Another hard slam against the door, and I wondered how long it would hold against a full-grown man hitting it like that. When the next hit came I slid to the floor and screamed, “STOP!”
“Just open the door.”
“FUCK OFF!” I shouted, and listened as Diego attacked the door, making it shake in the frame, jarring the series of locks that made me grateful for whatever drove Andre’s paranoia against these other monsters.
“I know that maricón Andre didn’t really fuck you downstairs, but I can. I’ll fuck you until you’re screaming my name.” The door rattled, shaking violently against the frame. “Come on, I’ll even let you go when I’m done with you.”
“I belong to Andre, asshole!” The words came from my panic, and I hated them even as I held them up like a shield.
“He didn’t fuck you, puta. We both know he didn’t.”
“Yes, you motherfucker! He fucked me! In the basement and in here, and he’ll fucking kill you if you touch me!” I was shaking, back to the wall, head against the window sill, and that felt true. Whether or not he’d do the same with Paulo, I couldn’t say, but I’d seen the way he’d reacted to Diego touching me — and that he wouldn’t allow. He’d kill him, and for once I didn’t even flinch at the idea. I’d watch him destroy Diego with a fucking smile on my face.
There was no answer. No more slams of a heavy, male body against the door, and I held my breath trying to listen for noises outside the door.
Nothing.
Eventually I slumped, the tension in my chest caving in until I felt the pain of it, and I felt the tears on my cheeks before I realized I was crying. Brushing at my face I heard the first, pathetic croak of a sob and I had the urge the burn the fucking house down around me. I didn’t want to be the girl crying in a room. I didn’t want to be trapped. I didn’t want to be afraid.
I didn’t want to be here.
The memory of Christopher connected to all of those tubes, the sight of his body wrapped in gauze, the swollen shape of his face that I knew well enough to know it was seriously wrong — it appeared behind my eyes and I still wanted to help him as another sob choked past my tightened throat. I wondered if some other goon of Paulo’s was sneaking into the hospital to end him. To erase the only connection that anyone could use to find me. To kill my little brother that I’d spent my entire life trying to help, to support, to fix.
My friends had probably called my cell phone when I hadn’t shown up at the bar for work last night. But how many times would they call? How many times would they swing by my apartment and knock? Would anyone even call the cops?
For the first time in years I wished my parents were still around. They’d never had much, never had enough, but they had still been parents. There had been birthday parties, and Thanksgiving, and Christmas, and someone to give a shit if I fell off the face of the earth. But would anyone do that now?
I shook my head, trying not to run through my friends in my head and gauge their willingness to look for me. I needed a distraction. Something to keep my mind off this nightmare.
Standing up I went for his desk chair, pulling it out and opening the laptop as I sat down. I tapped the spacebar and it woke up to a locked screen. Of course it had a password. This guy had six different locks on his bedroom door, why had I even thought his laptop would be unlocked?
Fucking stupid.
Swiveling back and forth I snagged the first book on the short stack of well-worn paperbacks. It was thick, a book called ‘Last of the Breed’ by Louis L’Amour. A western of some kind. Setting it aside I went for the next. ‘Brave New World’ by Aldous Huxley, which felt familiar, but I laid it atop the first. Then there were two by James Patterson, macho-guy action books, and finally Harry Potter and the Sorceror’s Stone. Just seeing it on his desk made me smile, a slightly hysterical laugh creeping up my throat until it came out in a series of huffs. Andre the tattooed badass liked to read Harry Potter?
So weird.
But if he could escape into Hogwarts and a world of magic, then so could I. At least it would distract me from the real monsters roaming the house.
* * *
Andre
José was driving, and Paulo had tilted his head towards the back of the SUV for me to sit with him in the black-on-black Land Rover with custom bulletproof glass. There was no seeing into the windows in the back, and even the front windows were probably tinted darker than legal. It was a luxury fortress on twenty-two inch wheels.
As we pulled out onto the road, Paulo shifted in his seat to face me. “Do you have something for me, cuadro?”
I nodded, lifting my hips from the seat to grab the wad of cash from my front pocket. “Of course, jefe.”
Paulo took it from me, flicking through it for a second before he tucked it into a bag between the seats. “Gracias, Andre. I do hope you feel she’s worth the expense?”
“So far,” I answered before muttering under my breath, “Mouthy little puta, though.”
A low chuckle left him, but there was no humor in it. “You surprise me, cuadro. This Nicole Harris caught your eye quickly. She will not be a distraction, will she?”
“No, jefe. I don’t get distracted.” Something felt off, but I couldn’t pinpoint it. Paulo liked to take me out on meets, but normally Diego or Marco were in the car as well. The temptation to ask a question plucked inside me, but I pushed it away. Asking questions never got me anywhere, it would be up to Paulo if he shared or not.
“I am glad. Some new opportunities have come to light, and I will need all of you at your best. I have also called in a few others.” The man was glancing out the window, watching as we moved onto the highway and the engine purred.
“Who have you called in?” That was something I could ask.
“Luis, Samuel, and Nicolás.” He waved his hand. “It is just a precaution.”
“Good men.” My stomach tightened with the knowledge that they would be in the house. Luis was loyal, handled a lot of the border work, but it was Samuel and Nicolás that would be the concern. A pair of brothers that were ruthless to the core.
“Yes, they are.” His cold smile spread across his face as he turned to look at me again. “Do not worry, cuadro, I have brought my best men with me today.”
“Gracias, jefe.” I nodded at the compliment and settled back in the seat, noticing José’s eyes on me in the rearview mirror before he returned them to the road.
The uneasy feeling wasn’t fading, and I couldn’t figure out what it was. Some instinct, some sixth sense warning me of danger — I just couldn’t tell if it was for me, or Nicky.
* * *
Almost an hour later we pulled up outside a nightclub, but José wove the large SUV into an alley that ran behind the building. I leaned forward, hand gripping the leather of the passenger seat, and shook my head as I saw the alley bend ahead. “This isn’t good, jefe. Do we know if there’s an exit to this, or is it a dead-end?”
“There’s an exit on the other side. Trash pick-up for the buildings.” José grinned, turning the car off as he faced me. “You look nervous.”
“I don’t want jefe trapped if the meeting goes to shit.” And I don’t want to be trapped either, asshole.
“We will be good,” Paulo answered with that cold smile. “Come, we do not want to be late.”
José climbed out on his side, opening Paulo’s door as I stepped out and shut my door, feeling for the zipper on my jacket to ensure I could react if need be. “Guns out?” I asked Paulo as we moved toward the backdoor of the club.
“No. Just be ready if they do not like my terms.”
With a nod, I watched as José unzipped his jacket, then pounded a fist on the door. I opened my jacket as well, but tucked my hands into the pockets to keep it closed over the guns. A moment later the door opened, and we moved inside.
The interior of the club was quiet, but I could hear men talking as we walked through the back halls and onto the main floor. The lights were all on, and a group of five men sat
around in chairs, looking at us as we arrived. Fuck. With the sixth man that had brought us from the back, we were completely outnumbered. Two to one. Not good odds.
“Carlos, I am glad you found time to meet with me.” Paulo walked forward, wearing those light linen pants he loved, and an off-white button down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. If he’d been in sandals, he’d look like he’d just walked off the beach. Every other man was dressed in darker clothes, and at least three of the men were carrying, one of them cocky enough to have the gun tucked into the front of his pants. Idiota. The man in the center stood and nodded, moving forward to shake Paulo’s hand.
“Of course. I am always happy to meet with a business associate such as yourself,” Carlos answered in a neutral tone. He snuck a glance over his shoulder to check on his men. Nervous.
Paulo didn’t even tense up as he spread his arms. “What do you say we start with a drink? I hear such good things about your club from my men.”
“Si, that sounds good.” Snapping his fingers, Carlos gestured at one of his men. “Manuel, get us some tequila and glasses for everyone. Top shelf.”
The asshole with the gun in the front of his pants stood, showing off a gold grill on his front teeth as he smirked. “Sure thing, boss.”
“You said you wanted to meet in person. May I ask why?” Carlos settled into a chair.
Paulo took the seat across from him, rapping his knuckles on the table. “I had some things to discuss that I do not like to discuss over the phone.”
He continued to tap his knuckles on the table. Slowly. Thump… thump… thump.
“Is— is there a problem?” The club owner asked, and the slight waver in his voice betrayed the answer. He knew why Paulo was here, which meant someone was going to die.
I glanced over at José, and the man inclined his chin just enough to confirm that I was right. The man may be a bastard, but I knew he’d have my back if, or when, shit went south. He’d done it before, and the pussy back at the house didn’t factor into situations like this.
Paulo laughed softly as Manuel returned with a bottle of tequila under his arm, and four glasses in each hand, his fingers stuck inside them to hold on. “Gracias,” Paulo said as the man set it all down, but Paulo took the tequila before he could pour.
Manuel stepped back behind his boss, watching as Paulo poured an inch or more of the amber liquid into each of the glasses. I hadn’t had a drink all day, and so when Paulo tilted his head for us to come over, I readily snagged one from the table, using the opportunity to take a position behind Paulo, leaning against the rail overlooking the empty dancefloor.
We were one glass short, and another man had walked over to the bar to get a glass for himself, which Paulo filled like the perfect fucking host — even though he wasn’t the host, and definitely wasn’t generous. When he was nice like this, it was dangerous.
He leaned back in his seat, taking a sip of the tequila, and as if Paulo’s movements had given everyone permission we all followed suit. “Ah, this is good Carlos. Muy bueno. Gracias.”
“De nada, Paulo. I am grateful for our partnership, my club is doing very well.” The man’s thumb was running over the rim of the glass, back and forth, a subconscious nervous tick he probably wasn’t even aware of. But if I had noticed it, so had Paulo.
“Yes, I am also grateful. We do good business here, and your men have served our mutual interests well for years.” Paulo tilted his head, still relaxed against the back of his chair. “Which is why I wanted to have this conversation in person.”
“And… what conversation is this?” Carlos asked.
Paulo took another drink. “One I wish I did not have to have with you, Carlos, but… the numbers simply do not add up.”
“Numbers?”
“Si. You know that I pay attention to the movement of my product, to the debts owed to me.” As he spoke, Paulo glanced back at me, and I felt a cold pit form in my stomach. “Unfortunately, your club has shown some… discrepancies.”
“I’m sure there has been some kind of mistake, Paulo. I would never—”
“Never steal from me?” Paulo asked, and everyone in the room tensed except for him. His voice was still soft, unerringly calm.
“Steal? No, Paulo. No, no, no.” Carlos shook his head, sitting up in his chair. “We accept the product from you, we sell it on the premises, and we pay you. On time. Every dime, every month.”
“This was true, until six months ago.” Lifting his glass, Paulo took another sip, finishing the tequila so he could reach for more. Refilling his own, he added more to Carlos’ even though the man still had plenty. With a smile on his face, he turned and offered it to me. I took the bottle, poured, and passed it along. Paulo laughed low. “I did not want to damage our business relationship, and so I waited to see if it was a, let’s say, accidental error.”
“I’m sure—”
Paulo raised his hand to cut Carlos off. “Unfortunately, while the errors were small at first, last month they were more substantial. I’m sure you understand that a ten-thousand-dollar mistake is one I cannot afford to ignore. If I let your operation get away with something like that,”—he shrugged—“what would the rest of my business partners think?”
“Paulo—”
The sharp snap of his hand slamming flat onto the table cut Carlos off once again. “They might think I was weak. They might think that they could take advantage of me as well, take advantage of the business relationship we have cultivated. I’m sure you understand why that is something I simply cannot allow.”
“I swear to you, Paulo. I will look into this, I will identify who has betrayed your trust, my trust. It will be dealt with.” Carlos leaned forward on the table, nodding as he continued. “They will die, patrón.”
“There is no need to look into it. I already know who among your men has been selling my product on the side for his own profit.” Paulo snapped his fingers, and José drew his gun, which caused me and each of Carlos’ men to do the same.
“Wait, wait, por favor.” Carlos lifted his hands, gesturing to his men, and for the moment every gun was aimed at the floor — but that didn’t mean a thing. Anyone with experience could lift and fire in a breath.
“José, if you will?” Paulo spoke steadily, still so calm, so steady, and José walked around the table to grab one of Carlos’ men by the collar, pressing his gun against the base of his skull as he jerked him away from the group to stand beside the table. The others twitched, but no one intervened.
“Fuck you, this is bullshit. I haven’t done anything.” The man’s eyes were wide, his hands raised to his shoulders, gun loose in his hand. José reached over and disarmed him, setting the gun on the table in front of Paulo.
The weight of the weapon in my hands was a comfort, but Paulo was still too exposed. Facing four men with guns. Carlos seemed panicked, and he shook his head. “Por favor, patrón, Francisco would not do this. He is loyal to me. I knew his father.”
“Francisco?” Paulo asked, tapping his glass against the table in a patient rhythm. “Do you have something to say?”
“Yeah, I didn’t do shit. I wouldn’t steal from Carlos or the club. I’m no traitor.” Francisco’s chin was lifted, bold and full of machismo.
“Por favor, let me speak with him, find out what has happened. I know we can make this right.” Carlos was begging, but I already knew that there was nothing that would satisfy Paulo except for blood.
“You want to hear it from his lips? Okay.” Paulo snapped his fingers again. “Andre, talk to the man.”
Cold poured through my veins, a dark, chilling ichor that tainted me from the inside out. I put my gun back in the holster and pulled my jacket off. No need to hide the weapons now. Clenching my fists, I felt my knuckles pop just before I tilted my neck and felt the vertebrae do the same.
Francisco looked me over and raised his hands. “Hey, hey, this wasn’t me!”
I shut him up with a hard right hook, and he almost stumbled, but
José had him. Gun hand in the man’s short hair, the other fisting the back of his button-down shirt. Without waiting, I landed a left hook as soon as he was upright. Francisco spit out blood, cursing through the pain.
“Carlos! This wasn’t me!” He continued to plead his case, as I brought my fist into his stomach, and José let the man fold over before ripping him back up by his hold on the shirt. There was a retching, groaning noise, and I silently hoped he wouldn’t hurl all over my shoes.
“Paulo, I can handle this internally.”
“You should have been watching the numbers, Carlos. It should have been handled five months ago.” The cold voice behind me held no mercy, and I waited for his command as Francisco breathed hard, spitting again. “But, since I had to come out here to handle it myself, my men will make sure it is done right.”
“I didn’t do shit!” Francisco shouted as he wavered back upright, sniffing hard as he stared past me to glare at Paulo.
“Find the man a chair, José.” Paulo commanded, and José leaned back to drag a chair over and force Francisco into it. “Help him be comfortable.”
“Yes, jefe,” José answered with a dangerous grin, and he pulled out a pair of handcuffs from his jacket pocket, bending Francisco forward enough to drag his hands behind his back. The man struggled, shouting and cursing about his innocence, but I brought my fist back and hit him again so that José could get his wrists cuffed behind his back. The hit was a dull ache across my knuckles, but I barely felt it as I went cold, let the darkness swallow me whole.
“Ready to confess?” Paulo asked, casually sipping his tequila as I watched him, looking for his direction.
“Fuck you!” Francisco shouted, but I didn’t move.
“Andre, if you will.”
“Yes, jefe.” Turning, I waited for José to get a grip on the man’s shoulder, his gun hand back in Francisco’s hair to lift his head upright. Then I hit him, feeling the impact of his cheekbone in my fist and the ache continued to fade as I focused. Another hit to the stomach, then the other side of his face, this time across the jaw.
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