Blood pounds through my jugular. "Let's skip the formalities."
He rolls his eyes. "Fine. Sit." His voice changes, a demand, not a request.
I take a seat, my gaze straying to the woman sitting next to him. She looks annoyed as all fuck as she drums her long nails over the table.
"I'm not here for a lunch date, Ronan." I want to tell him to fuck off, and I try to restrain that because that won't end well. A waiter stops at the table and pours three glasses of red wine.
"No, you are here because I have something you want." The waiter says something in Russian. Ronan's eyes never leave mine as he answers, and within minutes, the waiter hurries away. "I ordered for you," Ronan says with a smirk.
"I want my daughter. She's not a fucking pawn." I glare at him. "What the hell is it that you want from me, huh?"
Sighing, he lifts the glass of wine to his lips. "I would never hurt your daughter. On the contrary, I saved her from the circling vultures of the cartel." He shrugs and sips the deep burgundy liquid. "Now, your child is safe, your woman is no longer Jésus' whore, and all I ask in return is a favor from you, American."
I glare at him and cock a single brow. It’s not a favor when he's holding my daughter hostage. God, I want to choke him.
He puts his glass down and leans forward, propping his elbows on the table. "Camilla here has been caring for young Cayla." He motions toward the woman.
Her eyes trail over my face, down my chest, and a slightly arrogant smirk crosses her red lips. "Bookie," she says, her Spanish accent thick. I should have recognized her, I guess, she has similar features to Gabe. So the Russian did take his sister which means we are fucked in the ass. This bastard has the strings pulled so tight from every angle...
"The bonita ángel is safe." She glares at Ronan. "I would not allow any harm to come to her." Something about her makes me believe it.
I nod at her before redirecting my attention to Ronan. "I'm losing my patience, so how about you tell me what the fuck it is that you want me to do?" The waiter stops back by and tops Ronan's glass off, and I notice a slight shake in his hand, the way his eyes are locked nervously on Ronan.
Ronan smiles before lifting Camilla's hand to his lips and attempting to kiss it. She slaps him, the clap echoing around the restaurant. A sadistic grin spreads across his lips. "A challenge," he says, his eyes flickering with excitement. She folds her arms over her chest.
My temper spikes and I slam my palms down on the table, the sudden movement causing the glasses to rattle. "What do you want?" I shout.
He closes his eyes and exhales a breath as he shakes his head. "Careful, bookie. All in good time." He straightens in his seat and steeples his fingers together in front of him. "Simple. I want you to end the entire Sinaloa cartel."
Fuck me. Tossing me head back, I groan. "Tor already killed Jésus—"
He holds a finger up with a smirk. "Yes, she is quite a woman. However, Jésus has already been replaced. Cut off the head of the snake and another grows. You must burn the body."
Here he goes with his motherfucking riddles again. "So, you want me—a single man—to just burn the entire cartel to the fucking ground?"
He tilts his head to the side. "It is because you are a single man that you are equipped to do it. If I send my men, it's a declaration of war. War is not good for business. Victoria and yourself have proved resourceful." He taps one finger over his bottom lip. "And really, you wouldn't be doing it for me. Even if you had your daughter, where would you go? You ratted on Domingo, attacked the cartel head on, and your woman killed Jésus. You, my friend, are a dead man walking, unless you take the war to them."
Heat washes over my body, my muscles tense. I point my finger in his face as I push up from the table. "I fucking hate you."
He claps his hands together. "That's settled then. I will have my new Boris organize the details."
"Don't let anything happen to my daughter, or I will find a way to fucking kill you." I shove the chair back under the table and turn to walk away.
"And American," Ronan says, "do tell Gabriel that his sister is here in Russia, and that his assistance in this matter would be greatly appreciated."
I don't acknowledge him. I just weave my way through the crowded restaurant, a sense of hopelessness settling uneasily in my gut.
20
Tor
I pace across the hotel room, glancing at the clock.
Jude has been gone for two hours. I know Jude, he won't stay longer than he needs to—unless something happened. No, I refuse to believe that. It's not Ronan's style. He wouldn't sully himself with such things.
I pick up the burner phone Ronan's man gave me and press 1, listening to the foreign dial tone. "Ah, Victoria. I missed you at dinner," Ronan says.
"I need to know what was discussed."
He laughs. "Don't you trust the American to tell you? Oh no, don’t tell me there is there trouble in paradise?"
I sigh. "Ronan."
"Perhaps you should have attended our little meeting as I requested."
A reply is on the tip of my tongue, but I stop. I don't want to talk about meetings and deals. I just want Cayla. "Ronan, please," I say. "Imagine if she were your child. I set up Jude. I killed Jésus. I have done everything you asked. Please, just let me have her," I plead, my voice breaking.
He sighs. "All you have to do is finish the job you started. I'll be in touch, Victoria. And good luck." He hangs up and I stare at the phone for a second. The job I started...
The door to the hotel room slams shut, the sudden bang causing me to jump. "God, I've never wanted to slit someone's throat so bad in my life," Jude says.
I put the burner phone in my back pocket. "Did you see Cayla?" I ask in a rush.
"No." He looks at me and I guess he sees the worry etching itself across my face. "Camilla was with him. She said she was watching her."
My muscles relax slightly. I don't like that he has Camilla. I know she won't be with him willingly, but if anyone will protect my little girl, it's her. She's done it before. "What does he want?" I ask.
"Oh, you know, nothing too fucking extravagant." Jude scrubs his hand over his face. "Just for me to take down the entire motherfucking Sinaloa cartel." He groans. "Insane fucker."
"But… Jésus is dead."
He looks at me. "The entire cartel. Dead and buried, completely."
I feel all the blood drain from my face. "What?" It's impossible. He is asking the impossible. We will never get Cayla back. My hands start to shake and I lower myself to the edge of the bed. The fight that has been raging through me ever since I ran from Jude, ever since I sacrificed everything for Cayla, leaves me. It was all for nothing. Once again, I am powerless to protect her.
"He's fucking crazy," Jude says. I nod, staring at the worn carpet in front of me. "It's fine. It's fine," he mumbles, pacing the room. "As long as we can—"
"Jude." I lift my gaze to his. There's that fire burning in his eyes that's all Jude, and I don't want to be the one that puts it out, but this is ridiculous. "It's impossible," I whisper.
"It's not impossible. It's just gonna require a lot of fucking planning."
"I've been inside the Sinaloa. We're not talking about killing a few guys. It's an international operation. Thousands of people, soldiers, police in their pocket, corrupt politicians... You're talking about a war, Jude." I stand up and close the distance between us, grabbing the front of his shirt. "Even you can't take on an army." I rest my forehead against his chest, inhaling the scent of his cologne and allowing it to console me a tiny bit. "Not even for Cayla."
"If Ronan doesn't doubt me, you shouldn't." He kisses my forehead and pushes away from me just enough that I can see his murky green eyes swirling with the promise of danger. "We just have to be willing to die for the cause, that's all."
I frown. "Die for the cause," I repeat on a whisper.
"She needs a normal life, you know that. You've said that." He sighs as he scrubs his hand over the stubble covering his jaw. "
There's still hope for her to get out. There's no hope for me. None for you." He brushes his fingers over my cheek. "I've taken you too far down the hole with me. I've tainted you, but we don't have to taint her."
I stare at him. "What are you saying? You want me to abandon her?"
"I want us to save her from this fucking hell we live in."
"You mean, save her from us..." God, it hurts. To know that the greatest danger to your child is yourself. He's right. At one time I might have blamed Jude for everything, but I'm no longer innocent. I've done things that I can't come back from, put a target on my back. Jude and I are a ticking bomb just waiting to go off, and no matter how far or fast we run, we can't outrun ourselves. We can't outrun the inevitable.
He places his hand on my shoulder and gently rubs it. "She's little. It won't be near as hard on her if we die now, because, Tor, even if we fucking survive, we'll be hunted for the rest of our lives and you know that. You don't just take down a cartel and walk away."
I thread my fingers through his hair. His hands land on my hips as his eyes lock with mine. "So, we die," I say.
"For Cayla," he whispers.
A small smile pulls at his lips, a challenge and a promise all in one. Perhaps this is our legacy, to die for our daughter. Jude and I are so tainted, but Cayla is the one good thing we've done. Something pure and good. I'd lay down my life a thousand times over for her.
"There's no better cause," I say.
He strokes his knuckles over my cheek and an ache forms in my chest. The truth is, death is easy. It's the living that's hard. Cayla will live without a mother or father. She will never know that she was loved more than anything or anyone has ever been loved in this world. She will never know what we died for, and I wouldn't want her to, but it hurts...the idea of her without us, the thought that she might grow up feeling alone in a world that can be so dark. "All I ever wanted was for her to be happy," I breathe.
"She will be, doll." He pulls me tight against him and holds me until I almost believe that we can do this.
"She will be." He takes the phone, dials a number, and places the receiver to his ear, waiting a few seconds before he clears his throat. "I'll do it,” he speaks into the phone, “but I want to see her first." Jude's gaze drifts to mine, his nostrils flare. "Fine." And he hangs up.
"Well?"
"Tomorrow morning." I can see the worry, the stress all over Jude's face. Just one night, and I'll get to see my little girl. It's been months since I held her, since I smelt that scent of baby powder on her golden-blonde hair. Jude grips my chin and tilts my head back, placing a soft kiss on my lips. "Get some sleep, doll."
He pulls back the duvet and I lie down on the bed even though tension has my body in a vice like grip. Jude lies beside me and pulls me into his side. He strokes over my hair rhythmically. I'm not sure if he's trying to calm me or himself.
In a messed-up way, I don't want to close my eyes. I've been away from him for so long, and now that it feels as though the world is about to end, but we still have this. We still have each other, despite all the odds, and that means something.
Perhaps even death can't kill my love for Jude.
It’s early morning when we pull up outside a graffiti-covered warehouse. There’s a layer of snow on decorating the smashed glass of the windows, and litter’s strewn about the concrete.
"Are you sure this is the right place?" I ask Jude.
His jaw is clenched so hard I can see the muscles jumping beneath his skin. He nods, his eyes never straying from the windscreen. There's a groaning sound, followed by the screeching of metal, and then the enormous metal rolling door slowly lifts. As it rises it reveals two men standing with rifles pointed at our car. Jude holds his hand out to me, never looking away from the two men. I place his gun on his waiting palm, and he puts it on his lap, covering it with his hand. One man walks over to Jude’s window, and Jude winds it down. The man shouts something in Russian, and then we're waved forward into the dark recesses of the warehouse. My palms are slick with sweat. My heart hammers in anticipation as we roll forward, parking across from two black SUVs, both facing us. Jude cuts the engine, his fingers wrapping around his gun.
The doors of the other cars swing open and men file out. The soft thud of their boots moving over the concrete floor echo around the warehouse. The unmistakable click of rifles being loaded puts my senses on high alert. The gruffness of the men speaking in Russian all around me causes my hair to stand on end. They fall silent before the army of men part, Camilla moving out from between them with a pink blanket over her shoulder covering Cayla. My heart pounds and skips, my chest so tight I can hardly breath. I can feel Jude tense beside me and he grabs my hand, squeezing hard.
Camilla smiles as she stops in front of us and gently rubs her hand over the blanket. "Wake up, bonita ángel. Wake up," she coos. Cayla sits up and the blanket falls from her head, her blonde hair sticking up in all directions. And my heart stops.
She rubs sleepily at her eyes before turning to face me. The second her eyes land on us, they widen and she squeals, kicking her legs and clapping her hands. "Momma. Dada."
Jude rushes toward her, grabbing her and holding her close as he chokes on a sob. Tears stream down his cheeks and it breaks my heart. "I've missed you so much. So much, little doll."
Cayla lays her head on his chest, scratching her fingers over his broad shoulder. I move closer and kiss her forehead, stroking her soft hair. "Hey, baby girl." I fight back the emotions, swallowing around the lump that's threatening to choke me. This is hard and heart breaking, but I at least understand it. I won't cry in front of her because she doesn't understand any of this. She's just an innocent baby.
She reaches for me, and Jude passes her over. I prop her on my hip and kiss her forehead, squeezing my eyes closed, God, she's everything, my whole heart. She holds up her hand, showing me a little colourful bracelet on her wrist. "That's pretty," I say
"Milla makes it."
I lift my gaze to Camilla who is leaning against the front of the car. There are tears in her eyes even as she offers me a soft smile. She's been looking after my baby when I couldn't. It makes me both love and hate her.
Jude steps closer to my side, placing his hand on Cayla's head. I meet his gaze, witnessing the same crippling pain in his eyes that I feel in the very depths of my soul. This is likely the last time I will see her, the last time we will see her.
One of the men steps forward, shouting in Russian and pointing at Camilla. I hold Cayla tighter as Camilla moves towards me. And suddenly she doesn't look like the beautiful woman who once helped me and my daughter. She looks like an avenging angel, the one who will take my heart from me.
"I'm sorry, Tor," she says quietly.
"No," I say, my voice breaking as tears track down my face. I don't want to do this. I don't want to cry in front of my little girl. She comes closer, and I take a step back, pressing my hand over the back of Cayla's head as if I could protect her from all this.
"Just give us a minute, goddamn it," Jude shouts. He steps between me and the men, and like clockwork, one of them pulls a gun and presses it to Jude's temple.
"Jude," I choke out. He turns to face me, and I shake my head at him. This is a fight we cannot win, and we only endanger her by trying.
My heart is breaking in my chest, but somehow I manage to drop to a crouch and prop Cayla on my knees, looking at her perfect little face, her big blue eyes, and rosy cheeks. "Mummy loves you, Cayla." I spot the little hummingbird at her neck and bite the inside of my lip. She puts her tiny hand on my cheek, trying to wipe away my tears, and it makes it worse. This is the worst pain I have ever felt in my life. "I love you, more than all the stars in the sky," I whisper.
Her little eyebrows pull together in a frown. "Momma?" I kiss her forehead, allowing my lips to linger on her skin before I reluctantly stand up. My legs feel numb, and I can't make myself move. Camilla closes the space between us, and I see the pity in her eyes.
"I w
ill guard her with my life," she says as she grabs Cayla under the arms, lifting her from my knee.
Panic washes over Cayla's face. "Momma, no!" I choke on a sob as Camilla takes her from me. "No!" The sound of her distress breaks me. Tears pour down her little face and she reaches for me. "Dada. Dada." She gasps for breaths between deep cries.
"I love you," Jude says, his voice strained. "Camilla will watch after you until we can come back. I’m sorry, little doll." He takes a deep breath. “I’m so sorry.” There’s so much strain in his voice, so much heartache filling this room.
I press my hand over my mouth, and I do the only thing I can do. I turn my back on my baby.
Stumbling over to the car, I yank the door open and climb inside. I can't do this. Heaving sobs rack my body as guilt consumes me. My poor baby girl. She thinks I abandoned her. Again. Pulling my knees up to my chest, I try to just fucking survive. I just need to survive this pain and do what needs to be done. The driver's door opens and Jude gets in. The engine starts and he reverses out of the warehouse so fast I get whiplash.
As we drive away from Cayla, the only sound in the car is my breaking heart and pain filled cries. I wish I was stronger, but I'm not.
I will never be strong enough to say goodbye to her.
21
Jude
I've seen a lot of shit, been through a lot of shit, but that right there—leaving Cayla—that is the hardest thing I've ever done. Helpless doesn't touch the way I feel. I'm her father. My sole job is to protect her, and even though that's what I'm trying to fucking do, she can't see that. She's a baby and all she sees is her parents leaving her with strangers—her crying parents turning their backs on her and leaving her, terrified and afraid. The distress and despair consuming me morphs with each passing second until a familiar anger settles in my chest.
Tor lets out a sob and I glance over at her. I know it's tearing her up and, the thing is, she's done this before. She had to let her go when she sent her to Lizzie's, believing she would never see her again. How hard is that? How selfless?
War (Wrong Book 4) Page 11
