by LK Shaw
Chapter 26
I tapped my foot in irritation. Oliver and I were going to have a discussion about his two-word commands when he got back. “Do this. Do that,” I muttered. “Bossy man.”
He came out of the locker room holding something in his hand, stopping short at my glare. “What are you looking so impatient about?”
“Impatient?” I asked incredulously. “This isn’t impatient, this is annoyed.”
“Why are you annoyed?”
He was too calm, which fueled my irritation. “Let’s go. Get in. Wait here. Any of that sound familiar?”
“I just said ‘wait here’ about two minutes ago, so that rings a bell. Not sure about the other two.”
Was that a smirk on his face? It better not be. “That day I showed up at your work. You barked both of those at me. Your two-word commands can bite me.” I nearly harrumphed.
Oliver stared and then threw his head back in laughter. Everyone in the gym turned to stare. I hushed him, but he didn’t stop. He laughed until he was nearly in tears. Finally he managed to get himself under control and wiped his eyes. “They can bite you, huh?”
I fisted my hips, but even my lips started to twitch. “Yes, they can.”
He snorted and shook his head. “Come on, killer, let’s warm up.”
For the second time he reached for my hand and tugged me onto the mat next to the nearest hanging bag. “Hands. Now.”
My head jerked up, and I opened my mouth to rip him a new one until I saw the twinkle of amusement in his eyes. I growled. “You’re such a dick.”
His reply was to wink. “Let me see your hands. Please.”
That was better. I held out my hands, and he slowly began to wrap the right one. “Let me know if this is too tight.”
Round and round, he wrapped the white tape around my whole hand, covering the knuckles at the base of my fingers, pausing every once in a while to have me make a fist. Once Oliver finished with the first hand, he did the second, and then he tossed the roll of tape off to the side.
“All right, show me what you got,” he said, gesturing to the bag.
I raised my brows. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, punch it.”
My eyes darted back and forth between him and the sand-filled opponent. Oliver gestured for me to go ahead. Taking a deep breath, I turned and faced the bag. For a second, I closed my eyes and pictured all the fights I’d watched while working here. It seemed simple enough. All I had to do was draw my arm back and punch. I opened them again, focusing on the object in front of me, and slammed my hand into it. Pain shot through my hand and up my arm.
“Shit, that hurt,” I whined, shaking out my fist, before squeezing it between my knees.
“We’re going to have to work on that.”
I whirled on Oliver, expecting him to be laughing, and I was ready to cuss him out or cry, but he actually looked serious. I relaxed some of my anger.
“Was it that bad?”
He tilted his hand side to side. “It wasn’t the worst punch I’ve ever seen thrown.”
My shoulders sagged. He tipped my head up with a finger under my chin. “It was the first one. You’ll get better. Where’s that spitfire that shot flames from her eyes at me a minute ago? Let’s bring her back.”
I squared my shoulders and gave him a succinct nod. “I’m ready.”
The smile he sent my way nearly had me melting into a puddle. For the next hour, Oliver patiently worked with me, teaching me how to hold my fists so I didn’t hurt my thumb. He taught me how to throw the punch from my hips.
“Like this,” he said, stepping forward and gripping them in his palms. I sucked in a breath at his touch, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“Loosen up a bit, you’re so tense.”
Okay, so maybe he had. I tried to make myself loose, but I found it really damn hard to do with the heat of his hands searing my skin, even through the fabric of my clothes.
“You’re not relaxing.” His breath teased its way across my cheek. When had he moved so close?
“I’m trying,” I whispered, unable to speak in a normal tone. My body shivered, and Oliver’s chuckle vibrated through my body and landed straight at my core.
He slid one hand up my waist, his fingers skimming the side of my breast, before continuing along my arm until he gripped my hand in his. Slowly, he helped me draw my arm back, guiding the directions my hips turned with the hand that had remained, and the upper body he’d pressed along my back. Just as slowly we moved our connected arms together, in concert with my lower body, in the direction of the bag until we made soft contact.
Then, Oliver took several steps back until no part of our bodies touched. I remained standing there, frozen, half-twisted with one fist planted against the sand-filled canvas, my brain not sure what just happened.
Someone cleared their throat behind me, and I turned. Sam stood there, his eyes bouncing back and forth between Oliver and me. My cheeks and neck were on fire.
I mustered up a welcoming smile. “Hi, there. Oliver and I were just working on my technique.”
Sam’s lips twitched and a choked laugh came from the man standing next to him. I avoided looking at him.
“I’ll just bet you were,” the older man said. “You should probably take a little break. Grab some water. Cool down. Don’t want you getting overheated.”
I figured I had two choices. I could either die of embarrassment, right here in this spot. Or I could roll with it. “Yeah, you’re probably right. I need to conserve my energy. I’d hate to wear myself out before Oliver could get to the really good stuff.”
Both men’s jaws dropped, but I didn’t wait for a response. Instead, I walked toward the kitchen area near the back of the gym so I could, in fact, grab a bottle of water, because I was actually really thirsty. I stood at the counter drinking when Oliver joined me. He didn’t say anything, just grabbed his own bottle, cracked it open, and chugged it down, finishing it with an ahhhh.
“You were really starting to get the hang out of it out there,” he said. “Keep practicing and you’ll start to build up your strength and endurance. Proper form will follow.”
I tried to gauge if Oliver was mocking me, but he seemed sincere. “Thanks,” I said.
“Why don’t you write down whatever you think you’re going to need for the next few days, and I’ll run to the store while you’re working and pick things up for you.”
For a second, I almost argued with him, but he’d already made it clear he was going to do it, so why not let him.
“Let me grab a piece of paper from Sam’s office. I’ll be right back.”
Oliver hadn’t moved from his spot when I returned. I jotted down a few items, not really sure what I’d need since the shelter provided meals, and it had been years since I’d bought my own groceries, few that there had been.
There wasn’t a stove in the gym, so anything I ate would need to be cold or microwaveable. Once I managed to scribble down some things that sounded good, I passed the sheet of paper to him. He looked it over, plucked the pen from my fingertips, and added more things to it. He passed the pen back to me with a look. “No vegetables, right?”
I jerked in surprise. He remembered? All I could do was nod. He moved so swiftly, I couldn’t guess his intent, but Oliver brushed his lips across my temple. “I’ll be back soon.”
He walked away while all I could do was bring my fingertips to my head and stare at his departing figure.
Chapter 27
My mind kept drifting back to yesterday and the feel of Charity beneath my hands. It had taken every ounce of willpower I’d had not to pull her tighter into the cradle of my body and kiss that tender spot where her neck and shoulder met. Knowing Sam and a crowded gym were right behind us had been the only thing stopping me.
I’d gone to pick up her groceries and returned after the gym had closed. A new awareness had lingered between us that I wanted to discuss, but words eluded me. I didn’t have deep conversat
ions with women. I fucked them.
I thought that’s all I wanted, but since meeting Charity, I’ve started to question everything I thought I believed.
I didn’t know what had prompted me to kiss her before I’d stepped out for her supplies. It had just felt like the natural thing to do. My lips had continued to tingle long after I’d left. I had almost made a repeat performance when I’d left her for the night, but long-held habits made me rush out before I could do something I’d never done before. Linger with a woman, especially one I wasn’t fucking. Soon I was going to have to acknowledge this thing—this attraction—between us. It was time I admitted it. It was more than that, but I couldn’t define it. Wasn’t ready to.
Would I ever be?
“You got a minute?” Pablo asked from where he stood near the corner of my desk.
I glanced up from the report I’d been trying, and failing, to type. “Sure, what’s up?”
“Landon called. She and I are meeting in thirty minutes. I told her I thought you should come as well,”
If the two of them were meeting in person, as opposed to having a discussion over the phone, then that meant everything would be off the record. If they were including me, it had to be about Los Lobos.
“Let me finish this report,” I replied, directing my eyes back to my computer so I could concentrate on what I was typing.
Landon Roberts was a field agent for the D.E.A. We’d provided back up for each other on numerous cases. She was also the main source of intel we received from the federal agency that wasn’t always quite so forthcoming with information to those of us at the local level. It helped that she was part of Rodriguez’s extended family.
I quickly completed what I was working on and shut down my computer. Pablo drove and within twenty minutes we were pulling into an open spot in front of a rundown dive bar called Mickey’s.
The interior was dimly lit and smelled like stale popcorn. Empty tables filled the place. A couple of middle-aged men stood around a single pool table in an alcove off to the right, each of them giving us the once over before returning their attention back to their game in progress.
To the left was the fully stocked bar, including the standard wall-length mirror and the crotchety looking bartender with mutton chops drying off rocks glasses. He jerked his chin up in greeting, but otherwise continued with his task.
The back wall was lined with booths, and just like the tables, they were all empty except one. Seated in the corner booth next to an old-fashioned jukebox with a quiet song playing from its speakers was a woman with blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail.
I’d only seen Agent Roberts a few times in the past year. At one time, she’d been the handler for an undercover agent, Brody Thomas, deep inside the Juarez Cartel here in Chicago. A former undercover agent turned private investigator who happened to be engaged to Pablo’s sister. She spotted us and waved us over. I slid onto the seat opposite her first.
“Pablo. Garrison. Thanks for meeting me,” she greeted us.
“How’s Preston doing?” Pablo asked.
Her face lit up at the question. “He’s good, thank you. Eager for the wedding, if you can believe it. It’s a little weird, considering it’s not even his own. I swear he’s almost as excited about it as Brody.”
“Well, it sure has taken my sister and that man of hers long enough to make it down the aisle. Three years and a kid later. It’s no wonder everyone, including Preston, is anxious for the big day. The Thomas men have been on their own for so long. They finally belong to a huge Hispanic family with more relatives than they ever thought they’d have,” Pablo joked. “You’re part of the same family by extension, since you’re engaged to Preston.”
“Lucky me,” Landon said, drily, although it was obvious that she wasn’t bothered by it.
I felt like a voyeur peeping in on their private family conversation. My thumb tapped an impatient beat on the table waiting for them to move along onto more important things and the real reason we were here.
Landon glanced over at me with a sheepish grin. “Sorry. I know you didn’t come here for this. So, why don’t we actually discuss what we came to talk about.”
“I’m all ears,” I said, keeping my sarcasm to a minimum.
“Yes, well.” She coughed. “We recently got some new intel on our lovely neighborhood drug supplier, Maria Luis Valesquez.”
Pablo and I both sat upright at that.
“Don’t get too excited boys, it’s not a lot. Of course, this is all off the record.” Her eyes bounced back and forth between the two of us.
“Of course,” Pablo answered the non-question. I nodded in agreement.
Landon continued. “Word from our contacts down in Mexico is that Señora Valesquez has been in the States for over six months. Apparently there is someone in the city she has familial ties to. Someone who isn’t Salazar. We have no idea who this person is, or what their connection might be, though.”
“Damn, that doesn’t help us track her, or her relative, down,” I said.
“No, it doesn’t,” Landon replied. “We also have unverified intel that she plans on taking over where her brother left off and ruling the Sinaloa Cartel here in Chicago.”
I found it funny that she spoke so casually of the former leader of the cartel, Emilio Salazar. As though he’d merely retired from the drug business, and not that he’d been murdered at the behest of Señora Valesquez.
“Okay, let me get this straight. She comes to the States in order to murder her brother, take over the family business, and possibly make contact with some unknown relative. While she’s here, she manages to discover a sex trafficking operation in the basement of a drug house and pins both the murder of her brother and the trafficking ring on Ricardo Morales’ gang. Does that sound about right?” I asked.
Landon nods. “Basically.”
“Why?” I asked. “Valesquez wanted her brother dead. Why turn in evidence leading to his killer? Especially when she’d already formed an alliance with Los Lobos to make them the largest dealers of Fentanyl in Chicago. It doesn’t make sense.”
“That’s what none of us have figured out,” Pablo added.
“The only new element to all this is the sex trafficking. None of us could have guessed that Morales and Los Lobos were involved with that. It had never even been a blip on our radar that they were flesh peddlers. Didn’t you say something at one time about Valesquez’s personal history being a reason behind her wanting El Diablo to go down?” I asked.
Landon nodded. “It’s possible. Salazar sold his half-sister into marriage to a man old enough to be her grandfather when she was fourteen. A man not known for his kindness. My guess is she has some pretty strong feelings regarding the sexual abuse of women. Over the next decade, she cultivated a loyal group of men, all enemies of her husband. Then, she had him murdered. Although rumors say she did it herself.”
My thoughts drifted to Charity and what had happened to her in the week she’d been a prisoner. I almost felt bad for this Maria woman. She’d only been a kid, and she had spent ten years being abused by some dirty old man. It was no wonder that she had wanted to see Morales punished for his crimes. It still didn’t answer the question of where she was or who this familial connection was.
“We’ve also confirmed,” Landon continued, “that after the murder of her husband, she disappeared. Went completely off-grid. Five years later, out of nowhere, she turned back up in Mexico as though she’d never been gone, and continued right where she left off making more allies. She built a reputation on being cold and calculating, but smart. Two years ago, she’d become so powerful that she allegedly murdered Rául Escobar and took complete control of his drug supply business. She began working with Miguel Álvarez and the Juarez Cartel until his death a year ago as well as supplying local millionaire Elliott King with his shitty cocaine concoction, Rapture.”
I whistled. “Woman sure has been busy. Although, to be fair, the coke she sold King was most likely high-quali
ty shit. He’s the one who cut it with the deadly additives to try and increase the street value and make himself more money. Greedy bastard.”
Our drug raid on King’s storage warehouse was where Pablo had taken a bullet nine months ago. I glanced over and confirmed the tension in him at the mention of the now dead millionaire drug lord. I turned back to Landon.
“So, we’re not only trying to find Señora Valesquez before she can take over her brother’s cartel business, but also some mysterious relative?” I asked.
“That’s about the extent of it,” she said.
I nodded. “Shouldn’t be too hard, right?”
Chapter 28
“Harder.”
I slammed my taped fist into one of the glove-covered hands in front of me.
“Again,” came the command.
Smack.
“Again.”
Smack.
“Other hand,” Oliver called out.
Smack.
“Left, right. Again. Harder. Faster. Let’s go.”
Several quick alternating hits slammed into his raised hands, until my arms dropped from fatigue.
“You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?” I gasped, hunched over trying to catch my breath.
Oliver chuckled and lowered his hands to his sides. “We need to work on your endurance, woman.”
I sent him a steely-eyed glare. “You call me woman just to get a rise out of me, don’t you?”
“Who me?” He blinked innocently at me, and in return I shot him the finger, which made him laugh. “You’re just too easy. Come on, let’s take a break and get you some water.”
Oliver had been a brutal teacher, far worse than Sam could have ever been. He’d made me practice for thirty minutes every other day, helping me to build up my strength and endurance. That was the first thing he’d taught me. Form didn’t matter if I didn’t have the energy to even hold my arms up and attempt to protect myself.
Which meant I’d stood there, punching that stupid hanging bag until my body cried with fatigue. I cursed Oliver under my breath, although I cussed myself out the hardest, since I’d been the one to ask for it. Maybe I should rethink this plan of mine. No, I needed to learn. Especially with Los Lobos out there looking for me.