“There’s always a choice. My dad said anyone who helps the cartel is no better than the cartel. He was right. We didn’t go to the police the second we found Jane, and look at what happened. They started hunting us. They’ve nearly killed my sister.”
Mattey’s face was red, the truck all filled up with the raw edge of his voice.
“Sophia was with Diego,” I cut him off.
“Oh, don’t blame this on him!” Mattey leaned over Jojo to get right in my face. “Diego helped Jane. The person at the root of everything bad is Jane.”
“Guys, we don’t have time for this,” Jojo interrupted from in between us, putting her hands up, trying to push us back toward our sides of the truck. “We have to decide what to do.”
“You know what, I take it back,” Mattey said. “This isn’t because of her. It’s because of you, Cade. Because of everything you asked me to do!”
“You’re the one who said for her to stay here. I never said that. You did,” I snapped back at him.
“Because she needed us. It was too late. We were in it. What were we going to do, kick her out on her own?”
“She’d been on her own a long time.”
“Then you know what?” Mattey collapsed back against the seat. “Fine. It was a mistake. My bad. I’ll own it. And I’ll fix it. I’m calling the police now.”
“You can’t. That’s who brought her here.”
“I’m not calling that messed-up cop shop. I’m calling Gunner back. Even if his mom’s still on the road, she can tell us who to go to.”
“It’ll be too late.”
“Well, then it’s too late,” Mattey said.
“You’re really gonna act like this is someone else’s problem? Like you don’t care?”
I could barely form the words, I was so furious. How could he be acting all holier-than-thou when Jane’s life was literally at stake?
“Stop it!” Jojo yelled. “We’re wasting time either way!”
“Wasting time like when he was sucking face with Jane in the hospital while Sophia’s in the ER?” Mattey said.
“Wait . . . what?” Jojo looked from him to me in confusion. “You and Jane?”
“Yeah, Cade and Jane,” Mattey said. “While our sister was getting attacked, they were on a weekend getaway.”
“That’s not how it happened!” I argued. “Mattey, this doesn’t matter right now. We have to help Jane. I’m going after her. Are you in or out?”
“I know we have to help Jane. And that’s why I’m out.” Mattey flung open the door. “I’m out and calling for help—real help. Because we need it. We can’t go in there alone.”
I punched the steering wheel hard and then slumped into the seat. Mattey disappeared through the trees.
Jojo grabbed my arm. “He’s right. We have to wait for police. It’s a suicide mission to go in that house.”
“Sounds like you made up your mind.”
“Cade, come on.”
“If you’re not coming with me, go with Mattey.”
“Fine.”
Jojo turned to get out . . . and froze.
Click.
Click.
Guns. Cocked. At our heads. A man at each window, eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses.
“Get out and don’t make a sound,” the guy aiming at me said. “Now.”
JANE
A run-down house. A shadowy dirt driveway. And a Mexican police car.
Those were the last things I saw before I got blindfolded.
“Don’t make a noise,” the police captain said as he tucked a gun under my chin. He knotted cloth over my eyes and taped my mouth shut before shoving me out of his car.
The handcuffs dug into my wrists as rough hands pushed me to the ground. I tried to kick, but whoever had me easily grabbed my legs and forced zip ties around my ankles. I was completely immobile, in police cuffs and practically hog-tied. Two sets of hands picked me up and dumped me into the trunk of the other car.
We drove and we drove.
Without sight, there were only noises.
The hiss of the highway was secondary to the shallow, jagged sound of my breathing. It didn’t sound like being alive. It sounded like being scared of dying.
When the siren suddenly kicked on, I realized what was happening. We were going to speed easily under the steel arches of the Gateway International Bridge, lights flashing, in a Mexican police car that would never get searched. The border patrol agents wouldn’t know. Or, more likely, would, but would be paid not to care—or terrorized enough not to ask.
We were going back.
Back to Mexico.
Mile by mile, minute by minute, this was the countdown to the end of my small life. At least I had met Cade. At least I had known what high school, friendship, and laughter were like. I was sobbing. I couldn’t stop. Why aren’t we allowed to start over? The demons hold. The demons stay.
When the wheels on the road sizzled like water spilled on a stove, I knew we were on a sandy road, leaving the highway. We came to a stop, and I was hauled out. They sliced the ties to free my feet so I could walk, then pressed a gun to my back.
Every step was a clue under my feet. I was walking over cobblestone. They pushed me up a staircase, and I heard a series of bolts unlock and then the squeak of a heavy door opening. Music played inside, acoustic guitar. I heard the twinkle of water—a fountain.
We came to a stop. More voices. New voices. My dry tongue stuck to the inside of my mouth. I tasted blood on the corners of my lips from the struggle of getting tossed into the trunk. The men forced me to my knees. The floor was cold and smooth.
“Welcome to Lobenzo’s humble home,” said one of the men, pulling my blindfold off.
The room came into focus around me. Marble floor. Massive chandelier. Oil paintings of grotesque moments in history, shipwrecks, fox hunts, hangings, war. Water poured out of a wolf’s mouth in a huge glass-tiled fountain. I was in the foyer of a mansion.
“They call me Alamo,” said one of my captors. “You got a nickname, guapa?”
He was younger than I expected, muscular and square, barely older than me, with hollow circles under his eyes. He reached down and yanked the duct tape off my mouth. It burned like my lips got torn off with it.
The other guy was greasy and obese, his shaved head slick with sweat. He was wearing expensive-looking sunglasses, and his earlobes were weighed down by diamond studs.
“This is my friend Pozolero,” Alamo said. “He is the Soup Maker. Do you like soup?”
“Everyone likes soup,” said the Soup Maker.
“Our friend Asesino is on his way.”
I knew what that meant in Spanish. The Assassin.
“Nothing?” said Alamo.
The Soup Maker’s beady eyes glimmered above his fat, pockmarked cheeks.
“Let’s talk about what you did to my friend Ivan,” he hissed, hooking his fingers into my hair and yanking hard. “Did you shoot him? No, no you didn’t, did you? Someone else did. Tell us who.”
“Come on, Azules. Start talking. We know you have information about the tunnel.”
I looked back and forth into their eyes.
They were letting me see their faces.
That meant they were going to kill me once they had what they needed. I stopped crying. I stopped shaking. When you know for certain you are going to die, a coldness comes into your body. The fight leaves. Like carbon dioxide—the only thing to breathe when breathing is done.
“Too good to talk to us? That’s okay, Lobenzo is here.” Alamo motioned toward the marble staircase. “Why don’t you talk to him instead?”
Lobenzo was outlined at the top of the spiral stairs, shorter and slighter than I had imagined, flanked by two sleek, gray dogs. He moved as if made of liquid, pouring forward to lean over me. His nose was slightly c
rooked, broken at some point in his life. And he had a long scar along his neck to his jawline. It didn’t say weak. It said, Go ahead and try to kill me. It doesn’t work.
Lobenzo’s shiny black hair and smooth skin made him appear even younger than Alamo. He looked like he could be any one of Raff’s friends, just another rich surfer kid in designer sneakers and a fancy hoodie. The structure of his face was almost delicate. He didn’t look a day over eighteen. When he got close enough to cup my face in his hand, he smelled like soap and mint.
Lobenzo reminded me of a portrait you’d see in a museum of a historic explorer setting out to find a new trade route across the world, his eyes full of energy.
“Jackpot.” Lobenzo smirked. “Jingle. Jangle. Look at those pretty blue eyes, Azules. We’ve been looking for you.”
He made a low snorting sound, half laugh, half disgust—a warning. My eyes flitted from the guns he carried to the dogs. They growled, and that’s when I realized they weren’t dogs at all. They were wolves. They weren’t leashed. They sat at his feet, every muscle at the ready for his command.
“Do you know about the Aztecs?” Lobenzo asked.
I shook my head no.
“I’ve been reading about them lately. They believed that a god offered himself as a sacrifice and was reborn as the sun. The god of fate . . . And just as he sacrificed himself, he needed human sacrifices of blood and hearts to satisfy the thirst he experienced from the heat. During sacrifices, the priests would lay the person on a sacred stone, cut him from stomach to throat, and remove his heart.”
He paused so what he said next would sink in.
“You do not do what I say, and I will slice the hearts out of everyone you love. Do you understand?”
I knew he meant it.
“Defect or die,” Lobenzo said. “I thought I made that very clear. Everything that was Grande’s is now mine. Somehow people are failing to grasp that concept. Why don’t you tell me about your boyfriend? A good place to start.”
I opened my mouth to say something, closed it again.
“Go on,” Lobenzo said. “Raff Santos . . .”
“Raff worked for Grande,” I whispered. “He was going to come work for you instead. He didn’t want to die. He did defect. But then Grande killed him.”
I swallowed, tried to find my voice again.
Lobenzo gave me a cold stare. “You really expect me to believe that that is the extent of your involvement?”
“That’s all I know.”
Lobenzo kept his eyes fixed on mine. Time hovered on the edge of a cliff, crumbled and careened into an abyss.
“I think . . . you . . . are . . . lying,” Lobenzo finally said, slowly, with a sickly musical lilt. “Try again. I think you should . . . tell me what you know . . . about Grande’s tunnel.”
I took a shredded breath and said, “If I tell you, you’ll kill me.”
“I am going to kill you anyway.” Lobenzo looked amused by me.
“So why should I say anything at all then?”
Lobenzo paused.
“Are you really trying to play hardball with me?” Lobenzo reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone and opened his saved videos. He held it up to my face and hit play.
“These men tried to rat me out to the feds.”
The video began with two men sitting restrained and shirtless up against a mud wall. I tried to look away, but the Soup Maker yanked my head in place and pinched open my eyes . . . as a chainsaw off camera started whirring.
“Have I made my point, Azules?” Lobenzo asked. “It is not a matter of if you die. It’s how. Make me want to show you mercy.”
CADE
Praying for mercy is a funny thing. You start saying, Please, God, let me be okay, please, I’ll be good for the rest of my life, let me stay alive, as if striking a bargain will make it happen. Please, God, don’t let them hurt Jojo. Please, God, let me save Jane. Like I have the power or right to ask for anything.
“Walk like everything is normal,” one of the men said in a low growl. “Don’t turn around and look at us. Don’t talk to anyone, or we shoot you and them and anyone in between. Understood?”
Jojo and I got out of my truck and walked like they said, but there was no one on the street anyway. The men led us to the house where they took Jane, forcing us around to the back door. I didn’t see the police car anymore. But there were two sets of tire tracks in the muddy driveway, surrounded by a series of footprints like there had been some sort of scuffle. My heart sank. They must have forced Jane into a different car and she was long gone.
“Get down on your knees and put your hands over your heads.”
They frisked us both down, taking our phones and shoving them in their pockets before leading us into the house. All the shades were pulled down. Dust floated in shadowy corners. A lightbulb hung bare over the kitchen sink. The table had a broken leg propped up on cinder blocks. The men motioned for us to sit down on the floor, our backs against the sagging counter, and zip-tied our hands behind our backs and to the rusty handles of the cabinet doors. It smelled like mold.
“Why did you follow the police captain?” the first man demanded.
Jojo was too terrified to speak.
“We didn’t,” I said. “We don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“Mierda.”
“It’s true.”
“We will see if you suddenly remember,” he said. “Tell us when you want to talk. Or stay here and rot.”
The two men walked into the other room. We heard a door close.
“Are they going to leave us here?” Jojo whispered. “Can you break the ties?”
“No. I don’t know.”
The men left us there for what felt like hours.
My mouth went dry.
Jojo’s shoulder pressed to mine was the only thing keeping me from losing my mind. Finally they walked back in.
“Look, you can talk to us. Or we can call the Wolf Cub,” the other man said.
Jojo sucked in a sharp breath of air beside me as the man pulled out his phone and dialed his boss. He spoke in a low Spanish rapid fire.
All I could think about was Mattey waiting for help somewhere on the other side of the woods, wherever he went. Please, please, let Gunner’s mom have come through for us. Let the good guys be on their way. There have to be some good guys left somewhere, right?
Sí, sí, the man on the phone said. He nodded to his partner and flipped his phone to video chat. The image that came into focus simultaneously filled me with relief and terror.
It was Jane. Alive. But Lobenzo had her. And that was a death sentence.
Jane’s face was streaked with blood and dirt. Her shirt was ripped.
“Say hello to your friends, Azules,” a voice from off camera ordered.
“Cade? Jojo?” Jane’s voice was desperate.
“Where are you? Where did they take you?” I said at the same time, my arms flying out like I could somehow grab her through the phone.
“So, Jane, about the tunnel . . . are you ready to share your insight?” the man on the other end of the phone asked, the off-camera voice I could only assume was Lobenzo.
“Or do we need to watch some more of my movies? Or maybe we could make a new movie with your friends in it?”
Jane’s face trembled up and down with the tiny movements of the hand holding the phone on the other end. If she didn’t give him anything, we died. If she gave him too much, we died. There had to be the exact right amount to leave him needing more.
“Let them go, or I won’t tell,” Jane whispered.
“Tell . . . or I’ll have them killed,” Lobenzo said. “It’s funny how you think you can call the shots.”
I lunged forward, as if I could help her through the phone, only to get cracked in the head by the barrel of a gun. I landed on the
floor. The guy pulled me up and pushed the phone back into my and Jojo’s faces.
I could hear Jojo breathing quickly in and out next to me. Her dark eyes were huge and round.
“Who dies first, Jane?” Lobenzo’s voice threatened. “Your friend? Or your boyfriend?”
Jane instantly caved at the threat against us. “No! Please.”
“Where is the tunnel then?”
“It’s called the tunnel at the end of the light!”
“Oh, look, you remembered.” Lobenzo’s words dripped with victory. “You lie to me, Azules, you try to run, they die. One misstep by you. One phone call from me. Their hearts are ripped from their chests . . . like we talked about.”
Jane wrenched her head to look back at me through the phone. Had she had made the wrong choice by saying what she did about the tunnel? How do you gamble with information? She was playing chicken, running barefoot toward a train.
JANE
The tunnel at the end of the light . . . The second Lobenzo had what he needed, I could see the end of our lives blinking like a beacon.
When that tiny phone screen filled up with the image of Lobenzo’s men putting the gun in Cade’s mouth, the air went out of the room. My ribs felt broken, and my heart clenched dry. Cade and Jojo were going to be killed, like me.
Lobenzo put his gun to my head, the barrel a cold circle on my temple.
“Start talking to me,” Lobenzo said. “Tunnel at the end of the light. Where is it? Go.”
I thought about icepicks and chainsaws. Go.
Car bombs. Gunner’s mom. Sophia. Go.
The gun against my skin. Go—talk.
I had to speak. Now. But the second I told him where the tunnel was, I was dead.
“I was only there once. I can’t remember,” I said.
“I think you can.”
“I think I can too,” I said. “But not from here. I’m sorry. I can only find it by sight.”
Maybe that would buy me a little more time before a bullet.
“If you’re lying . . .” He thrust a finger in my face.
I somehow kept myself from flinching. “I swear. I can show you.”
Hide with Me Page 22
