“There you are,” he says, making no effort to draw his weapon.
“Crow. Long time, no see.”
He chuckles. “Yeah. I’m hard to miss too.”
He lowers his big frame onto the edge of one of the accent chairs. I’m surprised it doesn’t tip under his weight. Crow fits his name. Black hair and black eyes and, if I had to guess, a black heart to match. Big and loud and there’s no vermin too indecent to fatten his wallet. Not that I’m one to judge, except he has a penchant for pissing in my backyard from time to time.
“Jay’s wondering what you’ve been up to. Your trigger finger broken?”
“Not remotely,” I mutter, my aim more than steady.
I’m ready to push Crow for more information when I spot movement in my periphery. I knew he wouldn’t be alone. The third party is stone-faced and leaner than both of us, edging his way into view from his hiding spot in the entryway. His eyes are round and glassy, like an owl who sees everything. I’m not sure he’s blinked since I noticed him.
“Drop it.” His voice wavers.
“Have you met Hogan? No?”
Crow lets out a shitty, condescending laugh. Despite it, I decide to play nice and let the gun fall with a thud on Mateus’s expensive Persian rug. Thankfully I don’t need it to fuck Crow up and take out his helper. Crow’s overconfidence has gotten him into trouble before, and I’m more than ready to take advantage of it. Just as soon as I find out a few things.
“How did you find us?”
Crow draws his gun and points lazily to the chair. “Have a seat.”
“No thanks.”
He grins. “I insist.”
I sit as he grabs his phone and talks into it walkie-talkie style. “Otto, we have him upstairs.” Silence and a few crackles. “Otto.”
Crow’s distracted and he’s about to get bad news, but I’m more worried about Hogan on my right, who’s either sleep-deprived or high as a kite.
“She’s gone,” I say. “So is Otto.”
Crow’s expression melts into a displeased snarl. He straightens and comes closer to stand directly in front of me. “Where. Is. She?”
“Couldn’t say.”
He crosses his arms and stares down at me, no doubt enjoying his perceived position of power. “What happened, man? You had to hit it a few times before you put a bullet in her? That’s some weak shit.”
“Not sure it’s any of your business.”
“Kind of my business now, don’t you think? Where’s she going?”
“Probably driving back to Rio right now. You know who she is. Feds are probably hot on this and working with the police to find her and get her back home.”
His eyebrows jerk upwards. “Feds? You’ve got a red dot on your fucking head, and you’re sending her home to Daddy? What the fuck for? You in love with her or something?” He pauses a beat. “Aren’t the Feds the ones who tried taking you out to begin with?”
I hate that Crow knows anything about me at all. But we all come from somewhere. I was a special ops mission gone wrong. Crow’s mob boss family created a protégé killing machine who made better bank on private assignments than TVs falling off trucks.
“If you found us, so can they.”
“I’ve been tracking you for days, Red. Didn’t get the go-ahead from Jay to move on you until this morning, otherwise you’d have seen me the day after you didn’t pop the girl.” He shakes his head. “This was easy money too. I don’t get it.”
He knows better than to question my ability. He’s right. Killing Isabel would have been an easy hit. Controversial maybe, but hardly a challenge in execution.
He leans closer, bracing himself on the chair’s arms. It’s a precarious position for him if not for the all-seeing eye a few feet away. Crow knows this, so he’s being cocky. He’s daring me to make a move. Under normal circumstances, I would. I’m not afraid of getting shot. I’m not sure I’m afraid of dying either. What scares me now is the prospect of leaving Isabel unprotected. Because once Mateus drops her off, she will be.
I curse inwardly, harnessing some calm. “Why is she so important?”
“We’re not paid to ask questions, Red. Point and shoot. Don’t get killed. You know the drill.”
“Maybe she’s worth more than the price on her head.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “Worth more alive? Doubtful.”
I shrug. “Suit yourself.”
He hesitates, but I know he’s got money-hungry running through his veins.
“More than the cost of getting put on Jay’s naughty list?”
I offer him a million-dollar smile, hoping he takes the bait. “Why don’t we have a drink? I’ll tell you what I know.”
He laughs and straightens. “Sure, why not. What’s the rush?” He walks toward the bar and looks toward his comrade. “Want something?”
Hogan lowers his gun and nods. Junkie. He’ll catch any high he can, even if it means taking his eyes off me.
“If he gets out of that chair, shoot him,” Crow barks as he pulls two glasses down from the bar.
I laugh to myself. Crow’s cocky, but he’s not stupid. Most men who turn their backs to me end up dead.
I stare down the barrel of the gun trained on me when another face appears over his shoulder. Karina steps into the house.
No. I feel the blood drain from my face.
I don’t have time to rethink Mateus’s betrayal, because if Karina dies like this because of me, he’ll never forgive me. The junkie swivels, turning his back to me. In a fraction of a second, I lift from the chair and map my steps toward her, already knowing I won’t reach her in time.
Then her face changes into something wild, and I see the gun. She lifts it and fires, sending an explosion of blood out the back of the man. His gun swings limp around his finger as he brings his other hand to what’s left of his neck.
I dive for my gun and turn it to Crow, but he’s ducked out of the room.
I fire randomly down the hallway, where he’s likely waiting for his opportunity to fire back, as I make my way to Karina.
She’s still wild-eyed and shaking, clutching the gun tightly in her hands.
“Nice shot,” I say in a hushed tone.
“I was aiming higher.”
My mirth fades when a bullet whizzes by, narrowly missing me and shattering one of the paintings on the wall. I duck farther into the entryway, feeling less than safe behind a few layers of drywall.
I push Karina over the threshold. “Get out of here. Mateus went into town. He’ll find you. Go now.”
She doesn’t acknowledge me, but she obeys, disappearing out the door. I slam it shut and peek around the corner for any signs of Crow. I have a vantage of the empty hallway, and the huge shadow spilling out from one of the extra bedrooms tips me off. Two down, one to go.
“How’s this going down, Crow?”
“You tell me. I thought we were talking.”
I can hear him reloading.
“Tell Jay I got away with the girl. I’ll loop you in after we get out of the country.”
“Like hell you will. This is a death wish and you know it,” he shouts.
“Your loss.”
Silence falls on the house.
“How much?”
I bend and grab the dead man’s gun, tucking it into my waistband.
“This is your last chance to pique my interest, Red. Then I’m coming for you and it’s fucking over. Tell me how much she’s worth.”
“Everything,” I grit out, knowing the sound will never reach him. I leave the entryway and move silently down the hall, gun raised and ready.
The pendulum swings in slow motion.
I shoot the first thing I see.
“Fucker!”
I turn the corner into the bedroom, and he’s pushing back by his heels, cradling his bloody hand against his stomach. He only hesitates a second before he raises his left and begins firing, nearly emptying the chamber.
I hiss as one drills through my upper a
rm. I duck back into the hallway and curse under my breath.
“You left-handed?” I push hard on the wound that’s already saturating my shirt with blood.
“I am now, you piece of shit. Show me your face, and we’ll finish this.”
I clench my teeth against the pain, but something in me doesn’t want this to end the way Crow thinks it will. I need to get back to Isabel, but I need to send a message too.
“Seems like a waste, doesn’t it?”
Crow answers with a barrage of gunfire through the doorway, punching through the drywall near me. I scramble down the hallway. Mateus’s master bedroom is a dead end.
Hurriedly I cinch a handkerchief on the bureau around my upper arm. I’m not overly concerned about the wound, but I’d rather not pass out before I have a chance to send Crow back to his maker if I need to.
Between his lumbering steps, I hear him crash into the wall before continuing down the hall toward me. How he sneaks up on anyone I’ll never know. I do know I’m at an advantage, though. Crow has one good arm and only a couple of shots left. I decide to give him a target and hope he wastes them. I pivot into the doorway and aim for his shoulder. Crack crack. I duck and dodge his answering shots, the last he has, but his steps don’t slow. He turns into the bedroom, his eyes wild with murderous rage. I hit my mark, but the gushing from his shoulder doesn’t seem to faze him at all.
He advances on me. Goddamnit, I didn’t want to kill Crow. I back up and ready myself to put his name on the list that’s already too long.
“Do you want to die, or do you want to help me send a message?”
“I’m gonna tear you limb from limb. There’s no talking your way out of it.”
“You’re the one with the dot on your head now, so I’d suggest you reconsider.”
“That’s not how this works.”
“I’m not playing by the rules anymore if you haven’t figured that out already.”
He keeps coming at me, arms wide like a blood-thirsty gorilla. Fuck fuck fuck. I aim for his knee and fire.
He cries out and his leg buckles, sending him to the floor. Injured or not, he’s enormous. I might be faster and smarter, but he’s stronger. So I move fast. I strike him with the butt of my gun and use his break in balance to shove him to the ground, belly down. He grunts when I wrench his arm behind him, exacerbating the pain where the bullets are still lodged in his thick shoulder muscles.
“Time to finish our little chat,” I say, pressing the gun barrel to his temple.
“Fuck you,” he wheezes.
I change the angle of the gun, adding pressure so he feels the fear of the inevitable. “Last call, Crow.”
He exhales roughly a few times. “What’s it matter? Jay’s gonna kill me after this anyway.”
“I don’t have time to listen to you wrestle with your mortality, Crow. Last call.”
He gnashes his teeth and curses again with less force.
I take that as surrender.
“This is mercy,” I say.
“I don’t want your fucking mercy!”
I reposition my knee above his bloodied hand and add pressure. He shudders from the pain.
I lean in and lower my voice. “Listen carefully. They’re going to find you here eventually, and you’re going to relay a little message for me. Tell Jay to forget my name. Tell her to forget the girl. Because if she doesn’t, everyone she sends for me is going to wish for the mercy I’m showing you right now.”
He huffs in and out, his breathing labored. Even as the vow violates everything about the way I’ve lived these past few years, I know it’s true. I can’t let these bastards have her. The worst thing she ever did was fall in love with me, and that’s not a reason to die.
“Who is she to you?”
“All you need to know is that she’s mine, and I’m not backing down.”
I leave Crow hogtied in Mateus’s bedroom. On my way to hijack the Hummer for my ride back to town, I see Karina’s red sedan idling up the road. I jog toward it, praying to hell there wasn’t a fourth member of Crow’s crew who could have gotten to her. Relief floods me when the driver’s door swings open and she emerges.
“Karina. What are you doing here?”
“Get in. Hurry. Mateus is waiting for us.”
Not wanting to waste time, I get in and she hits the gas, jolting us forward. A few minutes later, we’re at the edge of town. The streets are busy with a weekend market. Lots of eyes, but lots of opportunities to go unnoticed too.
I see Mateus leaned against his car as Karina parks nearby. He doesn’t pay me a second glance. He goes to Karina and all but rips her out of the car and hauls her into his arms. “Karina,” he whispers into her wavy black hair.
I glance back to the crowd, scanning it for the one familiar face I’m eager to find.
“Where’s Isabel?”
Mateus looks up, his forehead creased with worry. “I did as you asked, Tristan. I would have kept her with me otherwise.”
“It’s fine,” I say, though I’m sure an apology is in order since I strongly considered killing him not so long ago. My distrust of him could have cost Isabel her life, a possibility that won’t be ruled out until I find her safe.
I reach into my bag. He tenses until I retrieve the frame. “Here,” I say, handing it to him. “You probably won’t be able to go back for a while. I figured you’d want this.”
He takes it without a word, opens and closes it quickly. Then he looks up and slowly reaches out his hand. I pause to consider the gesture and what it means. A reaffirmation of a relationship built on blood and revenge. Then I lift my arm and our palms meet and mold.
It’s as close to forgiveness as we’ll get for now.
“Where will you go now?” he asks.
I glance back to the crowd. “Time to disappear.”
He takes the keys from Karina and hands them to me. “For your getaway.”
“Thanks,” I say.
“Thank you for not shooting me.”
Karina’s eyes grow wide and angry. “What? You were going to shoot him?”
Mateus hushes her. “It’s nothing. I promise you.”
“It’s nothing? He is your friend, Mateus.”
His lips thin. “He is,” he says quietly. He reaches for the door of the Envemo and ushers Karina inside.
CHAPTER NINE
ISABEL
The air, weighted with three hundred years of desperate prayer, smells of old wood and the soot of scented candles. The heavily painted figure of the Messiah stands at the center of the church, silent and still, offering his open arms to the devout. The needy. The desperate.
The half-blind priest bolts the front door and gestures to the back of the church. “Me siga.”
I offer him a weak smile, ready to follow him to the only place I thought to hide when Tristan sent me off. With no hesitation, Padre Antonio agreed to give us shelter here tonight. He asked for nothing in return. Even as I am growing to distrust nearly everyone, I have faith in his genuine kindness.
Seeming to sense my somber mood, he pauses and touches my arm gently. His skin is dry and warm to the touch. The simple kindness wraps around me, threatening to unravel my quickly fraying emotions. I blink back tears.
He hushes me and speaks softly in Portuguese. “Rest here, Isabel. Come back when you are ready.” Without another word, he walks away, leaving me alone with my thoughts in the empty hall.
I haven’t stepped foot in a place of worship for years. Not since Grace’s funeral. My parents all but turned their backs on Tristan’s tragedy, and in turn, I turned my back on the traditions of our faith.
Still, something faint rings inside me. I can’t remember a time when I’ve needed hope more.
Careful not to disturb the silence, I move up the narrow aisle. Whatever drew me to the church gate yesterday with Tristan on my heels compels me now into the pew and onto my knees. I lean forward, anxiety tight in my belly. The lacquered wood is warm under my palms and against my
forehead. A small comfort. I exhale heavily, racked with worry and fatigue.
This unexpected journey with Tristan, fighting for our lives and more, has turned me inside out. It’s made me raw and weak and aimless. Yet even as I long for the safety and security I took for granted every day before, I can’t deny wanting to save Tristan from this nightmare too. I have no idea how I can, though. I’ve never felt more powerless in my life, flung from place to place, kept in the dark by the lover of my past.
How can the broken man I still care for beyond reason be the one to save me? Can he even save himself?
I’m miles from Tristan, but I pray he hears me.
Please.
Please come back to me. Please live.
Please fight for us… Survive for us… Remember us…
Over and over, I whisper my deepest pleas. All the while, visions of the horrific acts I witnessed earlier consume me. I grip the back of the pew tightly, refusing to believe the same fate could come upon Tristan. He’s too strong. Too determined. Too broken to let them win…
I squeeze my eyes against tears. He’s not dead. I’d feel it if he were. I’d know. There’d be an earthquake in my soul. Some kind of sign.
I look up at the cartoonish figure before me. No change in his peaceful countenance. I don’t bow my head again, because this is no longer a quiet prayer. I’m as desperate now as all the troubled, poor, and sick souls who’ve passed through these doors and bruised their knees on the crude floor.
“Help me save him,” I utter amidst the quiet crackle of candles. “Tell me what to do.”
A door slams in the back. I grip the pew with knuckle-whitening force. My heart stutters and then launches into wild beats. Then I hear his voice mingled with the priest’s.
“Tristan.”
I scramble to my feet as he appears from the hallway. He’s disheveled and dirty and bloody, but sweet mercy, he’s alive.
I run toward him and throw my arms around him. “You’re alive.” The word tears like a sob from my throat.
“You’re safe,” he whispers against my hair, holding me almost painfully tight against him.
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