Wire - (Wrong #3)

by LP Lovell

  My stare remains fixed firmly on the door, my breathing unsteady as I reach for the bedside table and silently open the drawer. I close my fingers around the cool metal of a 9mm then I take Jude's Colt 45 in my other hand and click the safeties off. Throwing the duvet back, I slink out of bed, crouch next to it, and aim at the doorway. I breathe in and out. Waiting. And then bang—the bedroom door is kicked in. I don't think, I just shoot bullet after bullet until all I can hear is a shrill ringing in my ears. A couple of shots are fired at the wall behind me, the bullet sparking in the dark as it leaves the barrel of the gun. Another shot is fired and a blowing pain rips across my shoulder when the bullet tears through. Gritting my teeth against the pain, I duck down again and use the bed for shelter as I reload a new clip into Jude's Colt. I hear gunshots further down the hallway. Cayla. I have to get to her. I discard the empty gun and clutch the remaining one to my chest. And then I hear footsteps cross the room.

  “Sal, sal, donde quiera que estés,” someone says, laughing as they walk through the room.

  I watch the shadow lurk by the end of the bed. I steel my breath before launching to my feet with my gun aimed. I pull the trigger and his body jerks. He groans. His gun clatters to the floor and then he goes down. I don't even stop to check if he's dead before I'm moving, stepping over the dead bodies scattered in the hallway. There are four of them in total and they're dressed in black military gear. Whoever this is, they're serious.

  I have to get to Cayla. Clutching my wounded shoulder, I stagger down the hallway to her room and nudge the door open with my foot. There’s just enough moonlight spilling in from the window that I can make out the figure hovering above her bed. He bends over her and I pull the trigger. Cayla screams and cries, and he falls to the floor with a thud. My heart threatens to pound out of my chest as I rush to her. Blood spatter covers her blanket and panic ripples through me before I realize that it's not her blood. I scoop her up in her blood-stained blanket and tiptoe across the room. The bedroom door opens and closes, and I swing my gun in that direction.

  "Hell, don't shoot," Marney says, holding his hands up.

  I breathe a sigh of relief. "We have to go," I whisper.

  He comes closer. "Take that little girl and you run. Go down the beach for about a mile, you'll find a boat shed. Inside is a car, key’s in the exhaust. Go to Billy's hanger. I'll call him and tell him to get the plane ready. He'll know where to take you." I nod frantically.

  "What about you?" I ask.

  "I'll hold 'em off." He yanks open the balcony door. "Go!"

  I step outside and the door closes behind me. The warm night breeze howls around the corner of the house, the waves crash softly on the beach beyond the garden. My pulse hammers in my ears and adrenaline fires through my body. Cayla whimpers and I bounce her on my hip as I try to think of what I need to do. I don't even know how many men may be left in the house, searching, waiting outside... I don't know anything. All I know is that I’ve been shot and I have to get my daughter to safety.

  I spot the trellis buried amongst the Jasmine vines to the side of the balcony, and clutch Cayla to my chest, running my fingers through her hair

  "Cayla. Listen. I need you to hug mummy really tight. Can you do that?" Tears pour down her little face and I can feel the droplets falling on my chest. "Cayla, this is important. Hug mummy really tight." She nods and places her arms around my neck. I wrap the blanket around my waist, doing my best to tie her to me. And then I throw my leg over the balcony and grip the first rung of the ladder. I panic when I hear gunshots from Cayla's room. The narrow rungs bite into my bare feet as I speed up my descent. It's not easy, my shoulder is throbbing and I'm terrified of dropping her, but I stay close to the ladder, using the rungs to prop up her weight. As soon as I hit the ground I'm running across the grass. I follow the steps down to the beach and sprint towards the cluster of palms that meet the sand. Once I reach the tree line behind the beach, I pause to catch my breath, placing Cayla on the ground. She clutches the bloodstained blanket.

  "Baby, mummy needs some of your blanket, okay?" I grab the blanket, tearing off a clean strip. I tie it under my armpit and over my shoulder, putting pressure on the bullet wound. "Shit," I hiss. I fight back the tears that threaten and pick Cayla up, hugging her to my chest. "It's okay." It's all I can think to tell her because we're okay, she'll be okay even if I have to die to ensure it. I follow the beach, staying just inside the tree line.

  About a mile from the house I find a handful of small barns. I try the doors until I find one with a coded padlock on it. I twirl the numbers to Cayla's birthday. It doesn't budge. I try my birthday and it snaps open. I throw open the doors and, as promised, inside is an old Jeep Wrangler complete with massive off-road tyres and a snorkel. I take the key from the exhaust pipe and open the door. There's a car seat in the back that I pop Cayla into, fastening the seat belt over her.

  "Good girl. We're going on a little trip."

  "Dada,” she says, her voice shaking.

  "Daddy...Daddy's fine."

  On the passenger seat is a duffle bag with a change of clothes for me, Jude, and Cayla. In the glove compartment is a gun along with a box of ammunition, fake driver’s licenses for Jude and myself, passports for all three of us. And lastly, an envelope. I tear it open and inside is an address, a key, and a stack of bills. I have to give it to him, he's organized. I stare at the items now sprawled out on the front seat. This is all I have.

  I turn the key and the engine coughs once before spluttering to life. I pull out of the boat shed, crossing the few hundred yards of rugged terrain before I reach a track, and then I put my foot down, sending the car hurtling along the bumpy road. I want as much space as possible between us and the men who want us dead.

  I have no phone. No way of contacting Jude. I don't even know if he's alive. That was an organized attack and Jude is the target. It's just me and Cayla now, and I have to do whatever is necessary to keep her safe. I need to get off this island. Now.

  12

  Jude

  I stand next to Gabriel staring at Pepe's head. The fuckers took one of the umbrella posts, used it as a stake, and placed his decapitated head right on it like something you'd see in a fucking Viking's episode.

  "Shit, ese..." Gabriel mumbles as he paces. "Shit."

  I keep staring. I feel bad. Pepe was a good guy. A family man. Gabriel walks up to the post, leaning down and staring at Pepe's glassy eyes. "Oh..." he says as he reaches up and crams his fingers in Pepe's mouth.

  "What the fuck, Gabe?"

  "Ese...." He pulls out a blood-soaked piece of paper. "Fuck me, Jude. We're fucked." He unrolls the note and shakes his head before handing it to me and pacing. I glance down at the damp paper. In hard black ink, it reads: Bookie, your family is next. Regards, Domingo Garcia.

  My heart literally stops before pumping full force and sending a dizzying heat all over me. Fucking Domingo Garcia—is in prison. He was one of the guys I supplied information on in exchange for being set free nearly three years ago. I stagger back a few steps, dropping the note to the ground. "Fuck." I take off in a full sprint toward my car and Gabriel is right after me.

  "Jude? Jude?"

  I don’t say a word, just open my door and crank the engine. Gabriel yanks open the passenger door and hops in. "This is fucked up," he says, pulling his gun from his jeans and cocking it.

  "I'll fucking kill every single one of them if they hurt either of my girls." I put the car in reverse and spin out of the parking lot, gravel kicking up in my wake and my heart hammering against my ribs. I've never been so scared in my life because this isn't about me. It's about Tor and Cayla. And I’m nearly an hour away from the house.

  I speed down the winding road that follows the hillside, panic ripping through me with each passing minute. I try to call Tor and Marney, but neither of them are answering which almost sends me over the edge. Every horrible fucking scenario is running through my head as the car constantly fights to grip the road.


  "Miguel,” Gabriel shouts into his phone. “¡Matarlos a todos!" A string of Spanish spills from his mouth. I can't make out what he's saying, I'm too upset. Too worried. I press my foot harder over the accelerator. When I take a hard right, Gabriel slams against the door and the car swerves off the road. I can just make out the house from here and it feels like my heart's about to pound out of my fucking chest. I hold the wheel with one hand and pull my gun with the other, cocking it. I turn down the drive and as soon as I fly past the palm tree, the headlights illuminate the metal gate hanging from its hinges, the middle of it dented and scraped with black paint.

  "Fuck!" I shout, the gears grinding as I shove the car into park. I open the door and jump out, running at a full sprint through the gates and to the front of the house. I hear Gabriel shouting behind me, but I don't pay any attention to him. My focus is on getting in that house. I nearly trip running up the steps. My heart bangs violently in my chest when I find the front door wide open. Raising my gun, I pause, the only sound the faint crash of the waves in the distance and my rapid breaths. I step inside and the floorboards creak under my weight. I slink along the hallway and up the stairs. The second I reach the first landing I see blood trickling down the steps, and at the top of the stairs lies a man's body. I grit my teeth, trying to rein in the sheer panic tearing through me like a bullet as I slowly walk around him. I nudge him with my boot. He doesn't move. As I glance down the hall, I see a pile of bodies outside our bedroom door. I can't breathe. I can't focus on anything. I run down the hallway, stopping when I reach Cayla's room. There's a man sprawled out in the floor, the back of his head blown to bits. Her bed is splattered with blood. Rage pummels through me. Fear. Helplessness.

  "Tor!" I shout. "Tor, where the fuck are you?" I run to our bedroom door, jumping over the men bleeding out on the floor and nearly pulling the trigger when I see a shadow standing at the foot of the bed.

  "Ain't this some shit?" Marney asks, taking a cigarette from his lips and blowing smoke out.

  Blood's everywhere. Splattered on the walls, the bed. There's a dark puddle pooling on the floor by Marney’s boot. "Where are they?" I ask.

  "They're fine. They got out. Sent them to the backup car, told her where the key and all that was." I hear a muffled groan. Marney's eyes drop to the floor as he puffs on his cigarette. I round the corner to find a man lying beside the bed clutching his stomach, crimson blood welling between his fingers.

  Marney nods in the direction of the groaning man. "We need to do something with this piece of shit," he says. I raise my gun and aim, but Marney grabs my arm. "Hell, don’t kill him. We may as well keep him."

  "For what?" I shout.

  Marney shrugs. "I don’t know…collateral."

  There's footsteps down the hall. "Jude?" Gabriel calls before he appears in the doorway. He pauses, looks down at one of the men, and pulls his trigger. Blood splatters Gabriel's shirt. "These are Jesús Lopez's guys." He makes his way into the room, his gaze falling to the man on the floor. "Oh, shit, ese. That's Andrea Garcia, he's fucking Domingo's son."

  I stare at Gabriel, blood coursing through my jugular. My heart pounding. Head spinning with silent rage. Everything around him fades away and my finger twitches over the trigger of my gun. "Why are they here? At my motherfucking house again, Gabe?" I say through clenched teeth.

  He slowly turns to look at me. "Why are they after me?" I repeat.

  Gabriel scrubs a hand down his jaw. "There could be a million reasons. Domingo Garcia being number one."

  "No," I take a step toward him and he remains still, his gaze narrowing on me. "Two and a half years, Gabriel, I've been gone for two and a half years. No one fucking knows about that except me and you and two people at the motherfucking FBI."

  "All cartels have ventanas…moles.”

  My nostrils flare. "I was under their radar until you…" I place my gun to the middle of his forehead, staring down the barrel at it. “Until you killed Jesús’ guy in my motherfucking front yard." All that's swirling around in my head is anger and hate. My life, for fucking once, was perfect. I clench my jaw, imagining blowing his brains out of his head.

  "Jude..." Gabriel says too calmly, "Think about this. You kill me, you are in a load of shit. Don't forget who I am. Do you really want two cartels hunting you like a dog?" He places his hand on the gun and carefully pushes my hand down.

  I want to kill him, but I can't be that fucking stupid. I came to Gabriel for protection from Domingo's guys in case they ever found out I ratted his fucking worthless ass out. I know the power he holds. Inhaling, I drop my chin to my chest and Gabriel places his hand on my shoulder.

  "I'm leaving," I turn and point at him. "Do not fucking follow me. You forget you know me, this shit never happened." I'll go get Tor and Cayla and we'll go somewhere else. Start over. Italy. Germany. Fucking Africa for all I care.

  "Jesús’ guy was outside your house when I came, waiting, now whether it was for me or for you, I do not know. But he was there." Gabriel sighs. "It's an unforgiving world you and I live in, and it's not something you can outrun, Jude. It's not. If the cartel has it out for you, they will hunt you to the ends of the earth." He pauses and I glance up, staring through him. "They are deeply embedded in every thread of society. They will find you. Ese, the only way you outrun the cartel is to kill them."

  "Kill the cartel?" I snort. "Yes, Gabriel, let me just," I wave my gun through the air, "take down the motherfucking cartel—" I nod toward him, "Something so easy to do, you've just not gotten around to it, I suppose? Fuck." I shake my head.

  "Mean, might could," Marney says, lighting another cigarette. Gabriel and I both turn and glare at him. "What about that Russian guy that's got both you fellas by the balls?" He smirks.

  "Marney, what the fuck?"

  "Fuck the Russians," Gabriel growls, kicking Andrea in the side. "And fuck your piece of shit father, too!"

  Marney shrugs.

  "I don't give a fuck about anything right now," I say. "I've got to get to Tor and Cayla."

  I stare at the carnage in front of me and everything slowly sinks in. The kind of life I've lived—you can never cleanse yourself of that. It will always haunt you. There will always be skeletons hiding in your closet, always those seeking their revenge. It's kill or be killed until the day you fucking die, or at least wipe out every enemy you've ever had. It's not Gabe's fault. It's mine. I am the criminal. I am the rat. And I always knew deep down that everything would come to a head eventually. I'm fucking pissed, angry at myself for ever coming for Tor. I should have let her be, let her keep thinking I was dead. As much as that would have destroyed me, I should have let her and Cayla be because then they would have been safe. It was my selfish need to love them, my weakness for those two girls that ruined everything. I always said the moment you became weak for anything was the moment you were fucked, but sometimes, you just can't help yourself. And what do I do now…

  "Fucking help me get this shithead outta here," I say, glancing at Gabriel. "Can you keep him somewhere?"

  A wide grins spreads over Gabriel's lips. "Of course."

  "Don't fucking kill him either, Gabe. I mean it." I glare down at Andrea as I lean over and grab his arms. "You don't fuck with my family. I swear to god I'm going to make you suffer. And I'm a little rusty on my torture these days," I drag him across the floor, "so it won't be pretty."

  Gabriel stares at the trail of blood following Andrea. "Shit, he may die."

  "He's lucky he's not already dead," Marney says. "Tor's a damn good shot." That my girl is.

  I glance up at Gabriel. "Help me get him outside, would you? Shit."

  Gabriel sighs as he bends over and grabs Andrea's ankles. We lift him up and cart him over the bodies and down the stairs, blood dripping from his wound the entire way. We walk off the porch and head to my car. Marney shuffles ahead of us, opening the door so we can throw Andrea inside. He groans in pain when he hits the backseat. I stand in the doorway of the car, pull a cigarett
e from my pocket, and light it. "Why are they after my family?" I ask, pretty damn sure what the answer will be: Domingo.

  Andrea opens his eyes, flinching when he moves on the seat. "Fuck..." he takes a deep breath, "you!"

  I puff on my cigarette and narrow my eyes as I blow out the smoke. "God, I hate fucking punks like you." I lean inside the cab of the car and blow smoke in his face. His nostrils flare as he clutches his stomach. I take my cigarette and dab it out on his cheek. He screams, spitting and cursing as I move out of the car.

  "You know, we can use this to our advantage," Gabriel says as he glances at the house. "Everyone is dead. If we left him here, he'd die..." He arches a brow. "We can get him treated. Then call Jesús and say surprise the piece of shit lives. Really fuck them up the ass with him.” He grins. “There is no leverage like the son of Domingo Garcia. Like I said, ese, you aren't safe until they're all dead."

  I glance at Gabriel, a sick feeling twisting in my gut as I nod. I know he's fucking right and I hate it. I glance at Andrea one last time and shut the door.

  "Marney,” I say, “get a few tanks of gas outta the shed. We gotta burn this house to the ground so they think Andrea died in this fucking raid."

  Marney heads to the back of the house and after a few minutes I hear him shouting: "What in the hell..." He comes back around to the front with two tanks of gas, shaking his head. "They fucking shot Princess Buttercup."

  I wrinkle my brow. "Princess who?"

  "Princess Buttercup," he shouts, his face all red. "The pony."

  "What the hell kinda name..."

  "Who the fuck shoots a pony?" Gabriel asks, disgust in his voice. "You see, Jesús’ cartel is sick and demented, ese." He walks to the front of the car. "Shooting a pony." I turn just in time to see him cross himself. "I'll take care of Andrea. You get the fuck out of here." Gabriel opens the door, climbs in, and cranks the engine, pulling off into the darkness.