War (Wrong Book 4)

by Stevie J. Cole

  "I don't fucking know."

  "Well, hell, boy, how the hell am I supposed to get you if you don't tell me where to meet you."

  I glance out the window and see an old McDonalds with half an arch lit and blinking. I look up at the woman behind the counter. "¿Qué calle es ésta?"

  "Veneza Avenue," she says.

  "The McDonalds on Veneza Avenue, about twenty minutes from the jail."

  "A'ight. Sit tight and hold your britches," he says and hangs up.

  "Gracias," I say to the woman as I hand her back the phone before I walk off, shoving my way through the door.

  I climb in David's truck and pull it around back by the dumpster just in case Gabe comes looking for me, and then I sprint across the street and wait inside McDonalds. I go through half a pack of Marlboros waiting. Every time the door opens, I tense. Finally, about an hour later, Marney pulls up in one of Gabe's Hummers. He opens the door and the second he steps out; I'm bolting through the exit and toward the car.

  "I can’t believe he locked me up,” I groan as we pull onto the highway.

  "'Ah, hell. I can," he says. I shoot him a glare and he shrugs. "Well, we all know you got a temper on you, and you—"

  "Marney!"

  "See!" He shakes his finger at me. "Getting' all pissy right now."

  "I'm trying to fucking think here. Jesus." I stare out the window at the filthy city passing by, racking my brain about what the hell to do.

  "Where the hell we going?"

  "Just..." I know I can't go back to Gabe's... "drive. Get out of the city."

  "A'ight." Marney floors the accelerator and we drive down county road 2 until we spot a motel with a flickering light. I can't afford a mistake. I can't lose her again, and I know I can't pull a stunt like taking down Jésus with just me and Marney. I may have lost control of most things, but the one thing I do still have is money. And mercenaries are a dime a dozen in Juarez.

  I just need to find a few...

  9

  Jude

  No wonder Juarez is the crime capitol of the world. Within a matter of twelve hours, I've found six guys willing to go take over Jésus' house. Of course, they don't exactly know it's his house... Six guys are not exactly enough to take down Jésus' fully guarded house, so I have to make sure he's out of there. And there's only one way to do that—have him think he's got a drug trade he can't resist, and use his own men against him.

  The sun's not yet come up when I park outside the tiny brick house of one of Jésus' dealers, which makes it easy for me and Marney to slip between the bushes and the house.

  "Aw, shit..." Marney mumbles. "Stepped in dog shit."

  I turn and glare at him, placing my finger over my lips as I slowly stand up beside the car and tuck my gun into the waist of my jeans. "Watch for me."

  Marney nods and cocks his gun as he turns to face the house. I take the wooden wedge and shove it in the crack at the top of the door. Just a little elbow grease and there's just enough space to slip the coat hanger inside. Carefully, I feed the wire hanger through, narrowing my eyes when I try to press the unlock button. I nearly have it pressed when the wire slips. "Shit." I try again, and just like that, the lock pops and the interior lights buzz on.

  "Alright, now you go wait around back," I whisper to Marney. "After he comes out, you sneak in. I'll call you, so have your ringer on."

  Marney nods and disappears around the side of the house. I climb in, lock the doors, and crawl into the very back of the SUV to lie down and wait.

  The suns just peeked over the horizon when I hear a dog barking followed by a man shouting for him to shut up. The click of the locks sets a jolt of adrenaline through me and I steady my breathing. The door opens and closes. The engine cranks and some godawful R & B song blares through the speakers. The car backs up, gravel crunches underneath the tires. I move just enough that I can see out the window from where I'm lying. The tops of houses whir past, and when there's nothing but sky, when I feel the pavement grow rough and bumpy, I know we're in the desert.

  My heart hammers in my chest. I close my eyes for a brief moment before I pop over the backseat, wrap my arm around his neck, and press the loaded gun to the man's head. He swerves off the road and my finger nearly slips on the trigger before his hands go straight to my arm, clawing.

  "Don't fight me," I say and pull my forearm tighter over his throat. He gasps for breath, mumbling something. "I won't kill you. I just need a favor, so why don't you go ahead and put your hands around the headrest." He doesn't budge and I dig the gun deeper into his temple. "Do it. Now." I loosen my grip a little as I reach around and yank his gun from his belt.

  "Just shoot me."

  "Well, you see," I sigh. "There's a little bit more to this than just you, you got a baby on the way..." He freezes, I feel his Adam's apple bob underneath my arm when he swallows. "So, I suggest you just go ahead and put your arms behind the head rest here. And trust me, you don't want to fight me. If you kill me, or I kill you, your girlfriend and baby will pay the price." I feel like a piece of shit for even doing something like this. It makes me no better than Jésus and Ronan, but I just want my woman back. Call me selfish.

  I keep the gun pressed to his head, remove my arm from his throat, and he places his arms around the headrest. I pull a zip tie from my pocket and bind his hands before I climb into the front seat, never dropping the gun from his head. "Alright," I say as I dig my phone out and press Marney's number. "What I want is simple." The phone rings. "I just need you to set up a meeting with Jésus for some time tomorrow. Tell him you have a new client that wants to give him a thirty percent cut to use his trucks or some shit that he'll believe. You figure that out. I just need him and his fucking men out of that house for an hour."

  He narrows his gaze, slightly shaking his head.

  The phone is still ringing and panic slowly rises in my chest. "I didn't ask you if you wanted to do it, did I?"

  The phone rings again before it clicks over. "Yep," Marney huffs.

  "Jesus, that took long enough."

  "When a man has to shit, he has to shit."

  Groaning, I close my eyes. "Put her on." Static rustles the line, and I met the guy's gaze. "I really don't want to have her killed..." I say, and put the phone on speaker.

  "Alright, tell him," Marney says. I can see the guy's eyes swirling with fear and worry. There's a loud sob on the other line. "Ah, come on now, I done told you I ain't gotta hurt you as long as he does right." Another long cry.

  The man's eyes are watering with tears and a fog of helplessness rolls over them. That's a look I know all too well. But this is the price men like he and I pay. When you have only one weakness, it's what everyone goes after. And love—that is a weakness on every damn level.

  "Pepe," she sniffs. "Pepe?"

  "Please don't hurt her," he pleads with me.

  "Pepe, haz lo que quieran." And she breaks down into loud wails.

  I hang up the phone and glare at him. "Now, you gonna make that meeting with Jésus or not?"

  ***break***

  I focus the binoculars, watching as Jésus and about seven of his men climb into Hummers and pull away from the compound. I send the text to Dingo the lead mercenary I hired signaling that it's a go. Minutes later, a black Silverado pulls up beside my car and four men file out. They're dressed in black, their faces covered by ski masks. Marney looks at me before tossing an uneasy glance out the window. "Where'd the dickens did you find them, a Zorro convention?"

  "Some gang banger at a bar slipped me Dingo's contact for fifty bucks."

  "Dingo?" Marney says. "You made a deal with a man named Dingo?"

  "Would you..." The back door opens and the men climb inside, guns strapped to their chest.

  The one who climbed in first nods. I put the car in drive and pull off. Another car follows behind us, winding down the hillside. We go around a sharp curve, and I cut the headlights just before we near the end of Jésus' private drive and pull over behind one of the large
shrubs.

  "No," one of the men say. "No me estoy involucrando con Jésus Lopez."

  Marney turns slightly in his seat and glances at me. I can see his gun moving ever so slightly. An argument breaks out in the backseat and within seconds there's a loud bang and the small flash from a pistol firing, one of the men slumps over in the seat dead.

  "I pay them for professionalism," on man says. "I apologize."

  Marney faces the front. "Well, hell."

  We pull up and file out of the car, slinking around the outskirts of the landscape. Dingo and his men go ahead of me and Marney. As soon as the gates are in sight, Dingo fires two lethal shots, and the guards fall like trees. We hurry toward the entrance, climbing over the gates and dropping to our feet on the other side.

  There's shouting followed by gunfire and we rush toward the tree line on the edge of the property. A bullet hits one of the trees behind me. I glance up and catch one of the men on the roof, so I aim and shoot, watching as he stumbles before toppling over the edge and landing in the bushes beside the house. A hail of gunfire breaks out. The bullets nick the trees we're using as cover, bark flying off in every direction.

  We shoot until there is a moment of silence, and then we head toward the house with our guns drawn and senses on high alert. A twig snaps under my foot and the entire group halts momentarily before continuing on. The closer we get to the villa; I can hear men shouting on the inside. My pulse picks up and a cold sweat breaks out over my forehead.

  Tor's in there.

  There's something unbearably overwhelming that presses in on you when you realize that the life of the person who makes life worth living depends on what you do next.

  10

  Tor

  I wake up to the sound of gunfire. Men are shouting, rushing through the halls of the house as they bark instructions to each other. Jésus is away negotiating some drug exchange and, strangely, I think I'd feel safer if he was here. He may be a piece of work, but when people are shooting at me, I want the psycho cartel boss standing between me and them.

  I climb out of Jesus' bed and hurry across the cold tile toward the open patio doors. I keep behind the wall as I glance outside. The repetitive pop, pop, pop of the machine guns on the roof is deafening. Men lie—some dead, others wounded—all over the courtyard. Jésus took a lot of men with him and there aren't enough left here to defend the villa. My heart pounds in my chest and my ears ring. I have no idea who is coming, but they're enemies of Jésus which means they will likely kill his whore...or worse.

  I rush to the closet and go to the chest of drawers. Hunching down, I shove all my weight against the side of the unit and it slowly moves, revealing a metal door to a panic room. I stare at the keypad, trying to remember the code. 1678? I type it in with shaking fingers but the light remains red.

  "Shit," I hiss under my breath.

  The distinct click of a gun being cocked right behind me sounds. I freeze, my breaths growing shallow and desperate.

  "Tor."

  My heart stumbles over itself and I frown, slowly turning around. It's dark in here, and I can't make out his face, but I'd know him anywhere. I could be deaf and blind, and I'd still know Jude. My pulse pounds against my ears, a backdrop to the gunfire still carrying on outside.

  "Jude?" I whisper, moving closer to him. There's a tense moment of silence when it feels like all the air in the room is sucked out. I stand in disbelief, and then he grabs my hand. That touch alone sends a wave of emotion through me. He's real. He's here.

  I close the distance between us and slam my lips over his, a hitched breath breaking through my lips. His hands grip my waist, his fingertips burning through the thin material of the nightdress I'm wearing. "I thought you were dead," I say, my voice a hoarse whisper against his lips as I place my hand to his cheek.

  He strokes a loose piece of hair behind my ear, staring at me while a million unspoken words pass between us. Everything that has been, everything that once was falls into nothingness because he's alive. I reach out and cup his face, inhaling the scent of whisky and cigarette smoke that clings to him constantly. A small frown pulls at his features as he places a hand around my wrist to remove it from his face.

  "We gotta go. Now," he says, his voice clipped.

  I stumble forward, allowing him to drag me from the closet. His skin is warm and familiar against mine. It's like a drug sending a soothing pulse through me. For a second, I forget everything that isn't him—until I don't. "Wait," I say in a panic. "I can't." I pull back against his grip and his fingers tighten around my wrist until he's bruising me. Still, he keeps dragging me towards the door. "Jude! Stop!"

  "I don't have time for this, Tor." He yanks on my arm, and I stumble into the hall.

  "Jude!"

  He whirls around and slams his hand over my mouth. Another gunshot rings out and his nostrils flare as he inches closer to my face. "Not fucking now. Don't say another fucking word," he whispers before removing his hand and continuing down the hallway.

  I glance around wildly. Some of Jésus' guys are still alive, hunkered down and under fire. The more I fight him, the more likely they are to kill him. So I go with him. I thought I was responsible for his death once, I'm not about to get him killed now.

  He drags me through the house and out into the courtyard where a black Range Rover screeches to a halt. Bullets are still flying, echoing around us until my ears ring. Jude keeps me close, shielding my body with his own. He shoves me into the back of the car and climbs in behind me before the engine revs and we're barreling down the Jésus' winding drive. Grabbing my chin, he turns my face to his before slamming his warm lips over mine, his fingers digging into my skin. The kiss is angry and desperate. He pulls away and stares at me, a tornado of emotion swirling in his murky green eyes. "I thought you were dead..." he says.

  I relish in the warmth of his touch, the way he makes me feel whole for the first time in so long. I stroke my fingers over his jaw, just taking in his handsome face—a face I was sure I would never see again. "Nearly," I breathe, pulling my nightgown down to reveal the ugly bullet wound just below my right breast.

  He stares at it for a second before he closes his eyes and inhales a deep breath. Taking my hand, he laces my fingers between his. "You're all I have," he says, pain laced in his words.

  I swallow hard and drop my chin to my chest. Cayla. She's all I have. All that matters. What will Jésus do when he finds out I'm gone?

  "Jude, I..." My throat feels like it's closing up. "Things have changed." I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting tears from all the things I have done to survive, to ensure Cayla's survival. I thought he was dead, but now he's here, and it all feels like such a brutal betrayal, and one I must continue. Only this time, I have to do it knowing he is alive. I have to lie to his face. What do I even say? "You need to take me back to Jésus," I whisper. God knows I don't want to go back. I want to never leave Jude's arms again. If Jude and I run now, we might be able to get to Cayla in time, but then we'll always be running. I have an opportunity here. The only one we're going to get.

  His expression falls blank on a disbelieving laugh. "Are you out of your fucking mind?"

  "He'll find me. He'll kill us both. Please, Jude. I'm handling it, okay. I just need time."

  "Oh, trust me, I saw how you're fucking handling it, Tor." Shaking his head, he swipes his hand down his face. "I mean, fuck, you were in his room," he swipes the strap of my nightie from my shoulder, "in this shit."

  I bite the inside of my lip and swipe at the tear that escapes. "It's not...I had no choice. You were dead."

  "Oh, nice to know how you handle mourning the fucking dead."

  "No one was coming for me, Jude! You weren't coming for me. You lost. Gabe lost, Ronan lost. And I was the damn prize. So I saved myself. Do not judge me!"

  He glares at me, his jaw ticking. "You're not going back, if I have to handcuff you to my fucking body, by God, I will. Don't test me."

  I grit my teeth. "You cannot get to h
im. I can. It's this macho bullshit—you thinking you can handle everything —that got Cayla taken in the first place." I see the pain mask his features with such intensity that I want to hold him. He loves her so much, and his pain is more than I can take. He doesn't know what happened to her. Very few do, and for now, it's best that it stays that way. I throw my arms around his neck, because this right here is the cruelest thing I will ever do in my entire life. I do this for her though.

  He tenses under my touch. I rest my cheek against his hard chest and can hear his heart pounding, breaking. And one day, I hope he'll see that. One day, he'll forgive this. If I tell him now, he'll go for her. He'll endanger her further and there will be nothing I can do or say to Jésus that will stop him from killing them both.

  "I'm not letting you leave," he says.

  I know there's no fighting with him. This won't be a negotiation. I'll have to bide my time. How much time do I really have though? Without me, what reason does Jésus have to keep Cayla alive?

  The rest of the drive we sit in a painful silence with Jude staring out the window.

  We pull up outside a villa on the very outskirts of the city and Jude gets out, holding the door open for me. I slide out of the car and glance at the villa nestled in darkness. The cool, desert air blows through the thin material of my nightgown and I shiver. The car doors slam and the driver brings a couple of bags to the front door.

  Jude speaks to the man quietly and shakes his hand, and I wait. The guy gets back in the car and drives away, and now it’s just us. My mind strays to the thought of Jésus walking into his house to find dead men littering the grounds. He will know I was taken, and he will be fuming and what will that mean for Cayla?

  Jude opens the door and I walk inside with him. He dumps the bags in the hallway and closes the door behind me. The house is nowhere near as lavish as Jesus' or Gabe's. “Whose house is this?”

  “One of Gabe’s safe houses.”