Final Reckoning (The Adamos Book 11)

by Mia Madison

  “Santiago’s planning a hit.”

  His voice turns sepulchral. “On who?”

  “The whole clan.” I give him a rundown of the intended Christmas Eve massacre. “And he specifically mentioned the Callahan girls.”

  He swears. “I’ll brief the others. Is the date certain?”

  “Nothing’s certain with him. But it seems likely, since he wants the alibi of being at church. I’m supposed to meet with some of the mercenaries he hires to go over the details. If that happens, I’ll be able to confirm the date and get you more intel, but it’ll be close to when it all goes down.”

  Lando blows out a breath. “We’ll be ready. But it’d be better if they nail this guy before we get there.”

  “His security’s very good; I told you that before.” Just not that I’m the one responsible for it. “If it goes ahead as planned and the cops can move on the perps that night, Santiago will be a sitting duck at church, with no guards. It might be the best chance there is of taking him without a gunfight.”

  “I hear that. Teo … take care of yourself.”

  “You too.” I end the call before he can say anything else. Lando wants to bring me back into the family, but it’s not that simple. The man I used to be no longer exists.

  Next, I send a text to my lieutenant, Danny Garcia. It’s nothing but numbers, according to our prearranged code, telling him when and where to meet me. Then I go into the spare bedroom, which is the reason this dingy, nondescript dwelling has such heavy security.

  The supposedly closed-circuit surveillance at Santiago’s compound really isn’t. All his video feeds also come here. They’re backed up onto a server that’s accessible to a handful of key people.

  Two police departments, the state’s attorney general, and the FBI all have Bruno Santiago in their sights. They’ve been trying to take him down for years, but didn’t get far until I infiltrated his organization.

  Every week, I make an extra video: my personal testimony about anything I’ve witnessed, on the recordings or off. I also include my hunches and informed speculation about plans I’m not directly privy to. That goes on a thumb drive that I carry north and hand over to Garcia.

  The server’s contents get backed up onto an external hard drive every week. The in-person meetings let my lieutenant verify that I’m still alive and keeping it together. If anyone of Santiago’s ever figures out what’s going on and takes out the server – or me – law enforcement will still have all the evidence it needs.

  I find the spot on the video feed that I noticed earlier, a man going into one of Santiago’s nightclubs. I recognize him as someone who’s been out to the compound, so I mention him in my weekly summary so the cops can track down his identity. Then I copy my testimony onto a fresh thumb drive and climb on my bike.

  Tonight, I have to tell Garcia that it’s time to wrap things up and take this bastard down.

  We have a rotating roster of places where we can meet without being conspicuous. This week, it’s the parking lot of a bar that caters to bikers and an overall rough crowd. He pulls up on his own Harley, and we huddle together in the wind, well away from the lights and security cameras.

  Handing off the thumb drive, I tell him tersely, “Santiago’s upping the ante.”

  “What now?”

  “He’s planning to wipe out the entire Adamo clan. Not just talk – rocket launchers and mercenaries.” I give him the details.

  “Fuck.” Garcia glances around, as if Santiago’s men might be nearby. “Are you ready to disappear?”

  “Yeah. Everything’s in place.” Has been since I started this.

  His grim expression suits my mood. “Don’t go back there, Matteo.”

  “I have to. If I disappear, so will he. He’ll know something’s up and go underground, be overseas before you can nab him. I can’t leave until the sting operation’s in full swing.”

  He sighs. “Fuck. I know you’re right, but I don’t like it.”

  “Neither do I.” The itching between my shoulder blades might be my own paranoia … or not. “How soon can the task force get everything set?”

  “I’ll call our FBI contact tomorrow. This isn’t his first rodeo. He won’t dick around when I tell him we’ve got to move.”

  “Good. Watch your back, Lieutenant. This guy’s crazy enough to go after cops if he gets wind of anything.”

  “Don’t worry about us. Keep your head down until I give you the word and you can clear the fuck out of there.”

  On the way back, my sense of danger gets stronger. Instead of going straight to the house, I park some distance away and scout the area on foot. It takes me an hour to get close.

  Logging into my security system with my phone, I check the surveillance. Everything looks normal, with no signs of tampering or visitors. But I can’t shake that uneasy feeling.

  Retreating to my bike, I drive to another part of town and pay cash for a cheap motel room. I lie down on the bed fully clothed, gun under my pillow, and try to get some sleep. It takes a while before I can will my eyes to close and my brain to shut down.

  The burner phone startles me awake. I look at the readout; it’s Lando. Good thing, since no one else but Garcia has ever gotten a call from this number.

  “Yeah.” No point giving myself away in case it’s not him.

  But it is. And his words turn my blood to ice.

  “They’ve got Quinn.”

  6

  Camping Trip

  December 3, early morning

  The car smells like cigarettes and stale sweat. I’m bound and gagged … but not blindfolded. My captors don’t care if I see their faces.

  I’m trying not to think about what that means.

  Elina and I rode down to Callahan’s together. I was unlocking the back door when they jumped us. Elina … I don’t know they did to her. It all happened so fast.

  At least I didn’t hear a gunshot. But I’m blinking back tears, worrying about her, blaming myself for everything.

  Stupid, Quinn. So stupid. Even after seeing that man yesterday, I didn’t think Santiago’s thugs would show up outside the bakery at 3 am.

  My sisters should be at Callahan’s by now, so Carlo will know I’ve been taken. He’s an ex-military commando type with his own security firm. He’ll be searching for me, and Elina will have help.

  I just have to hang on.

  There are two men in the front seat, and one in the back with me. I’m down on the floorboards. He keeps leering at me and I keep avoiding his gaze.

  If I stay still and calm and quiet, I’ll be better prepared for whatever’s coming. Santiago’s insane; I know that much. I can’t expect any kind of mercy or compassion from him.

  The man back here with me is tired of waiting. He nudges my leg with his foot, not gently. “Bitch, look at me.”

  I turn on my ice-queen reserve and meet his eyes, giving him nothing. When he doesn’t speak, I look away again. He wanted my fear; now he’ll want to make me pay for not giving it to him.

  Carlo needs to find me. Fast. I don’t have it in me to withstand the kind of treatment Santiago will want to dish out.

  We drive for what feels like a long time. Finally the car stops and they haul me out. That’s when it hits me that my purse is nowhere to be seen.

  Which means there’s no cell phone for Carlo to track.

  For the first time, dread congeals in my stomach. I was counting on the Adamos riding to my rescue, like they have so many times before. The realization that I’m on my own is terrifying.

  It’s still dark outside. I can’t see where we are. One of the men takes my arm, his fingers biting into me even through my jacket, and leads me inside a building. Lights come on; my heart sinks.

  The room we’re in has been set up as a small film studio. The enormous bed against one wall leaves no doubt as to what kind of film they intend to make.

  The man holding me lets me go. I refuse to rub my arm, though I know he’s left bruises. One of the men stays n
ear the door. Standing guard.

  The other two ignore me. No one else is here, and a tiny sliver of hope threads through the bleakness filling me. I really hope they’re not waiting for Santiago himself – but any delay at all is good.

  Only minutes pass before the men start to mutter impatiently. “Where the fuck are they?” says the one who’s lounging on the bed.

  “You know how to work the camera?” answers the man who brought me inside.

  “Sure.”

  “Start setting up. If they’re not here soon, we’ll go ahead without them.”

  “More fun for us.” He gives me a smile that makes me want to hurl. Rolling lazily off the bed, he strolls to the camera.

  The man who grabbed me seems to be in charge. “Go check outside,” he tells the man at the door. “See if there’s any sign of them.”

  A sullen grunt is the only reply, but the man goes. Boss man turns to me and I take an immediate step back, putting more space between us. “Go ahead,” he says. “Fight me. I want you to.”

  He’s going to get what he wants. I’m not a fighter, but every fiber of my being is screaming no to this. I can’t submit.

  I keep backing away. The cameraman’s phone rings. From the corner of my eye, I see him pull it out, shake his head, and start for the door.

  Only one man left. He lunges at me. I dodge aside, adrenaline quickening my reflexes. He comes at me again and I run, straight for the door, like the track star I never was.

  His feet pound on the floor behind me. I’m going as fast as I can, but he’s getting closer. With a final, desperate burst of speed, I crash into the door, which isn’t fully closed since the last guy went out. It flies open and I race outside.

  The faintest hint of dawn lightens the sky. Behind me, there’s a sickening thud. Whirling, I see the man who was chasing me laid out flat on the ground.

  I can make out my surroundings just enough, now, to see that we’re outside a house and the yard is littered with bodies. But I don’t have time to process it before a dark form looms over me. I shrink away in terror – and then his scent hits me.

  Without a word, Matteo hauls me up and over his shoulder and strides away, his long legs carrying us far faster than I could walk on my own. I’m too stunned to speak.

  We round the corner of the house. There’s a Harley parked on the street there. He sets me down and hands me a helmet.

  “Climb on,” he orders. “Hold on tight.”

  I obey, still running on autopilot. “How …” I whisper.

  “Later.”

  I cling to him as he accelerates away. Seconds later, three things happen at once: he curses, his body jerks, and the sound of a gunshot cracks through the air.

  “Hang on!” he yells. The bike leaps forward and we pass the vehicle coming toward us, a dark SUV, in a blur. I hear brakes squealing behind us, but Matteo’s racing through this quiet residential neighborhood like he’s in the Indy 500.

  I keep expecting to hear more shots, to feel them, even. But it doesn’t happen. Matteo slows down enough that we’re not so obvious, winding through one street after another, ignoring all the stop signs.

  We leave the residential area and go into the business district, sticking mostly to side streets but driving very carefully now. Eventually he pulls into one of those storage places and stops outside one of the units.

  When he climbs off the bike, I see he’s sweating and his right arm isn’t moving right. Grimacing, he hands me a key and motions to the padlock. I get it up and raise the door.

  Inside is a black SUV. I help him move the Harley in next to it. “You’ll have to drive,” he says, and hands me the keys.

  We climb into the SUV and I back it out, then lock up the storage unit again. “You need a hospital,” I say when I’m back in the driver’s seat.

  “Not an option. There’s a first aid kit in the back; we’ll have to make do with that.”

  “Where are we going, then?” I pull out onto the street. My heart is pounding.

  “Get on the freeway going east.” I do, and he takes out a phone and dials a number. Someone answers, and all he says is, “I’m blown. Going under. You too.”

  He ends the call and dials again. “I’ve got her. She’s okay. Yeah. I’ll tell her.”

  Clicking off, he says, “Lando sends love from your sisters.” Lando. That must be how he knew I’d been taken, though I still can’t figure out how he found me.

  For the next two hours, he doesn’t speak except to tell me where to turn next. I don’t bother pointing out that phones have GPS these days; I’m sure he’s trying to keep himself conscious.

  Finally, we end up in a campground deep in the forest. It’s closed for the winter, but he knows a back way in, an access road that only the staff use. Surrounded by trees, I feel chilled, but also safe. I can’t imagine Santiago looking for us here.

  Matteo staggers when he climbs down from the SUV. “Let me see,” I demand. Folding back his leather jacket, I suck in a breath.

  The right side of his shirt is soaked in blood.

  7

  Discovery

  “Where’s the first aid kit?” Panic sharpens my voice.

  “Everything’s in the back.”

  I beep the back open and find it’s been neatly packed with all the essentials for survival. Food, water, a sleeping bag, clothing. The first aid kit is a good-sized one and I breathe a sigh of thanks as I yank it free.

  Matteo’s chosen a camping spot with a picnic table. “Over there,” I tell him, and stick by his side in case he needs help. He gets there without assistance, but I’m sure it costs him.

  “Don’t sit down yet. I need to get your coat off.” He leans against the table, ever so slightly, while I’m easing it off his shoulders, which tells me how shaky he’s feeling.

  Setting the kit on the table, I open it and survey the contents. “There’s a pair of scissors in here, but they’re not really meant for cutting heavy fabric. Do you have anything else?”

  “There’s a knife in the SUV.”

  I find it, a brand-new hunting knife with a gleaming edge. “Okay, hold still,” I tell him when I bring it back. Carefully, I cut his shirt away, the blade parting the fabric with an ease that’s frightening.

  When I’ve got it entirely removed, I wince at the ugly gash along his ribs. “The bullet scored the flesh, but that’s all. Half an inch further in and it would have shattered your rib, at least.”

  He squints at me. “You got medical training?”

  “Just basic first aid stuff. Dad made us all learn that, along with how to handle a gun.”

  “Smart man.”

  “He was.” I take out the supplies I need. “I’ll do my best to be gentle.”

  “Do what you need to.” He sits stoically while I get the blood off his torso and then disinfect the wound, apply ointment, and cover it with a bandage.

  My worry about his injury has kept me focused … but now I’m free to see what I’ve been tending. His beautiful body laid bare. All that smooth muscle under gleaming skin, tempting my fingers to touch, and the tantalizing happy trail leading down into his jeans.

  “You’ve, uh, got blood on your jeans.” My voice comes out hoarse. I can’t meet his eyes.

  When he doesn’t answer, I look up in time to see him staring at me, raw hunger in his eyes. Heat flashes between us and now I can’t look away. I’m at his mercy; I couldn’t say no even if I wanted to.

  A muscle bunches in his jaw before he turns his head, breaking the connection. “I’ll go get changed.”

  I scramble out of the way as he stands up and makes his way to the back of the SUV. I stay where I am, my view of him blocked by the vehicle. For a few moments there’s silence. Then he hisses out a breath.

  I’m halfway to him before I’m conscious of moving. Forcing myself to stop, I say tentatively, “Can I help with anything?” A man like Matteo wouldn’t appreciate being babied or fussed over.

  There’s a long silence before
he answers. “It’s surprisingly difficult to change clothes with this type of injury. Bending and twisting are pretty much off the menu.”

  Taking that as an invitation, I come around the end of the SUV.

  He’s got his jeans unzipped, and them and his underwear partway down, enough to expose a portion of his hip. There’s more dried blood caked on his skin.

  But what I mostly notice are that the garments are riding just above his cock.

  Lust tugs low in my belly. “I’ll just ...” I gesture toward the SUV, hoping he’ll understand what I mean since all the words seem to have dribbled out of my brain.

  “Baby wipes.”

  There’s a strange note to his voice. I don’t dare look at him. I find the wipes and move to his side, dabbing carefully at the blood, then scrubbing as gently as I can when it doesn’t come off easily.

  My eyes keep darting to the six-pack of his belly and the hair below, taunting me with what’s just out of sight. “There’s more blood,” I say when I have what I can reach cleaned off. “Down your leg.”

  “I can’t get the clothes down any farther,” he says in that same rough, peculiar voice. “You’ll have to do it.”

  Heaven help me. “Okay … um …” There’s nothing for it. I can’t get his clothes off his leg without exposing the rest of him too.

  This is definitely not the time to tell Matteo I’ve never seen a naked man before.

  I can do this. I’m a grown woman. Of course, if it were anyone but Matteo, I’d be keeping my distance and telling him sorry, figure it out, I can’t help you.

  Setting down the baby wipes, I move in front of him and hook my fingers inside the waistband of his underwear, the outer part of each hand closing over the top of his jeans. Just before I yank them down, his hand wraps around my wrist.

  The contact sends an electric shock through me. My nipples go hard and I can’t hold back a tiny gasp.

  “Out.” He sounds half strangled.

  “What?”

  “Pull out before you pull down.”