Wrecked- Luke & Marie

by Christa Wick

  9-1-

  "You're calling the police?" He scowls at me, sensing, but not quite understanding, what I’m up to.

  I nod. "On myself."

  He’s been acting like he cares about me. If he does, it's my ace in the hole to save Rose. I play it.

  "I have a warrant, remember. And I'm ready to confess to cheating in the club—"

  "Baby, that's not the deal we made."

  He tries to rest his forehead against mine. I won't allow it. I shake my head. Fresh tears stream down my cheeks.

  "The deal was you would look after Tommy and do everything in your power to help me save Rose. Rose—not me."

  "Love, please don't make me do this." His entire hand shaking, Luke places trembling fingertips against my cheek and presses a long, hard kiss against my mouth.

  I’m nearly done in. I want to stay here. I want to be held and cared for by this man. I want a fresh start, but there's no such thing.

  Closing my eyes, I memorize the kiss. When it’s forever imprinted on my heart, I break free and look at him.

  "I'm sorry—I have to."

  17

  Marie

  A woman in her mid-sixties meets me at the Greyhound bus station with the contact lenses. Red-eyed and coughing, she looks every bit the junkie and I don't doubt for a second that one or more of Solandro's men are in the station to oversee the exchange. I duck into the bathroom, put the case from Solandro in my purse and retrieve a case Masters gave me.

  Inside Masters' case, two blue lenses float in a watery solution. Remembering the track marks on the old woman's arms, I soap my hands and rinse with hot water twice before I touch the contacts. Once they are in place, I leave the station and flag a cab discreetly waiting just for me. Climbing into the back seat, I hide my shock as I recognize the well-worn ball cap and denim jacket Luke wore for the last meeting.

  I expected a familiar face, just not his.

  For show, I tell him which casino and then I act like he doesn't exist. A manila envelope is on the seat and I open it. I drop Solandro's lens case inside and pull out a photograph. It’s a headshot of a dealer from the Desert Crown Casino and Resort. I flatten the paper against my thighs and study his face.

  Luke already managed to get the Desert Crown on board. The casino's owner, however, won't consent to my just walking in and using Solandro's contacts. That's why I’m wearing the second set from Luke.

  That also means the dealer will feed me wins, wins that Luke promised the other owner he would cover. Everyone else at the table will be in on it and Solandro's contacts will be turned over to the FBI before I can play. They have eight hours to analyze them, then back I go to Solandro with a purse full of money.

  Everything is moving too fast. In less than two days, I’ve gone from trusting only Tommy to being forced to trust many: Luke, his team at the casino, the FBI, the dealer at the Desert Crown and the casino's owner. That is more trust than I have and my heart is jackhammering inside my chest by the time Luke pulls to a stop in front of the Desert Crown. I pull a few bills from my purse for show and pass the money forward. Catching my hand, Luke's gaze holds mine in the rear view mirror.

  "I'll have eyes on you the entire time."

  Withdrawing, I smile but my heart isn't in the gesture. I’m too worried I’ll once again fail Rose.

  Inside the casino, I spot the dealer after about ten minutes of wandering, but I walk around another ten, surreptitiously looking for anyone who might be working for Solandro. When I finally sit down, the hands start small—at table minimum. Three hours later, I’m pulling in thousand dollar wins.

  Next to me, one of the players leaves. Like a real game, they rotate in and out, some set gesture signaling that another member of security is ready to slide into the seat as soon as it’s vacated.

  Not this time.

  An outsider takes the seat next to me. Everyone at the table is a stranger to me, but I sense the new player is an outsider by the way the dealer tenses ever so slightly and how the man to my left coughs. Even though the wins and losses aren't real, the cough is his tell and he can't help himself. With no cards in play and catching the dealer's reaction, this is all I need to understand that the man on my right isn't part of the team.

  Absolute certainty comes when he puts his hand on the table. He holds a locket, the chain wrapped around his fingers for good luck. I know the locket. It belonged to my mother and I gave it to Rose on her sixteenth birthday.

  Sunglasses and a ball cap obscuring his face, the man tilts his head in my direction. "How about I buy you a drink at the bar?"

  Luke briefed me on this scenario. I promised him I would stay in place.

  I look at the man then back to the locket. "Sure, let me grab my chips."

  The dealer reaches for my hand, his smile shaky. "You're not going to walk away when you're winning, are you?"

  "Rule number 9—Lady Luck is a fickle bitch."

  Quoting my father, I laugh, the sound dull as I calculate whether the men at the table will let me leave. From the little I understand, these are the casino's men. The owner would not allow Luke's team on the casino floor. Luke is monitoring from somewhere else in the casino or outside it so I won't get burned by one of Solandro's men recognizing him as the owner of the last casino I used the contacts at.

  With the new player already leaving the table, I follow him. No one protests. By the time we hit the casino's entrance, his hand is locked around my elbow. We walk out to the street and a passing car stops in front of us. Flinging the back door open, my escort pushes me inside. He jumps in, the doors locking immediately. As we speed away, Solandro's man takes off the sunglasses.

  Artificially blue eyes stand out against the dark brown skin and I know I’m as good as dead.

  Blood drips from my chin to land on the silk skirt I wear. Lifting my head, I glare at Rose.

  "I can't believe you fucked me on this!" she screams.

  More blood drips onto my skirt, the cut made by the small diamond ring she wears. The ring is new—at least she did not have it when she disappeared a few weeks ago.

  Another slap lands, this one open palmed. My hands are tied behind my back so I can't block her.

  Six years have passed since someone last hit me, but my body remembers. I move with the blow, lessening the force as I brace for the next one.

  Rose sits down, lights a cigarette then takes a quick drag. Exhaling, she examines the lit end then looks at my bloody cheek.

  "You've always been a fat, stupid traitor, b-b-big sister."

  The stutter is the same fake one our father used in teasing me as a child. Knowing there’s nothing I can say to appease Rose, I swallow any words of defense before they can escape and make her angrier. Instead, I look down. The salt of angry tears sting my eyes and the cut on my cheek.

  "You betrayed Daddy too many times to count." She leans closer. "Then you conned me into leaving with you because you knew you couldn't make it on your own."

  Yeah, like she's been any kind of help!

  She takes another drag on the cigarette, this one long and hard so that the tip glows a bright orange. Pushing her palm against my forehead, Rose brings the tip close enough to my cheek that I can feel its heat.

  "An ugly, hopeless loser as long as I can remember." She runs the burning tip in circles near my skin, never making contact. "A jealous bitch because Daddy loved me, not you. Jealous that I'm not an oinky pig, that men want me...want my body."

  Another drag and then she touches the tip against a drop of my blood. The fluid hisses, absorbing the heat before Rose can burn me. She pulls it away, but the sadistic grin on her face promises another attempt.

  "Six fucking years I lived in nothing but shitholes because you lied."

  "Troy almost killed Tommy—"

  "Because Tommy couldn't get his shit together." She leans in, her spit flecking my face as she screams. "He blew the biggest score Daddy ever lined up!"

  "Troy blew it. He was drunk and—"

&nb
sp; Another backhand from Rose opens a fresh cut on my cheek. I draw a slow breath in. I need to stall. Luke promised to have eyes on me.

  It’s hard to feel hopeful enough to bother with stalling. The men who took me are confident they weren't followed. My purse, the casino chips, and any jewelry I had on was tossed out the window in case anything had a tracker in it. So were my shoes.

  The area of town we’re in is unpopulated at night and the building appears abandoned, the windows blacked out with spray paint. Whether there’s electricity that still works, I don't know. The only illumination comes from the headlights of the car they pulled inside the building through the loading bay and the one that was already here when we arrived.

  Still, I didn't survive my first twenty years with an abusive father by giving up. Looking at Rose, I feign a grudging admiration.

  "You set this up."

  "Not exactly." She sneers, the expression as familiar as it is hated. "I figured Solandro could tell me where Daddy is."

  "Prison—" Seeing the hot tip of the cigarette zeroing in on my face again, I shut my mouth and pull my head back.

  "Don't remind me." She takes a puff on the cigarette then stares for a long second at its tip. "I told Solandro about the last six years. He said it was a waste."

  She snubs the cigarette out, anger making her forget she wants to torture me with it. "A waste of you, he said. A waste of the wonderful and talented Queenie Lafayette."

  Snorting, she flicks the trampled butt away then reaches for a fresh smoke.

  "Like you're something special when I know you're not."

  A door at the other end of the warehouse crashes open. Solandro walks into the beam of the headlights. Looking pissed and deadly, he stops next to Rose. She turns her face up at him, a sultry smile on her mouth. Then she slowly licks her lips like she’s lubricating them for whatever he might offer.

  Her hand snakes up his thigh. "I told you we couldn't trust her."

  Solandro Ortiz is not a man who likes to hear "I told you so." I'm sure he's killed people for lesser transgressions. For now, he satisfies his anger by slapping Rose so hard she falls to the floor. She stays down, cowering at his feet and it dawns on me that this is probably the first time anyone has hit her—ever.

  Grabbing the now empty chair, Solandro drags it until it’s right beside me and sits down. Reaching behind him, he pulls a pistol from his pants and places it across his lap. "You're gonna make this right, Queenie."

  I nod, trying not to think about how much time has passed since I left the casino. Each minute is another minute Luke has failed to find me.

  Hell, after the stunt I pulled, maybe it's not a matter of it being hard to find me. Maybe he isn't even looking. He has the lenses and the cards from his casino. He knows Solandro's network. The threat to his business is eliminated. More than any other reason for staying away, he offered me an out when he tried to keep me from tonight's con. I rejected it, disobeyed him, and turned away from the safety he offered me not once, but three times.

  If I die tonight, it won't be Luke's fault. He can walk away with a clean conscience. So can he really care what happens to me?

  I look back to Solandro and try to find something inside me to hold onto, to keep my mind centered so I can avoid a midnight execution. Meeting his cold stare, I force a smile. "You have any ideas how I can do that?"

  He looks me over, his gaze lingering in a way I never would have anticipated. I'm not sure, but I think Solandro Ortiz is actually ogling me.

  Swiping at his face, he grins. "It's not me you have to fix this for, chica. Those were Machado's lenses you turned over to the casino or Feds. You better put that famous brain to work pronto."

  "Killing her would fix it." Rose sits on the floor, her arms around her knees and a hateful fire burning in her green eyes.

  "You're about the stupidest little bitch I ever met, Rose." His hand on his lap, Solandro pulls the hammer back on the pistol. Lifting it, he points the gun at Rose. Her gaze widens. Even in the low light, I can see the pupils rapidly dilating to crowd her irises.

  "Please, don't." My hands still bound, I lightly brush a finger against Solandro's calf to draw his attention from Rose.

  Lowering the gun, he laughs. "Even now, you still want to save this scrawny little cunt?"

  I look at my sister. If possible, I think she hates me even more because I intervened. I turn back to Solandro and nod. "I just need a little time to think."

  Squirming, I raise one brow in what I hope looks like extreme discomfort. "And pee."

  Solandro laughs again, long and hard enough that his grip on the pistol loosens. Catching the gun before it can hit the floor, he waves it at one of his crew. "Pollo, take her to the bathroom. Make sure she doesn't escape."

  Pollo extends his hands far beyond the width of my actual hips and snorts. "I don't think they make windows that big."

  "Just fucking do what I say. She's smarter than a hundred of you."

  Reaching behind me with a knife, Solandro cuts the rope binding my hands.

  I rub at them, using every last second of my escort's approach before I stand and slowly follow him. As we leave the headlights' range, Pollo pulls out his phone and uses an app to light a narrow path. It illuminates a few feet in front of us, even less to the side. Leaving the main area and entering a hallway, I spot a door to the outside. There’s a metal canister fire extinguisher attached to the wall next to it.

  We reach the women's bathroom. Whatever hopes I have of being left alone are dashed as Pollo follows me inside. He opens each of the stalls, seemingly in search of the grossest one and gestures for me to enter when he finds it.

  When I step inside, my feet stick to the floor from how filthy it is.

  Asshole.

  "I don't hear you peeing, blanca."

  Lips peeling back in distaste, I sit down in the dark with the solid knowledge that I’ll need to Lysol my private bits if I make it through the night alive.

  "I still don't hear—"

  The sound of a thin stream of urine hitting the ceramic bowl stops his chatter. His footsteps retreat. I marginally relax. Only marginally—I still have no idea what I’m going to do. At least Solandro considers me some kind of asset for the moment.

  Maybe if he knew more about my deal with Luke—

  I shake my head. Solandro's crew might consider ransoming me, but Luke has no reason to pay. Still, I don't dismiss the idea completely. Pitching the idea might buy me enough time to figure out something else.

  "I don't hear you anymore—"

  "Just give me a damn minute," I snap and reach for the toilet paper.

  The light from his phone plays against the floor. Seeing his feet in front of the stall, I press my free hand against the door.

  "Haven't you heard of wiping?"

  He chuckles. "Bet you want to wash your hands, too."

  The door rattles with a hard blow. For a second, I think Pollo hit it with his fist or something, trying to startle me for a laugh or to force the door open. Then he folds to the floor, eyes shut, jaw slack, his hand still clutching the cellphone.

  Adrenaline shoots through me, my pulse pounding so loud I almost miss the low hiss of Luke's voice. "Get her out, now!"

  Shoving my skirt down, I open the stall door. Two sets of hands belonging to complete strangers reach in and lift me over the still unconscious Pollo. The men wear green goggles. From the feeble light of Pollo's phone, I see that another man waits at the restroom door, a big black shield facing toward the entrance.

  Shoving me behind him, one of my rescuers turns toward the door and raises his shotgun. "Stay between us."

  From there, I’m hustled out into the dark hall. My hand rests firmly on the back of the man in front of me. I move when he moves. We reach the exit I saw earlier with its fire extinguisher. It opens soundlessly, giving me my first glimpse of the outside. A black van idles soundlessly.

  We make it to the van. Arms reach out from its dark interior to roughly pull me in
side just as gunfire breaks out within the warehouse. My rear guard hits his hand against the side of the van and shouts.

  "Move out!"

  The door shuts. The van pulls away. From somewhere above us, I hear the low swoop of a helicopter's blades. I turn to the man holding my arm.

  "Mr. Masters—"

  "Inside."

  I suck a ragged breath in. Luke is in there—with the gun fire? I try to move toward the front of the van to plead with the driver to turn back, but my guard won't let me. He holds me. I struggle, but he's too strong. Feeling weak and useless, I sag in his arms.

  "Please." The gunshots still ringing in my ear, I begin to cry. "We have to go back."

  "Don't worry." He locks his big arms around me, securing me as we drive further from the sound of shooting and the beam of the helicopter's search light. "Luke's been through a hell of a lot worse."

  18

  Luke

  Two Hours Earlier

  Seeing what looks like a civilian in sunglasses slide into the seat by Marie, my balls shrivel. I shout into my headset for confirmation and removal of the man. The casino's team members at the table don't have earpieces. Their body language changes at the newcomer's arrival, but it’s clear they see the man's presence as a nuisance and not a threat.

  A heartbeat later, he flashes something at Marie. A small piece of jewelry from the looks of it. Her response is to immediately leave the table with him.

  "Detain Asset One!" I shout, grabbing a hand screen and running from the casino operations room the owner demanded I stay in before he would greenlight the operation.

  A member of the casino's security team reaches for me. One of my guys restrains him then continues to run interference as I make it to the stairwell and run up to ground level two, three steps at a time.

  Looking at the hand screen, I unleash a hot stream of profanity.

  I’m too late. Marie is out the door and sliding into a car that swiftly fills an open gap in the valet parking line. The men at the table, not a one of them mine, just let her leave.