‘Someone’s cleaning your apartment right now,’ John said to Mariana. ‘He’s a pro. He’ll wipe every surface, take away every trace of DNA. If the cops come tomorrow, they could turn the place upside down, and the only place they’d find evidence is under your fingernails.’
‘Thank you,’ Mariana said quietly, looking at him with a sense of wonder.
John shrugged. ‘It’s kind of what I do. Nothing to be proud of.’
He hated what he did. Despised it.
Still. There were worse things. At least he didn’t have to have any part with those poor fucking girls they trucked across the country—
‘John,’ Ana said, breaking his thoughts.
‘Yeah?’ he replied gruffly, pulling out of the county morgue parking lot and making a sharp turn onto the service road.
‘What happens now?’
He glanced over at her. Her hands were clasped in her lap, and her arms were covered in goosebumps. ‘Here,’ he said, tossing his leather jacket at her, still a little damp from the shower. ‘Put this over yourself. You’re shaking.’
She took the jacket wordlessly and draped it across the front of her like a blanket.
‘What happens now,’ John repeated, watching as headlights whizzed past in an endless succession. Before he knew it, he’d pulled onto the I-5 and they were racing down the freeway.
‘What happens now is that we kill some time until they get all that pesky blood out of your apartment.’
‘My bed—’ Mariana started.
John held up a hand. ‘Trust me. When we get back in a few hours, you won’t be able to tell the difference.’
She settled back in the seat. John saw the exit he was looking for up ahead, the one that would take them to a secluded spot where he liked to go and sit when he didn’t want to be bothered. As he pulled off the road and up a narrow, unpaved track, Mariana tensed beside him.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said, ‘I’m not going to kill you.’
John stopped the car in a small clearing of trees and cut the engine. In front of us was a small man-made lake. It was nothing special, and it looked neglected and overgrown, but it was deserted out here, and that was the whole point.
My mind was struggling to catch up after the night’s events. What the fuck had just happened? I’d killed Murphy.
Murphy was dead.
I was freaked the fuck out, but I couldn’t pretend that I wasn’t also feeling victorious in some strange way. He’d committed the ultimate sin when he killed my family, and I’d returned the favour in all its bloody glory. He’d died vulnerable and afraid, and that brought me a small measure of relief, knowing the way my parents and siblings had endured their final moments.
‘So,’ John said, his hand resting on the steering wheel, ‘I think you owe me an explanation.’
It was the least I could give him.
‘How do I know I can trust you?’ I asked softly.
John laughed. ‘I think we’re beyond that, don’t you?’
I nodded. ‘I suppose so. But it’s a long story.’
He turned to me and smiled, his perfect teeth glinting in the weak moonlight. ‘Honey, I’ve got all night.’
I licked my lips and rearranged the leather jacket so it was covering every bit of my exposed flesh.
‘Have you got a cigarette?’ I asked suddenly.
John nodded, pointing at the glove compartment. I opened it, took out a lighter and a pack of cigarettes, and lit up. The smoke burned my chest, and I had to resist the urge to cough. But I liked the feeling. It reminded me that I was alive.
I wound my window down a few inches and blew the smoke out.
‘I can’t tell you,’ I protested, but I was tired and my words lacked conviction.
‘Why not?’ John pressed. ‘What do you think I’m gonna do? Do you think I’m going to use it against you?’
I shrugged. ‘Maybe. I have secrets that nobody knows, John. Not Dornan. Not Emilio. Nobody.’
‘Like secret sons?’ He raised his eyebrows.
I nodded my head in resignation. ‘Didn’t buy the baby brother story, huh?’
‘You don’t react like that over a photo of a child that isn’t your own,’ John said softly. ‘I’m a father. I know a mother when I see one. And I swear on my fucking life, I will never tell anyone what you tell me. You can trust me, Ana. I just helped you get rid of the body of a DEA agent. Not any DEA agent, either. The one that happens to work for our boss. I could be killed for that. So let’s start hearing some of these secrets so I can understand what the hell I’ve just gotten myself into.’
He had a point. And I was tired of keeping everything locked up inside. It was lonely and exhausting.
I told him everything. I started with the night Este and I were confronted back in Colombia, how he’d been murdered in front of me on the ground in a dirty alley. How I’d offered myself up in exchange for Emilio letting my family live. How Dornan had saved me from a certain fate as a slave at an auction. How I’d do it all again if it meant my little blue-eyed son would be safe. I told him every last detail, the way my father took Luis from me, how Murphy had killed my family, and now how I’d exacted the ultimate revenge against him, luring him into my bed with promises of a dirty fuck and instead blowing his brains out.
I told him everything, until I was empty, and in the end there wasn’t a single word left inside me.
She told him everything, and as soon as she’d finished, all John wanted to do was bundle up every word that she’d uttered and hand it back to her. Because there was power in knowledge, but there was danger, too. And now he was a very real part of it. By helping Ana to dispose of Murphy’s body, and now hearing about her family, about her son, he was a pawn in whatever game she was playing at.
He didn’t respond. Didn’t ask questions. Didn’t say anything for a very long time.
‘Did you burn the photos?’ he asked finally.
She shook her head. ‘Not yet.’
‘Burn them all.’
‘John—’
‘Stop. Stop talking for a minute. I need to think. Fuck.’
He yanked the car door open and got out, his mind going crazy. So his suspicions about her had been right the entire time. Emilio fucking owned her. Dornan had ‘saved’ her in some way, but she was still the property of the Il Sangue Cartel, and, to a lesser extent, the Gypsy Brothers. And he’d fucking known that kid was her son! But he guessed she had reasons to distrust him. He was a Gypsy Brother. And he was Dornan’s best friend.
He heard Mariana’s door open and close, and then she was approaching him, in front of the pick-up. He’d left the headlights on, and they cut a stark line across her midsection.
‘John. I just want to go home, okay?’
He twisted his head to look down at her, this beautiful, exotic creature he’d been watching from the wings for the better part of a decade. He remembered the way her mouth had felt, the tight buds of her nipples hardening without him even touching them. His cock stirred painfully at the memory of lusting after a woman who could never be his.
Her dark blue eyes were bloodshot. She looked incredibly tired. And yet she was still exquisite.
‘You want to go home?’
She nodded. ‘I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have told you all of that.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘It’s a little late now, isn’t it?’
‘Why did you kiss me?’
‘What?’
She looked at the ground. ‘Never mind.’
He stomped back to the car, not taking his eyes off Mariana as he dragged his door open. She stood immobile for a moment, and then followed, sliding into the passenger seat. He folded himself in behind the steering wheel and jammed the key into the ignition, but didn’t turn it.
‘Let’s just go,’ she said softly. Almost like she was pleading.
He pulled the keys out of the ignition and pocketed them, turning on her. He was frustrated. He was pissed.
‘You should have
told me,’ he said finally.
‘Told you what?’ she asked, but her expression said that she already knew what he was going to say.
‘You lied to me. You told me that photo was of your brother. I knew I was right. I knew he was your kid. What am I supposed to do with that? What am I meant to do when Dornan finds out? What do you want from me?’
Panic registered in her eyes. She freaked the fuck out and jumped out of the car again. Christ, it was like they were going in circles. Why couldn’t she just trust him?
She stood in front of the car again, looking left and right. Was she going to try and run? It seemed absurd, but he’d seen his fair share of runners before. When people panicked, they either froze, or they fled.
And judging by the way Mariana was twitching at the front of his car, she was getting ready to flee.
‘Fuck,’ John muttered under his breath, jumping out of the car and cutting her off before she could head into the thick trees. He reached for her wrists, found them, and used his body weight to press her against the hood of the pick-up. She was crying. He’d never seen her cry before tonight, not in all the years he’d known her, and now it was like she couldn’t stop. Killing someone for the first time would probably do that to you, he surmised grimly. He could barely remember anymore, he’d done it so many times.
‘There’s nowhere to run,’ he murmured in her ear. ‘Never has been. You know that, Ana. Don’t be stupid.’
She whimpered against him, struggling against his grip before going limp.
‘Fuck you, John,’ she whispered weakly.
He wrapped his arms around her. ‘Shhh,’ he said. ‘We all go a little crazy the first time we kill somebody. You’re gonna be okay. Everything is gonna be okay.’
He didn’t believe that, of course, but he’d never tell her that.
It was almost dawn when we finally got the call to go back to the apartment. I walked tentatively up the stairs, stopping short when I reached the door. John glanced around, checking out the surrounds. Weary, and still sporting mascara-streaked cheeks and puffy eyes from all the crying I’d been doing, I went straight to the scene of the crime, to find it . . . sparkling.
Seriously, the place was spotless. Someone had brought in a new mattress, made it with fresh sheets and a duvet I normally kept aside for winter nights. The pillows were plumped, new towels hung over the rail in the bathroom beyond.
They’d even sprayed air freshener – not too much, just enough to mask the cloying smell of congealed blood – and lit a scented candle on my dresser. I stared down at my new mattress, almost expecting to find a chocolate on my pillow or something, but it seemed the service stopped there. My heart lurched when I realised the photos of Luis had been hidden in the mattress. Fuck!
‘My photos,’ I muttered. ‘Shit!’ I started opening drawers randomly, praying that whoever had cleaned up had thought to put them somewhere instead of destroying them along with the mattress.
John entered the room, alarmed. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.
‘You mean apart from the obvious?’ I replied, rummaging through sweatpants and pyjama shirts in my bottom drawer.
‘What are you looking for?’ he asked.
I closed the drawer and straightened, scanning the room as I tried to think of other potential hiding spots. ‘Photographs,’ I said quietly. ‘They were hidden in the mattress.’
John nodded, handing me an A4-sized envelope. I peered inside, breathing a sigh of relief when I saw the photos were all intact. ‘Thank you,’ I murmured.
‘Don’t mention it,’ John replied, shifting from foot to foot as he glanced into the bathroom. Oh yeah, the bathroom where we’d just groped each other like horny teenagers while a man lay dead six feet away. An awkward silence descended upon us, and I wasn’t sure where to look. Eventually, my eyes landed back on his lush lips.
‘I don’t feel anything,’ I blurted out, going to sit on the side of my new/old bed. ‘Shouldn’t I feel something?’ I put a hand to my chest and imagined the barren heart that beat beneath my ribcage. The heart of a killer now. And instead of feeling remorse, I was too busy imagining kissing Dornan’s best friend again. My life was a fucking mess.
‘I think all the feels happened in the car,’ he said, and I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at that.
‘Right,’ I replied.
‘I was kidding,’ he added. ‘I’m sure if you killed someone you actually cared about, you’d be feeling something. But right now, based on your track record with Murphy, I’d be feeling pretty fucking relieved if I were you.’
I nodded. ‘You’re right. That must be it.’
Neither of us spoke for a beat.
‘What happened to your family?’ he asked, and I heard the caution in his voice. Fresh tears sprang to my eyes, and I blotted them away with the sleeve of my T-shirt before they could roll down my cheeks.
‘Somebody tied them all up and poured gasoline on them,’ I said flatly. ‘There was a fire. Nobody made it.’
‘And your boy?’
‘He’s safe.’
‘Where is he?’ John pressed.
I stared openly at him, keeping my mouth shut. I’d never tell.
‘So you let me dispose of a DEA agent for you, but you don’t trust me?’ He looked affronted.
I shrugged. ‘Would you tell me where your daughter was, if the tables were turned?’
John nodded. ‘Yeah, okay. I get it. So what are you going to do?’
I looked around. ‘What do you mean, what am I going to do? I’m going to do nothing. I’m going to lie low and figure out what the fuck my next move is.’
‘You gonna run?’ John probed.
‘Of course I’m not going to run,’ I replied. ‘Running means dying. Besides, like you said, there’s nowhere to go.’
John nodded again, deep in thought. ‘When’s Guillermo due back?’ he asked finally.
‘A few days, I think. I’m not sure. Depends if his mother gets better or goes downhill.’
‘I’ll sleep on the couch,’ he said.
When I raised my eyebrows, he gave me a look that said it was out of my hands.
‘It’s almost five,’ he said. ‘I’ll crash for a few hours, have some coffee, and leave.’
‘Suit yourself,’ I said, not moving from my spot.
He left the room, and I lay down on my side, rolling myself into a ball. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I wanted to stay awake, and try to process the last several hours, but before I knew it, I was out like a light.
I woke to hear a fist beating on the front door. I jerked awake, sitting straight up in my bed. John appeared, looking tired as fuck. He hadn’t slept then. He had a gun in one hand, gesturing for me to stay put.
‘Open the fucking door!’ a female voice yelled outside.
Allie. That hadn’t taken long.
‘Murphy’s girlfriend,’ I whispered.
John’s eyebrows shot up as he looked at the front door, apparently undecided.
‘Let me answer it,’ I said.
John reluctantly moved out of my way, training his gun at the door.
‘She’s DEA too,’ I murmured, pushing his gun gently to his side. ‘Let me deal with this.’
I opened the door just a crack, to find a very irate Allie Baxter standing on my front stoop, dressed in jeans and a black Ramones T-shirt. She was off duty. Still packing, though, I could see, judging by the gun holstered on her hip.
‘Do I know you?’ I asked.
She laughed bitterly. ‘You know who I am. Where’s Christopher?’ she said, barging past me into the apartment. I followed her in, closing the door warily behind me.
‘Who the fuck are you?’ she asked John, who was sitting at the dining table. He had one hand under the table, and I was ninety-nine percent sure he was aiming a gun at Allie, waiting for her to make one wrong move.
Great. I didn’t need another dead DEA agent in my apartment. I’d just gotten rid of the last one.
‘I cou
ld ask the same of you,’ John snapped, resting one palm on the table.
She looked from me to John, disgusted. ‘I’m looking for my partner,’ she said, scanning the place casually. ‘DEA Agent Chris Murphy. Have you seen him?’
I shrugged. ‘He was here for maybe ten minutes last night. He needed a favour.’
Her eyes lit up at that. ‘Oh, he did, did he?’
‘Yeah,’ I said slowly. ‘And then he left.’
She looked dubious. ‘What kind of favour?’ she pressed.
I shrugged. ‘I can’t tell you that. It’s confidential.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, come on,’ she said. ‘You’re not even a real accountant.’
‘She is, actually,’ John interjected. ‘Four years at night school. So client confidentiality stands, and it’s something we take very seriously.’
I looked back at him, surprised. He was pulling this out of his ass. I’d never be allowed to go to something like night school. What point was there in official certification when, on paper, I’d died nine years ago in the Californian desert and been buried for my family to find?
‘We? As in the Il Sangue Cartel? I see you’re wearing a Gypsy Brothers patch. Maybe I should bring you down to the station for questioning.’
‘I’m sure that would be really helpful for your partner,’ John replied coolly.
‘Allie, we haven’t seen him,’ I repeated, going back to the front door and holding it open for her. Get the fuck out of my house, you corrupt bitch.
She glared at both of us one last time before storming out. Before I could close the door, she stuck her hand out.
‘I’ll be watching you, Mariana,’ she said. ‘One false move and your ass is mine.’
I slammed the door in her face so hard it echoed, staring at it for a long while before I made my way back to the dining table. John was looking at me expectantly, waiting for some sort of explanation.
‘What was that?’ he asked.
I filled him in on her last visit, and on the things Murphy had said to me before I killed him.
John whistled. ‘So, they were about to take off together, huh? And take Emilio down in the process?’
Kingpin Page 14