by Max Henry
She muffles the phone and the warble of their voices fills the line before Dad cuts in. “Hey. How’s the great dictatorship coming along?”
“Funny. It’s meant to be a democracy, and that’s all you’ll get out of me.”
“I forget it’s all Agent 99 and Chaos with you lot.” He chuckles. “Your mother says you want the west section.”
“That’s right.”
“Do we need to launder the cash before we take it to the bank?”
“Fuck, Dad.” I run a hand over my face. “It’s fine, honestly.”
“Good. Now make sure you stop by again next week and see your mother. You’ve started something here, and I can’t be bothered with the grief if you leave it another few months before you show up.” He complains as Mom probably socks him one.
“I know. I’ll make sure I come over more often.”
I end the call with Dad and pull out another cigarette. I barely had any when I was with Elena, but being here is doing jack-shit to calm my mood. Using the heel of my boot, I drag over the chair Beefy was on and prop my feet up, leaning into the back of mine.
Elections are up in three years. All positions will be vacated and the floor will be open to nominations and votes. In a perfect world, if this stint of Apex’s screws us over, he’ll be not only out of an officer’s role, but he’ll be out the door without his patch. Keep my nose clean and I should be a shoe in.
But this ain’t a perfect world, and people aren’t as straightforward as they should be. If half the officers are clearly on side with him, how many members will also back him up in a fight? How many will vote him back in against their better judgment?
In a world where loyalty comes before honor, I don’t think I’ll ever really know until it happens.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Elena
“How was your shopping?” Carlos meets me at the door as Sully retrieves my bags from the back of the Escalade. With his hands in his slacks pockets, he rocks on his heels, grinning down at me as I climb the steps to his level. Game face on, Elena.
“Relaxing.” I smile, as I come to a stop on the top step.
He hits me so hard that I stumble back and miss my footing. Only by the grace of Sully’s quick moves do I avoid cracking my head open on the bottom step.
“Relaxing, huh?” Carlos marches down the steps, standing over me and grabbing hold of my hair to yank me forward, out of Sully’s arms.
Thousands of needles prick at my scalp. I scream at the pain and grapple to get his hands off me.
“Steady on, boss,” Sully speaks up from behind me.
Huh?
“Stay out of it,” Carlos growls at the big guy. He slides his hand from my hair to the back of my neck, and wraps his fingers either side of my throat. “I have something to show you, my love.” He spits the last word at me through gritted teeth and shoves me forward, steering me into the house by my neck.
I stumble over the threshold, my flip-flops slapping the marble floor as he marches me across to his office. My elbow catches the edge of the chair he shoves me roughly into, and I rub to appease the sting.
“What is this about?” Yep, I’m playing dumb. Like that’s going to help now.
“What is it about?” He laughs, picking up a large silver handgun from the desk. The clip drops into his hand and he shoves the bullets in with the same tenacity as his words. “You tell me. Does a married woman fuck around?” He hesitates long enough to spin his laptop around, showing me an array of pictures of King and I on his bike, King at the office for the cabins, of me kissing him goodbye.
I’m so stupid. Did I really think I could get away with it?
“You said you wouldn’t be watching me,” I snap. “You fucking lied.”
“Of course I did,” he roars. “But you didn’t answer my question—does a married woman fuck around?” He slams the full clip back in the gun.
“No,” I whisper.
“Speak up!”
“No.” I lift my chin to him. If he wants a fight, he’ll get a fight.
Carlos palms the loaded gun, switching it between hands like a magician would a pack of cards. “Should a married woman be wearing her ring at all times?” He points to my barren finger with the gun.
Damn. How could I have forgotten? “Yes.”
“Yes, she should,” he yells, throwing his arms wide. “So where the fuck is it, Elena?”
“I left it at the cabin,” I murmur.
“I can’t hear you,” Carlos sing-songs, one hand cupped to his ear.
“I said I left it at the cabin.”
He waggles the handgun toward the door. “So go and get it.”
I hesitate. It’s a trick, surely.
“Now!”
I leap to my feet and head for the door. I need to find Sully so he can drive me back to the—
“Elena?”
“Yes?” I spin around, my heart pounding against the restriction of my ribcage.
“I told you the only way you’d ever leave me was with a bullet to the back of your head, and I meant it. This was your test of loyalty, and you failed.” He lifts the gun and for a fleeting moment I feel nothing, only peace with what’s to come. It could never end any other way.
He frowns, looking away briefly before reopening his eyes and staring straight at me. The crack of the pistol ricochets off every wall, the fire in my flesh immediate. Yelling out, I look down at my leg, at the tear above my knee.
“Next time,” Carlos shouts, tossing the gun on to the desk behind him, “It’ll be your head exactly as I promised, and I won’t fucking miss.”
***
“He could have done a lot worse,” Maria says, squeezing my hand.
I nod, watching the doctor pack up her supplies. Carlos left me sitting in the foyer with blood running from the chasm he’d put in my leg for five agonizing minutes before he let anybody know I needed help. When you have a path torn out of your flesh, five minutes is a long fucking time. He’d watched me from his desk as the printer whirred behind him, collected the freshly inked pages, and then walked out to casually toss an array of the photos of King around me. The asshole hummed a tune as he did it, adjusting the odd sheet here and there so I was left the center of one twisted flower-shaped photo mosaic.
“It’s still so sore.”
“Sí. The medicine takes a little while to work, remember?”
I close my eyes and let my head drop onto the back of the chair in my bedroom. Maria had tried to get me to lie down on the bed, but it didn’t feel right being in such a relaxed position.
A few quiet moments pass with Maria fidgeting beside me. She straightens the corners of the bed sheets, tucks my shoes away in the walk-in, and generally does anything she can to keep her hands busy.
The doctor gives me a run-down of aftercare, and then leaves a bottle of painkillers on the bedside. She checks the dressing on my wound and then with a sigh, pats me on the arm. “I’m not here to tell you how to suck eggs, but I’ve seen him deal out a lot worse. This really was just a warning. I’d take heed if I were you and change my behavior so he doesn’t get angry again, otherwise next time I’ll be returning to zip up a body bag.”
“Duly noted,” I say, my eyes still closed.
Her neatly pressed clothes make a swishy sound as she moves, and from it I can track her leaving the room without having to crack an eye.
“Señora.”
I open my eyes begrudgingly at Maria’s urgent tone. “What is it?”
“I saved this when everybody was distracted.” She reaches into the pocket of her pinafore and pulls out my phone.
My self-pity-induced fatigue vanishes. With a great deal of effort, I push myself up straighter in the chair and reach out for it. “Oh my God, Maria . . .”
She perches herself on the arm of the chair and points to the screen with a smug smile. “You have a message.”
I swipe the phone open and read.
Miss you.
Maria watches me with barel
y restrained excitement. Her lips are wide with a big toothy grin as she nods. “You’ll reply, won’t you?”
“Of course.”
She stays balanced beside me and watches the screen as I type out my response.
He knows about us. I’ll call later.
Blacking the screen, I stuff the phone down the side of my seat cushion.
“Call him now,” Maria urges.
I shake my head. “I don’t want to be mid-call if Carlos decides to come up and rub this in my face.” I gesture to the wide bandage wrapped over my knee. It’s really only there as a precaution, to keep the area clean while the glue holding the split together sets. The wound wasn’t quite bad enough for real stitches, apparently. Still didn’t stop it bleeding like a motherfucker.
“If you need anything . . .”
“I’ll let you know.” I place my hand over Maria’s and squeeze.
She’s my only slip of sanity in this madhouse. We’ve grown close over such a short time and I know if I ever left, I’d be doing everything I could to have her come too. I’ve not had many friends in life, and one as genuine as her I’d like to keep.
She collects an empty glass and the blood-covered towel we used until the doctor arrived, and leaves, pulling my bedroom door to behind her. From where I sit most of the front lawns are visible and I while away the next however long watching the sway of the tree branches in the gentle wind. For open green spaces, I haven’t seen a lot of wildlife. I haven’t seen a lot of anything living to be more precise.
But I guess that’s what you get when you’re the kind of person who has a habit of shooting your wife.
My eyes drift closed and I slip in and out of a semi-slumber, thinking of Carlos’s first wife and what she may have been like. Was she disappointed that her son turned out like his father? Did she even know that he had before she died? I don’t know how old their boy was when Carlos killed her.
My thoughts drift on haphazard segues from one thing to another, thin links bringing each random idea or image together with the next. As always, my dream-like state brings me to Mama, and the horrific images that my subconscious conjures up snap me wide awake.
A sheen of sweat covers my flesh, and I rub my arms on the sides of the chair to try and rid myself of the clammy sensation. I look across at the window as I do and realize I’ve lost more time than it feels, given the sky is now blacker than a coalmine. Pushing my hand down between the cushions, I snatch up my phone and clutch it in my fist as I lift my stiff body from the seat. My bladder’s fit to burst. I hobble to the bathroom, and after finishing what I’m in there for, try to call King.
His phone rings out, and I disconnect, setting my cell down on the counter to check out the bruising on my cheek from where Carlos hit me on the steps.
This is ridiculous. I’m creating so much work for them because the man who knows where she is and how she is won’t say anything out of spite. I hide the phone for later at the bottom of the basket of towels and stretch my leg out, testing my knee. The pain’s bearable when I stand still, but movement has fire surrounding the site, making it feel as though my thigh is hot and twice the size.
I sigh and fidget with a few wayward strands of my hair. If I want an answer about Mama, I need to confront him—I need to ask Carlos. The notion he’d tell me anything after shooting me for being unfaithful is outright ludicrous, but I have to try.
Unfaithful. It’s hardly cheating when your marriage is nothing but a sham.
Twelve whole minutes it takes me to get downstairs. Walking is one thing; I’m not too bad once I get into the rhythm of my limp. But the stairs? I end up having to do a hop kind of thing sideways to get down each step without applying too much pressure to my bad leg. When I finally reach the bottom, I realize that Carlos has been watching me through his open office door for the last half.
“Entertaining?” I ask, hobbling over.
“Oh, my love. I’m going to get great satisfaction out of watching you struggle over the next few weeks.”
Asshole. I limp across to the chair that sits facing his desk and lean my hands on the back to take my weight. Sitting, being comfortable in general around him, would feel so wrong.
“What do you want?” He gathers up something I’m not quick enough to see, and stuffs it in the top drawer.
“Where’s Mama?”
“Not this again.” He sighs and places his head in both hands, elbows on the table. His fingers push through the gray lengths in an orderly pattern. Index finger, middle finger, ring finger, middle finger . . .
“If you refuse to tell me, I swear that I will find a way to take you down.’”
He arches a brow and says nothing, reclining in his leather office chair.
“We had a deal—I marry you, you help Mama. I’ve upheld my end. Now it’s your turn.”
“What makes you think I won’t?”
I narrow my eyes on him. Is he fucking kidding? “Do you see my mother anywhere around here?”
“Things are . . . complicated. That’s all you need to know.”
Bullshit it’s all I need to know. He’s denying me the basic right to information. “She’s my blood,” I say, thumping a closed fist to my chest. “And you know, don’t you. You know where she is.”
Carlos shrugs.
“Tell me!”
“Well, isn’t this a nice show of bravery.” He chuckles, the sound catching in his throat before erupting into a full-on laugh. “Let’s get something straight: I owe you nothing. We never made a deal, Elena.”
“We had a verbal contract.”
“Prove it.” He leans forward, pressing his fingers together against his mouth.
So not going how I’d planned.
“Where. Is. She?”
The chuckle starts low in his throat, rumbling as he turns away from me and lifts the lid on his laptop. “You want to know? Fuck it. Let’s show you.” He taps at the keys, frowning. “Let me see . . .”
I wait with bated breath. What has he been hiding from me?
“Have you been to Colombia before?” he asks, out of the blue.
“No.” I frown, hating the fact that when he’s so relaxed he doesn’t actually look half bad. His eyes are a piercing blue, contrasting with his gray hair and goatee to give him an almost icy feel. So fitting.
“It really is lovely. We should make sure to tour the jungle area one day. So lush, so green. It’s such a paradise.”
“Mama?” I shift on my feet, the ache in my knee spreading.
“You really should sit down, take the pressure off.”
“I wouldn’t have a problem if you hadn’t shot me.”
His eyes storm, turning navy as he looks up from the screen. “I wouldn’t have shot you if you’d kept your fucking legs closed.”
“What the hell is your problem, huh?” The anger boils under my skin, the heat looking for an outlet. “You didn’t marry me for love. You married me because I was ‘useful’ to you. What is it to you who I sleep with?”
He pushes up from his seat, stomping around the desk. “You want to know why I’m angry that you fucked him?”
“Please,” I say with a roll of my eyes. “Enlighten me.”
I try to back away, but he’s faster and more agile than I am. His hand closes on my throat as he yells, “I’m angry at your lack of respect, Elena. No, I don’t love you. I can’t stand the fucking sight of you, to be honest. But none of that changes the fact that this”—he slams his free hand between my legs—“belongs to me.” Carlos’s breath fans my face as he leans in close, his teeth bared like the predator he is.
“Fuck you,” I spit out. “You’re nothing but a coward who hides behind his violence.”
“Really?” His hand on my pussy shoves hard, and my body hits the wall behind me. “I’m a coward, huh?”
“Nobody fucking likes you, so you force them to. You’re searching for gratification, for acceptance, but you know what?”
“Why don’t you fucking tell me?” h
e growls, his hand restricting my air.
I gag, and force the words. “You’ll never get it.”
The pain in my knee is nothing compared to what he does next. With his hands positioned how they are, he’s got the perfect hold to lift me—and he does. My feet leave the floor, and he heaves me sideways with a growl. I crash-land into the sharp edge of his timber-framed filing cabinet. The impact point stings with a quick burst, and needles of pain shoot through my back in all directions. I crumple in a heap, curling in on myself and letting the tears flow. Tears of frustration.
Of despair.
And of remorse.
Remorse for how fucking stupid I was to think I could fight this man, let alone reason with him. So stupid.
“I think it’s time I reminded you that you have no ownership over your body anymore, Elena.” He snickers and leans in to shove me hard in the shoulder. “This is my toy.” Shove. “I get to play with it, not him.” Shove. “I fucking own you.”.
I feel filthy, disgusted by my own flesh. The urge to vomit rises, and I swallow loudly, closing my eyes against the tears that want to flow free.
“But first,” Carlos says, backing up a step. “A little something for you to keep your mind off what I’m about to do.” He strides back to his desk and hesitates. “You want to know where your mama is?” he yells, his voice rebounding at me off every wall.
I manage to nod as I tentatively feel out the still-smarting area on my back. My ‘yes’ comes out as a warbled moan.
Carlos spins the laptop around after a few more taps and leans against the wall while I struggle to sit up and see.
“Here she is. Here’s Mama.”
I can’t move. I also can’t look away. No. The air in my lungs turns to lead, and my stomach switches places with my heart. “No . . .”
He grimaces, turning the image of her bloodied, disfigured, and very much dead body back toward himself. “That’s how they found her a month ago.”
A month? He’s known this whole time? “You knew.” My voice is deep with my rage. A thick buzz builds in my limbs, the pain forgotten as my anger blinds me.
“Believe me, I’m not exactly happy, either.” He slams the lid of the computer closed. “It puts a rather large hole in my plans.”