“There are many things you need to learn about the business, Juan. I had not anticipated that you would have the young lady with you, so I can see that I will need to make some adjustments with your time. I realize that young people who are as fond of one another as you two obviously are need to spend time together.” He smiles at me, and I do my best to return the gesture even though my stomach roils at having his attention focused on me.
“Ms. Garcia. Juan has told me that you are very close to your familia?”
I nod. “Yes, Señor, I am.”
“Please, call me Miguel. You are practically my daughter now. I want you to be able to speak with your family, and I’m sure they are worried about you.”
My heart leaps inside of my chest.
“However, I cannot, of course, have an international situation on my hands.” He looks at me with one eyebrow raised, questioning if I understand his meaning. “Reports of a young Americana visiting unexpectedly with certain groups in another country would create a very messy situation for all of us, yes?”
“Yes, of course,” Juan interjects, giving me a look that clearly communicates agreement is the best response in this case.
“Good. You understand the delicacy of our circumstances. So as long as I can secure an agreement from Ms. Garcia’s family that they will not speak falsely to US officials, then she may have permission to speak to them by phone and perhaps at some point even accept a visit from them. You have younger sisters, yes?”
“Yes, two. One is still in high school, but the other is only a year younger than me.”
“I think that a young woman living here with all of these busy men would enjoy a visit from her sister, so we will look forward to that sometime in the future after you are more settled.”
I give him a weak smile, thoughts of how far into the future he expects me to remain here causing a wave of panic. That’s quickly followed by a hysterical feeling as I picture Alexis telling Gabe that she’s going to visit her sister the hostage at the compound of a Mexican drug lord. I don’t think Miguel has any idea what he’s just proposed.
“Will you be telling her family she’s okay soon?” Juan asks casually.
“Yes. I have people working on that right now. Hopefully by this time tomorrow, a phone call can be made and your young lady can hear her parents’ voices.”
Juan swallows, his distaste obvious to me and probably to his father as well. “Thank you.”
Miguel nods curtly. “Now, once you are done with your meal, you will need to come with me for the afternoon and Ms. Garcia can enjoy the pool or the theatre we have in the basement. Ryan is here to see to her needs while you are working.” He turns to me again as he stands. “Dinner will be served at eight p.m. most evenings. I would ask that you wear formal attire. I have provided a wide range of clothing in your suite, but if you need something else, please let Clara know and we will send someone out for it.
“Juan, one of the men will show you to my office when you are done with lunch.”
After Miguel leaves, Juan reaches over the table and takes my hand in his. “Tomorrow, you’ll get to talk to your parents. And we’ll learn more. Every hour that we’re here, we’re learning more. It’ll add up to something we can use. I promise, linda.”
My vision wavers through the tears that sit not quite ready to spill down my cheeks. “I know,” I whisper, feeling so terribly hopeless but trying not to weigh Juan down with that burden. “I know.”
* * *
1 Cabron = asshole
2 Buenos tardes = Good afternoon
IT kills me to leave Beth after lunch. I can see the distrust in her eyes, so I ask Clara to spend some time with her, hoping that makes her a little more comfortable than Ryan the bodyguard. He seems like a fine guy, but there’s just no way to tell. My father could have given him orders to lock Beth in a closet gagged and drugged all day for all I know.
I’m fucking miserable. Even in all the shit that went down with the RH, I never felt as helpless as I do now. It’s one thing when it’s your own life that’s being fucked with. It’s a whole other deal when it’s your girl’s life.
I walk into my father’s office led by Raymundo, who appears to be my personal guard. It seems he, Ryan, and a very big guy named Pepe are all assigned to Beth and me and take different shifts watching us. Unfortunately for me, they’re armed at all times, Glocks riding easy in their shoulder holsters.
Miguel’s office is as big as some people’s living rooms and full of expensive-looking art and furniture. I notice that it’s all Mexican and Spanish. I wonder if he’s a collector or if I’m the only object of his obsession.
“Come in, mijo,” he tells me as I linger in the doorway.
“Thank you,” I answer.
He gestures for me to sit in an armchair facing his desk while he resumes his seat behind it. “If you are going to run this business someday, you need to learn everything there is to know about it. You need to understand the politics of the world I operate in. You need to know the families involved and the different players and their roles. Someday, this will all be yours.” He sweeps his arm across the room and indicates the window that overlooks the swimming pool and beyond. “You must now learn to fulfill your role as the heir to this empire.”
My mind spins with the enormity of it all. Even if I were interested in running this show, it sounds like a hell of an undertaking. And again, that’s if I actually wanted to.
“And if I don’t want to be the heir to all of this?” I ask, surprising myself with my boldness.
He looks at me thoughtfully. “Currently, you are wanted in the United States for a parole violation, and you are eligible for extradition by the Mexican government should they decide to pursue you. If you are returned to the United States, you will be put back in prison for many years.
“Even if you didn’t have the parole violation hanging over you, you are now wanted by the Reyes Hispanos for the murder of their leader and his closest men. They have no way of knowing you weren’t aware of the coup that was staged. You’re the one they know, the one they’re familiar with, and to them, you’re not my son, I’m your father. Comprendes?”
Yeah, I understand. The old man has tied me up nice and tight. His activities over the last twenty-four hours have ensured that I’m wanted by so many people in so many places that I have no other options but to stay here with him, work for him, do his bidding—from now until the day he dies. It’s a very sobering thought.
But I also know how desperately he wants me here, wants my cooperation and my agreement. I know that he’s oddly obsessed with me, and I’m going to use that to negotiate for the one thing that means more to me than my own life.
“Yeah,” I say. “I understand all of that perfectly. And here’s the thing—I’ll stay here. I’ll give you my word that I’ll work for you. I’ll work hard and learn everything you want me to. I’ll be your príncipe. On one condition.”
He quirks an eyebrow at me and actually looks amused. “Please. What would you like to negotiate, mijo.”
“Beth.”
He nods, his face showing that he understands fully what I’m saying.
“I want to send her home.”
“You think I will agree to send her back to the US when she now knows where I live, when she was at the RH compound and can tie me to the murders there?”
“Yes, I do, because you’re untouchable as long as you’re here in Mexico, and because you must realize Beth’s not going to do or say anything that would hurt me. But mostly, because”—I look him in the eyes—“you love me, and I love her. More than anything or anyone I’ve known in my life, I love Beth Garcia, and if you don’t protect her and return her safely to her family in the US, I will go back to prison or to the RH and I’ll let them kill me. I won’t do a single thing for the man who hurts her in any way. Ella es el amor de mi vida.” She is the love of my life.
My father sits and watches me for a moment. His poker face has been honed over many
decades. He has no tells that I can find. No little twitch or habit. I find it hard to imagine what you’d have to do to train yourself to be this cold, this emotionless. But then again, I always had a reputation in the RH for my cold levelheadedness, so maybe it’s in the DNA.
Finally, he stands and leans across the desk with his hand out. “You make me proud, son. You are everything I could have asked for and more. You negotiate like an Ybarra, and you protect what is yours. It is what a man does, what I’ve done for you since I found out where you were when you were seventeen. Your young woman is safe always. Let me make the arrangements to have her taken back to her familia. It may take several days to get the plans set.”
“I want to take her—” I see him scowl. “Just to the border. I’ll stay on this side, but I want to see her walk across to where she’s safe. No planes.”
He’s still standing with his hand outstretched to me, and I refuse to shake it until I have everything I can possibly get from him.
“Very well.” He nods.
I reach my hand out, my heart beating like a small bird’s. Something inside of me cracks and it feels like I’ve broken a part that can’t be repaired. It hurts and it leaves a regret in my soul that I know won’t be washed away no matter how many tears I would cry if I were still capable of crying.
Then I shore up my mask, this time the mask of the King Pin, and I shake the devil’s hand.
I spend the afternoon learning about the various Latin American syndicated crime families. The Santos Mexicanos are the largest family in Mexico and Central America, but they haven’t made the inroads into Colombia and some of the other South American countries that my father would like. That’s one of the things Miguel wants me to help him with. He feels that, with two of us, we can oversee more operations and more men. He wants to double the amount of product we’re moving into countries south of the Panama Canal over the next year.
Apparently, we manufacture and distribute heroin, but we’ve got several large marijuana farms, and of course we love to sell cocaine, the staple of Latin American drug lords. By the time I’m released for 1siesta before we get ready for dinner, I feel like a walking, talking HBO movie. I wonder if I’ll end up being gunned down in some showdown with a Michael Douglas drug czar type, taken out by a dozen American agents in bad polyester suits with Prohibition-style zeal to stop the drug trade.
I make my way back to our suite, anxious to see Beth. When I walk in, she barrels across the room and throws herself on me.
“Whoa, linda, it’s okay. Everything’s all right.”
She peppers me with little kisses all over my jaw and neck.
“I mean, not that I’m complaining…”
She stops and smiles up at me. “I’m really happy to see you.”
I laugh. “I got that.” I look down at her, trying to memorize the curve of her cheeks, the sparkle of her eyes. “And I’m really happy to see you too,” I say seriously. “You’re okay? You were treated well?”
“Yes,” she says as she takes my hand and leads me to the sofa to sit down. “Everyone was very nice really. I mean, Ryan the ‘Irish-American mestizo’ had to follow me around everywhere, but he’s pretty good at staying out of the way. I visited with Clara in the kitchen for a while and she told me some stories about your mom. Then I laid out by the pool while one of the guys drove into town and picked up some magazines and romance novels for me.” She holds up a book with a picture of a bare-chested man on it.
I laugh. “Wait, I thought you were in women’s studies. Don’t they hate shit like romance novels?”
“Actually”—she bounces up and down a little as the excitement overtakes her—“there have been several scholars who view romance fiction as a symbol of women’s sexual liberation and an outlet for women to create relationships between the genders that are more egalitarian than those found in real life.”
I shake my head and chuckle. “Whatever you say, linda.”
“No, seriously. In fact, I was thinking I might be able to do an independent study research project on how romance novels impact the attitudes of women in poverty—” She stops talking suddenly. “Well, I mean, that would have been a good project. It’s okay, I can just read the books without doing some stupid research project on them.”
“Hey,” I say, tipping her chin up with my forefinger so I can see her eyes. They’re dark pools of fear and regret. It makes my heart pinch painfully. “What happened there?”
She sighs. “I just realized that I might not be going back to school anytime soon…or ever. And it’s okay, I just need to get used to doing something different.”
“I have some news for you,” I tell her as I lift her onto my lap and she lays her head against my shoulder. I run my hand down her soft hair. “I talked to Miguel. He’s making the arrangements and we’ll be taking a trip to the border in the next week or so.”
She sits up and turns to face me, her eyes alight. “Do you mean what I think you do?”
“Yes, linda. Home.”
“Oh thank God,” she breathes out. “Thank God. How? Why? I can’t believe he’d just give up that easily.”
“Don’t worry about all that right now. I think he wanted to get to know me and he’s getting a chance to do that. Just think about going home and being safe. I told you I’d take care of you, linda. I’ll always take care of you.”
“But what about your parole? You broke it. They took your cuff off and everything. And will they link you to the stuff that happened at the RH compound?”
My girl is smart, but she’s also innocent. She doesn’t know what’s possible and what isn’t. It turns my stomach to lie to her, but I have to, and as I say the words, I think, This is how it starts—the road to my father’s job. You lie to the people who mean the most to you. You don’t tell them what you do all day. You don’t tell them who you really are. You don’t tell them what’s possible and what isn’t. Until, at some point, lying isn’t lying anymore—it’s just doing business, part of daily life, the way you stay alive.
“My father took care of all of that,” I tell her. “You don’t need to worry.”
“But will you still be on parole? Do you have to get the cuff put back on?”
“Shh, linda,” I croon as I dig my fingers into her hair and lean in close to her face. “The details don’t matter right now. I don’t even know all the details—just that I get to take you home where you’ll be safe and happy.”
I smile as she throws her arms around me and squeezes tight. I know I’ll need to tell her what I traded for her freedom, but not now. I just want to enjoy her happiness and the little bit of time we have left before I have to give her up forever. I know it will hurt her, but I also know it’s the only option. She can’t stay here, and I can’t go home. Sometimes life and the world around us don’t allow our hearts what they most want.
I check the expensive watch my father presented to me earlier in the day. It’s six o’clock.
“We’ve got two hours until we have to be downstairs for dinner. Got any ideas about what we can do until then?”
A crafty smile slides across her face as she slips off my lap and kneels on the floor in between my legs.
“Maybe an idea or two,” she says as she unbuttons and unzips my shorts.
I take a strand of her hair in my fingers. “You don’t need to do that, you know.”
“Well, I mean, if you don’t want me to…” She starts to stand up.
“I didn’t say that,” I exclaim, grabbing her wrist to pull her back down.
“I don’t know. If you’re just not into that…” She smirks at me.
“Holy shit, mujer. Have you ever met a guy who’s not into that?”
She runs a fingernail along the seam of my boxer briefs that’s been exposed through the open zipper. I clench up in anticipation.
“Maybe you shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth then, mafia prince.”
I laugh a little desperately as she grasps the waistband of my briefs an
d pushes them down to bare my cock. “No complaints. I swear. Just uh…ah…yeah, carry on… Oh yeah. That… Do lots of that, baby.”
Her mouth closes on my head and I feel her tongue swirl around the tip. Holy fucking hell, that feels good. Her full lips are slick and wet and her hand is pumping up and down my shaft as she takes me deeper and deeper into her mouth with each stroke.
Finally, she starts to add suction each time she pulls away. I’m lost, my eyes flutter shut, and all I can do is run my fingers through her silky hair as the sensation of utter bliss overtakes me. My head rolls back on the sofa and I moan.
“God, Beth. Jesus that feels good. Don’t stop, baby. Please don’t ever stop.”
I can feel her lips turn up in a smile as she continues to pump me in and out. Just when I think I might die from the pleasure, her other hand sneaks in and she cups my balls, rubbing them lightly with her thumb. I feel the muscles in my legs and groin tighten up and my balls grow rock hard.
“Beth,” I manage to pant out, “I’m going to…” I tug lightly on her hair, but she doesn’t stop, and I come hard.
After the haze clears, I open my eyes and look down to see Beth looking up at me, her eyes luminous and a devilish smile on her face.
“Get up here,” I practically growl at her. She stands and then straddles me on the sofa. “You’re”—I kiss her on the lips—“a seriously bad”—I kiss her on the neck—“girl.” I kiss her on the top of her breasts. Then I lift my head and look into her eyes. “I love you so much, linda.”
“I love you too,” she says, her cheeks glowing.
“I think I need to show you exactly how much,” I tell her as I stand, picking her up at the same time. I carry her to the bedroom and lay her down. “Don’t move,” I say trying to look commanding.
I quickly strip her clothes off and shuck my own as well. They’re just in the fucking way, after all.
“Come here,” I say as I scoot her down until her bottom’s at the edge of the bed. I kneel and gently bend her legs so her heels are on my shoulders. Perfect.
Buried (Hiding From Love #3) Page 13