by Jennifer Ann
Oh my god. What if that’s what he’s planning to do with me? It would make sense…a way to settle Freddie’s debt once and for all.
Knees buckling, my bladder slackens, threatening to spill.
“Come on,” Terrance grunts with a bruising grasp around my arm.
I dig my heels into the dirt, whipping my head back and forth. If he’s going to kill me, I’m not going without a fight.
“Goddamn it,” he mutters to himself. He nods his head at the other man who bends at the knees, hoisting me over his shoulder like I’m made of air. I thrash and kick until Terrance roars beside us, “Stop, or I’ll let every last one of my men have a turn with you!”
Cold, blinding fear is all at once replaced with a sudden jolt of panic. I’d rather be dead than face whatever horrors he has planned. I try to control the erratic breaths spilling from my nose as the man carries me several feet behind Terrance with a firm hand on my ass.
“That her?” a nasally voice asks.
“Yeah,” Terrance answers. “And if you so much as lay a finger on her, you’ll lose your entire fucking hand. Let the others know as well.”
“Yes, Boss.”
Although I’m guessing it’s because he wants me all to himself, I’m still relieved by his words after he just threatened to let them have me.
Following the sound of a door being pried open on rusty hinges, Terrance and the man carrying me begin ascending down a stairway in the ground. I watch the third man’s boots and an automatic rifle rise higher with each step.
We’re underground. A bomb shelter?
It’s musky and damp, muting the sounds of the men’s shoes on concrete as they move through a tunnel. We pass a handful of closed doors, and several more sets of feet. At one point I hear the distant beep of machines that sounds exactly like a hospital.
Rook told everyone the time he saw a woman’s heart being cut from her body, Terrance was in the room. What if that’s why this place was built underground? What if that’s why they brought me here?
My bladder spasms harder as the man sets me down on a cool concrete floor in a small, square room, flanked with a set of bare mattresses. It’s more intimidating than I imagine a prison cell would be, knowing my captor is a heartless monster who values money more than human life.
“Walt, here, will bring you water and food,” Terrance tells me, adjusting his fedora. “I’d suggest you eat it real quick before the rats get a whiff.”
With the thought of being left alone with “Walt” and rats, my heart pounds against my ribcage. “I have to pee,” I try to tell him with my tongue thrashing against the material.
Waving a hand in my direction, Terrance’s dark gaze shifts over to the other man. Walt produces a switch-blade. I cry out, crushing my bloodless hands against the wall behind me.
“He’s going to remove the gag,” Terrance tells me, his voice seeping with annoyance.
I close my eyes, forcing hot tears down my face as Walt slides the dull end of the knife against my cheek. I’m not one to cry easily, but this shit’s messed up.
A moment later the material falls from my mouth. “My hands,” I plead.
Terrance rolls his eyes among a nod. Walt cuts the plastic bind. I whimper and shake my hands in front of me as the flow of blood returns to them, producing sharp trickles of pain.
“What are you going to do with me?” I ask Terrance, although terrified of the answer.
“That’s none of your concern.”
“I have to pee,” I whine, rubbing my wrists.
He lets out an impatient sigh, eyeing the hallway like he has somewhere else to be. “I’ll have them bring you a bucket.”
I shake my head. “I have to pee now.”
Terrance starts for the doorway, motioning to Walt. “Take her to the bathroom down the hall. If she tries anything, you have my permission to use her in whatever way you’d like.”
Vomit sears through my throat. “Please, don’t do this!” I cry, starting after Terrance. “Ryker will give you the money Freddie owes!”
Terrance glances at me over his shoulder, a calloused smile spreading across his scarred face. “Oh, I know he will. But that’s not what this is about. I plan to have myself a little fun with his whore.”
My stomach buckles. His whore?
There’s no time to answer the insult. Walt digs his fingers underneath my armpit, dragging me down the hallway away from Terrance.
For the first time, I get a good look at Walt. He’s attractive with a square jaw and thick eyelashes, rough around the edges in combat boots and camo pants, shaggy dark hair in need of a cut, large gun holstered on his hip, Stone’s size or bigger. I’m convinced he’s ex-military, probably a Marine like Stone. If he tried anything, I wouldn’t be able to fight him off. Fear churns through my gut when I realize this brute of a man could claim I tried something simply to get his way.
“Door stays open,” he grunts, shoving me through a doorway. “You have two minutes to do your business. Take any longer, and I’m coming in to help.”
Trembling from head to toe, I hardly make it in time to the crude little toilet in a dark corner. I force myself to pee as quickly as possible, terrified Walt will come in after me if I take too long. I grab a few squares of paper from a roll on the ground by my feet and wipe, tossing it aside without bothering to flush. I rejoin Walt in record time, almost falling over when I catch the gaze of another man shuffling past.
Cool gray eyes on a kindly face snap wide on mine.
King Marty.
13
Ryker
Sweat stings my eyes when I glance down at my phone clutched in my fingers. Hours have passed since Zoe said she’d call back, and Morrison won’t answer my calls. Charlize either. Something’s wrong.
As we roll in an open Jeep down the unleveled gravel road, traditional Spanish music playing from a local station, Rook’s quiet. I was surprised as shit when we arrived here to find him waiting in the airport. I had told him our plans to come here only to keep him informed. I didn’t think he’d be up for the trip after his short stay in Minnesota. I’m guessing he’s quiet because he’s scared his wife will go into labor while he’s more than a day’s flight away. No one could blame him.
Stone’s dark gaze falls on me as he grips the “oh-shit” handle. “The fuck you so worried about? Think your girl’s bangin’ Morrison?”
Rook sits a little taller, the edge of his mouth curling with a smirk when he looks my way. “You make things official with Zoe?”
I match his smirk and nod. “I’m tryin’.”
“Figured it wouldn’t take long the way she was makin’ eyes at you the night we played at Purple Reign.” Rook’s expression tightens. “This thing serious with you two?”
“I hope so. I got her to move in with her little sister. They’ve been through hell because of their old man, but Zoe’s tough. A little too tough. Took a lot of convincing to get her to quit the strip club, and let me take care of her.”
“Well fuck me,” Rook declares while cupping his hand around his mouth to light a cigarette. “Sounds like Ryker Blackwood’s in love.” His eyes spark with amusement as he takes a long drag. “How’s it feel?”
I balk at his declaration, unsure how to answer. “Love” has never been a word with much meaning, other than being a powerful lyric to put in a song, and a way to describe the camaraderie I feel for my crew. My parents weren’t ones to offer that kind of affection, and I sure as hell never felt the need to say it to a woman. At least until Zoe.
I’ve let her into my world, trusting that she’ll accept me for who I am. Trusting she won’t use anything she’s learned against me. Trusting that she’s with me because of who I am, not because of the house I live in, or the promise to take care of her and Charlize.
Rook jabs me in the ribs, chuckling. “Don’t worry, I won’t bust your balls. I know how it is. Comes out of nowhere, right?”
“You’re both fucking pathetic,” Stone growls from his o
ther side. “If I’d known it only takes a hot piece of ass to make you go soft, I would’ve bent over years ago—made you my bitches.”
Stu, the PI we hired, chuckles from the driver’s seat. His expression’s otherwise stoic as he navigates through the tropical terrain like a pro. His business partner Keevan sits at his side, handle of a pistol peering out between his shirt and shorts. Though they’re dressed casually, more like a local than a tourist, they each have buzzed haircuts and the same “fuck you” look Stone has been giving everyone since he came out of the military. They’re both younger than I would’ve expected—Stu only a few years older than myself.
They stick out like a sore thumb among the rest of the islanders. We were greeted with smiles and swaying palm trees, reminding me of every Jimmy Buffet song in existence. If Zoe was here, it’d be a completely different trip. I’d take her down to the white sandy beach lining the sea green water and sing to her as the sun went down, make love to her until it came back up.
But without her beside me, or even answering her goddamned phone, I’m on edge. I miss the fuck outta her, and hate being this far away.
“How much father?” I ask Stu.
“Twenty minutes, give or take.” He glances back at me with a fat cigar held between his lips. “But we’re in no hurry…your brother doesn’t ever leave the compound until sundown.”
My gut churns with the reminder that my little brother’s caught up in a drug cartel. I didn’t want to believe it when Stu first broke the news, but it was hard to deny the dozens of photos he provided as proof. I wanted to believe he was being held there against his will. Discovering he’s let loose on his own every night made it pretty fuckin’ clear he’s here on his own accord. Whether or not the postcard was meant simply to let me know he’s alive, I don’t intend on leaving until he looks me in the eye and tells me he’s not in any danger.
“May as well blend in and grab some beers down on the beach where your brother always ends up,” Keevan says while lighting a joint. He takes a hit before passing it back to Stone, lips crooked with a smirk. “Welcome to the island, boys.”
Stone holds it over Rook, practically shoving it in my face. “Take it. You’re too fuckin’ wound. Cartel sees you like this and they’ll think you’re a narc.”
I’d rather hop out of the moving car and return to Zoe than continue to ride with these idiots, but Stone would only hunt my ass down and drag me back.
I reluctantly take the joint. It’s going to take more than a buzz to calm me until I hear back from Zoe.
The sun slowly sinks down behind the ocean in the most awe-inspiring sunset I’ve seen in my life. It’s hard not to think about Zoe, wishing she was here to see it too. Considering I still haven’t heard shit from anyone back home, the urge to jump on the next flight back out nearly chokes me to death.
The bar becomes filled with locals, some taking an interest in the five of us. Jet lag sets in as we’re munching on wings and sucking down another round of ice cold beer. I’ve been drinking mine as slowly as possible, sometimes even dumping a little in sand, wanting to keep a steady head for whatever we’re about to face.
“Heads up,” Stu mutters under his breath after several hours have passed. His dark eyes fall on mine. “Your brother’s at three o’clock.”
I’m subtle about turning my head, but I’ve never been so happy to see my little brother in my entire existence. Shirt cropped at the shoulders to show off his ink, khaki shorts, flip-flops…other than looking like he’s here for a fucking vacation, he doesn’t look any different than when I last saw him that day in the shop. For the first time since he went missing, I’m able to release a steady breathe. He’s whole, without any noticeable damage.
There’s a big old grin on his face as a small horde of local chicks gravitate his way, fawning over him like he’s Justin Bieber. In situations like this, it’s easy to imagine him surrounded by groupies. If our band ever goes on tour and becomes well-known, he’d be a natural. And he’d soak in every second.
Stone sniggers beside me. “Glad we came all this way just to watch him get his dick wet.”
“Doesn’t appear to be anyone tailing him,” Stu tells me. “You can talk to him, but keep it subtle. Stand beside him at the bar, and order a drink. Try not to draw a lot of attention. Someone could still be watching from a distance.”
I throw back the rest of my beer before making my way over to my brother. He’s attempting to charm the group of women using an impressive display of Spanish. Learning the language was one of few positive things that happened to him all those years in juvie.
Bender doesn’t see me until I lean against the bar beside him and ask one of the bartenders for another beer. His lips curl with a genuine smile as he subtly grabs my hand between us. “Took you long enough.”
“The fuck’s goin’ on?” I ask. “You in some kind of trouble?”
Releasing my hand, he orders a mojito, waiting until he has it in hand to answer. “I sent the postcard knowing Terrance had been giving you a hard time, wanting to find your uncle. I didn’t want you caught in the middle of this shit.”
“Uncle Marty showed up in Minnesota right after you took off.” I rub at my throbbing temples, feeling the start of jet lag, and a massive headache. “He said he left because the feds were after him.”
Bender sets his mojito down between us, holding my gaze. “I know.”
“How?”
“He’s been living here since Trask was murdered.”
I shake my head, confused. “Is that why you’re here?”
“The night I went to ditch the SUV, I was pulled over by someone from the cartel. I was so sure they were going to behead me that I came up with a bullshit story about how I commandeered it from Terrance. They must’ve recognized me…asked if I was working for King Marty. I rolled with it. They took me to their compound in Minneapolis, looked into my story to see if I was telling the truth. Your uncle must’ve vouched for me because they offered me a pound of premium weed as a reward for returning their shit. Turns out your uncle’s been doing business with the cartel for over a decade, smuggling military weapons from the base down here up to the Midwest. Feds caught wind of your uncle’s involvement, and the cartel brought him here under their protection. I came down here hoping to find the bastard, and finally confront him about putting a hit on Trask.”
Can't say I’m surprised. I always knew my uncle had his hands in things I knew nothing about, most likely to protect me. “So did you get a chance to talk to him before he left?”
“No, but I came across a shit-ton of information that you’re going to want to hear for yourself…Rook and Stone too. I met someone who knows all about those girls that went missing, and your uncle’s hand in it.” Bender’s lips quirk with a funny smile. “Hope you’re up for meeting the leader of the cartel.”
Having never set foot in a drug cartel’s compound, I had no idea what to expect other than a shit-ton of security. After Stu and Keevan are stripped of their weapons at the gates, we’re greeted by dozens of armed guards standing watch among kids laughing and playing in the dirt roads. Rows of houses rival my uncle’s, their driveways filled with ATVs, European motorcycles, and hundred thousand dollar cars.
While Bender gives directions to Stu from the bench beside me, and Stone’s impatient breath falls on my shoulder from the Jeep’s bed, Rook’s knee bounces like a jackhammer. He’s been the most eager of anyone to discover the truth behind Trask’s death, and find a way to avenge him. I only hope it’ll finally end this riff between us, so we can leave the past behind.
We park outside the largest mansion, following Bender to the front door. We’re greeted by half a dozen guys carrying ARs, and thoroughly searched by a beautiful Guamanian woman donning a black flap jacket.
Stone chortles as she’s patting between his legs. “You couldn’t handle it, sweetheart.”
The woman’s touch becomes forceful enough to make Stone wince. The rest of us chuckle before we’re led in
to the bowels of the fortress.
The drug business is obviously flourishing the way the place is pimped out. Gold accents on the walls and ceilings, crystal chandeliers bigger than an SUV, marble floors—clearly there’s nothing this guy can’t afford. Even the indoor pool we pass is adorned in gold and crystals. Way too flashy for my liking.
There’s a larger pool out back connected to a lazy river that’s flanked by palm trees and hundreds of tiny lights. Among a remarkable outdoor kitchen, fireplace, full-service bar complete with a bartender, and a two-story guest house, a stone patio stretches the full length of the house. Two men in their late thirties or early forties sit on loungers beside it, watching as four topless women around my age play a game of water volleyball.
One of the men hurries to his feet when he sees us approaching. He’s exceptionally tall and fit, longer dark hair neatly combed back, beard and mustache well-groomed, big diamond studs in each ear. His white button-down and linen shorts remind me of Terrance’s style, only it’s fitting on this guy.
“Ah…Bender…mi amigo!” Throwing my brother a pleasant smile, the man claps his hands together. “I heard you were bringing visitors.”
Bender leads the introductions between us and Angel Santos, calling me “King Marty’s nephew.” Irritated that he didn’t introduce me as his brother, I shake the cartel leader’s hand with a grunted greeting.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” he tells me in a thick accent as his dark eyes size me up. “Your uncle has told me so much about you.”
Turning to the women still thrashing around in the water, he lets out a sharp whistle. “¡Tiempo para entrar… rápido!”
The women immediately stop what they’re doing and head to a nearby ladder. They’re giggling as they file out, throwing us suggestive smiles and winks as they trail behind Angel’s associate. I don’t bother taking a closer look, knowing there isn’t another woman alive who could even begin to compare to my Zoe.
“Don’t worry, they’ll be back,” Angel tells us. “And as my guests, you’re welcome to use them for your enjoyment. It’s my gift to you for coming all this way.”