by LP Lovell
25
Jude
I wait anxiously at the front hallway while they go to get Marney and Tor. One of the officers keeps staring at me and it’s making me want to throat punch him. Marney comes out first, shaking his head. "She held a fucking gun to my head," he mumbles as he passes me. "She's crazy."
Moments later, Tor comes storming out of the holding cell. I grab her by the arm as I go to walk down the hall. She pulls against me, but I keep dragging her. "Let go of me," she says, clawing at my hand. All I do is tighten my hold.
"Keep it down until we get outside, for fuck's sake."
Marney's pushes open the door and steps out into the late afternoon sun. I catch the door just before it closes and we step out, the humidity clinging to me like a damp cloth. “Marney.” I point toward the Hummer and click the lock, the alarm chirping. "That one."
Marney mumbles as he climbs into the back. I drag Tor to the passenger side. She snatches out of my grip with that look on her face like she's got a fucking hair up her ass. I step closer to her, dropping my face to her neck. "Don't even think about it," I say as I open the door, shove her inside, and close the door. She goes to open it again and I slam it right back, pointing my finger at her. "Don't fucking do it!" I glare at her as I round the front of the car and climb in, cranking the engine.
"Aw, hell," Marney grumbles. I glance in the rearview mirror and see him holding up a blood-soaked palm. "Welcome to Mexico..."
"Yeah, we had a bit of a problem."
"Oh, fucking brilliant. More murder, Jude?"
Gritting my teeth, I shove my finger in her face. "Don't, fucking say another word to me, Tor." I glare at her. "I fucking mean it. Just sit there and be quiet before I lose my shit on you."
My pulse bangs in my temples as I put the car in reverse and pull toward the gates. An officer waves me straight through. Tor stares out the window, her knee jerking anxiously.
"Where are we going?" she asks, annoyance lacing her voice as she glares at me.
I hold up a finger. "I told you not to say a word, didn't I?" I shake my head. "Goddamn women..."
"He's on edge, darlin'," Marney claps a hand over my shoulder and I knock it off.
"You fucking shut up, too, Marney."
"This isn't on Marney,” Tor shouts, “this is on you!"
"No," I tighten my hold on the steering wheel, "this is on you, Tor. You're the one who held a gun to Marney's head and left when I told you to just fucking stay put!" She punches me in the chest and I press my foot over the brake, the car fishtailing across the shitty desert road.
"Is all that violence necessary?" Marney asks from the backseat. Tor and I both turn around and yell at him to shut up.
I redirect my attention to Tor. "Hit me again and I—" A hard slap across the face stops me mid-sentence. "That's it!" I shout, ramming the gear into park. I sling the door open, my cheek stinging as I march through the sand and around the side of the SUV, open the door, and grab her arm, yanking her out. "How many fucking times do I have to tell you not to slap me, woman?" I slam the door closed and shove her back a few feet. "What the fuck is your problem here? I mean, what the hell were you going to do? At least tell me you had a motherfucking plan." I pace. "Fuck!"
"I can't just sit and do nothing. She's alone. She's probably scared." Her voice catches.
"Tor," I drag my hands over my face as the sun beats down on my back, sweat soaking through my shirt, "you can't just walk up to the fucking cartel and ask to be with your daughter they've taken as a captive. Shit, that's not how this works." She should know this; she was a fucking captive once.
"Why not? It's only more collateral to nail you with, isn't it?" She glares, but there's desperation behind her eyes.
"You are impossible." I start toward the SUV. "Get back in the car."
"She wouldn't be with the cartel if you weren't up to your fucking neck in this bullshit! What the hell did you do, Jude? Why do the cartel have a hard on for you?" She jabs my chest. "You can't tell me just working with Gabriel caused this shit."
My blood pressure skyrockets. "What the fuck did I do?" I laugh as I clench my fists. I take a threatening step toward her. "Blame the big bad bookie for everything, right?"
She steps toward me, pressing her chest against my stomach. "It's not what you do, it's what you are, Jude! You have a child—a family and you're still involved in this shit."
I bury my face in my hands because I can't with this fucking woman. I look up at her. "You have no idea what the hell you are talking about, so why don't you," I jab a finger in the middle of her chest, "just shut the fuck up!"
She shoves my hand away from her and goes to fucking slap me…again. I catch her wrist and ram her against the car. My cock involuntarily swells and I roll my eyes. This is inappropriate on every level, but when she’s like this…I can’t control that urge to own her.
"I am her mother, Jude! Do not tell me to shut up. Do not tell me I don't know what I'm talking about!" She's pushing against me, snarling in my face.
"You don't, Tor. How the hell do you think I managed to get out of fucking prison, huh?" I groan. "Do you think the FBI just let me waltz out of there because they had a conscience or some shit? I was a goddamn murderer..." I toss my hands in the air. "This is out of my control and I'm doing the best I can." My chest goes tight at the thought of Cayla, the thought of what I—what we—stand to lose.
Her eyes lock with mine, searching, probing. "What did you do?" she asks quietly.
Shaking my head, I pull a cigarette from my pocket. I light it and take a deep drag before blowing out the smoke. "They wanted three names. Three men that I had dealt with, laundered money for. Extortion. I helped them get enough shit to arrest them. Domingo Garcia was one of them...and he was the boss of the Sinaloa cartel."
"Oh my god." She drops her head, sweeping her hands through her hair before she slides down the side of the car to a crouch. "Oh my god, they're going to kill her," she whispers, wrapping her arms around her shoulders. "They're going to kill her." Her voice breaks and her shoulders shake as she cries.
My blood runs cold, all the anger sweeps from my body and is replaced with a sense of panic and helplessness. Sighing, I walk over to Tor and kneel beside her, sweeping her blonde hair from in front of her face. Two hours ago, I would have assured her they wouldn't because we had Andrea, but now...I don't know what we're going to do, but I have to reassure her.
"They won't. They want me not her." My stomach knots. "I'm working on it. I swear to god I am." I stare at her. I know she must see it, she must see the fucking worry and fear, the absolute sense of helplessness I'm drowning in at this moment.
She covers her mouth with her hand and slowly nods.
"Trust me," I say. I take her hand and pull her to her feet, tugging her close to me. I stare into her eyes as I tuck a piece of hair behind her ear and stroke over her cheek. "Get in the car, Tor. Please." I open the door and help her into the car.
Marney has a deep frown set on his face. "You okay, darlin'?" he asks Tor. She doesn't answer him, just sits in the seat, staring out the window.
I put the car in drive and pull off, following the uneven road down into the rundown city of Juárez.
26
Tor
Jude drives around the outskirts of Juárez. The streets are dirty. Busted windows are on most of the buildings. The whole place screams of poverty and desolation. I watch a couple of younger boys run down an alleyway without any shoes on. This is how the cartel thrives: the city is so poverty stricken and they can promise money. They can promise a way out. They can offer protection.
We wind up the country roads that climb into the hills until we reach a set of metal gates, manned by two armed guards. The gates swing open and we drive up to the front of the house, parking amongst the row of SUVs.
Jude gets out of the car and rounds the back. I open the door and stare at the enormous villa in front of us. White stucco with shuttered windows and a red tiled roof with l
ittle vines of flowers crawling up the walls. A stone water fountain sits in the middle of the cobblestone driveway, two rearing horses spurting water from their mouths. And beyond the drive, the ground drops away, revealing a beautiful view of the mountains. It's a villa and a fortress because no one could mount a surprise attack without being seen from miles away.
Jude leads the way and I follow him through the arched double doors at the front of the house. I step inside onto terracotta floors. The walls are covered in artwork; the furnishings antique and lavish. The most noticeable thing though is the sheer number of men. They lurk in every corridor armed to the teeth with rifles and handguns. I know they're for protection, but the sight of them makes me feel inherently unsafe.
"This is Gabriel's house?" I ask, knowing that it is.
"Yeah," he responds without turning to look at me.
I hear Gabriel's voice coming from a distant room, shouting, swearing in Spanish, as we walk through the house. We pass a guard, his dark eyes studying me as Jude leads me into a huge kitchen. He grabs my waist, picks me up, and places me on the kitchen side. His hands brace on either side of my thighs and he ducks to meet my gaze. "How long's it been since you've eaten?"
I blink at him. "I don't know."
Pushing away from the counter, Jude sighs. He makes his way to the cabinets, opening and closing cupboards before he comes back with a frying pan and places it on the stovetop. I frown at him. "What are you doing?"
"Making you food." He grabs eggs from the fridge and reaches for a bottle of tequila on the counter on his way back to the stove. He unscrews the top and hands me the whole bottle. "Drink it," he says as he turns back to the skillet. I stare at the bottle for a second. "Drink it, Tor. You need to calm your nerves."
I glare at him as I tilt the bottle back, watching tiny bubbles work their way up the neck. I relish in the way it burns as it travels down my throat. Jude cracks a few eggs into the skillet and a small plume of smoke rises. I look around at the impressive space, the expensive granite and tile.
“What exactly does Gabriel do for the cartel?" I ask, but he doesn't answer me. "Jude. What does Gabe do for the cartel?" I take another swig of warm tequila because my nerves are crawling up my throat.
When he sighs I know this is going to be bad. "Gabriel is the boss of the Juárez cartel," he says.
“The boss?” Of course he is. Of course he fucking is. I’ve had the boss to the Juárez cartel over for dinner. Let him spend the night in my house… "What cartel has Cayla then?” I ask and he remains silent. "At least you have powerful friends," I whisper. We both know that powerful friends can both help and hinder, but in this case, I hope Gabriel can help us. Jude flips the eggs before opening a cabinet and grabbing a plate. "That's...that's good. Gabe can help us."
I'm not sure who the hell I'm trying to convince, him or myself because truthfully, it's too late. There is no going back—no ifs, ands, or buts. Cayla is gone, and I will take any help I can get to rescue her.
He dumps scrambled eggs onto a plate and hands it to me. Shaking my head, I shove the plate to the side. "I can't eat anything right now."
He leans over the counter, placing his elbows on the worktop as he drags his hands through his hair. We sit in silence for a few minutes before he glances up at me, his expression soft as he pushes away from the counter and closes the gap between us. He grabs my arms and slams his lips over mine. The kiss is hard, violent, angry—all Jude. I close my eyes, allowing the touch of his lips to soothe me for a moment before he breaks away from me.
"Come on," he says.
We leave the kitchen and he leads me through several rooms and up a winding staircase. Up here, the guards thin out. I'm grateful to be away from them. We follow a long corridor to a room at the end of the hall. Jude leads me inside and closes the door. A four-poster bed sits in the middle of the room, drapes hanging elegantly from the wooden frame and pooling on the terracotta floor. To the side of the room are a set of French doors which I assume lead out onto a balcony.
Jude walks me over to the bed and I sit down. He kneels in front of me, rubbing his warm, rough hands over my arms. "I have to go,” he says softly. “I'll be back soon. Don’t leave, Tor. Please, for once, listen to me."
His fingers trail up my arm, my neck, and he sweetly strokes over my cheek, coaxing a shaky breath from me. "Okay."
He nods and presses his lips to my forehead before he steps away. An uneasy feeling settles in my chest as I watch him close the bedroom door behind him. Silence surrounds me in the massive room. It's now, when I'm alone, that I feel Cayla's loss the most. I lie back on the bed, rolling onto my side and curling into the fetal position. I miss my baby girl so much. I’m in Mexico. I’m so close yet so far, and sitting here doing nothing is the worst feeling in the world, but I must trust Jude. I have to trust that he knows what he's doing and that he'll get her back.
27
Jude
"Fuck, Miguel,” Gabriel groans into the phone. “Just get Roberta, she’s Escavar's favorite whore. You can't tell me you can’t talk them into pussy." He pauses, skimming his finger over the bottles of liquor on the shelf of this dingy little store. "Si, we just need them stalled."
I check my watch: 9:27. Stress mounts in my chest. The heat in here is nearly unbearable, the air thick with humidity. There's a mangy looking dog that keeps pacing back and forth beside the counter, every once and a while stopping to snarl at Gabe.
"Fucking get her to suck his dick,” he says. “Hell, you suck his dick for all I care." Gabe hangs up and heads to the counter. He slams the liquor down and shoves his phone inside his pocket.
The old man behind the counter takes his time bagging the bottle as he eyes me. "Ese Gringo?"
Gabriel glances over his shoulder. "Es mi amigo. Corredor de apuestas."
The man grins and nods before he hands the brown bag to Gabriel. We walk out of the rundown store and into the dark night. Gabriel groans. "If this works, I'll start praying to you." He shoves the bag in my hands and opens the door to his car.
We drive in silence to the hospital. Gabriel pulls around the orange building, parking where the ambulance bay is. Within minutes the door slides open and a short man in scrubs walks out. He comes right up to the window, hands Gabriel a bag, and Gabriel hands him a wad of cash. No words are ever exchanged and as soon as the man turns his back, we're pulling off. Gabriel tosses the plastic bag to me. "How the fuck you know about this shit anyway, ese? You aren't a fucking serial killer, are you?"
"No," I laugh, "Google is your best friend sometimes." I quickly take the bottle of liquor out of the bag, staring down at the label: Domecq Brandy. "Brandy?" I ask.
Gabriel shrugs. "Oh what, you expected tequila?" He groans. "Mierda, everyone thinks we drink the fucking tequila. Mexicans like brandy."
"Fine," I say as I unscrew the cap and take a large swig. The hot liquid burns its way down my throat before settling in my unsettled stomach.
"Eh, ese, what the fuck are you doing?"
"I have to get rid of some of it."
Gabriel snatches the bottle from my hand and takes a few gulps. "It tastes like shit when it’s that hot," he says as he shoves it back in my direction. I set the bottle between my legs and grab a knife from the console, tearing a hole in the bag of Succinylcholine. Carefully, I dump more than half the drug into the bottle then roll the window down and toss the rest of it to the side of the road. I cap the brandy, making sure it's on good and tight before I shake the bottle.
"You're sure that will kill them?" Gabriel asks as we pull over into a motel parking lot.
"Yeah, it will kill them within a matter of minutes. They use this shit for surgery. Fucking paralyzes you, and without a breathing machine, you're fucking dead." I hand him the bottle and he reaches to the back to grab a duffel bag.
"They'll fucking taste it and then..."
"They won't. It tastes like sugar."
He crams the bottle inside and glares at me, tapping his finger over th
e steering wheel as he peers out the window. A curvy woman in a short skirt and tight red top struts across the parking lot. "Can you trust her?" I ask.
"You can never trust a whore," he says with an arched brow. "But I'll kill her and she knows it. She's handing it off to Roberta, in case anyone is watching."
I nod as he rolls down the window. The woman leans into the cab, her curly hair spilling over the inside of the door. Gabriel whispers something to her in Spanish and she nods. She hands a brown paper bag to him and he pushes the duffel bag through the window. She takes it, slings it over her shoulder, and kisses him on the cheek.
This woman is our last hope right now. She's supposed to give that bottle of liquor to Roberta who Miguel has arranged to pay our friends a little visit tonight.
"You tell her, every fucking one of them drinks that shit even if she has to pour it in her pussy to get them to drink it."
The woman rolls her eyes. "Si, si. Ese loco. Este es jodidamente loco."
"Remember, Alessandra," Gabriel grabs her long hair, fisting it and yanking her farther into the truck, "I'll kill you if you fuck this shit up," he spits. "Don't tell her what it is. Don't fucking tell anyone."
Fear ripples across her face, her eyes watering as she slowly nods her head. "Si. Si, Gabriel." He shoves her out of the cab and she disappears around the corner of the motel. Sighing, Gabriel drops his chin to his chest. "Poisoning people, next I'll be the one dressed in a fucking clown suit at kid’s birthday parties. Fucking poison..."
"Ah, come on.” I pat him on the shoulder. “It's a shit way to go. They’ll be paralyzed for minutes while their bodies shut down. Just think: unable to cry or scream or fucking blink." I smile. "Pure agony, Gabe. It's pure agony."
"That does make it a little less pussy." He sighs. "So now we wait, huh, ese?"