“She ditched the phone,” Brock is saying, on the same page. “But the cab’s first stop after leaving Johns Creek is here.”
He points at the map. Fuck. That’s the Atlanta PD.
“It’s bad,” H says, as Miel visibly fights the urge to slap him. “But it’s not too late. I got her on security cameras. It doesn’t look like she talked to anyone. She went straight to Open Records.”
He’s pulling up video footage of her in a hallway, smiling politely at an officer as she pushes through the Open Records door. What the fuck is she doing? Why go to the police if she’s not going to turn us in?
“She’s still there,” Hernando says. “What are we going to do, boss?”
They’re all looking at me. I feel a dull pain in my wounded bicep, and a bit of warmth on the bandage. I realize I’ve been clenching my fists so tight I must have torn at the healing muscle. I loosen my hands slightly, but not by much.
“H, stay here, keep tabs on her through the cameras,” I say, picking my leather jacket back up from the sofa where I dumped it earlier. “Keep us posted, every damn detail. I want to know if she sneezes.”
Hernando nods, and I move to Brock and Miel next.
“Brock, you’re backup. Follow us down to the station but hang back. Miel, you’re coming with me. We’re bringing the princess back to the castle whether she likes it or not.”
The three of us speed out of the drive, heading into the city. Traffic is already congested. I wish we hadn’t wasted so much time going back to Johns Creek, and now we’re wasting more returning into the city. It doesn’t matter. There’s no way she’s getting away with this. I don’t care what she does, or what I have to do. Even if I have to chain her up in the basement, she’s never slipping through my fingers again.
My phone buzzes as we’re entering the city. Hernando. I pick up immediately.
“She’s on the move,” he says, and I put the phone on speaker so Miel can hear too. “Walking fast out of Open Records.”
“Where is she going?” Miel asks, voice thin.
“Not sure yet,” Hernando says, and I can tell how much he hates to tell us something we don’t want to hear. “Wait. It looks like she’s leaving the building.”
She’s leaving the police station? Without talking to anyone? What the hell kind of game is this? Could she have purposefully asked to give her confession in an unexpected room, like the Open Records office, knowing that we might be watching her? But then why would they let her leave on her own, without protection?
“Where is she going?” Miel repeats, harsher this time.
“She’s definitely leaving the building. Fuck. I’ll lose her once she— Wait. She’s getting a cab. I can just barely see its number, I can track that. Hold on a sec.”
We do, both fidgeting in the unbearable tension as we wait to take the exit off the highway. I hate not knowing exactly where we’re headed. I hate not having my little princess under my total control.
It’s not personal. It’s just dangerous for the plan.
“Okay, they’re going west,” Hernando says, then adds a quiet “Shit.”
“Shit? Shit what?” I ask, cutting off a very annoyed Camry in a race to get to the exit first.
“Um, I mean, there’s a lot of things to the west she could be heading for,” Hernando says, and I grip the steering wheel as tightly as I wish I could be throttling his neck.
“But?”
“The FBI building is to the west.”
“Fuck,” Miel breathes, voice lowered so only I can hear. “Javi, there’s something else to the west, too.”
It takes a moment to click, my mind working in overtime as I take a dangerous dodge around a particularly slow Honda. “But why would she go there?”
The Café Palacios headquarters are housed in a modestly tall building downtown, the blue-ish glass sides reflecting the early afternoon sun nearly blindingly. I shield my eyes and make my way up the short walk to the automatic doors. The interior lobby is minimalist but homey, the walls lined with photos of smiling Colombians picking coffee and shelves of decoratively jarred roasted beans. To the left I see familiar framed photos of my grandparents, then my parents, then me. I’ve never read the text that accompanies those images, the story of us, but I lived it.
The petite receptionist glances up at me as I approach her desk, then does a double take. I haven’t come into our offices in years, have never met this woman, but she must see my face every day.
“Miss Palacios,” she stammers, awkwardly standing as if in the presence of royalty. “I didn’t… How can I help you today?”
“I need to speak to Barry,” I say, then clarify, just in case. “Barry Smythe, CEO?”
“Of course,” the receptionist, whose desk plate reads Delilah, sits back down and starts tapping on her keyboard. “He’s in a meeting with the shareholders right now, but I’m sure he can make time to speak to you immediately. One moment, I’ll tell him you’re here.”
“No, I can wait,” I lie, shaking my head. I don’t have the time, not really, but a part of me wants to put off this conversation as long as possible. I should still be at the station right now, spilling every last detail of my story, but I had one more question left to answer first. “Just tell him I need to speak with him as soon as they’re done.”
Delilah nods and points me to the waiting area, where I awkwardly settle into the green sofa. It feels crazy to just be sitting here, listening to muzak and flipping through waiting room magazines while known criminals are out there, looking for me. There’s nothing else to be done, so I wait. And wait. And wait.
This would be a great time to figure out exactly what I’m going to tell the authorities when I finally get around to that, but my mind is still a mess. I breathe deeply and try to clear the unnecessary thoughts. Under all the panic and confusion and anxiety, what am I dealing with? What are the facts?
Fact: Javier Vega, the man who took me captive in my own home and fucked me senseless, is a convicted felon. He used to be a drug dealer, then he was something even more dangerous. Maybe even a hit man. But now he’s doing something new now, something no one knows about, out from under the thumb of his previous, extremely terrifying employer, a man with no name.
Fact: Miel Conde, his right-hand gal, a woman I almost thought I was friends with, was also involved in this horrible organization. Was she part of the drug aspect of it all, or something worse? Her rap sheet said something worse. No wonder she wanted out. No wonder she’s so scared of the repercussions should their little scheme not working out.
Fact: Regardless of any sad histories, what they’re doing to me is still illegal, and morally reprehensible, and shitty. I don’t owe them anything, not my pity, not my help. And I don’t think that’s what they want from me, either, or they would have told me all this earlier. No, at the end of the day, I’m just a pawn to them, an object to be used until she’s no longer needed. They don’t give a shit about me, and as such, I shouldn’t give a shit about them.
So why do I find myself scrambling for ways to spin this tale to the police so that my captors get to keep their freedom, out of prison and out from under El Sombrerón? Why does my mind keep trying to imagine a nine-year-old Javier, the shattering of his world reduced to a post-it note on a death certificate?
Stupid, stupid girl. My heart is too soft. Stockholm Syndrome probably doesn’t help. Maybe that’s why they chose me, not just because of my wealth, but because they knew I’d be pliable, easy to convince, a broken girl with a soft underbelly behind all the backtalk and red lipstick. I fight so hard to hide that part of myself, but it must be obvious just from looking at me. I’m damaged goods.
“Ma’am?” I glance up from my lap, startled. “He’s ready for you.”
Shit. I still have no idea what I’m going to do. I stand, wiping sweaty palms on my jeans as Barry Smythe enters the lobby.
“Miss Palacios!” he booms, reaching out for a handshake, which he turns into a hug once I accept. I
smile awkwardly at his touch and let him lead me back to his office as employees in the halls turn and stare at me, leaving me suddenly wishing I wasn’t in simple jeans and a t-shirt after all.
“How can I help you?” Barry asks as I sit down across from him in plush green armchairs. I eye the giant office warily, gaze hesitating on the too-messy desk across the room. This place doesn’t look like it did when Dad sat here, or Max. I know I don’t get to have an opinion anymore, not after I all but washed my hands of the family company, knowing I could never fill the throne the way they did. No, instead I just handed the reins over to a stranger and buried myself in yoga and champagne.
“I have to ask you something,” I say, forcing myself to meet the man’s eyes. I don’t know Barry, not really. Certainly not well enough to laugh off what I’m about to accuse him off, should Miel’s allegations turn out to be false. “I’m sorry, but I need to know the truth. I’m just going to spit it out. Do we smuggle cocaine into the country along with our coffee?”
Barry startles, brows shooting up. Is he shocked by the question, or surprised that I’m asking?
“I thought you knew,” Barry says at last, and I feel the final piece of myself shatter.
“Why would you do that?” I breathe, feeling like I could launch myself at the man and strangle him myself. “Why would you tarnish my parents’ name, our family legacy, like that?”
“They’re the ones who began working with that criminal,” Barry says defensively, shifting in his seat. “I had no choice. Your brother, he tried to sever ties and set the company straight again, and he died for it.”
That must be what Miel was trying to tell me, I realize as I grab onto the arms of my chair for balance. My whole life was just swept out from under me, again. All I had left was my history, my belief in my parents, my guilt over Max. This, this changes everything. Is it possible that the parents I worshipped as fallen saints were part of the criminal underworld that might now be the death of me? They died when I was so young, I never had the chance to see the truth in them. And Max, of course he would have tried to put a stop to this when he found out. And if the shooting wasn’t just a random robbery, but an intentional hit to take out a man standing in the way of a dangerous kingpin, then there’s nothing I could have done differently to save my brother’s life. It should comfort me, the fact that what was once my greatest sin has been rendered a lie, but strangely, I feel lost without the tether of guilt. It had become my whole identity, this darkness I carried within me for so long.
“Are you alright, Miss Palacios?” Barry is asking, reaching a hand out toward my knee, but then he freezes, eyes widening at something behind me.
My own blood running cold, I turn hesitantly, already knowing what I’m going to find. Vega’s eyes meet mine, icy and unforgiving. And behind him, Miel is pulling the trigger.
We’re silent all the way back to the estate. I know that if I try to speak now I won’t be able to control myself. My temper is on a hair-trigger, furious at both women in the car with me. If it was just Miel’s direct disobedience, maybe I would be handling it better. But Selina’s betrayal… I’ve never felt this way before. I’ve always been the one who keeps his cool, the one who is collected, the one whose threat lies in his utter control. Now I just want to grab Selina and shake her. The primal need to punish her burns hot and fast through my veins. I would never hurt a woman, not like that, but I need her to know. I need her to know what acute danger she just put herself in, all of us in.
I need her to know the excruciating panic that took me over when I thought she might be hurt, or dead. When I didn’t know what she might be doing. When I didn’t know if she was okay.
I need to punish her for the iron grip she seems to have on my soul.
When we get back home Selina lets herself out of the Hummer quickly, and I can’t blame her for trying to get away from us in this moment. Not only does she know what she’s done today, she also just witnessed firsthand what we’re capable of. But it doesn’t matter if I understand her actions. She’s still mine to punish.
I let her get all the way to the foyer before I grab her arm, too harshly, forcing her to spin back and face me. I can see the uncut terror in her eyes. She knows she’s fucked, not to mention still in shock from what happened in Smythe’s office, but she’s putting up a good facade. It reminds me of the very first night, her up on that staircase like an angelic vision drenched in blood, scared and fiercely defensive at the same time.
“Tell me everything,” I demand, as Miel shuts the front door behind us, and Hernando and Brock hover meekly in the doorway to our left. “What did you do? What did you tell the police? What did Smythe tell you?”
“I think we got to him before—” Miel begins, and I resist the urge to snap at her, too. She’s in deep shit, but I’ll deal with her tomorrow.
“Leave us alone, everyone.”
Miel and the guys disappear quickly, leaving just me and my princess, locked in this poison ivy waltz under the glowing chandelier.
“Tell me,” I repeat, and Selina jerks her arm free but doesn’t run. Instead, she reaches into her big purse, and I instinctively tense. Did she get a gun somehow? Is this her big plan, to kill us herself? But all she pulls out is a heavy folder, which she thrusts at me demonstratively.
“I’ll tell you everything, right after you tell me everything,” she says, and I take the folder.
A few stray photos and scraps of paper spiral to the floor as I do, but I ignore them, flipping open the front cover. The name and mark printed on the front page make my blood run cold. Where did she get this? Is this what she was doing in Open Records? I flip through a few pages quickly. She knows quite a bit, but she doesn’t know everything. Not yet.
“This doesn’t concern you at all,” I say, and her hands fly up in frustration.
“Are you kidding me? Of course this concerns me. My parents were involved with this criminal, and now I’m part of it, too. Not to mention, Miel just killed a man right in front of me. Why? To protect yourselves? To protect the so-called Sombrerón? Or just to teach me a lesson?”
I inwardly wince at the mention of her parents’ crimes. That means we got to Blythe too late, that he finished what Miel started. Now it’s something else to add to the list of messes I’ll have to clean up myself.
“I’m taking care of it,” I tell her, tossing the thick folder aside. “Don’t worry your pretty little head. You’re about to be plenty busy without this on your mind.”
“What do you mean?” she asks, shifting on her feet. She senses that her punishment is only just beginning.
I reach into my pocket and pull out the small velvet box. I swear I can feel Selina’s heart stop, I can see the hair rising on the back of her neck. I hand the grenade over, and she willingly takes it and opens the box, morbidly curious.
When she sees the ring, understands what’s happening, her face collapses completely. There’s an unexpectedly sharp sting in my chest at the sight. I guess there’s still a tiny piece of a young boy left in me, a boy who expected this moment in my life to go down very differently. I could have sworn I’d killed that part of myself off years ago.
“No,” Selina breathes, hands shaking so badly I think she’ll drop the ring. I’m surprised she hasn’t thrown it in my face yet. “No. No! What the hell?”
“There are consequences to your actions, Selina,” I say, crossing my arms. I’ll shove that ring onto her finger myself if I have to. This was a step in my plan from day one, of course, but I thought I’d have more time to warm her up to the idea. A secret pit of myself even thought there would come a day where she would want this. If I’d known I would have to force it onto her, I would have simply done so from the very start.
“I’m not going to fucking marry you,” my princess says with a panicked, humorless laugh. “This is insane. What would I even tell people?”
“That’s up to you,” I say. “As is the wedding planning and whatnot.”
“How generou
s,” Selina snarks. “Do I get to set the date, too? Because that’s going to be never.”
God, that mouth. I can’t tell if the way it makes my blood run hot is rage, or something darker.
“Well, we’ll be signing the legal paperwork first thing tomorrow,” I tell her, and watch her grow even paler. “But for the party itself, I’m thinking we should get it over with before the end of the year.”
“Why are you even doing this?” she asks, near hysteria. “Is this just one more way to own me? This isn’t the dark ages. A wife isn’t her husband’s property.”
I shrug. “Not in so many words. But if you really need me to lay it out for you, Selina, yes, I’m doing this to control you. Control your money, control your mouth in the court of law, control your company. I was hoping we could do this the nice way, but after today, you’ve forced my hand.”
“You can’t make me do this,” Selina says shakily, and I wonder if she knows there’s a single tear escaping down her left cheek. “This is too far.”
I grab her purse straps and use them to jerk her close, as close as I can without losing what little self-control I have left. Her eyes sparkle with tears and hatred, and her cheeks are hot with emotion. Still, her body leans closer to mine, pulled to me by the same dark magnetism that won’t let me walk away from her. The first time we met, before she even knew me, she shattered something new and unfamiliar inside me. In return, I have to break her back, mold her into a shape that belongs in my twisted life. Because the truth is, now that I have her, I can’t live without her, and I will never let her live without me, either.
As if sensing my thoughts of dark possession, Selina pulls herself back slightly, lips quivering in fear.
I want to taste her loathing, lick the violent thoughts right off her tongue.
“I can make you do whatever I fucking want,” I remind her. I can hear the dangerous husk in my voice, and she flinches back at the sound. “I know you, Selina. I know what you’re complicit in, even things you aren’t aware of yet. I know who you are, deep inside, the shadows of yourself you try so hard to hide. So tell me, princess, will you marry me, or will the world find out the truth about the Palacios family? Not to mention what you’ve done yourself. You’d lose everything, might even go to prison for a couple years. Your parents’ public memory would never be the same, your name would close doors instead of open them. Or maybe, maybe I’ll just save us both the trouble and kill you myself.”
Caged: The Complete Trilogy Page 16
