Redemption (Cambria University #2)

by Sadie T. Williams

  Chapter 33: Maisy

  Chet is making me very nervous. He’s never mentioned my dad to me, other than during his trial or to ask if I’ve contacted him since he was shipped up north. The way Van said he’d defend me made my racing heart calm for a second, but I know the shady men my dad “worked” with, and I know I don’t want Van involved with them.

  I look at Van and I can tell that no matter what I say, he isn’t leaving this room now.

  “It’s okay, Chet. Van can stay.” My heart is racing again.

  “First, Maisy, let me tell you that I’m sorry for what I have to share. I know this is likely to destroy what we have built, but I need to tell you so we can form a plan together.”

  I nod and Van grips hand tightly.

  “When your dad was arrested, he was busted with millions worth of cocaine in that plane. The man who he worked for—“

  “El León,” I offer.

  “Yes, that’s right. You remember.”

  I nod.

  “Well, your dad owed him for that bust because El León lost a shitload of money when the DEA seized everything. He’s back in the states, found out you were home and is expecting payment.”

  I feel the blood drain from my face. That cocaine would have made El León like $5 million on the street. I can’t pay that.

  “Chet, I can’t pay that. How do you know he wants it?”

  “Because, El León paid Chet a visit,” a smooth voice with a thick Latino accent chimes in from behind us, and we all turn around to see a small man in a perfectly-tailored suit flanked by two gigantic men in black track suits. Are we in Scarface?

  “Who the fuck is that?” Van whispers to me as the men enter, close the door to Chet’s office and lock it. I shrug as a chill runs down my spine. That can’t be El León, he has never been seen in the U.S. because of his notoriety and the fact he has several warrants out for his arrest.

  The man is short, maybe five feet nine inches, and dressed impeccably well in a black suit, gray button-up and black silk tie. His black hair is slicked straight back off of his face and complements his bronze skin and beady, honey-colored eyes. The sizeable scar running from left eye toward his ear is unnerving. As I study him, the corner of his mouth curls into a smirk and a flash of a gold tooth catches the light.

  I look back to Chet and he is white. Pale white, like he’s about to be sick.

  “Emilio, my dear.” The gentleman offers his hand.

  “Hello, sir,” I reply and shake his hand. He offers his hand to Van next.

  “Donovan,” he says. Van’s hand engulfs Emilio’s tiny one.

  “Has Mr. Chet told you about me yet, sweet Maisy?” Emilio asks as he looks to Chet, who is sweating so profusely it’s dripping down his face.

  I shake my head.

  “Well you see, your papá worked for me. He was one of the best I’ve ever met. El Camaleón. The shape shifter who could blend into any crowd and sell my product to anyone. Did you know that about your dad?” Emilio asks as he paces slowly around the room, touching things. It’s so creepy, and is making me uncomfortable.

  “Yes, sir, my dad told me about that.”

  “So, he talked to you about his life smuggling and dealing?”

  “Yes,” I reply, but this cryptic questioning and the fact that he’s implying things about my dad is pissing me off. “My dad had a lot of faults, but he was a good dad despite them. He was honest with me.”

  “I see.” Emilio strokes the non-existent scruff on his face. “So you know he owes me a lot of money?”

  “You?” I reply before I can think about it.

  “Sí, Miss Maisy. Soy El León.”

  “Holy shit,” Van whispers which reminds me that he’s here too. This isn’t good. I just inadvertently introduced Van to the leader of one of the most powerful cartels in the world.

  “So Maisy, as Drew’s only living heir, don’t you think that his debt should fall to you?” Emilio asks.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  “No, sir, I don’t.”

  I think my response startles Emilio, but my dad always explained that he would never do anything to put me in harm’s way. That even though what he was doing was dangerous, he would never let it come home. While the cartel was ruthless, they didn’t mess with their employees' families.

  “My dad always said that families were off-limits. There were rules within the cartel, sir. Is that not true?”

  Emilio laughs. A deep, roar-like laugh.

  “Oh, sweet, nieta. You’re so… how do you say, inexperienced? You know nothing of the codes by which we live. This isn’t the mob with their rules. This is El Cartel. Your papá should know better after what happened to your mother.”

  WHAT?! My eyes must be popping out of my head.

  “I see Mr. Chet didn’t get that far in your discussions.”

  “What happened to my mother? I don’t care who you are. If you don’t tell me, I swear I will kill you,” I seethe.

  “Mi nieta, I will explain,” Emilio starts and then I hear it. He called nieta, not once, but twice. Nieta, granddaughter.

  “You’re my grandfather?” I squeak as I make the connection. I’m barely able to speak.

  “Ah, sí! You heard that. Yes, you are in fact. Juliana, mi hija, was a lovely woman. Estúpida, but the most beautiful woman in the world. When your dad would come visit, he only had eyes for her. It was arranged for her to marry him and live here in California. You were a gift, nieta, but mi hija had problems. She started spending my money. The money your papá earned for me. New clothes, big house, fast cars, surgeries to make her look young. You know, like those Real Housewives señoras. Your papá couldn’t tell her no, and she was spending so much money that it started drawing the attention of the DEA, and we couldn’t have that. How could a man like Drew, who worked at a local bar, afford everything that they had? And with his prior arrests for dealing, it wasn’t looking good.”

  “A bar you used to launder your money,” Chet grumbles.

  “What happened? Did you make her leave us?” I gasp. I remember the massive house, and my mom drove a shiny red sports car. I think it was a Jaguar because there was a cat on the hood. She left shortly after she bought a second one.

  “Sí.”

  “Where is she? Where did you take her?” I shout, louder than I intend.

  “I like to believe she is with your abuela in the clouds.”

  “Yo-you-you—” I can’t even speak at this point as I feel the tears drip down my cheeks. “Did you know this whole time?” I whip around and look at Chet, whose head is hanging lower than an abused dog.

  “I did,” Chet practically whispers. I’ve never seen this usually confident, dominant man nervous and ashamed.

  “I’ve lived my whole life thinking she abandoned me. That she didn’t want me!”

  “That was your dad’s idea,” Chet replies. “He didn’t want you to be scared.”

  I shake my head. I have no words for the revelation that just rocked my world. My mom didn’t leave me. She was taken from me.

  “So, Maisy, as you can see, family is not off-limits. If I let my family disrespect me, then others will disrespect me. I can’t let that happen, nieta. So, how do you plan to work off your father’s debt?”

  Silence stretches for what feels like an eternity. I know they are waiting for me to answer, but I can’t think about anything except my mother and what happened to her. How that altered the entire course of my life.

  “What did you do to her? Before we discuss anything else, I have to know,” I say, completely calm, which shocks even me.

  “Ah, good question. I’m not sure, mi nieta. One of my men who lives here took care of it. If I had to guess, she was shot. Quick and painless were my instructions, and my instructions are always followed.”

  “You don’t even know what happened to your own daughter. You’re sick,” I murmur.

  “It’s business, and she was being irresponsible. Now, let’s discuss your payment. I know
Chet tried to move you across the country to avoid this conversation, but it’s time we had it.”

  Wait, what? “No. No, no, no. You didn’t,” I turn to Chet. “You knew he’d be coming back for this. For me. My scholarship?”

  “I made a donation to the school in exchange for your guaranteed scholarship,” Chet replies. “I knew you wouldn’t go if you didn’t get a scholarship. You wouldn’t just let me pay for it.” I knew he donated money, but I thought he did that because I loved the school.

  “Son of a bitch! My whole life is a fucking lie!” I scream and I’m sure Chet’s employees can hear me. I pace behind Chet’s desk for a few seconds before returning to my seat next to Van. “What do you want?” I seethe at Emilio.

  “Ay, good question finally. I want you, nieta. You will work for me until your debt is paid.”

  “She’s not going to be a drug mule for you, Emilio,” Van pipes up.

  “You think that is what I want? No, no, no. She will sell her body. I’m building an empire in the states. That body of hers will have her debt paid off in a few short years. Those Las Vegas, eh, businessmen, love an exotic female.”

  “No. Fucking. Way,” Van replies and anger drips from his tongue.

  “Ay, Donovan. El protector. We can do this however you want, nieta, but Donovan isn’t going to help you.” Emilio grins and flashes his gold tooth.

  “Stop calling me that,” I sneer. “I’m not your granddaughter, and I’m not paying off my father’s debts by prostituting myself for you.”

  “This is a family issue, Donovan. Maisy and I need to discuss some, eh, details. You may leave before this gets unpleasant,” Emilio says and reaches for the door.

  “Not happening,” Van growls under his breath. His eyes narrow, moving between the two thugs. Assessing them, I think. He stands slowly, so as to not make Emilio’s thug nervous and pulls me to my feet and behind him, so I’m sandwiched between his massive body and Chet’s desk.

  “You have a brave one here, Maisy,” Emilio smirks. “Donovan, I’d like you to meet Eduardo and Matthias. They are my personal bodyguards and prize fighters. Do you really want to see what they can do?” He motions to his thugs. Eduardo is about as tall as Emilio, but he’s thick. His neck is the size of my head. Matthias looks like a fighter. Pure muscle and quick twitch muscles.

  “Prostitution, drugs, and an illegal fight club. Damn, Grandpa, I’m sure glad I got to meet you,” I snap.

  Emilio starts laughing, and I can hear Chet nervously shift in his chair behind me. “I don’t think you comprende, nieta. This isn’t a negotiation. I don’t negotiate. This isn’t a choice. Matthias is my best fighter. His fists are deadly. So either you come quietly or this could end badly. This is not a fight you want to start, because you won’t be able to finish it.”

  “Want to bet?” Van asks out of the blue. He did not just say that. Fuck you, irony.

  “You are a ballsy young man,” Emilio chuckles. “I admire that, but it’s also incredibly stupid.”

  “I’ll fight Matthias. I win, Maisy is off the hook.”

  “Van, no. Absolutely not,” I plead.

  “Why would that be interesting to anyone? You are nobody,” Emilio scoffs, but I can tell his interest is piqued.

  Van chuckles at the remark and puffs up his chest. The man oozes confidence and superiority. “Donovan Blake. Nice to meet you. Starting linebacker for Cambria University. National champ. Citrus Bowl champ. Hardest hitting linebacker in the country and possibly a first-round draft pick to the NFL.”

  Emilio’s yellow eyes narrow, and I can see the wheels turning faster in his evil little mind. I didn’t know Van was that good at football. I mean, he was good and hit guys hard, but a top draft pick?

  “So, you can hype your fight with that. Your thug against a preppy, rich college football player. Future draft pick. Name it what you want. I’ll draw a crowd,” Van asserts.

  “What if you lose?” Emilio asks and I can see the intrigue continuing to flicker in his cold eyes.

  “I won’t,” Van replies confidently.

  Emilio lets out a deep laugh. “I like your confidence. I’m not sure if you’re brave or estúpido. But I accept.”

  “No!” I shout and start to cry. Van is not paying off my dad’s debt. This isn’t fair. Matthias could kill him.

  “Van, this isn’t a drunken college fight. This isn’t even a boxing match. Emilio runs an underground fighting ring known cleverly as The Underground. There are no rules, and no one ends the fight while the other person is still conscious. This is not a good idea,” Chet says.

  “You’d rather have Maisy become a Las Vegas hooker? There isn’t a choice here, Chet. I’m doing it,” Van replies.

  “Oh, Chet. Van is a big man. Muy macho. He will give us a good show.” Emilio flashes his creepy smile again. “We will be in touch.”

  And with that, the three men walk out of Chet’s office leaving the three of us in a stunned silence.

  “What did you just do?” I whisper to Van.

  “You saved me. I save you,” is all he replies.

  Chapter 34: Donovan

  Maisy and I are lying in my bed in my hotel room. She spent the last two days either crying or surfing on her new board, and I’ve just sat with her while she used my shirtsleeves like Kleenex. I don’t know what to say, so I just sit in support, hoping it’s enough.

  It’s been two days of Chet texting apology after apology and trying to call Maisy, but she ignored every single one. Glad I decided to come here, and not text her mine. She forgave me quickly, but she isn’t ready to forgive Chet yet. That was a massive bomb dropped about her mother.

  This text message from Chet is about the fight, so she responds. He’s been in touch with Emilio to get it set up so it’s fair. I want to tell him to save his efforts because it won’t be fair, no matter how hard Chet tries.

  “Maisy, answer I have fight details.”

  “Fine.”

  Chet calls and Maisy puts it on speaker phone.

  “Hi- how ar—“

  “Seriously, Chet. Just stop. Nothing is going to make this okay. I’m a forgiving person, but I will never forget this, and I will never be able to look at you the same way. You withheld information from me that you knew broke me as a child. You protected evil men. Now Van is dragged into this mess because you didn’t have the balls to tell me the truth,” she says coldly and so un-Maisy-like. “Get. On. With. It.”

  He sighs. “Fine. The fight is tomorrow night at nine. Emilio has several fights a night and Donovan’s fight is the last one because Matthias is his prized fighter. Emilio has been hyping the football champ angle, and people are buying into it like Donovan thought they would. Tickets sales are through the roof. The fights rotate locations and the location isn’t set yet. They’re still looking for a warehouse. I won’t know the location until tomorrow. Exact start time depends how many fighters agreed to fight tomorrow night and how long their matches go, but like I said, nine or so.”

  “What can I expect?” I ask him.

  “It will be in an abandoned warehouse. Probably one of the properties that Emilio’s crew owns. His underlings own several properties all over L.A. There will be a space set up for you to change, but it won’t be a nice locker room or anything.”

  “Will they have tape and shit for me to wrap up?”

  “Yeah, no gloves allowed. Only tape. All that will be there. Bring your own water. You won’t want to drink what they offer there.”

  “You know a lot about this, Chet,” Maisy snaps.

  “I bet on the fights,” he replies.

  “Of course you do. Text us when you know where we have to go. Don’t call or text otherwise,” Maisy replies abruptly and hangs up.

  “Maisy, it will be okay, I promise,” I offer and rub the pad of thumb across her cheek that is red from hours of crying.

  “How do you know? This is so bad. I’m scared, and you shouldn’t be in this at all.”

  “I’m glad I was here.
If anything happened to you…” I pause and shudder at the thought. Shit really does happen for a reason. I’m supposed to be here to protect her.

  ✽✽✽

  It’s the morning of the fight. Last night Maisy and I made love. Not rushed, skin slapping, boobs bouncing just-get-me-to-orgasm sex, but truly slow, sensual passionate love. It was the best night of my life.

  “Hey, Owl.” I stroke her cheek for a second as her ocean eyes flutter open. As soon as she realizes where she is and who she’s with, she smiles. A true smile that stretches across her beautifully flawless face to the corners of her eyes.

  “Good morning,” she replies and rubs her hand down my chest, tracing each flexed ab on the way down to my waistband while I comb my fingers through her midnight hair.

  “You’re going to make me hard, Owl,” I whisper into her hair.

  “Too late.” She smiles as she pulls my boxers down to reveal the giant hard-on that rests on my abs.

  I roll her over, and in the process slip my t-shirt over her head, revealing her beautiful breasts. I run my hand up from her hip, over her ribs, and cup the perfect handful while rubbing my thumb against her bud, which immediately perks up at my touch.

  “Van, you should conserve your energy for tonight.” She moans softly as I suck her nipple into my mouth.

  “Mmm, nah. If we don’t do this, all I’ll think about during my fight is your sexy ass and delicious pussy.”

  “Oh God.” She blushes a deep shade of pink. “The things you say…” she trails off.

  “You love it. And I love it because it makes you so wet.”

  I kiss my way down her chest, still rolling her erect buds between my fingertips, and she parts her legs for me. My needy, horny girl. My God, I love this woman.

  I part her legs wider and slip two fingers inside. She’s soft, warm and wet, and it makes my cock throb. For the next hour, I’m going to forget about the fight and focus on my girlfriend. I make a mental note to officially claim that title before tonight. Just in case.