost nine o’clock in the morning.”
I whipped my head around. “Seriously?” Over ninety-six hours had passed. My stomach rebelled, both from the tequila and the thought of Juan Alvarez torturing Hattie while I drank myself into a forced slumber. God, I was a fucking prick.
He nodded without saying a word.
I scratched the side of my neck. “Why’d you let me sleep so long?”
“I didn’t realize you were still sleeping until twenty minutes ago.”
I braced my head in my hands. It throbbed like a motherfucker. I drank one too many shots of bad tequila last night. I wasn’t my finest moment, but I needed to do something to stop the regrets and guilt from circling in my brain like a bird of prey, waiting to devour me in a moment of weakness.
“How much time until the Americans get here?” I asked as I pulled yesterday’s black shirt over my head.
“They’re already here.”
“A half hour early,” I mumbled more to myself than him.
“Yeah, that’s what happens when you offer double the normal rate. They don’t want to piss you off.”
I yanked my jeans up my legs and fastened the button. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”
Ignacio’s dark eyes traveled the length of my body, and then he shook his head. “You look like hell.”
“I feel like hell,” I said as shoved my feet into my shoes. “But it’s nothing a cup of coffee won’t fix.”
“And you think it’s still a good idea to charge into an Alvarez stronghold tomorrow?”
“Tonight.”
“Emanuel said everything was going down tomorrow.”
“Yeah, well, I changed my mind.”
His nostrils flared as he sucked his lips into his mouth. “I don’t like it.”
“I don’t have a choice.”
He leaned against the doorjamb. “There’s always a choice.”
“No.” I shook my head. “There’s really not. I’m not going to leave Hattie there for a second longer than I have to.” Also, I didn’t fully trust Emanuel, so I’d misled him about my intentions for as long as possible.
Ignacio’s lips twisted like he’d sucked on a lemon. “Then try to stop yourself from drowning in a bottle of tequila again today. I don’t need a dead son. I need a son to help me with business. You need to hold up your side of the bargain. Acting like goddamn pussy won’t help Hattie or me.”
“Yeah, fuck you,” I mumbled as I brushed by him. I couldn’t argue with him. Not even a week after making this bargain with Ignacio and I was morphing into Rever—drinking too much, playing the victim card, and missing Hattie so much it felt like someone had taken a pickaxe and hollowed out my chest.
I missed her scent, her taste, her everything. I ached to touch her. Hold her. Kiss her. I used to believe she was my salvation. My home. My heart belonged to her. I’d tried to change my life and become a better person for her, but fate won. She couldn’t be my anything. I was a danger to her life and the life of my unborn child.
I wanted to bury my fist in the wall, but with my luck I’d break my hand, and then I wouldn’t be any help to Hattie. No, I needed to pull my head out of my ass. I didn’t have the luxury of taking my aggravation out on the wall or Ignacio. I needed to stay focused and ignore the bitter pang of regret bubbling like a noxious poison in my midsection. I wasn’t allowed to have feelings any longer. I couldn’t afford to have feelings. I was indebted to the Vargas Cartel for the rest of my miserable life. Soon enough, I’d turn into a soulless, drug running murderer. I might as well get used to the twisted emptiness now.
“Are the Americans in your office?” I asked, clenching my fists.
“Yes.”
My shoes clipped across the tiled floor. “Are you joining us?”
“Not today.”
I whirled around. “Why not?”
“Let’s just say, I’m not feeling up to it.”
I scanned his body. He still looked weak. His skin was pale and dark smudges circled his eyes. He’d left the hospital last night, but only because he refused to stay in there another day.
“Okay. Do you need anything?”
“No, just rest.”
I nodded, then crossed the living room and opened the door to the study. Three men sat in the study across from Emanuel. Two had closely shaved heads and nearly identical white t-shirts and jeans. The man on the right, dressed entirely in black with longish hair, looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him.
“Emanuel,” I said as I slid into the only remaining chair.
“Ryker, I’ve already given them a brief summary of the mission.” Emanuel replied. He poured coffee from a metal carafe into a clear glass mug. “Do you take your coffee black?”
“Sure. Thanks.” I took a sip of the lukewarm coffee and then placed the mug on a carved wood side table. “Are you going to introduce us?” I asked, tipping my head in the direction of the three men on the leather sofa.
“You’re right.” Emanuel leaned forward in Ignacio’s chair, bracing his elbows on the desk. “Where are my manners?”
I refrained from rolling my eyes. All five men sitting in that study, including me, didn’t give a rat’s ass about manners. I wanted to free Hattie. Emanuel wanted to please Ignacio, and the three men on the sofa wanted a shitload of untraceable money.
Unwilling to listen to Emanuel blow smoke up my ass all day, I stood up, intending to take control of the meeting. “I’m Ryker Vargas. I know Emanuel already knows your history, but go ahead and give me a short summary of your background before I share the details of this particular job.”
“Noah Fiennes,” the man on the right said. “Former US Marine. I spent the last three years in the Middle East doing freelance work. I’ve been in Mexico for four months.”
“Why did you relocate?” Making contacts as a freelance assassin was the hard part of the job. Most people stayed in the same area unless their cover was blown.
“I’m here doing some research that relates to my work in the Middle East. I figured I’d pick up some jobs while I’m here. I’m going back at the end of the year. Maybe sooner. I haven’t decided.”
My eyes narrowed. I knew what he was talking about. There’d been a lot of speculation lately about connections between drug cartels and Muslim extremists. As far as I knew, Ignacio hadn’t allied with one, but at the end of the day, cartels were interested in making money, and with the seizure of oilfields in Iraq, Muslim extremists had a lot of it these days. “You look famil
iar.”
“Yeah,” he said with a practiced smile. “We met in passing, but you were Ryker Fallon, and I had a different name at that time too—Nazar Fayed.”
I pursed my lips. “Right.” I’d run into Nazar Fayed about three years ago. He was working undercover in some Muslim organization with alleged ties to terrorist groups. Unfortunately, he had ties to the US government. Something I didn’t want for this mission. “So you’re still working for the US government?”
He scoffed. “They’ve hired me a few times, but they’d never claim me. Consider me an equal opportunity consultant without moral hang-ups. I follow the money wherever it leads me. Sometimes that’s the US government. Sometimes it’s a drug cartel in Mexico. Other times, it’s a Russian arms dealer or a fundamentalist organization.”
“So you’re a liability. If the Alvarez Cartel gave you more money, you’d flip sides mid-mission?”
“No,” he spat. “I never quit mid-job. Once I’m in, I’m all in.”
“Ah,” I mocked, raising one eyebrow. “So you do have some morals.”
“No, just a healthy sense of self-preservation. If I develop a reputation for flipping sides, I’d never get another job and I’d have an exponentially shortened life span.”
My eyes narrowed into slits.
“He’s telling the truth,” Emanuel interjected, folding his arms across his chest. “We’ve hired all three of these men before. We’ve never had any problems, and their references check out. Ignacio investigated each one of them himself. I have the files if you want to review them at length.”
I nodded. I believed him. Ignacio never did anything without meticulous planning and due diligence. Noah’s situation was similar to mine when I worked as a fixer. I’d taken whatever job paid the most. Sometimes, I had worked indirectly for the US government or other governments, but I was never entrenched with one entity or person. While the steady work one government could provide was nice, it made a consultant beholden and dependent. Two things I never wanted to be.
