by LK Shaw
I started to speak, but he pressed a finger to my lips. “I don't mean that as some snide remark about any choices you've made. You know how much I admire you, and if you don't, then I need to do a better job of showing you."
"You do show me. All the time. You show me how much you care and love me. And my daughter."
"Good, because I do love you. My father knew he loved my mother the moment he saw her. There was definitely something there, a spark, from that first time we met, and it's only grown bigger, brighter, and hotter ever since. I want to be your husband one day. I want to be Maisie's papá, and I want to be papá to any more kids we might have."
My throat clogged with emotions. I wanted all that too, but I was scared.
“I know that's a lot to throw at you all at once. More than I'd actually planned on saying yet, because I can tell just by your expression that you're freaking out a bit."
Choked laughter escaped, because he was right.
"So let's start small, and then we can build and go from there. Again, think about your answer before you give it. I want you and Maisie to move in. Here, in this house, with us. I've already talked to my father about it, and he is beyond excited. A ridiculous amount of excited if you want to know the truth. He says he’s missed having all of us here, and I know how unhappy he would be living alone. He adores you and Maisie and he would love nothing more than to become an abuelo again."
This was all so overwhelming. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't answer right away. I'd never expected this. "But Maisie's school? And her sitter? They're all near our apartment and my work."
"Taken care of. Our entire family does everything for each other. No questions asked. We want you to be a part of this family. Marguerite and Ines have offered to watch Maisie any time, whether you're at work or if we go out on a date night. She'll have any number of aunts and uncles who can take her to pre-school and pick her up, plus me. I don't work far from there. Once she finishes, we can look at transferring her to a preschool nearer to here."
"Wow," I breathed out. "You've really thought this through, haven't you?"
“I have. It's all I've been thinking about. I want to start my life with you, and I hope you want to start it with me as well. So, think about it. Do whatever you consider to be the best for you and Maisie, and no matter what your answer is, I will support it and you no matter what."
The sliding glass door opened, and Ines popped her head out. "Did you ask her yet?"
"Are you kidding me right now?" Pablo yelled over his shoulder, and I started laughing. "Go away, for Christ's sake."
She huffed but did as he said.
"Yes," I said.
Pablo's head snapped in my direction. "What?"
“I said yes."
He sat there in stunned silence and then he jumped to his feet, bringing me with him and spun us around in a circle. "Yes! She said yes," he hollered.
I threw my head back in glee. Pablo stopped spinning and set me on my feet, cradling my face, and plastering his lips against mine. “I love you so much. You won't regret this, I promise."
Knowing Pablo, I believed him. I was scared to death, because we seemed to be moving so fast, but everything felt right. I loved him. Maisie loved him. We were becoming part of the kind of family I'd always wished I'd had.
“I love you. You make me incredibly happy."
"If you're okay with it, let's go tell that little girl in there."
Pablo took my hand, and nothing had ever felt more right. My daughter and I were finally where we belonged.
Epilogue
One week ago
I wasn't ready to leave. Not really. Leaving meant going back out there. It meant dealing with shit I didn't think I could deal with yet. Already, my stomach hurt, and there was a stabbing pain in the vicinity of my heart that made me think I was having a heart attack, even though I knew I wasn't. It was a pain I'd become intimately familiar with over the last two years. Since I'd been off my meds, it had become an all too frequent occurrence. The only cure was to breathe through it like the countless therapists I'd been to had coached me to do.
A bitter, nearly hysterical laugh bubbled out of me. If Dr. Leahy could see me sitting here in this bed, he'd probably just write me a few more prescriptions for Xanax and call it a day. He'd been my last in a cycle of terrible doctors who'd done nothing but give me more pills. Therapist. Doctors. It's all my life had been. No one knew what the fuck to do with me.
Here I was, about to be discharged from the hospital, and I was even more fucked up than before I got here. Although I'm not sure that was saying much. There came a scratch at the door, and then it opened, that annoyingly perky fucking nurse popping her head in.
"Oh good, you're awake," she said, entering my room, with a thousand-watt smile I wanted to punch off her face.
Anger issues were just one of my many problems. I returned her expression with a no doubt patronizing smirk.
“I have all your discharge paperwork here," she continued, white teeth still brightly displayed. "The doctor wanted me to go over it with you one more time before he signed in. Once that's done, you're free to leave."
Yay, me. I barely listened while she rattled off all the doctor's instructions. Prescription—check. Wound care—check. Referral to yet another therapist—check. I nodded in all the appropriate places, my mind already wandering. I didn't really care about a word she was saying. None of it mattered. Except him.
He was the only reason I didn't need to be sedated at the thought of leaving. If I could just find him as soon as I was out of here, then everything would work itself out.
"Do you have any questions?" Nurse Sunshine asked.
"No."
Only then did her smile falter a bit. "Are you sure? I know it's a lot to take in, so it's perfectly okay to ask questions."
“I said," I emphasized. “I didn't have any."
"Well," she said, finally losing some of her annoying bubble-gum peppiness. "If you're sure then. I'll just give this to the doctor to sign. It shouldn't be much longer now."
When I didn't reply, she slunk away like a dog with its tail between its legs after getting yelled at for piddling on the floor. I almost felt bad for being a little shitty. Almost, but not quite. I stared up at the ceiling, waiting, my emotions, as usual, all over the place. Finally, a new nurse poked her head in, but she didn't enter, like she was afraid. I'd obviously hurt the other one's feelings.
"Miss Yates, all your discharge paperwork is in order. I have a wheelchair out here whenever you're ready."
“I don't need a wheelchair." I may not be quite ready to go, but since I was leaving it sure as hell wasn't gonna happen by any means except my own two feet.
"It's really hospital protocol that—"
"Fuck protocol," I snapped, rising from the bed and swinging my legs to the floor. “I don't give a shit about it. I'm not an invalid. I have two perfectly working appendages, and I plan on walking my happy ass out of this place. So, I'm free to go?"
"Y—Yes, you're free to go."
I rose from the bed, having already changed into the second-hand clothes the hospital chaplain had managed to find for me. I'd never been one for charity, but it was either this or get arrested for indecent exposure when the cops picked me up for being butt-ass naked. I didn't have many clothes, and the ones I did have were no doubt long gone. You left stuff at the shelter for too long, and you could kiss it goodbye.
Nurse Scaredy-cat stepped back, letting me pass by. It was pure stubbornness that I didn't apologize for my asshole behavior and beg them to let me stay a little bit longer. My entire body trembled as I held my head high and strode out of the hospital and onto the street, the small sheet of prescription paper in my hand.
It was a perfect day. The sun was shining and there wasn't a cloud in the beautiful blue sky. I tipped my head back, closed my eyes, and soaked up the heat of the rays hoping it warmed the chills that threatened to rack my body despite being the middle of summer. A honking horn
ripped me from my daydream and thrust me right back into reality.
I glanced down at my skid-free yellow socks provided by the hospital. They were brightly colored and the first new piece of clothing I'd owned in over two years. The newness would wear off before I was ready for it to, just like everything did. No one truly appreciated new things. Not really. Anymore, everything was disposable. Don’t like the car you drive? Trade it in for a different model. Tablet breaks? Buy a new one. Tear a hole in your jeans? Throw them away and get a new pair. Wear a hole in the big toe of your socks? Toss them and grab another three-pack.
With that, I bent down and pulled my new yellow socks off, wiggling my bare, unpolished toes. God, I couldn't even remember what nail polish looked like. I stuffed the two articles of clothing in the back pocket of the jeans someone no doubt had never even missed and started walking. I remained alert to my surroundings. I stayed on the main streets along the sidewalk, never venturing down any deserted side roads. The closer I got to where I was heading, the faster I moved, and soon I was nearly running.
Sweat dripped down the side of my face, between my tits, and down my back by the time I reached my destination. My feet were also killing me, but I refused to put my socks back on. A little dirt and a small bit of blood from the piece of glass I'd stepped on was a small price to pay for keeping my only brand-new article of clothing clean.
"Excuse me," I said, my voice strong and even despite the terror coursing through me, to the man seated behind the plexiglass.
He glanced up at me with disinterest. "Can I help you?"
“I need to see Officer Oliver Garrison."
"Regarding?" he drawled, lazily.
"None of your business," I snapped, regretting it after he narrowed his eyes at me. "Sorry. It's a personal matter. An important personal matter."
The man heaved an annoyed sigh and picked up the phone. "Name?"
"Charity."
His brows raised as though waiting for a last name, but that was all he was getting. He rolled his eyes. "Have a seat."
"Thank you, but I'll just stand here." I was too anxious to sit. The buzzing and the feeling of ants were biting me would only increase if I didn't walk around.
"Suit yourself." He shrugged. "Who knows how long it'll take him to answer. He's probably out somewhere."
I'd stand here for as long as it took. I didn't care.
"Hey, it's McCrary. If Garrison is around, can you let him know that Charity is here to see him?"
Pause.
"No idea. She didn't say. Said it was a personal matter."
Another pause.
"Thanks." He hung up the phone and turned his gaze back to me. "They'll pass on the message."
I nodded, and began to pace, my bare feet slapping against the cool tiled floor. Person after person came through the lobby area of the police station, none of them Oliver. I jumped out of the way of a cop pulling a hand-cuffed man by the arm before they disappeared through a doorway and into the abyss of whatever lay past it. The constant din of conversation was making me twitchy and nervous.
"Charity?"
I spun at my name and nearly lost my balance but caught myself before taking a header. In the same doorway stood the man I'd come to see. His tattooed arms displayed bright blues, greens, reds, and yellows. He moved across the room, and his emerald green eyes darted around the lobby before landing back on me when only a few feet separated us.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, confusion evident. He glanced down at my bare feet. “Where are your shoes?”
"You're the only person I trust. The only person that makes me feel safe after everything they did to me. I'm scared, and I don't have anywhere to go." My voice broke, but I swallowed back the strangled sound. “I need your help. Please, Oliver."
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Who doesn’t love a wedding? Ines and Brody finally tie the knot. Be sure to check out their Christmas wedding in FOR ALWAYS!
Can Oliver change his ways? Who exactly is Charity?
Find out in POINT BLANK
Coming March 2021
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In Too Deep
“Kill him.”
Those two, single-syllable words played on repeat like a litany in my ears. They were accompanied by a multitude of emotions.
Horror.
Guilt.
Satisfaction.
It’s the last one that made me the most nervous.
I tried to pinpoint the exact moment things changed. The moment I changed. Was it the first time I took a hit of blow and loved the rush it provided? The time I sat on a piss-scented couch with a gun in my face, its hammer drawn back as incentive, while I “sampled” the latest stash of a new-to-me dealer who didn’t quite trust me? Or maybe it was when I realized that sometimes, in order to make things happen, you had to get your hands dirty. I was on my own. No cavalry was coming to my rescue. I did what I had to to survive, even if I hated myself most of the time.
The drugs.
The killing.
They were all a part of the man I’d become over the last five years in order to bring an entire organization crumbling to the ground. It was my life’s mission. My obsession, in fact.
Like an out of body experience, I watched my hand remove the gun from its shoulder holster and point it at the bleeding man begging for his life on his knees in front of me.
“Please, don’t do this. I told you where the money was. Please, I have a wife, a daught—”
Closing off my emotions, I squeezed the trigger. The bullet entered his brain, cutting his words off mid-sentence. The dead man collapsed onto the cement floor of the abandoned warehouse near Chicago’s Lake Michigan, blood pooling next to his head.
Miguel Álvarez, the man who’d given the death order, spat in the direction of the body. “Let that be another lesson to those who steal from me.”
He clapped me on the shoulder on his way to the black sedan parked just inside the warehouse doors. “Tomás, my friend, welcome to the family.”
I remained there, unmoving, while I watched two men begin to wrap up the body for disposal. It would be weighed down and dumped in the waters of the Michigan, hopefully to never be found again. My expression remained impassive.
“You will come to the house, sí?” The voice called from behind my back. Forcing my eyes from the scene in front of me, I turned to face Miguel.
“Yes, sir, I’ll be there soon. I have some quick business to take care of first.” I didn’t flinch at his assessing stare. After a moment he nodded.
“Don’t be long, Tomás.” The warning tone was clear. “I want to introduce you to my nephew, Alejandro.”
He disappeared inside the car, closing the door behind him. The Mercedes pulled away, and I continued to watch it until the tail lights disappeared. Leaving the cleanup crew to their task, I exited the stifling heat of the warehouse before jumping on my fully restored 1984 cherry red Harley Softail. I started her up, slammed my heel against the kickstand, and took off in the opposite direction Miguel had gone. Fifteen minutes later, I entered the Grant Park North parking garage and drove around until I reached the fourth level. I spotted an empty parking space next to a blue Honda. The passenger window of the Honda lowered at the same time I cut the engine.
“I’m in.” I spoke to the shadowy figure of my handler sitting in the driver’s seat without turning my head in her direction.
“What did you do?”
I gave a self-deprecating laugh. “What I had to, Landon.”
There was a long pause. She finally replied with a voice full of understanding. “I see. Well, we both knew going in that something like this might happen. It’s unfortunate, but it needed to be done. You’ll be in
touch soon, then?”
“Yes. I’ll let you know when the next deal is going down.”
Without another word, I cranked up the bike and took off. I drove down Michigan Avenue, burying my emotions. I’d been with the Drug Enforcement Administration for eight years. I was en route to the home of the man in charge of the second largest Mexican cartel in the United States. No longer was I Brody Thomas, D.E.A. agent. I was Tomás González, full-fledged member of the Juárez Cartel.
I ignored the guilt stabbing me deep in my gut. Diego Garcia may have been the first man I’d been forced to kill, but if I was going to bring down the cartel, he most likely wouldn’t be my last. Besides, any man who got his wife hooked on dope and then prostituted her out to his friends earned a special place in hell.
There were so many different scenarios in which all this would be over. Oftentimes, in my dreams, I eradicated every drug off the street and was hailed a hero. Other times, I had occasional nightmares of my cover being blown and Álvarez having me killed. It didn’t matter. I’d signed up knowing the risks. But never, at any time, did I envision it would be a sexy Latina bombshell who would eventually bring my world crashing down around me.
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Acknowledgments
With every book comes a laundry list of all the people who helped me along the way. Bullet Proof is no different. You all deserve my eternal gratitude for every bit of encouragement, brainstorming, and critiquing you gave me. I could not have written this book without you.
