by LC Lehesaho
Letting out a snort of laughter, I nod, shrugging one shoulder. "Yeah, of course. But you know, you wouldn't have to use me as an excuse to buy another car. You could've just walked to the store and bought one for yourself, not for me."
Dad laughs, and the deep rumble of it fills the car. It's the sound we don't get to hear too often, but like every time, it makes me smile. "I have way too many cars myself, Angel, and you don't have even one."
After meeting with the cop, he forced me to pick a new car—Wolf got rid of the last one because they couldn't be sure if Levi had wired it or something—and my new Jeep will be delivered in a few weeks. It's the same kind of Wrangler I had previously, but the latest model. I wouldn't mind if it were old, but Dad insisted, and he was so hyped about it I didn't want to argue.
Looking at him now, driving with a bright smile on his face like nothing could rock his world, it's hard to believe that earlier today, he smashed one TV by throwing it at the coffee table in our shared living room.
It was after I told him what Levi did to me.
Truthfully, his reaction didn't surprise me. Dad is always calm and collected until he snaps, and then all hell breaks loose. But he comes down just as fast; it's remarkable how quickly he can gather his shit and be cool again.
He raged for a couple of minutes and then cleaned the mess he made while I told him the rest of the story—no wonder where my brothers have inherited the fieriness, some more than others.
"That's a valid point; I can't argue with it. Where are we going now?"
"There's a new coffee shop opened at the East Corner." He slows down to the traffic lights, stopping beside a police car, and both cops in it greet him with a handwave. Dad nods, returning the gesture, before turning to me. "I think you'll like it. It's right around the corner, and after that, we can head home. Wolf and Falcon probably finished their search by then."
"Sounds good. I hope they find something useful." Or someone, more likely, and when it comes to my sister, I know she will get the information out in no time if someone knows something. When Falcon releases her inner crazy, she leaves even Harley Quinn in her shadow.
After parking the Mustang on the side of the road, Dad leads me into the coffee shop, and when we step inside, I know even without tasting anything that this will be my new favorite place.
The black and white checkered floors, pastel colors in the walls and seats makes me instantly think of a fifties diner, and I hope they also serve milkshakes. There's a pink neon-light sign with the coffee shop's name on it behind the desk, and the stools in front of it are alternately sweet pink and cute turquoise.
It's so goddamn adorable I want to squeak out a happy yelp, but biting my lip, I keep it in and just do a happy dance inside my head.
"Let's go there." Dad points to the last booth in the row, and I know why. Clear vision to the door and no one behind us, but a wall.
"Yeah, I’ll just go to the restroom first; I'll be right back. Order something good for me," I tell him, turning to leave for the bathrooms, which are also pointed out with a neon sign. Before I can take a step toward it, Dad takes hold of my arm, his other hand coming to my lower back.
Then he gives me an approval smile, letting me go. "Just checking."
The gun under the waistband of my leggings isn't the only weapon I carry. Instinctively my hand goes inside the pocket of my hoodie, squeezing the swiss blade into my fist while I make my way to the toilet.
His swiss blade.
Apparently, I'd kept it in my hand when I passed out at the hotel into Tiger's arms, and either he or Puma had picked it up when they took me out. They clearly didn't see the initials in it. Otherwise, no way in Hell, they would have kept it for me.
I don't even know why the fuck I keep it with me. There is no logical explanation for it, no rationalization why I can't throw it away, but for some reason, I just can't.
I trail my fingers over the carved initials on the slick surface, emotions starting to twirl inside me and twisting my brain.
I know I shouldn't feel bad about killing him.
I fucking know it.
Levi fucked me over in more ways than one, and I hate him for it, so why is there this pressure inside me every time I think about him?
When I push the bathroom door open, a woman is scrubbing a little girl's face clean from chocolate beside the sink, and both of them glances in my direction when I walk past them to one of the stalls. The girl grins at me happily, pointing to my hair and telling her mother that she wants pink hair too. My heart swells from the cuteness, and I wave at her before closing the door behind me.
"Stay still, Maya, and let me braid your hair so you won't get more chocolate in it." I hear the mother speaking on the other side. "This is for your own good."
My breath catches from the words.
This is for your own good.
The voice inside my head changes, and I hear him.
Darling, I'm so sorry, but this is for your own good. I love you, and I can't let him kill you, beautiful, ‘cause you're everything to me. I'm so sorry for doing this.
My hands tremble as tears pour down my cheeks from the hazy memory. Cold sweat breaks from the back of my neck, my stomach turns into tight knots, and I bite my lip not to sob out loud. Day by day, more memories unlock from the dark parts of my brain, making me remember what Levi did.
I remember. Every. Fucking. Night.
But I can't make sense of what he said. What his words meant, and why he had to do it? Why did he have to violate my mind and body, day after day?
My fingers curl around the swiss blade, urge to snap it open itches in the back of my brain like poison starting to spread within me. I don't want to feel like this anymore. I don't want to remember those nights, those days far away from everything I love. The blade burns in my hand, whispering things to me, bad things.
A small part of me wants to open it.
Let the venom leak out of me.
Then the memory of Tiger's face comes into my mind, bright as a day, even though it was three years ago. The shock when he found me doing it the last time. The anger. The hurt.
Always, Cobra. You and me. We'll figure this out. You'll be okay.
I could never look at him in the eye again if I'd do this. He'd be so disappointed in me. And not just Tiger, Dad too.
I don't want to fail again.
Bile rises from my stomach, burning my throat, and when I throw up in the toilet of the cutest coffee shop I've ever seen, I hate Levi all over again.
~
"Do you want more cake?" Dad asks me when I stuff the last piece of Sacher cake into my mouth. It’s my favorite chocolate cake in the world. I've already sucked down one giant strawberry milkshake before this, and the cake wasn't a tiny one either. Those tasted like Heaven after the acidic flavor in my mouth.
"I'd like to, but my stomach says differently. I'm so full, I think you have to roll me out of here," I answer, gulping my black coffee. Thank God I'm wearing leggings and not jeans.
"That's good." Dad brushes his hair back, even though they are perfectly fine, and takes a look around the coffee shop. "I'd like to ask something, Angel."
My heart skips a beat, but I dip my head, trying to get ready for everything. "Sure, ask away."
His eyes search mine, reading every micro-expression in me. "Tiger mentioned one thing about you." He pauses, taking a breath. Cold lingers into my veins when I know what he's about to bring up. "What you did earlier, and how he's helped you with this problem."
I nod and decide to take the bull by the horns. "Do you mean the cutting? Trust me, I haven't done it in years. Not since Tiger started to help me, or whatever it is that we do."
"How does he help you?" The distress leaks out from his voice, making my stomach ache. I never wanted to hurt him like this—admitting I've been hurting myself on purpose.
"I don't want to get into details, but he gave me the ease in a different way." I clear my throat, crawling in my skin. "Nothing uh.
.. like that, you know. Oh, hell, this is hard. Well, we sparred but took it a little bit further. He's never hurt me more than I wanted."
I can see how the muscles on Dad's neck and shoulders wires up under his tight button-up, but he keeps his tone even. "Has he ever gone too far? Lost control?"
"Never," I answer instantly. "Tiger would never do that." There are times when he loses control, but that's not in the gym, and usually not with me, but mostly because of me.
He sighs. "Good. I could already guess that, but I had to make sure. He is one of a kind."
A smile creeps to my face. "Tiger sure is. He's been amazing. I mean, he's always been, but now after everything... Tiger has done everything right. I can't believe after all he's gone through, he can be so caring."
Thinking about what he told me breaks my heart into a million pieces, but I am so fucking proud of him. He survived, and still, he has a heart after all that.
Most people would break from less.
"I don't even know how it's possible. Sure, it has left an enormous mark on him, and he's not the easiest person to get along with, but at the end of the day, he'd do anything for the one he loves," Dad says, smiling at me. "For you."
Fiddling the napkin in my hand, I try to find the right words. I know Tiger's part, what happened to him and Amelia, but there is still one point of view I haven't heard.
"Dad," I start, taking a deep breath. "Can I ask something in return?"
"Of course, what is it?"
"You never told us the whole story about..." My heart pounds so hard in my chest I can hear it in my head, but I force myself to say it. "How did you actually find Tiger?"
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Five years ago
The sun is blazing full force from the bright sky, and on hot days like these, I worship the genius who invented the AC. A couple of hours' drive from Shangri-la to Arbor would be a sweaty nightmare without it.
"How many men did you say there are, Boss?" Pietro asks from my Explorer's passenger seat, keeping his hand resting on the rifle strapped across his chest.
"Less than ten." I glance from the rearview mirror to the three cars following mine, two of them full of Pronto Muerte's men and one full of my guys. "Hernandez is very strict about who he lets on his property, but his paranoia works for our benefit."
"And there shouldn't be no one else? Did you say his family is dead?"
Nodding, I turn the car onto the gravel side road leading to the Hernandez farm, though the only animals he has there are his bloodthirsty guard dogs. "Yes, his wife and two kids died in a car accident three years ago. Since then, he's been unreliable. I get it, losing a family breaks a man, but—" I shake my head, thinking about the deals I heard he's been making. "I let him be in the circle ‘cause he had good connections over the border, and his product has always been clean, but the last three years, there's been no trusting him. I gave him several chances to get it together, but the previous deal I heard him making…"
"About human trafficking?"
Even thinking about it makes my blood pressure rise and knuckles itch.
"Yes. That's one thing that no one in my circle will do without losing their fucking heads."
Pietro dips his chin, agreeing. "What about his men? The usual?"
"Right. If they don't put up a fight, then they'll live but remember that you don't risk yours or anyone else's life from our side to keep them alive. Hernandez is the one who we want, and if his men are smart enough to change their loyalty, then they can walk out of there." I glance at the digital numbers on the dashboard. "And we're on the clock. I have to pick up kiddos from school at three."
I try to maintain the line that I get my businesses handled while they're at school—it saves me from worrying about what they are doing while I'm on the job. Especially when it comes to teenage boys, it amazes me what kind of bullshit they can come up with when they think they're not gonna get caught. Not that I was a little saint as a kid, but my mother didn't have to tell me it's not okay to get drunk and throw raw eggs at the mailman at five am.
Besides, they're the reason why I keep doing this. If you don't have a family, you don't have anything.
There is always someone who calls the shots, controls the city, and if it isn't me, then it might be someone like my father. People would live in constant fear in this godforsaken city, and crime rates would be much higher.
Keeping it all under my control, I can decide how things work, even though it makes me the bad guy here. I don't mind being the biggest monster in town if it keeps the smaller ones on a leash.
And it does.
Hernandez is about to learn it soon, but for him, it's the last thing he'll learn. If he thinks he can sell drugs into my city on Mondays and humans to wherever on Tuesdays, he is wrong. Dead. Wrong.
A year ago, he had his hands on this kind of shit, and he was making a deal. For some reason, it hadn't succeeded, and only after that failed, the rumors carried into my ears. Back then, I told him if he ever even considers human trafficking again, I will cut his balls off and feed it to his dogs.
Clearly, his memory lasts only a year because now he did it again. I know for sure he is selling something, or in this case—someone. My source didn't know the details about the deal, but that's irrelevant.
He fucked up, that's it.
"Yup, Hernandez clearly doesn't want anyone wandering into his lands," Pietro states beside me, and I notice the gates too.
It's been four years since I visited here, the one and only time because that was when I allowed him to expand his dealing ring into Shangri-la, and I wanted to know what kind of man he is. Back then, there weren't iron gates big enough to keep dinosaurs away.
"Maybe he knows he's been doing shit he shouldn't." I retort as I veer the Explorer into a stop beside the gate, opening the window when a guard with a similar attire as Pietro walks to my door. From the corner of my eye, I see Pietro holding his rifle towards the man. I genuinely hope he doesn't use it because I don't want to lose my hearing.
"It hasn’t been reported you have a meeting," the guard says, eyeing me warily.
"We don't," I tell him calmly and nod towards the gates. "But now I'm going to ask you a simple question. I came all the way here to see Hernandez, and if you don't open the gate for me, what do you think will happen? You don't want to make me unhappy, do you?"
When I meet someone on business, I do it in the daytime, mostly because I like to be home with my kids at night, but also so people never know what to expect when they meet me. I can come to chat about business, have a coffee, or if they've been misbehaving, well, then they'll be guided back to the right path if they haven't been fucking up in a way there is no going back.
If they start running from me in the daytime when I come to them, they reveal they've done something against the rules—and no one wants to die. So, no matter how hard their brain tries to tell them they should run and fast, they don't. And why?
Because the human mind is a wicked thing—it really thinks talking can get them out of trouble.
Even my own goddamn father thought he could talk his way out when I found him.
People should learn to talk before they start doing things that can't be repaired.
The guard stares at me for a while, a drop of sweat gathering over his brow. I see the tendons on his neck straining, but he shakes his head, clearing his throat. "No, I don't. Do you want me to inform Hernandez that you arrived?"
"Do you want to inform him?" I tilt my head, and the look on his face reveals he catches the question behind the question.
"No, sir. There is..." He wipes the sweat from his forehead, voice strained, "Save the boy, please. I haven't been able to…"
My blood goes cold as I stare at the guard. "What boy?"
He glances through the gates, but the driveway is far too long to see any buildings from here. "There's a… my god. In one of the warehouses where the dogs are, there is a boy." He stares straight at me with pleading eyes. "I ha
ven't been able to help him out. Other ones know about him too, but they won't help him. They… You have to help him, Hayes."
I swear to God, my heart is pounding out of my chest as I squeeze the steering wheel, knuckles white. "Stay here, and don't let anyone out without my permission. If you cross me on this, you know exactly what's going to happen."
"Yes, sir." He hurries to open the gate for us, and when all of our cars are inside, I see from the rearview mirror he closes it behind us, taking his rifle in his hands. The expression on his face tells me I can be sure he keeps his word.
"How are we gonna handle this, Boss?" Pietro asks, face two shades paler than usual.
"Find Hernandez and bring him to me." I stop the car in front of the warehouse, which I remember him keeping his dogs and hope it hasn't changed. As I jump out, the gun already in my hand, I nod towards Hernandez's other guards, who are walking towards us in the distance. "Kill everyone else."
Maintaining my cover from the car, I make my way to the double doors, surprised it's not locked. On the other hand, Hernandez didn't probably think anyone would get past the gates so easily.
He didn't expect a visit from me.
Well, that's not the first mistake he's ever made.
The gunfire starts to blast behind me as I close the door, ensuring no one can walk in without making a sound. But as soon as I turn to look around, the dogs start to bark in the cages, the sound loud enough to cover up even the shooting.
The stale smell of the old building mixes with the greasy scent of dog fur and urine, turning the air thick and hard to breathe. My stomach convulses from the smell, but I push the dreadful feeling aside. I look around the line of dog cages on the sides, forming an aisle between like in a horse stall—at least ten separated cages. Maybe the guard was full of shit because who could keep a human in here? Perhaps this was just a trap I walked straight into—
One cage catches my attention.
The dogs are barking and jumping towards the iron bars, but the figure in the cage at the end of the aisle isn't doing so.