by Sybil Bartel
“Get me a job and I will.” I had no intention of fucking with her, but I didn’t let him know that. Even though I had a reputation for being a coldhearted fuck for a reason, I had my limits.
Addis exhaled. “She wants nothing to do with me anymore. I haven’t seen her in months.” His voice dropped to a lethal warning. “Leave her the fuck alone.”
“She still in the apartment we set her up in?” I asked casually.
Silence.
I chuckled. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
“My boss won’t hire you, you dumb fuck.”
Tasting victory, I pushed. “Yeah, why’s that?”
“He won’t employ anyone associated with the shit that went down in Bal Harbour.”
“He hired you.”
“I left before the Feds got involved.”
I snorted. “If you think the Feds don’t have a file on all of us, you’re out of your fucking mind.”
“I don’t have a job for you. Leave my ex alone, or don’t. Your call, asshole. I’m hanging up.”
Shit. “Wait.” I pretended to sigh like I was fucking desperate. “I need money.”
“Find someone else to harass. Your reputation precedes you.”
“Good. Then everyone knows I’ll do my fucking job.”
He didn’t comment, but he didn’t hang up.
“Come on.” I sweetened the deal. “I’ll owe you.”
“Hold on,” Addis clipped, before holding the phone away. “Boss. Situation.”
I heard someone speaking in the background, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying.
“If you want to maintain head count, we need to—” Addis broke off.
“Sounds like you need someone,” I cut in.
“Hold on,” Addis replied before I heard a door open and close. “Where are you?”
“Miami, where the fuck else?”
“You bring that kind of attitude here, I’ve got nothing for you.”
“You know who the fuck I am, you worked with me over a year. I’m still the same asshole who’ll shoot circles around you. Where’s here?”
Addis sighed. “I’m in the keys.”
I kept my tone short. “Sounds boring.”
He snorted, then he made an amateur move and slipped. “Yeah, working for Dante is real fucking boring.”
“Dante, huh?”
“Cut the bullshit, Asher. You knew who I was working for before you made the call. It’s why you’re hitting me up. You want a better paycheck than the one you used to make.”
I played into him. “Who doesn’t?”
He half grunted in response. “How soon can you get down to Marathon?”
“As soon as I know how much and how often Dante’s gonna pay me.”
“Set salary,” he clipped, turning all business. “Thirty-five hundred a week, cash, paid on Fridays.”
“Fuck off.”
“What?” He feigned insult.
“Don’t bullshit me. I made more than that at our last gig,” I lied. “I’m not stupid. Dante pays more than that.”
“Fine,” Addis acquiesced. “Four grand a week.”
I didn’t say shit on purpose. I pulled out a smoke.
“Ty?”
“Yeah?” I lit my cigarette.
“You want the job or not?”
I took a deep drag and blew the smoke out. “I’m thinking.”
He swore under his breath. “Well, decide quick, or I’m offering the job to someone else.”
I laughed. “Who the fuck you gonna get on short notice to drag his ass to some remote island in the keys? There’s no action down there,” I added, fishing.
Addis snorted. “There’ll be plenty of action.”
I sat up straighter. “Yeah? Why’s that?” I asked casually. “You expecting trouble?”
“It’s Dante Cortez.” Addis dropped his voice. “He is trouble.”
No fucking shit. “Whatever. I just wanna get paid,” I lied again.
“Then get down here. Two hours.” He rattled off an address. “Walk out to the dock. I’ll have one of the boats pick you up.”
“How long am I gonna be?”
Addis paused. “Why?” he asked suspiciously.
“What do you mean, why? I need to know what to pack, you paranoid fuck.”
Addis exhaled.
“Jesus.” I forced a chuckle. “You turning into one of them already?”
“Pack for a couple of weeks and just get the fuck down here.”
I grabbed a bag and threw some clothes in it. “Why aren’t you picking me up?”
“I gotta go.”
“Why? You one of Dante’s bitches now?” I joked.
Addis didn’t say shit.
Fuck. Fuck. “No shit?” I asked casually. “You’re one of his three personal guards now?”
“Yeah,” he said quietly.
Goddamn it. Addis had been the only other military-trained hired gun I’d worked with before. He wasn’t Force Recon, but he had skills. Paranoid just enough to know what the fuck he was doing, better than decent aim—if he was in a position of authority over the other guards, my job just got a lot harder.
I forced a laugh. “Moving up in the world, Bastien.”
“Don’t fucking use my last name,” he snapped.
“Then don’t use mine,” I countered, but he was fucking naïve if he thought anything about him was private now that he’d picked up a gun for the cartel.
“Fine.”
“What about my truck?”
“It’ll be safe parked in the lot by the dock. We’ve got that guarded too.”
Of course they did. “Awesome,” I deadpanned.
“See you in two hours. Don’t come armed.”
I stilled. “The fuck I won’t.”
“Dante’s rules, no personal pieces.”
“I’m not gonna carry some piece of shit used rifle.” Or worse, one that was already tagged in a crime the Feds had ballistics on.
I could practically see Addis shrug. “Then don’t come.”
Motherfucker. I made one last attempt. “I have standards.”
“There’s a whole damn arsenal here. You can choose whatever the hell you want. See you in a couple hours, or not.” Addis hung up.
I dialed Luna.
He answered on the first ring. “What happened?”
“I’m in.”
DANTE SMILED. “WHO SAYS I want something from your father? I’m just protecting you.”
He was lying. “Protecting me from what?”
His expression turned grave. “There are very scary men out there, puppet. I wouldn’t be a good uncle if I let anything happen to you.”
“I haven’t seen you in years,” I reminded him.
The bodyguard he called Addis came back into the room and stood behind the couch.
Dante chuckled. “That doesn’t mean I haven’t been looking out for you.” He leaned forward and dropped his smile. “How is your mother? Such an unfortunate accident.”
My blood ran cold. “A stroke isn’t an accident.” Was it?
He nodded as if this were a normal conversation between friends. “Terrible for anyone to go through. How is she holding up?”
“What do you want, Dante?”
His eyebrows shot up. “No uncle?”
“What do you want, Uncle Dante?” I repeated, my tone icy.
He clasped his hands. “Your father asked me to look after you for a little while.”
“And that necessitated you having me beaten and kidnapped? I should think a visit to the house and asking me to pack a bag would’ve sufficed.”
His tone took on an edge. “You always did have a flair for the dramatic.”
I never had a flair for the dramatic. I was the least dramatic person I knew. “You know that’s not true.”
Ignoring my comment, his dark-eyed stare bored into me. “You will stay here at the house, and my guards will look after you. I expect conciliatory behavior.” He stood, picking up my glass on
the coffee table. “My men will show you to a room, and you will be gracious to them.” He handed me the water. “And you will drink because you do not want to find out how convincing Santos can be.”
Panic seeping out of every crack in my façade, I absently took the glass. “How long?”
“Until I say so.” He nodded at Addis before looking back at me with a lethal stare. “Or until you make a wrong move. And trust me, puppet, you do not want to do that.”
Anxiety threatened to choke me. “You can’t keep me here forever. My father will come for me.” I didn’t buy for one second that my father had sanctioned this.
Dante stared down at me. “Will he?”
My stomach bottomed out and my mouth went dry. “Yes,” I barely whispered.
His gaze measured, he straightened his cuffs. “We’ll see.” He glanced at Addis. “Let’s go.”
My hands shaking, not thinking, only wanting to swallow past the sudden lump in my throat, I drank half the glass. “Uncle Dante, wait.” I stood.
Sparing me a glance over his shoulder as he walked toward the slider door, Dante’s expression became one hundred percent ruthless. “Do as my men tell you.”
Addis opened the slider door for Dante.
“Please,” I begged, my head suddenly swimming as a rush of prickly heat swept down my body. I looked to Santos. “Oh my God,” I almost slurred. “You drugged me.” My knees started to buckle.
Santos stepped toward me.
I tried and failed to hold my hands up.
“Dante,” I cried, slurring the T and E ending as I looked toward my supposed uncle in desperation.
But my luck had run out.
The man whose lap I’d sat on as a child had never been the relative I’d thought.
He wasn’t even decent.
He was a monster.
My legs gave out, and Dante smirked as the man who’d drugged me picked up my boneless body. “Remember the rules, Santos.”
“Yeah, yeah, got it. No visible marks.”
Dante walked out the slider door.
I tried to yell no, but only a half moan came out.
Santos’s cloying cologne filled my nostrils as he strode down a hall and pushed through a door. Carrying me to a bedroom with a view out a second-story window overlooking aqua-colored waters, he dropped my useless body down on a king-sized bed.
I bounced, and my sore arm gave a small twinge of pain. I tried to open my mouth to speak, but none of my muscles were working.
Dragging his eyes down the length of me, Santos licked his lips.
The panic that’d threatened to choke me only a moment ago dulled to a low thrum, and my eyes fluttered shut as the drugs took hold. For a second, I wanted to just let go.
But I couldn’t.
Not now. Not yet.
Forcing my eyes back open, I reached for my earlier panic to stay alert. I needed to focus. I needed to move. I needed to be able to kick him if he got any closer.
As if reading my thoughts, Santos tipped his chin. “Go ahead,” he taunted. “Get up.”
I tried to lift an arm, but not even a finger moved. My chest tingled with fear as it sank in that he could kill me.
With a half snort, half laugh, Santos palmed his gun in the holster under his arm and pulled it out.
My eyes, the only part of my body seemingly still working, tracked his movement.
A sick smile spread across Santos’s face. “Scared, huh?” He dragged the weapon up the inside of my bare leg, pushing my thigh wide open as he went. “Ever had metal between your legs?”
I choked on my own saliva.
“Blink once for yes,” he demanded.
I blinked twice in rapid succession.
“No, huh?” He smiled again. “We’ll have to change that.” Holding his gun against my thigh right below my core, he reached for his belt.
“Santos!” someone yelled from beyond the bedroom.
Anger clouding his expression, Santos yelled over his shoulder. “Busy!”
“Get the fuck out here!” the same person yelled back.
Santos shoved his gun back in his holster. “Guess this is going to have to wait, puppet.” He turned and walked out, leaving the bedroom door wide open.
Paralyzed, from fear, from whatever I’d been drugged with, my legs wide open, my dress riding up my thighs, I stared at the open bedroom door as Santos’s footsteps sounded down the hallway.
A boat engine fired up in the distance, and any hope I’d been holding on to sank to a level of despair I didn’t think I could come back from.
I thought of my mother, and a tear slid down my cheek before I passed out.
“HOW MUCH TIME DO WE have?” Luna asked.
“I have to be on a dock in Marathon in two hours.” I threw clothes into my duffle.
“Mierda, that doesn’t leave us much time to prep. Come on in and gear up. I’ll pull up satellite images, and we’ll see what we’re dealing with.”
“No gear, no weapons. Dante’s a paranoid fuck and doesn’t allow it.”
Lune let out a string of cuss words in Spanish. “You’re not going in stripped.”
“Yes, I am.” What choice did I have?
“Jesucristo, Asher.”
“You said we have forty-eight hours. Dante’s given Loic that timeframe to produce results. I’ll find a way to get her out by then. If not, send in a team at…” I glanced at my watch. “Oh-five-hundred tomorrow.” It’d still be dark an hour before sunrise. “In the meantime, you have two hours to recon a location to have Christensen’s cruiser nearby. I’ll swim her out, or worst case, we’ll wait for you to come get us.” There wasn’t much else of a choice.
“This has fifty ways to go FUBAR, and forty-eight hours is too big a window,” Luna argued.
I zipped up my bag. “Then come up with a different plan. You have two hours. I’m leaving now.”
“Swing by the office, we’ll get you some comms. I have a couple long-range ones.”
“Not risking it. If they don’t allow me to bring my own damn gun, I’m sure I’ll get scanned.”
“You can’t go with only a cell phone.”
I was sure they’d take that too. “I’ll call you from the road.”
“Asher—”
“Later.” I hung up and grabbed my keys.
Locking up, I made my way to the garage and stopped short.
Preston stood at the passenger door of my truck.
“I thought you were up with Roark.”
“Was.” He scanned my driveway and the street beyond. “Just got back.”
“Luna know where you are?” Not that he kept constant tabs on all of his employees, but Preston was still in his probation period, and Luna did keep close tabs on that shit.
Preston shrugged. “He’ll figure it out.”
“What’s up?” I tossed my bag in the bed of my F250 Lariat.
Preston glanced around my garage. “I’ll drive down with you.”
“No fucking way.” If they saw him, they’d know something was up. “You’re not coming with me.”
“Not all the way. You can drop me off early.” He held up a tablet. “I have some images. We’ll go over them.”
Jesus Christ. “You took pictures of the island?” Was he suicidal?
“Yeah, eighteen. Twelve came out.”
I started to walk around the front of my vehicle. “Show me now.”
Preston scanned the garage and street again, then looked at my truck.
I could read him like a book. “Fine.” I unlocked the doors. “Get in.” I got behind the wheel and cranked the engine, turning on the AC.
Preston got in, locked his door, scanned the garage again, then swept his finger across the tablet. “Here’s the first one.” Holding it toward me, he pointed at a high-resolution shot that looked like one of those images you’d see for real estate sales, minus the guard on the dock with an M16. “You can see there’re two easy ways on to the island, the dock and the beach.”
“Not very. I have a good camera and zoom lens.” He swiped to the next image, a zoomed-in shot of the buildings on the island. “There’s one main house and three cottages. But look at where all the guards are patrolling.”
I studied the image a second. “The main house.”
Preston nodded and swiped to the next image, where there was a guard standing on a second-floor deck of the house. “That’s where they’re keeping her.”
I didn’t question him, the observation made sense, but he also had a sixth sense about shit like this. “What does the surrounding area look like? We need a location where Christensen’s cruiser can wait.”
He swiped through a couple photos and stopped at an image that showed the entire island as well as what was surrounding it. The closest island was north and east, but they’d be expecting me to head toward it or the mainland with her.
I pointed at a small island that was two keys south of Dante’s island and further out toward open waters. “How far is that one?”
Preston spared me a rare glance. “Probably two miles.”
I could swim that. “Tell Luna to have Christensen’s boat waiting there on the south end of that island.”
“Open water swim with a civilian.” It wasn’t a statement or a question, it was Preston’s version of a warning.
“I’ll handle it.”
Without comment, he looked back at the tablet and scrolled through a couple more photos before pausing and pointing. “The side of the island that faces the mainland is virtually unprotected. Easy exit point they won’t expect.”
“Agree.” In the picture, thick mangroves over a story high blanketed the east side of the island. I pointed at something coming out of the water. “What’s that?”
“Old dock pilings.” He swept to the next picture, which was a zoomed-in shot of the location. “Water isn’t very deep there.”
“Zoom in a little more here.” I pointed at the screen.
Preston pinched two fingers and enlarged the area by the old pilings.
“Right there.” I pointed at a piling close to shore, almost buried in the roots of the mangroves. “Could you get in there tonight? Leave me a dry bag tied to that piling?”
“With?”