Soccer Mom (Killer Moms Book 1)

by Eve Langlais

  Wait a second. Where the fuck was Carla?

  Chapter Twenty

  Good thing Carla wore running shoes because Pedro moved quickly once he realized he’d lost the upper hand. The coward bolted in the opposite direction of his buddies, leaving them to their fate.

  Carla wasn’t about to let him run free again. She took off after him, grimacing at the ache in her ribs. Could be there were a few that had cracked when that lumbering idiot crashed into her—which she blamed on Philip for distracting her.

  The fucker actually used his gun. Carla might have gaped at Philip a moment too long as she got to see the true soldier at work.

  Pedro made her pay for gawking. She hit the ground and lost her weapon, the jolt opening her fingers and sending it flying.

  Shit.

  Bad, but she wasn’t completely defenseless. As with most men, Pedro relied on his size to intimidate. However, her training with KM took that into account, and she didn’t think herself too good to play dirty.

  Pedro might smother her with his weight, but she was wiggly and tricky. She went for his eyes and ended up scratching his face. Her knee managed to wedge between them and press against his balls. But it was the headbutt into his nose that made him yelp and roll off her, cursing. “Fucking puta.”

  She didn’t use the freedom to run. She reached for her gun and rose with it. “Yeah, I’m a bitch, asshole. You should have stayed away because now I’m gonna kill you, just like I killed your brother.”

  “Do it.” Pedro held out his arms.

  As if she would be that stupid. Killing Pedro in front of witnesses, especially since he made it look like he was giving up. Nope.

  Instead, she moved away from him, passing by one of his thugs groaning on the field. The guy on the ground reached for her, so she kicked his hand and cast a smirk over her shoulder. “What’s wrong? Ass too fat to catch a girl?”

  “I am going to kill you with my bare hands,” Pedro growled, lunging at her.

  “I’d like to see you try.” She darted away from him, then pretended to stumble. Then limp.

  Let him think her weak and wounded. She pretended to limp away, moving for the dark recess across the street, past a few vehicles parked on the road.

  In the distance, she could hear the wail of sirens. She didn’t have much time. She slipped into the alley, hearing Pedro’s heavy steps and labored breathing behind her.

  Smoker lungs. It always gave them away.

  She hid in the shadows, melded with them, and held her gun ready.

  Pedro entered the alley, confident that he had her cornered. After all, it was a dead end. Only about eight feet across, not big enough for much but the dumpster at the very back, the rank smell enough to make Carla glad she hadn’t eaten anything recently.

  Pedro advanced on her, his gold tooth gleaming despite the sparse lighting. These warehouses had no windows facing the alley. No one to witness what she was about to do.

  She held up the gun. “That’s far enough. I’d rather not have your brains splatter my sweatshirt.” It was a favorite.

  “Your boyfriend’s not here to save you, puta.”

  She snorted. “I don’t need anyone to save me.” She’d learned how to save herself a long time ago.

  “You don’t have the balls to fire.”

  “Don’t need balls, just good aim.” Carla’s finger was on the trigger when she heard Philip say, “Put your hands on your head and get on your knees.”

  Seriously?

  She barked, “I’ve got this, Moore. Just walk away.”

  “I can’t let you kill him, Carla.”

  “He deserves it.”

  “I don’t disagree, but you don’t understand how killing a person can fuck you up. Trust me on this.”

  “You killed some people, hombre?” Pedro laughed as he turned. “A pussy gringo like you? Maybe I’ll make you watch as I show your woman what a real man feels like—”

  Bang.

  Pedro didn’t finish the sentence. Probably on account of the hole in his head. The man wavered on his feet for a moment and then toppled.

  Her gun hadn’t fired the killing shot.

  She looked in disbelief at Philip. “I thought you didn’t want me to kill him.”

  “I didn’t. Which is why I handled it.”

  Sexy. So very sexy. “You’re a killer.”

  He winced. “Yes, I guess you could say that but—”

  “You don’t have to explain or apologize.” Carla stepped around the corpse and wrapped her arms around Philip. “I didn’t mean that as a bad thing. I’m a killer, too.”

  “Carla—”

  “No, really.” She aimed her gun behind her and shot the corpse. “See. No problem at all.”

  His brow creased. “Wait a second, you mean all that joking around—”

  “About being an assassin working on contract? Wasn’t a joke.” She grinned and shrugged. “Surprise.”

  A wry smile tugged his lips. “So, if I said I do vigilante jobs on the side, you wouldn’t be offended?”

  “More like turned on. Do you really kill bad dudes just for fun?”

  His turn to look coy. “Just making the world a better place.”

  At the statement, she snorted. “Whatever turns your crank. I mostly do it for money. Or family. Or if they piss me off.”

  “So, in other words, stay on your good side.”

  “Smart soldier.” She patted his cheek and yanked out her phone. She hit what at first appeared to be a game app—an alligator running around a sewer—but changed when she entered a numeric code.

  “We should call for help,” Philip stated.

  “Help with what? He’s dead. We need to get rid of the body before anyone sees it.”

  “We could always tell the cops it was self-defense.”

  She snorted. “And deal with the paperwork. Fuck that. I’ve got a better plan.” Giving the phone one last look, she tucked it into a pocket. “Give me a hand. It’s our lucky day.” She moved to the dumpster at the far end of the dead-end alley. Philip didn’t immediately follow, so she shoved at it alone. The damned trash container barely budged an inch.

  “What are you doing?” Philip asked.

  “Help me, and you’ll see.”

  With the pair of them pushing and pulling, the dumpster moved, revealing a grate underneath. Carla knelt. “Help me pull it up.”

  “It will be bolted.”

  “What kind of Special Ops guy are you? Don’t even have a multi-tool?”

  “I’m a sniper. I shoot things.”

  “Then shoot.”

  “It will be loud.”

  “Which is why you’ll wait for the whistle.”

  Before he could ask what whistle, the rumble of the approaching train filled the air and vibrated the alley. The wail of the whistle covered the blasts from his gun as Philip took out the bolts.

  They had the grate moved, leaving an opening big enough to heave a body into, before the train finished passing. Philip insisted on dragging Pedro to the edge and shoving the body. It fell down the sewer hole and hit with a splash.

  Philip looked at her, then the hole. “How did you know this was here?”

  “I didn’t. But I figured there was one nearby. City’s got these storm sewers running all over, and I had them loaded into an app on my phone in case of emergency.” Because an assassin never knew when she’d need a hole to bolt in or a good place to dump a body. “By the time Pedro is found, he’ll be an unrecognizable mess.”

  “The blood in the alley…” He waved a hand at the spatter on the ground.

  “Will be eliminated as soon as Meredith shows up with the bleach.” She fired off a text as she spoke.

  “You thought of everything. Will his death mean you and Nico are safe?”

  She shrugged. “It was personal for Pedro. I doubt his friends will feel the same way.” But just in case, she might have to move. Too many people knew about her house and identity.

  Rather than sa
unter from the alley, she pulled a pin out of her key fob. She picked the lock of a door and led them into a storage room full of file folder boxes and office supplies.

  “Where are we?”

  “Mortgage broker office. Closed on Sundays. We can hang out for a bit while the heat dies down outside.”

  “Could take hours,” he remarked.

  “Only if Meredith or you killed any of them on the field.”

  “Nah, I made sure they were breathing, and they took off when they heard the cops.”

  “All of them?” she queried.

  “As far as I know.”

  “Good, that means the cops will take some witness statements and then be on their way.”

  “They’ll still want to talk to both of us.”

  “Probably.” She shrugged. “They have to find us first. I plan to be long gone by tomorrow.”

  “You’re leaving town? Going where?”

  “Well that kind of depends on you,” she boldly stated.

  “Have you changed your mind about Pasadena?”

  Her nose wrinkled. “No. But I might be persuaded to move nearby.”

  “What about Nico?”

  “Nico will handle it. He won’t have a choice. It’s for his own safety.” In the close confines of the storage closet, she tweaked his chin. “Play your cards right, soldier, and you’ll get the same protection.”

  “I don’t need you to protect me. I think you saw I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

  “You are, which is nice. I’d hate to have to work, cook, clean, put out, and shoot the bad guys all on my own.”

  He snorted. “I must be dreaming. Because we are not having this conversation.”

  She grabbed him by the neck to haul him down for a kiss. A big kiss with tongue and heat. “Does that feel like a dream to you?” was her husky query.

  Her phone buzzed.

  “Must be Tanya. She was supposed to check in once she got Nico to safety.”

  “Hey, chica—” Carla felt the blood in her face drain as Tanya relayed in a gush of words what had happened. It was bad. “I’m coming right away. I’m in the money shark shop by the closed fish place.” She hung up and moved from Philip back to the alley door. “We have to go.

  “What happened?”

  “It’s Nico. He’s missing.”

  “How is that possible? I saw him with Tanya before the fight started. She got him away from here.”

  But Carla wasn’t listening. Couldn’t with the panicked reminder of Tanya crying on the phone, “Someone took him, Carla. I’m so sorry.”

  Some asshole took her baby.

  Uncaring if the cops were close by, Carla ran for the entrance of the alley and emerged in time to see the Mercedes screech to a halt.

  “Get in,” Meredith shouted through the window. Given Tanya was in the front, tissue held to her head—a fabric one because Merry was an old-fashioned kind of lady who had everything in her purse—Carla dove in the back, Philip beside her.

  The car sped off. “What happened?” Philip asked while Carla took in details.

  The blood and the blossoming bruise on Tanya’s temple. The devastation on her face. The lack of Carla’s son by her side.

  “Where’s Nico?”

  Tanya’s face crumpled. “I don’t know. I was almost to the car with him when this guy came out of nowhere.”

  “Pedro’s gang.” Carla’s lip curled.

  Tanya shook her head and winced. “No. This guy was in a suit. Said he was under orders to take Nico to safety.”

  “Orders? Whose orders?”

  “He didn’t say. I told the jerk he couldn’t have him.”

  “And he hit you?”

  “Not exactly. I hit him first. I wasn’t letting him touch Nico. So, I took him down and was about to slap the truth out of him when someone whacked me.”

  “He had an accomplice.” Said grimly.

  “I must have passed out. When I woke up, Nico was gone. I’m so sorry,” Tanya sobbed.

  Sorry? It wasn’t Tanya’s fault. Carla’s blood ran cold, then hot.

  Someone stole her son. My precious. My baby.

  For that, they would die.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The moment Philip heard Tanya’s story, a sinking sensation assailed him. He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed.

  No answer.

  He dialed again.

  It went to voicemail. He fired off a text.

  Philip: Where is the boy?

  Oliveira: Safe.

  The confirmation from his boss both relieved and enraged Philip. He spat, “Nico’s safe.”

  Carla whirled. “How do you know?”

  Philip held up his phone, and she growled. Not the sexy growling sound she made in bed, but the rage of a mama bear unleashed.

  “I will rip off his cojones with my bare hands and feed them to him. I will pull out his fingernails one by one, then stake him in a desert for the sun to bake him.”

  As Carla went on a litany of painful things, Philip texted his boss again.

  Philip: Bring him back.

  Oliveira: Too late. He’s on a plane to me. Bring his mother. I can explain.

  Leave it to Oliveira to have a private plane on standby.

  Explain now, Philip texted.

  No reply.

  “I am going to kill that motherfucker,” Carla yelled.

  “Uh-oh,” Meredith muttered.

  “What is it?” Philip asked.

  “Cops up ahead. They’ve got the road blocked.”

  “Shit.” Philip grabbed the door handle.

  “Where are you going?” asked Carla.

  “I’ll meet you at your house as soon as I can.”

  “Why leave? We can hide the guns.” She popped hers into a compartment that blended seamlessly into the back of the driver side seat.

  “No way am I getting through that roadblock,” Philip said with a shake of his head. “They’re gonna want me for questioning. I shot a guy.”

  “We got rid of Pedro’s body.”

  “Not Pedro, the one before that. In the leg. In front of tons of witnesses.

  “Oh, yeah. Think they know about it?”

  “If they do, then they’ll take all of us in for questioning. I doubt you want to wait that long. Wait for me at the house.” He slipped out of the car. “I’ll take a roundabout route back to you.”

  “I can’t promise that.”

  “Carla.” Philip added a warning tone to her spoken name. “Wait for me.”

  “I can’t. I’m going.”

  He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Promise me one thing, don’t kill him.”

  “I ain’t making that promise. The man took my son. There have to be consequences.”

  Since he couldn’t reason with Carla, Philip went after Meredith. “Don’t let her go,” he snapped. “Oliveira isn’t a thug like Pedro. He’s got guards. Well-trained ones. They’re not going to let her waltz in and kill their boss.”

  “Don’t worry about me, soldier. They’ll never see me coming.”

  Before he could argue some more, Meredith hit the gas, and it was either try and run alongside or watch them leave.

  They spent a few minutes at the roadblock. Then passed through. He, on the other hand, didn’t.

  “Hands on your head.”

  Lucky for him, the cops didn’t shoot. But the questioning took hours.

  By the time he made it back to Carla’s house, she was long gone, and his boss still wasn’t answering his phone.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  It took hours of hard driving. Tanya switched in and out with Meredith so Carla could nap. Not that she managed much.

  At least her friends understood her need for speed. A few days before, it had taken almost eight hours with Philip at the wheel. This time, just over six with speed and a lack of cops doing radar on their side.

  Carla’s anxiety was through the roof. She blamed herself.

  Why didn’t I p
rotect Nico?

  She’d let her desire to eliminate a threat leave her son vulnerable. She should have been by his side. How scared he must be. Was he hurt? Frightened?

  As for Oliveira, what game did he play? Did he really think he could kidnap her son with impunity? Even he wasn’t above the law.

  If she chose to bring the law in to play.

  She didn’t. Oliveira had made this personal.

  Arriving at the rich man’s estate, Carla was tempted to march up to his gate and demand that he hand Nico over. However, KM hadn’t trained an idiot.

  Tanya was doing her thing and trying to get as much information about the layout and security as possible, while Meredith went for a late-evening jog, the rich bitch kind with designer clothes, perfect hair, and makeup that would withstand sweat. She would observe the gates into the place and then park her ass on the far side of the estate. Ready to infiltrate.

  When Carla’s phone rang—the tune Guns N’ Roses’, “Sweet Child o’ Mine”—she knew she couldn’t ignore it.

  Carla answered the phone as she sat parked a street over from the estate. “Hello, Mother.”

  “Don’t do it,” said her handler, sounding frazzled.

  “Do what? Kill the asshole who stole Nico?”

  “That wasn’t his fault. The men he sent to watch over you overstepped their bounds.”

  “He sent men to watch me?” The words were spoken flatly. “And you knew.”

  “Much has happened in the last twenty-four hours. There are things you don’t know.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I can’t. It’s not my place. Go in and talk to Oliveira.”

  “Whose side are you on? Do you really expect me to hand myself over, so Oliveira can make me disappear? He has my son.”

  “I know. But it’s not what you think.” Mother sighed. “Please, just trust me. Go and talk to him.”

  “Why should I listen to anything that man says?”

  “Because I said so.” An order from the boss, which only an idiot would ignore.

  “I’m bringing my gun.”

  “Bring it. Just don’t use it until he’s said his piece.”

  “Maybe. I am making no promises.” Carla hung up. “Did you find a weak spot in his security?” she asked Tanya.