Guilty by Blood (Santiago Family)

by CJ Bishop

  Thank you.

  •

  “I don’t understand. What’s wrong?” As soon as Caterina arrived home, Cruz took her into the living room where Sanchez and Lorenzo joined them. She looked at her godfather. “Papá?”

  “Sit, mija,” he spoke gently and motioned her to the sofa.

  Fear and uncertainty tightened her stomach. “What is this about?” she asked Cruz. “You said you wanted to speak with me about Armand…” She frowned and looked at the three men. “What about him?”

  Lorenzo sat in the easy chair while Cruz and Sanchez flanked her on the sofa. Cruz cleared his throat and spoke quietly. “We went to Armand’s work yesterday evening to talk to him. But he wasn’t there.”

  Caterina listened as he relayed what the bartender had told them, and then the stripper.

  “She said that the man who came in asking about him that morning was in his early twenties, about my size, and he had dark hair with blond highlights, and blue/gray eyes.”

  Caterina’s heart began to pound against her ribs as she listened to Cruz describe Flynn down to the last detail.

  “We went to his apartment,” Cruz continued. “And…we found him.” He leaned forward and rubbed his mouth, his voice dropping. “Beaten and…”

  Caterina stared at him, eyes wide and filling with tears.

  “Dead,” Cruz whispered.

  “What?” Caterina breathed and started to shake. “What…what do you mean?” she choked. “Someone…someone beat him to death?” Flynn’s scraped and bruised knuckles rose behind her eyes.

  There’s an old boxing gym I go to sometimes, take out my stress on a punching bag.

  Had he lied? She suddenly felt sick and hugged her stomach.

  “He wasn’t beaten to death,” Sanchez murmured. “He was shot.”

  The room began to spin slowly. “Wh-What? Shot? But…who…?”

  “We don’t know,” Cruz said. “Do you…” he stared at her—a little too intensely. “…do you know anyone by that description?”

  Caterina buried her face in her hands. “No,” she lied brokenly.

  “Did he have any enemies?” Sanchez asked.

  “I don’t know,” she whispered. “I…” She stood up as tears streamed down her face. “I-I need to…I just want to be alone.” She fled the room and hurried to her bedroom, closing the door behind her. She broke into sobs and crawled on the bed, crying into her pillows.

  But crying for whom?

  Armand…or Flynn?

  He didn’t do it—he didn’t! He couldn’t!

  Yet…hadn’t he just confessed to her that he could kill a man?

  But he was talking about his mother’s killer.

  Someone knocked on her door a few minutes later. “Mija? May I come in?”

  Caterina choked on a sob and turned her face away from the door. “Sí, papá,” she replied thickly.

  Lorenzo entered and came over to the bed, sitting on the edge. He rubbed her back, comforting her as he had when she first came there and cried herself to sleep every night because she missed her father. “I’m sorry, mija,” he murmured. “I did not think Armand was a good man for you, but I am sorry for this unfortunate tragedy.” He stroked her hair. “Did you love him, mija?”

  Caterina trembled and cried softly into the pillow. “No, papá. He…he wasn’t good to me.” She closed her eyes, sobbing harder. “I’m not crying because of him, papá.”

  “Then why, mija?” he asked gently.

  She shook her head. “I can’t talk about it now, papá,” she whispered brokenly.

  “All right,” he murmured. “I understand.” He stood then leaned down and kissed her head. “When you’re ready, your papá will be here.”

  “Gracias, papá,” she said quietly, her voice shaking.

  The door closed a moment later and she broke down completely, trying desperately to convince herself that the stripper’s description of the man and Flynn’s scuffed knuckles were simply uncanny coincidences and nothing more.

  •

  Cruz spoke to his father then met Sanchez out on the rear veranda. “She told papá that she wasn’t crying because of Armand.” He took the chair next to Sanchez, his mind troubled. “But she wouldn’t say why.”

  “You saw the look on her face, didn’t you?” Sanchez murmured. “When you told her the stripper’s description of the man?”

  Cruz nodded. “Yeah,” he whispered. “She recognized the description immediately.”

  “Her new lover?”

  Cruz blew out a hard breath. “That’s what I’m thinking.”

  “If it is him, then he’s a danger to Caterina. She needs to stay here, at home, until he’s dealt with.”

  “Before we do anything,” Cruz said. “We have to know without a doubt that he’s the one who killed Armand. We need Cat to confirm the description-”

  “Hey.” Rodriguez walked out of the house and sat down at the patio table. “I heard Cat crying in her room. She really that upset over her breakup with Armand?”

  Rodriguez was younger than the two of them by a few years, but no novice to the gangster lifestyle.

  “It isn’t about that,” Cruz told him. “Armand is dead. We found him beaten and shot.”

  “What?” the younger man sat up straight in the chair. “Who killed him?”

  Cruz and Sanchez exchanged a look. “We don’t know yet.”

  Rodriguez frowned. “But you have an idea, don’t you?”

  “Maybe. Circumstantial for now.”

  “Who-”

  Cruz’s cell went off. He answered. It was Clint. “What’s going on, cowboy?” He listened as Clint relayed the situation. Cruz stood up and walked to the edge of the veranda. “Do you think he knows something?”

  “We’re going to find out,” the cowboy replied with a hard edge. “I want you and Sanchez here.”

  “We’re leaving now.” They said a quick goodbye and Cruz turned back to the table.

  “Clint?” Sanchez stood up. “What did he want?”

  Cruz stuffed his phone away. “He wants us there. Now.”

  Rodriguez rose from his chair. “Need any help?”

  “No,” Cruz said. “We can handle this. But I need you to get the boys gathered together by the time we get back. We’re going to have some things to discuss.”

  “Is there a problem?” the younger man asked.

  “Could be.”

  Rodriguez nodded. “I’ll grab Greco and Dominic, and we’ll round up the men.”

  Cruz nodded and Rodriguez left.

  “What’s going on with Clint?” Sanchez asked as they walked into the house.

  “They have one of Quinton Sanitini’s stragglers tucked away in the guest room,” he said. “They’re hoping he can shed some light on these rumors going around.”

  Sanchez frowned. “I thought they’d disposed of Quinton’s men?”

  “Apparently not all.”

  •

  Tae had hardly finished his cereal when Jules was excitedly tugging him away from the table. “Come see my room!”

  Callum just shrugged and grinned. “Just go with it. He’s a force to be reckoned with.”

  When they entered the boy’s room, a tan-colored puppy jumped up from where it had been sleeping on the bed and yapped happily at them then bounded onto the floor and mauled Jules.

  “Stop!” Jules squealed with laughter. “Cowboy!”

  Tae laughed softly.

  “Yuck.” Jules scrambled to his feet, rubbing his arm back and forth across his mouth. “He licked inside my mouth.”

  “Eww,” Tae chuckled.

  Jules was over it an instant later and proudly presented his puppy. “This is Cowboy. Like Clint.”

  “Cool,” Tae smiled and squatted down. The puppy scurried into his lap, knocking him on his butt. Jules giggled and dropped to his knees, ruffling Cowboy’s fur. “He sure likes to kiss, don’t he?” Tae wiped puppy slobber from his face.

  “Yep,” Jules grinned then
crawled to his feet and grabbed Tae’s hand. Tae stood and walked over to the bed with him. Jules pointed at a framed picture above his bed of a young man and a young woman depicted as angels. “That’s my mommy and daddy,” the boy told him. “I didn’t know my daddy, but Papa Jo and Daddy Tony said he was really nice and funny. My mommy died not very long ago.” The boy looked sad for a moment as he gazed at the photo.

  “I’m sorry,” Tae murmured. “You must really miss her.”

  Jules nodded and crawled onto the bed. Tae sat on the edge. “I do. Cochise really misses daddy. They were friends. But he says mommy and daddy are together in heaven and happy, and we still have each other here.”

  “That’s a nice thought,” Tae whispered. “Who’s Cochise?”

  “Clint’s friend. He’s a ‘gyptian.”

  Tae frowned, started to ask for clarification, then understood; he was speaking of the cowboy’s huge friend. It was hard to imagine him sitting and talking with a child about sentimental things. “Is Cochise…nice?”

  “Oh yeah,” Jules brightened. “He’s awesome.”

  “And Clint…is he nice?”

  “Clint’s cool!” Jules jumped to his feet on the bed and hopped up and down. “He’s a real cowboy. He gave me my boots and hat. Then Blade burned my boots and Clint beat him up and bought me some new ones.”

  Tae stared at him, blinking, confused.

  “Don’t ask him to explain.” Callum appeared in the doorway. He grinned and shook his head. “You’ll be here all day and all night.”

  Jules dropped to his knees and dragged the puppy up on the bed and wriggled around with him.

  “Adrian said that you mentioned going to an orphanage.” Callum entered the room and came over to the bed. He sat with a short space between him and Tae. “Were you in an orphanage in Korea?”

  Tae nodded.

  “What’s that?” Jules sat up, suddenly attentive and curious.

  “Orphanage?” Callum asked.

  “Yeah. What is it?”

  “It’s a place where they send kids who don’t have any family or place to live. Then other people can come along and adopt them, and give them a new family.”

  Jules smiled. “Neat.”

  Tae glanced at Callum but said nothing.

  “Not always,” Callum told the boy. “Sometimes kids aren’t treated very well in those places.”

  A frown pinched Jules little face. “Did they treat you bad?” he asked Tae.

  “Yeah,” Tae whispered. “I wasn’t in a good place.”

  “What happened to your family?”

  Tae shrugged. “I don’t know. I never knew them. I was sent to the orphanage when I was really little.”

  “How did you get to America?” Callum asked. “Were you adopted by an American family?”

  “Yeah.” Tae lowered his eyes. “I mean, not a family really. A man.” He looked uneasily at Jules, not wanting to say more in front of the child.

  Callum glanced at Jules. “Hey, buddy, you should probably take Cowboy outside to do his business. He’s been inside for a while.”

  “Okay.” Jules hopped off the bed. “Wanna come outside, Tae?”

  “We’ll be out in a minute,” Callum told him. “Go on, before he tinkles all over the carpet.”

  “Tinkles,” Jules giggled and ran out of the room, the puppy scurrying after him.

  Tae swallowed thickly and looked at Callum. “The man who adopted me…” he whispered. “He sold me to the owner of the Blue Grotto. Told him I was eighteen, and said I just looked younger because I was Asian, and all Asians look smaller than Americans.”

  “How old were you for real?”

  “Fifteen.”

  “Fifteen?” Callum stared at him, quiet horror in his eyes. “How old are you now?”

  “Sixteen.”

  A sick look crept over Callum’s face. “You’ve been in that place for a year?”

  Tae nodded. “It was a nightmare,” he whispered with a tremor. “My whole life was a nightmare, but this was worse than anything else I’d ever experienced. The men in that place, they…they basically rape the boys who work there. You just have to…to pretend you like it, because they’ll hurt you more if they think you don’t like it. They really like the boys who resist and…and cry.”

  “What the fuck…” Callum breathed, disgusted. “What a bunch of sick fucks.” He hesitated then touched Tae’s shoulder. “I’m really glad Clint got you out of there. Your life’s gonna get so much better. Believe me, I know. I had a pretty shitty setup before I came here, though nothing compared to you.”

  “Hell is hell,” Tae murmured. “There’s just different levels, but it’s all still hell.”

  “Yeah. True.” Callum stood up. “But all that’s over now. You’re with good people who will love you and protect you.” He smiled. “We better head outside before Jules comes looking for us.”

  Tae rose from the bed. “He’s funny.”

  Callum laughed. “He’s exhausting.”

  •

  Flynn had sent Riccardo away, empty-handed. Where he may have needed their help before, it was no longer necessary. His dad was a narcissistic bastard and had visions of grandeur of building a crime empire and running the underground world within the entire city.

  Flynn’s vision was a bit smaller; take out Cruz Santiago and the cowboy. The rest? He didn’t give a fuck about unless they tried to come after him. His father was right about one thing; they were dangerous people. And they were tight-knit. Killing Cruz and the cowboy could, in itself, start a war. But his father was looking for a war anyway. Flynn didn’t mind being the fuse that set off the bomb. As soon as his part was done, he would vacate the city and disappear into the world. Let the three families kill each other for all he cared.

  And what about Caterina? She’ll be caught in the middle of the chaos…maybe end up a casualty of war.

  He couldn’t concern himself with that. As soon as he’d learned who she was, he’d known there could be nothing more than a few nights of fucking between them. He didn’t like having to deceive her to get close to her family, but it was just the way things were. The way they had to be. He didn’t fucking like that part of it and would regret the pain he caused her. But he owed it to his mom to avenge her death.

  And to his uncle who had been cut down in cold blood by the very cowboy who had prevented Flynn from taking vengeance when he was thirteen.

  Honestly, Flynn wasn’t sure how he was going to get to the cowboy without getting himself sliced and diced. He knew the man’s reputation and it was a fucking scary one. But it was also his understanding that Cruz Santiago and the cowboy were tight. If he used Cruz as bait…maybe he could lure the cowboy into a trap. And Flynn wasn’t stupid enough to play with the man before he killed him—as his father would likely do in his place. The quicker a dangerous animal was put down; the more likely one was to escape with their life. He’d heard stories of those who had tried playing with the cowboy. It had been the last mistake of their lives.

  Flynn would be smarter. The two families were surely hearing the rumors about his father’s plans. They would be distracted by the bigger threat…and blind to the smaller ones. This would work to Flynn’s advantage.

  Flynn returned to the bedroom. The bed remained messed—blankets and sheet twisted up from his and Caterina’s insatiable, wild fucking. He would have a few more nights with her before she came to the realization that she was fucking the enemy. Then it would be over.

  He stared at the bed and a disturbing ache knotted his heart. He was honest enough to admit that he didn’t want it to end. There would never be another woman like Caterina. He understood this with a certainty that twisted up his gut with unpleasant emotions.

  Under other circumstances…could she have been the one? Was there any such thing? Or was that just some fairytale notion that pathetic, desperate romantics bought into?

  You were about ready to pull out your wallet and buy your fair share of it yourself, were
n’t you, pal?

  Flynn released a heavy breath. Phantom images of him and Caterina played out before him on the bed. His groin heated up at the instant replay. His cock throbbed and stretched the crotch of his pants.

  “Forgive me, Caterina,” he whispered. “We could’ve maybe had something real good.”

  He flinched when his cell warbled. A text from Caterina: I need to see you. Now. It’s important. Can I come over?

  An irrational fear burrowed into his gut, yet it had no credence; there was no way Caterina could know anything about his plans. He messaged her back and told her he would be waiting for her at his apartment, then tucked away the phone.

  What was so important that she had to see him right now?

  CHAPTER 20

  “True or False”

  ______________________________________________

  The steel chair was bolted to the floor near the corner of the room and Carter chained to it, gagged and silent. His wide, bloodshot eyes followed the cowboy and the Egyptian as they moved around, ignoring him. The Egyptian—Cochise the cowboy has always called him—picked up a metal bucket that looked like a milking pail and brought it over, sliding it under Carter’s chair. The bucket was empty at the moment, but Carter feared it wouldn’t remain that way. Was it there to catch his guts? Would they castrate him? Carter wasn’t ignorant of their devices; he’d lived in the same house with them less than a year ago. He was aware of the trail of carnage in their past.

  By the wall, adjacent to the door, a 55-gallon drum housed burning hot coals.

  Would they burn him? Scald his flesh until he told them what they wanted to know? Nothing he could imagine was too vicious or brutal for these men.

  The cowboy approached and yanked off Carter’s gag. “While we’re waiting for my boys,” he drawled, “let me tell you how this is going to play out. The rules are simple; I ask you a question and you answer with the truth. If I’m not convinced it’s the truth—I cause you pain until you give me something I believe. You with me so far?”

  Carter nodded.