by LP Lovell
"Where is Tor?" I ask, my voice low and strained.
One of the paramedics glances up, shaking his head. "Sir, you can't..."
I glare at Tidwell. "Tell me where the fuck Tor is!" I shout and the paramedic jumps away from me.
"She took my car and followed them," Tidwell says.
"Followed who?"
"The guys shooting at us." He swallows, wincing as one of the paramedics jabs an IV in his arm.
"What the…can't even do your fucking job!" I wipe my hand down my face. "This shit right here is exactly why I came for them." I slam my fist into the ambulance door as anger sweeps over me. I turn around, jog back to the car, and climb inside. All Marney does is stare at me. I think he’s afraid to ask.
"Drive," I say quietly.
"Which direction?"
I focus on the floorboard because I don't know. "Just fucking drive, Marney."
He pulls the gear into park and we drive off. I stare out the window telling myself that she knows what she's doing. She's a fucking survivor and one hell of a mother. She will keep Cayla safe, regardless and I know that when she can, she'll call me. She will, but what the fuck am I supposed to do until then?
17
Tor
The highway seems to stretch out forever. Heat radiates from the asphalt. My body aches and my throat is dry.
I don't know how long I've been walking, but it feels like hours. I have a gun tucked in the back of my jeans, and that's it. Nothing else. I keep following the empty highway in the direction they drove off. Why? I don't know. They’re long gone. I need to find a gas station or something. I'm keeping a lock on the blind panic, trying to think rationally. I know Jude is the only one who can help me now. Isn't that what Jude does? He makes the impossible happen, moves heaven and earth for those he loves?
I'm in the middle of nowhere with the gut wrenching knowledge that I have no idea where my daughter is. I feel like I'm in hell. The humid Florida heat clings to me until I'm sweating through my tank, but I keep going, keep moving for Cayla.
Eventually, I spot the hazy outline of a building on the horizon. A s I get closer, I see it's a truck stop. I take off in a slow jog, darting through the gravel car park and past several cars. I slam my palms against the glass and push, the cow bell clanging as the door swings open and I stagger into the dirty little shop.
An overweight man in a stained t-shirt stands behind the counter, reading a Playboy. He glances up, his sweaty forehead wrinkling when his eyes land on me.
I rush toward the counter. "I need a phone!" I say.
He frowns as his gaze drags over me. "You okay, miss?" he asks.
"Just…” I take a breath, wiping the sweat from my brow, “give me a phone. Now!"
His eyes widen and he fumbles around on the counter before passing me a grease-covered phone. I dial Jude's number and press it to my ear, waiting as it rings.
"Hello?"
"Jude—"
"Where are you?"
"I don't know." My voice hitches. "They took Cayla, and I tried to follow them, I did." I fight back the tears as they clog my throat.
"What the fuck? Who? Who took her?" he shouts.
"I don't know! They were shooting, and I...Hart took her. She got in the guy’s car." I press my hand over my mouth, stifling the sobs trying to break free.
"Motherfuck..." he exhales. "Ask someone where the fuck you are. I'm coming to get you." I turn to the guy behind the counter.
"What's the address?"
“Gator Truck Stop, State Road 84, Ochopee,” he rattles off. I can hear Jude swearing on the other end of the line.
"Stay there. I'm coming for you." He hangs up and I hand the phone back to the guy.
"Hey, do you need an ambulance or something…ma’am? he asks, eyeing my chest. I glance down at my blood smeared white tank.
"It's not mine," I whisper, turning around and heading to the front of the shop, that damn bell jingling when I walk through the door. I go to the side of the road, leaning against the rusted billboard pole. The hot sun beats down on me. Mosquitoes swarm around me. And I wait, not a single car passing by until Jude's car screeches to a stop in front of me, dust flying in the air as the brakes squeal. I hold my hand up to shield my eyes from the dust cloud.
"Tor!" Jude shouts as he slings the door open and stumbles out of the car, running toward me. Relief fills me, but it's short-lived.
I run to Jude and throw myself into his arms because I don't know what else to do. I want to fall apart, but I can't afford to and he's the only person that has a chance of keeping me together right now. His large arms come around me. His hand holds the back of my head.
"I never should have left you," I cry against his chest. “I just wanted to keep her safe.”
I feel his muscles tense and he inhales in a heavy breath. "You did what you thought was best," he says. I can hear the restraint in his voice—I can literally feel the anger rippling through his body. I don't know what to say. There's nothing to say.
"Promise me you'll find her, Jude," I beg him.
"I'll find her."
He helps me into the car and climbs into the back seat next to me. Marney turns in the front seat, placing his meaty hand on my shoulder in silent support. Really, what can you say to the woman who just failed to protect her own child?
Marney pulls away and I can see Jude's jaw ticking, his pulse thrumming in his neck. I know he's trying to maintain himself for me. Fear and stress render me completely mute. Jude’s words mean little. They are only empty promises until Cayla is in my arms.
"I don’t know why she took her," I finally say.
Jude closes his eyes and shakes his head. "FBI my ass." He tosses his head back and swipes his hand over his mouth.
"I trusted her.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I'm so stupid."
"Tor, Stop!" Jude exhales. "It is what it fucking is, okay?"
"Jude! The cartel is inside the FBI!" I shake my head. We will never outrun this. We can't fight them. "We're screwed," I whisper. Cayla. Tears fill my eyes as I think of my poor little girl, alone with those strangers. Most people wouldn't hurt a baby, but it's the cartel and whatever deep dark hole Jude has dug himself into, I'm terrified that she's never coming out of it.
"The cartel are fucking everywhere. You had to trust her, Tor. How would you have known?" He shakes his head. "I handed her back to that fucking woman when I left..."
I pull my knees up to my chest and rest my forehead on them. I can't breathe. I feel sick.
"They want something," he mumbles. "They have to fucking want something, which means they'll keep her alive." He pauses and I watch his fingers draw into fists.
I grit my teeth. "They want you, Jude!"
"Don't you think I fucking know that?" he shouts.
"Call them!" I scream through tears. "Make a trade." My voice breaks and I draw in a ragged breath.
"Give me a minute to get my fucking head together, Tor. Fuck! I just found you, I just found out my daughter's been taken. Just..." he huffs. "Just give me a fucking minute—"
A minute? He wants a minute? "Fuck you, Jude!" I punch him in the chest and he glares at me. I punch him again and again. "This is all your fault!" I'm so mad at him. I never should have gone to the FBI, but if he wasn't wrapped up in this shit then I never would have had to leave.
"Fucking..." He slaps my hand out of the way. "Stop it." I keep hitting him, screaming at him.
Rage and pain swirl together and I direct it at him. Every inch of it. "I hate you! This is your fucking fault!"
He grabs both my wrists and shoves me back against the warm window. I watch his eyes flash with anger and hurt as he inches his face closer to mine. "I know you're mad…" he breathes, his nostrils flaring, "but she's my daughter, too. Do you think I wanted this to fucking happen?"
My entire body heaves as I breakdown into hard sobs. I can't breathe. I'm not sure I want to without her. I cannot imagine a worse feeling than this agony. I know I need Jude to be
rational, but right now it makes me so angry because I can't be.
Jude stares at me, tension rolling off him in waves and I stay silent. “Marney,” Jude says, “find a fucking motel. I need a minute. I need to make some calls and Tor needs to get cleaned up.” His fingers tighten over my wrists as his murky green eyes lock with mine. "I'm going to let you go,” he says calmly, “and we're going to drive to a motel where I can get my shit together and figure out just what the fuck to do. Do not fucking hit me again."
I jerk against his hold and he glares at me. "Get the fuck off me," I say. He lets go and I swing my arm back, my palm colliding with his face. "It's nothing you don't fucking deserve," I say through my tears.
Closing his eyes, he inhales. "You feel better now?" he says with a growl as he opens his eyes.
"Is Cayla fucking here? No, I don't feel better!"
"I'm sorry," he says quietly.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I throw my head back against the glass. I swallow heavily before bringing my gaze to his. He looks so tortured and I know he feels everything I'm feeling. I see the pain swimming in his eyes—a pain that matches my own and my heart breaks even more.
We drive for what feels like hours and with every mile, the pain intensifies. We stop in a small town and buy some basic clothes and supplies. And then a few minutes later, Marney pulls up outside a motel. He’s barely put the car in park before Jude climbs out and heads toward the front office. I open the door and follow Jude inside to the front desk where he throws a wad of cash down onto the counter.
“One night. That’s all,” he says.
The young girl takes a drag from her cigarette, glancing up at him before her eyes drift over to me. A smirk inches its way over her face and she blows a cloud of smoke to the side. “One night,” she says as she reaches behind her and takes a key from the board to the side of the counter.
We leave the office and Jude motions for Marney as we walk to room. The door swings open to a stale room that reeks of bleach and mildew. There are two rickety beds with ugly brown floral comforters and the air conditioner chirps. Marney steps inside and throws the supplies we bought on one of the beds.
"Go and take a shower, Tor," Jude says without looking at me.
I want to tell him to fuck off, but honestly, the fight has left me. He’s lighting a cigarette with his phone pressed to his ear. “Hey, it’s JP, I need a favor,” he drawls into the phone before glancing back at me and pointing to the bathroom with an arched brow.
I just need Jude to do what Jude does and if that means making cryptic phone calls to shady characters, then so be it.
18
Jude
The shower cuts on and Marney takes a seat in a stained chair by the window. He pulls his pack of cigarettes from his pocket, takes one out, and twists it between his fingers. "What you gonna do?"
I shake my head. The cartel? Who I am to go against the motherfucking cartel? "They want me dead..." I say, more to myself than to Marney.
"Lots of folks have wanted your ass dead over the years," he chuckles before he flicks the flint to his lighter, holding the flame to the tip of his smoke. "You usually just tell them to go to hell."
I scrub my hand over my jaw and glance at the bathroom door. "It's different now..."
"It is." He exhales. "So what'cha gonna do?"
"Give them what they want.” I shrug. “Cayla is all that matters—her and Tor."
He gives me an understanding nod before he drops his gaze to the floor, puffing away on his cigarette. "You're your dad through and through, son. You do him right."
Inhaling, I swallow and fish my phone from my pocket to search the web for information on inmates. Specifically, Domingo Garcia, and then I call FDC Houston. I smoke a whole cigarette while I wait for him to come on the line, dabbing it out in the little tin ashtray just as I rustling sound comes over the phone.
"Si..."
Rage pummels through me at the sound of his familiar voice. "Domingo, old friend," I say.
"Ah, corredor de apuestas," a short-lived chuckle floats over the line. "I wondered when you'd call me."
"I want my daughter."
"Of course you do. And I want my freedom...we all want things we cannot have."
Closing my eyes, I toss my head back in frustration. "Tell me what you want."
"We used to work so well together. I gave you my money, you filtered it through your gambling ring. It was your ability to clean such large amounts of my money that helped my cartel soar to such great heights."
I remember the first time I got a call from Domingo. He wanted me to clean half a million. And I did, taking a twenty percent cut. Easiest money I ever made. I had no idea at the time who Domingo was. No fucking idea he was the boss of the Sinaloa—and by the time I found out, I had been working with Domingo for years and figured there was no point in fixing something that wasn't broken. "What do you want, Domingo?"
"I hate Juárez. I hate your stupido amigo." I hear him spit. "You make him too much money. And that's a problem because money means vendtatas, weapons, more drugs. More power. You would help him after all I did for you? It doesn't make me happy, amigo." His voice drops to a low rumble. "And now there is a price to pay." Shit. Does he know I turned him in?
"Fucking kill me then, just let my little girl go."
"So easy? You've gone too soft, coño."
I take a breath. A deep breath. "Give me my daughter."
"I'll arrange for you to meet Jesús. He'll send your daughter to Gabriel before he kills you, sound good?"
"And you'll leave my family alone?"
"Of course.” A sadistic laugh bubbles down the line. “You have my word. My people will call you."
I hang up the phone, adrenaline buzzing through my body. The most powerful human drive is the will to survive and I've been damn good at that in my thirty-two years of life, but it hasn't been about me from the moment I held Cayla. There is no surviving if I lose her.
Marney stares at me. I can see his wheels turning as worry etches its way over his weathered face. "So that's it?" he asks.
"I don't trust him," I say and shake my head. "But what the fuck else am I supposed to do?"
Marney leans back in the chair, wiping his hands down his legs. "Cat's got my tongue on that one, boy."
My phone beeps with a text that includes an address and the directions to go to Hanger 4. I guess Domingo has been ready for this. Waiting. Hoping. The shower cuts off and, for a moment, I'm crippled with the thought of leaving Tor. Of telling her. I glance at Marney as I grab my gun and load the clip, slamming it back inside. "Don't you dare fucking tell her what I'm doing,” I say, pointing at him.
He slowly lifts his hands as though he's surrendering. "Don't worry. I don't want to deal with that meltdown. I told you, I'm too old for this shit."
I grab a duffel bag and sling it onto the rickety bed, shoving a few items inside just so Tor won't be suspicious. The door to the bathroom creaks open and Tor comes out. Her damp blonde hair falls down her back and drips onto the grimy motel carpet. She glances at me, then at the gun and the bag on the bed.
"Where are we going?" she asks.
"I'm going to Mexico to meet up with Gabe." I shove the gun into the waist of my jeans and glare at her. Her nostrils flare. I can see it all over her face: she thinks she's going to come, too. Well, she's fucking not…
She frowns. "Don't even think about leaving me here, Jude!"
I groan. "You don't need to go with me goddamn it."
I shove some more things into my bag, and she moves closer to me, jabbing her finger against my chest. "If you think I'm going to just sit here waiting for you to do...whatever, you are sadly mistaken. She is my child. I'll go after her myself if I have to."
"There is no reason for you to go to fucking Mexico. I don't need to worry about you too." I zip my bag and throw it over my shoulder as I glance at Marney. "Do not let her fucking leave." I turn back to Tor and she has that look on her face. I point at her. "I
fucking mean it. Do not leave." I spin around and point at Marney again. "Drug her if you have to."
"Fuck you, Jude,” Tor huffs as she glares at me. I groan and sweep a hand through my hair. I can't leave her like this. Those cannot be the last words I hear from her.
"Marney, give us a minute.”
Grumbling, Marney stands up, placing a cigarette between his lips as he heads for the door. It clicks shut behind him and I look at Tor. There's a world of fucking hurt behind her eyes. I step toward her and gently rub my hand over her arm. She, of course, snatches away. "Doll," I sweep my finger over her shoulder and up her neck, "please, I don't want to leave you like this."
"Then take me with you," she pleads.
"I need you to be safe. For Cayla." I swallow because, fuck, I hate lying to her. "I need to know you are safe in case something happens to me. Someone needs to be able to take care our little girl."
Her eyes lock with mine, narrowing slightly. I see the moment the realization sets in. She swallows hard and nods as her face softens. She steps up to me and places her arms around my waist, resting her cheek against my chest. "I'll stay," she whispers.
I stroke a hand over her damp hair. "I promise, I'll do whatever it takes to get her back." I say that with as much certainty as I can because I know damn well this is all a shot in the dark. It's the cartel. I'm not a fucking idiot. Their words—Domingo’s words—mean nothing, but I have no choice but to hope for once they may stand by them. And isn’t hope a fool’s daydream only promising to fucking torment me?
"I know,” she says, “and I'm sorry. It's not your fault. I'm the one who gave her to them." Her fingers dig into my back.
"You didn't give her to them, Tor, they took her." Grabbing her chin, I force her to look at me. "You are the best mother to that little girl, don't ever fucking doubt that." She squeezes her eyes shut and tears spill down her cheeks.