The fact that Cruz cared so much about Owen, an employee, was deeply humbling. His little-boy empathy damn near broke Owen’s heart. He’d be devastated if Cruz got hurt on his watch. And he wanted to tear Shane apart, limb by limb, for playing a role in this fiasco.
Owen couldn’t go back in time to reverse the abuse he’d endured, or to erase the wrongs he’d done. He might not be able to heal his damaged soul or overcome his past. But if he could protect another child from harm, it would be a step toward salvation. If he could keep Penny safe, he could live with himself.
The alternative was impossible to fathom.
Cruz kissed his cheek before returning to Penny. The simple gesture caused pressure to build behind Owen’s eyes. He took a deep breath, blinking the tears away. Shane noticed this exchange and issued a silent warning in the rearview mirror.
Owen understood the danger he was in. He had no value to the kidnappers. Sandoval wouldn’t pay for his safe return. He was a liability. If he tried to defend Penny or Cruz, they’d probably kill him.
He wondered what Shane planned to do with him. They hadn’t seen each other in eight years. Shane talked to their mother on a regular basis, and she sent him monthly care packages, but he hadn’t stayed in communication with anyone else from the outside world. That included his own son, Jamie.
Owen studied the interior of the Cadillac, his heart pounding. It had master locks, so Penny couldn’t open her door. The fire alarm had caused enough chaos to mask the kidnapping, but the security cameras in front of the convention center would show footage of the crime. There was a tracking device inside the car.
Shane pulled off the freeway, glancing in the rearview mirror. He seemed confident that they weren’t being followed. They continued to an industrial area, where he parked in a deserted lot next to a black SUV.
“Is this the hospital?” Cruz asked.
“No,” Penny said.
“Where are we?”
“Shh.”
Shane got out and opened her door. In addition to the half mask covering the lower part of his face, he wore a black handkerchief like a headband. His blond hair was shaggy. He was still lean, but he looked taller, and he’d put on weight. Those powerful shoulders were straight from the exercise yard.
He gestured toward the SUV, mock-chivalrous. “Your chariot awaits.”
Penny turned to Owen for approval. He nodded for her to go ahead. She exited the car with Cruz and glanced around the empty parking lot. If they’d been followed, the police would have intervened already. But no shouts to halt rang out across the dark night. No officers swarmed the area, and no helicopter hovered overhead.
“Hurry up, princess,” Shane said. “We don’t have all night.”
Penny couldn’t run away in high heels with Cruz in tow; she got in the SUV. Dirk dragged Owen out of the Cadillac and shoved him into the backseat with her, climbing in after. She scooted over and put Cruz on her lap to make room. As discreetly as possible, she tried to lift the door handle on the opposite side of the vehicle.
It didn’t budge.
Shane left Keshawn Jones handcuffed in the Cadillac and got behind the wheel of the SUV. Starting the engine, he drove out from the parking lot and headed east, away from downtown San Diego.
It was an uncomfortable ride. There wasn’t enough room in the backseat. Owen was smashed against Penny’s side. Cruz asked about the hospital again, but he sounded sleepy. She sang him Spanish lullabies in a soft voice, rocking him until he drifted off.
At some point, her son would wake up and realize they weren’t going to the hospital. He’d wonder what was happening and get upset. Owen wasn’t looking forward to the moment when reality struck.
He sat motionless and silent, his body thrumming with tension.
About twenty minutes later, Shane stopped by the side of the road. “Give me his phone,” he said, reaching into the backseat.
Dirk located Owen’s cell phone and passed it forward.
“Did you turn the tracking off?”
“Yes.”
“You’re going to talk to Sandoval,” Shane said to Owen. “Tell him we want two million in a large duffel bag, unmarked. He has to bring it alone, no cops. We’ll call back tomorrow with more instructions.”
Owen couldn’t refuse. He didn’t have a choice.
Shane found Sandoval’s number in Owen’s list of contacts and pressed the button. Then he handed the phone back to Dirk, who held it close enough for Owen to speak into.
Jorge Sandoval answered with his own demand: “Where are you?”
Shane shook his head. No details.
“I’m with Penny and Cruz,” Owen said.
“Put her on.”
Shane nodded, allowing it. Dirk turned the phone toward Penny. “Daddy,” she said in a tremulous voice. “Estamos bien.”
It meant “we’re okay,” but Shane didn’t know that. He made a sharp gesture across his throat. Dirk moved the phone back to Owen, who repeated their requests. Her father gave an immediate agreement, as calm and diplomatic as ever. Dirk ended the call.
Shane pointed a menacing finger at Penny. “You speak English or I’ll cut your pretty little tongue out.”
Owen’s muscles went taut. He wanted to fly across the seat and attack his brother with his teeth, to smash his forehead against Shane’s until they were both unconscious. But such an attempt would only result in him getting tased or beaten, and Penny would be no better off. So he curbed his fury and stayed still.
“Do you understand?”
“Yes,” her mouth said. Her eyes said fuck you.
“What did she say?” Shane asked Owen.
“She said ‘we’re okay.’”
Shane turned around and started the engine again, muttering something about Mexicans. He continued to head east, toward the desert.
Owen noted the road signs and guessed their destination: The Badlands. It was a vast expanse of nothingness near Salton City, where they’d grown up. There were no witnesses and a thousand places to hide. Sandoval’s security team would have a hard time finding them out here in the tumbleweeds. Cell phone service was spotty, rescue was unlikely, and an organized search effort would be difficult.
Owen’s spirits sank lower with every mile. People who disappeared in the deep desert never came back. Shane had chosen this desolate place for a reason.
He hooked a right on the S-22, a winding highway between the Salton Sea and the U.S.–Mexico border. Dozens of sandy dirt roads led south, toward rocky hills, agave groves and mud caves. It wasn’t the kind of terrain you wanted to get lost in. On an average August day, the heat was unbearable.
They traveled far from the main road, past the last vestiges of civilization, beyond the dirt roads. Few backcountry hikers would brave the late summer temperatures in the sun-ravaged badlands. Human traffickers and drug smugglers were active at night, but seldom seen. Even the border patrol didn’t have the resources to cover this entire area. Its harsh conditions were deterrent enough for most criminals.
Owen couldn’t count on Shane to spare him just because they were brothers. If he didn’t create an opportunity to escape, he was going to end up in an unmarked grave out in the middle of nowhere.
CHAPTER THREE
PENNY HAD NEVER been more terrified.
Not even when she’d been under a freeway in the throes of labor without medical help. Her memories from the San Diego earthquake had faded with time, blending into a blur of unpleasant thoughts and images. She still smelled it, sometimes. The stench of gasoline and burning plastic, rainwater and decay.
A few years ago, her sister had broken her arm while Rollerblading. Penny had taken Leslie to the emergency room. Walking down the hallway, she’d detected the faint odor of singed flesh. Visions of her aunt’s death had come flooding back to her, sucking the air from her lungs. She’d fled to the parking lot, sat behind the wheel of her car and sobbed.
Moments like that were few and far between, however. She enjoyed a l
ife of luxury, if not excess. Cruz had everything he needed and then some. They were insulated from harm, isolated in a home so large it could have been called a compound. She did volunteer work, and interacted with people of various economic levels in her college classes. But, for the most part, she was surrounded by wealth and privilege.
She’d never even been camping.
The days after the freeway collapse had been excruciating. This situation was worse. Or maybe it was just now.
Five years of being an adult, not to mention a single mother, had given her some perspective. She worried more than she used to, about her place in the world and Cruz’s future. She was no longer the center of her own tiny universe. What she remembered most about the disaster wasn’t death or terror or hardship. It was the miracle of Cruz’s birth. It didn’t seem possible to love a child more each day, but she did. Maybe her fears had grown at the same proportion.
She’d do anything to keep her son safe. Anything.
Owen sat beside her, stiff as a board. He must have been suffering with his arms wrenched behind his back. Hers had grown numb from holding Cruz’s sleeping weight. She had no idea where they were going or what they planned to do there. Would they kill her, torture her, hold her hostage? She took a deep breath, praying they wouldn’t hurt Cruz. She couldn’t bear it if they hurt Cruz.
She was afraid to examine either of the kidnappers. The driver had blue eyes, like Owen. They were about the same age and height. The thug sitting next to Owen was shorter, thick-necked and stocky with muscle.
She longed to rest her head on Owen’s shoulder to comfort him, but she didn’t want to draw attention. Her affection could put him in danger. The driver had already noticed Owen’s sweet interaction with Cruz, as well as his seething fury over the threats to Penny. The men had to know that Owen would fight for their lives, if he got the chance. She exchanged a glance with him, swallowing hard.
“I think these two are fucking,” Dirk said.
Penny’s stomach clenched with unease. She turned her head, staring out the window into the black night. Thank God Cruz was still asleep. He’d woken up early to watch cartoons and had spent the entire afternoon at the hotel pool.
The driver tugged down his mask and lit a cigarette. “Are you fucking your bodyguard, princess?”
“Leave her alone,” Owen said.
“I didn’t ask you, rent-a-cop. I asked her.”
Penny said nothing.
The driver looked in his rearview mirror, as if searching for the answer on her face. “They’re not fucking,” he said, taking another drag. “He probably wants to fuck her, but she’s too much of a daddy’s girl to let him.”
She tried not to flinch at the insult, which hit pretty close to home. The only men she’d gone out with since Tyler had been family-approved. Young Republicans from L.A.’s Hispanic Conservative Coalition didn’t count as real dates, either. Penny and her sisters attended a lot of events on her father’s behalf. She put on a pretty dress and smiled politely. None of her dance partners compared to Owen.
Even if Owen had been interested, her father wouldn’t approve of her dating an ex-convict. Especially not during the campaign. The media already scrutinized her choices, which reflected poorly on her parents. She’d shamed them by getting pregnant at seventeen. She also felt somewhat responsible for her aunt’s death. If she hadn’t taken Penny in, she’d still be alive. They’d been on the way to a doctor’s appointment when the earthquake struck.
Penny wasn’t deeply religious, but she loved her family. Her parents had been wonderful with Cruz. In return, she’d given up some personal freedoms. She didn’t have time for a serious relationship, anyway. Being single was part of her penance.
She snuck another peek at Owen, studying the pale tattoo scar on his neck. She’d often imagined putting her lips there and kissing away the hurt. Now the mark stood out in harsh relief against his flushed skin. Was he angry or embarrassed? If the driver’s words rang true for him, she wouldn’t have guessed it from his behavior. He never let his gaze linger on her body, never touched her for no reason.
Their trip through the desert ended at the mouth of a shallow, wind-carved canyon. The protected nook was surrounded by nondescript rock formations and covered with camouflaged netting. A trio of tents loomed in the shadows.
Penny counted three more men around a campfire. Most wore caps or beanies. Cowboy-style handkerchiefs shielded the lower halves of their faces.
The driver exited the vehicle, opening the door for Penny. It was difficult for her to maneuver with Cruz in her arms, but she managed. Dirk dragged Owen from the backseat and pushed him toward the campfire while the driver led Penny to one of the tents. She carried Cruz inside and laid him down on a soft blanket. As soon as he was settled, her captor gestured for her to come back out.
His crew gathered in a half circle around her. Although men had stared at her before, she’d never felt this vulnerable, not even in a boisterous crowd. Public reactions ranged from respectful comments to rude catcalls and blatant groping attempts. Owen had a hard elbow for the most aggressive types.
These men were more dangerous than a group of rowdy extremists. And Owen couldn’t help her if they got aggressive.
“Search her,” the driver said to one of the men. “And take her shoes.”
This order created a stir of excitement in the circle. Owen strained against Dirk’s hold, as if he wanted to kick and head-butt and body-slam everyone around him. His nostrils flared as a heavyset man in a fishing vest stepped forward.
Penny knew she couldn’t struggle. Triggering Owen’s protective instincts might prove fatal for him. If the kidnappers wanted to get paid, they had plenty of incentive to keep her and Cruz alive. Owen was dispensable.
She turned her head to the side, enduring the stranger’s touch. Her dress was thin and insubstantial, hiding nothing but expensive lingerie. He skimmed his hands along her curves quickly. His friends seemed disappointed when he did a perfunctory job instead of sexually harassing her.
“What a waste,” Dirk said.
“I don’t think Gardener has a dick.”
“Just a gunt,” another man said, and they all laughed.
Penny could only guess what that word meant. She removed her strappy high heels and handed them over, her mouth thin. They were worth a small fortune, but useless here. She couldn’t walk a quarter mile across the desert in those shoes. Barefoot, she’d encounter burrs and cactus needles in the first ten steps.
The leader gestured for her to go back in the tent, satisfied. “Make sure she stays there,” he told Gardener, who sat down on a crate nearby. He zipped up the opening, blocking her view of the men outside.
She curled up next to Cruz and hugged her arms around her middle. The tent appeared large enough for three people, at most. There were two blankets inside. She started to tremble from stress, rather than cold. Now that the men couldn’t see her, she had no reason to hold her emotions inside. Her face crumpled, and tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. She broke down in muffled sobs, her hand clapped over her mouth.
Someone switched on the radio in the SUV, settling for a Spanish-language station. She wiped her cheeks, listening. There might not be anything else available this close to the border, but she doubted these men enjoyed Norteño music.
They didn’t want her to hear them.
She scrambled toward the front of the tent and lay flat on her belly. Unzipping a tiny opening at the corner, she peered through it. Owen was on the opposite side of the campfire. His wrists were still cuffed behind his back. The leader stood before him, smoking. His body language conveyed a challenge.
Owen shook his head, denying whatever he asked for.
The man flicked away his cigarette and stepped forward. Cuffing his hand around Owen’s neck, he drew back his fist and punched him in the stomach. Owen doubled over, coughing.
Penny bit the edge of her fist to smother her scream.
* * *
P
AIN SPREAD THROUGH Owen’s midsection, settling like a ball of lead in his gut.
Although the blow wasn’t unexpected, it hurt. It always hurt when his brother hit him. From a very young age, Shane had used brute force and intimidation to get what he wanted. He’d been violent and impulsive, quick to snap.
Owen had dismissed most of their childhood rumbles as sibling rivalry, fueled by testosterone and an extra dose of dysfunction. Boys were supposed to be physical. The toxic environment they’d been raised in had exacerbated the problem. Their father had instigated fights between them, encouraging Shane to attack weakness.
Back then, Owen hadn’t stood up to either of them. He was younger than Shane, and nowhere near as aggressive. He’d never understood the appeal of hurting someone he loved. He preferred to run, hide and avoid conflict.
Now they were both adults and closer in size. He was handcuffed and at Shane’s mercy, but he refused to cower. Owen might have a chance against Shane, one-on-one. He wasn’t a scared, skinny kid anymore.
“Is that all you’ve got?” he wheezed.
Shane’s eyes widened with disbelief. Instead of sucker punching him again, Shane squeezed the nape of his neck and let go, chuckling. “You’ve grown up, little brother.”
He couldn’t prevent the rush of warmth those words generated. Owen hadn’t realized how much he’d missed Shane—or how much he’d craved human contact. His father’s death had left a hole inside him. Shane’s lengthy incarceration had made another, and his own stint in prison had gnawed him down to nothing.
Owen didn’t trust Shane, but he would always love him.
Although they’d served time in different institutions, Shane and Owen had joined the same gang. The Aryan Brotherhood was the most popular white gang in the California penal system. Its members underwent a savage initiation process and swore allegiance for life. They were expected to continue to serve the AB on the outside.
After the San Diego earthquake, Owen had been transferred to a quiet, medium-security correctional facility. Penny’s father had used his political connections to make the arrangements after Owen had helped rescue Penny. Owen would be forever in Sandoval’s debt for the favor. At the smaller prison, he’d been able to distance himself from the AB. He’d taken advantage of college courses, therapy sessions and a work program. When he was released, he’d had a job waiting for him in a remote park where no one would find him.
Badlands Page 3
