Zero Escape

by Kendall Talbot

  He’d heard of the Hershey factory—not so much about the history of it, but because Mr. Hershey had built the one and only electric train service in Cuba. Apparently, it was a tourist attraction. Although why anyone would want to take a jarring, sweaty ride along tracks covered in weeds and grazing cows was beyond him. Fortunately for Marshall, those tracks were going to lead him directly to Diego’s hideout and, hopefully, Charlene.

  The good news was that Marshall had an easy route to follow. The bad news was it was going to be a damn rough forty miles to get there, as long as the damn motorbike didn’t shatter into a million pieces in the meantime.

  Marshall headed straight for the rail intersection near Casablanca that he’d driven over a dozen times. From there, he manhandled the motorcycle along the roads that ran parallel to the rail track. When the roads ran out, he shot along the track itself.

  Darkness swooped in with a vengeance, and the bike’s only headlamp was about as useful as a candle. Dodging from the potholed road to the decrepit train track was just as dangerous as the track itself. In the end, he opted to stay on the tracks. Most of the sleepers had worn down in the past century, but the shit between the ancient wooden slabs was both dangerous and unpredictable. Every bone in his body rattled with the shuddering ride, and his arms and fingers ached like hell. He had to clamp his jaw to stop his teeth from jamming together when he hit something he couldn’t see.

  It’d be a damn miracle if the sidecar was still attached by the time he got there.

  The last gasp of Havana’s eclectic residences ended abruptly, making the blackness around him as thick as molasses and the endless miles of nothing a new kind of hell. But Marshall was a man on a mission. He’d been on bone-jarring treks before. The ones in Iraq were the worst . . . fucking sweltering desert sand, pockmarked with rubble and land mines, all the while being shot at by men who’d had guns shoved into their hands when they were kids. He had to tell himself that this was child’s play compared to that.

  He hadn’t seen a single human for a half hour or so, but that was to be expected. Outside the bustle of Cuba’s major cities, people spent their nights indoors with their families. There’d be no trains running either. The last hurricane that’d ripped through the area had messed up a couple of the overhead lines. He only knew that because Tajo, Aleyna’s younger brother, used to catch the train to the port of Matanzas occasionally for work.

  Every five or so miles, he shot past a train station that was barely a shack beside the tracks. Most had a name dangling from the roof by a couple of chains, but many had no identifying marks at all. He hoped like hell Hershey station was marked or he’d shoot right on past it. Marshall had to dodge his share of animals along the way too . . . chickens, goats, dogs, and the occasional cow dotted the tracks. One cow wouldn’t budge until Marshall got off the Ural and smacked the bovine on its ass.

  When the Hershey station finally materialized out of nowhere, Marshall’s body just about went into meltdown. He lurched the motorbike off the track and aimed for the twin smoke stacks just visible against the star-studded backdrop.

  A few lights speckled the town in the distance, but they were few and far between. It was the faint light emanating from within the Hershey factory’s derelict walls that got Marshall’s attention. He aimed the motorbike toward the brick wall that marked the entrance to the factory and killed the engine.

  Every bone and muscle in his body continued to vibrate, even once he’d dragged his body upright. His knees just about buckled beneath him, and Marshall paused at the arched entrance with his hands on his thighs until the quivering settled. A flock of birds burst from what was left of the building on the right-hand side, and once they disappeared into the night sky, the ticking of the motorbike engine was the only other sound.

  Once he’d decided he was the only human around, Marshall headed in.

  Hugging the side wall of a building that looked to have suffered from a severe seismic rattling, Marshall crunched over broken paving stones and brittle weeds, heading toward the structure at the back of the central courtyard. It was the only building with any form of illumination, which came from somewhere within the building’s crumbling walls.

  Three jeeps that looked to have been stolen from a bad war movie were parked out front. Marshall eased in behind the closest one and peeked inside. Any hope of finding a weapon was short-lived. The jeep barely had seats. A gas can caught his eye, and an idea of making a firebomb flashed into his mind and out again. While setting the bastards ablaze was appealing, he’d risk endangering Charlene too.

  One touch of the hood confirmed the engine was still warm—it hadn’t been parked long. Hopefully that meant the gang was still there, and more to the point, that Charlene was too.

  He paused at the lead car, listening. At first, he heard nothing. But then his ears picked up the faint beat of music. Stepping toward a set of crippled double doors, he peered into the entrance but was treated to nothing but blackness. A shout from his left had him jumping back and darting for the first jeep.

  His heart thumped in his chest as he waited for whoever owned the voice to come barreling out of the doorway. Seconds ticked along, but nothing happened. A woman’s scream reverberated right through him. It had to be Charlene. The agony in her cry cut shreds in his flesh. Yet it was a good sign. She was alive. More shouts came from somewhere inside, but these weren’t from Charlene, and they weren’t shouts of terror; these were spiked with excitement. And they were growing louder by the second. The light source was intensifying too.

  They were on the move. And that meant Marshall had to get the fuck out of there.

  He dashed to the corner of the courtyard. But the intersection between the two derelict buildings was a crap hiding spot, so Marshall made a snap decision and raced as fast as his already tortured legs could take him toward the building he’d walked past.

  His only hope was that the members of the rowdy mob were too focused on whatever they were planning to notice him sprinting up the courtyard. Three feet from the doorway, the boom of automatic weapons went off behind him. He dove through the entrance, hitting the broken concrete on his knees, and rolled to one side.

  The shots continued, as did the shouts, and it was a couple of thumping heartbeats before he realized they weren’t shooting at him. He crawled over glass and crap toward what was left of a window and eased up on his knees. What he saw had his heart firing.

  Two of the jeeps now had their headlights on, aimed at the double doorway. Three men emerged at once, all in army fatigues, all with ancient-looking Kalashnikovs shooting at the heavens. Charlene surfaced next, and his heart squeezed at the sight of her. Bruising and blood covered half her face, and she was limping. But that might’ve been because she only had one shoe. She was wedged between two men, both of whom were shorter than her, and she was wrestling against them despite her arms being locked up behind her.

  “Let go of me!” she screamed and tried to yank herself free.

  But they shoved her forward, pushing her toward the car parked between the other two.

  When Diego stepped from the building, Marshall’s pleasure revved up at the mess that was the Cuban’s nose. Marshall had no doubt that Charlene had done it. He smiled at that.

  Charlene released a shill cry, doubled over forward, and with a move that surprised the shit out of both Marshall and the two men who had hold of her, she used her bare foot to whack both of them in the head. Free now, she kicked the first man in the nuts and the second in the face, and both men howled in obvious agony.

  Charlene took off, hitting a stride that should’ve been impossible with only one shoe, and Marshall was torn between yelling at her to run and telling her to stop. She wouldn’t get away, not when they had the advantage of weapons and vehicles. Especially not with her arms still tied behind her and the uneven pavement.

  She tumbled forward, landing on her knees and face. Her scream raked shivers over his spine. It must’ve hurt like hell, yet Charlene rolle
d to her feet and took off again. But now barefoot, she was slower this time, her gait uneven, and his heart thundered as he watched them narrow in on her.

  If Marshall had had a gun, he would’ve picked them off one by one. But he didn’t. All he could do was watch the hell unfold and wait for his opportunity. He was still banking on the fact that they needed to keep her alive. She was worth nothing dead. He hoped.

  Just as they were about to launch at her, she turned on them. Some kind of sixth sense had her ducking away and kicking out at the same time. He watched with a mix of pride and apprehension, yet at the same time he wondered where the hell she got her courage. She managed to get two of them down, and each of them was rewarded with a kick in the nuts. The third guy got lucky. He tackled her to the ground, and Marshall’s gut crumbled as he watched the fight fade out of her.

  In the space of about three minutes, Charlene had managed to fight four men, three of whom were now walking like their balls were the size of melons. In addition, Diego’s right eye looked to be swollen shut.

  Picking these guys off was going to be easy. Marshall just needed the right opportunity. Patience was an asset that was hard learned, but it’d saved him more times than he could count.

  Two uninjured men dragged Charlene back to the jeeps. Diego waited at the cars, legs apart, fists clenched at his side. He was the only man Marshall would need to be wary of. Unlike his ragtag crew, Diego seemed to have some kind of training behind him.

  The second Charlene was within spitting distance of Diego, she did exactly that. She spat in his face. Diego reached up to wipe away her spittle; then he slapped her across the cheek. Her head snapped sideways, and Marshall saw her blood float through the beam of one of the car’s headlights.

  In that moment, Marshall knew that no matter what happened from here on out, Diego wouldn’t see daybreak.

  Charlene’s arms went limp, followed by the rest of her body. She’d lost her fight. Two men tossed her into the back of a jeep like a sack of potatoes, and Diego shoved in beside her. The other men climbed into the front, the engine fired, and seconds later, the car raced for the entrance with the remaining men in the two cars behind.

  Marshall didn’t even wait for them to be out of sight before he dashed for the motorbike. He jumped on and kicked the starter in the same instant. The second the ignition fired, he rammed the throttle to full and raced after Charlene.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Charlene didn’t really think she’d get away. Not with eight men to fight off. But the last time she’d sat back and done nothing, Peter had been killed. She wasn’t going to give up without a fight. Now, though, as her body throbbed with her injuries, she wondered if it’d been a foolish move. She probably should’ve waited until her chances were improved.

  But that moment might never come.

  And if what Diego had said was true, she would soon have another man to contend with. Noah Montgomery.

  Her mind snapped to the New York City lawyer who claimed to be her father. Could that even be possible? From the limited footage she’d seen of him, he was an arrogant ass. Besides, he was an American, yet her mother was apparently Cuban.

  She had no idea what to believe anymore. She’d gone from being a boring twenty-eight-year-old who’d never stepped out of America to the niece of a honcho in some kind of Cuban mafia.

  None of it made sense.

  The bloodstained strip of fabric stuffed into her bra might shed some light. If she got the opportunity to have someone translate it for her. She’d had all day to search for that hidden note that she’d recalled her mother hiding behind a brick. But she’d remembered wrong. It was only once she’d conceded defeat and curled up in a ball with the teddy bear that she’d found it. The note was inside the bear, shoved into a hole that was concealed by the miniature waistcoat.

  She’d cried when she’d found it. She’d cried even harder when she realized it was written in Spanish. It was a cruel joke . . . here’s a clue to the greatest mystery of your life, little girl, but guess what . . . you’ll never know what it says.

  Charlene fought the lump burning in her throat. She’d never give Diego the satisfaction of seeing her cry. It was a cruel twist to have the potential answers to her questions close to her chest at the same moment when she was heading to meet the man who wanted to kill her.

  She’d never given thought to how she’d die before, but even if she’d had a thousand years to stew over it, she’d never have contemplated it would be in Cuba, nor at the hands of a complete stranger who claimed to be her father.

  She shifted her gaze from her bloodstained dress to her apparent uncle. “Where are you taking me?”

  Diego’s eyes snapped to her as though he’d thought she was unconscious. Even in the dim light, she could see the extent of the bruising around his eye. She liked what she saw. And she’d give him a hell of a lot more when the opportunity arose.

  A sick grin crawled across his mouth, displaying a row of crooked teeth. “To your daddy.”

  “He’s not my fucking father.”

  “Oh, but he is.”

  “Bullshit!”

  “My sister. . . ,” he slowly shook his head as if disappointed. “She stupid to keep that secret from me.”

  “What secret?”

  “About Noah raping her and he your father.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  Diego shrugged. “I no care what you believe. Noah believes. That what matters.”

  Charlene tried to piece things together, but nothing made sense. “Why would he believe you?”

  Diego shifted on his seat, easing back from her. “We go back long way, me and Noah. Well before he a hot-shot New York lawyer.”

  That comment surprised her, she couldn’t picture Noah in the company of a man like Diego. “How?”

  Diego frowned and looked at her like he was weighing his options.

  “You already said he was going to kill me, so what’s the harm in giving me answers?”

  The side of his mouth twitched. “That is true. He going to kill you.”

  She clenched and unclenched her jaw at the certainty in his voice. “Did he kill my mother?”

  “Sí.” He actually looked pleased with himself.

  Charlene wrestled against the restraints, growling her fury. “How could you let that happen? She was your sister.”

  He shrugged. “She was pain in ass.”

  She’d give anything to knock his lights out, and by the look on his face, he knew exactly how dangerous she was.

  “Calm down, little girl.”

  She glared at him. “Don’t tell me to fucking calm down.” She wanted him to know that, given the right opportunity, she’d crush his larynx beneath the heel of her foot.

  Diego snapped his eyes away, and she liked that he’d seen her fury.

  “How did Noah kill my mother?”

  “Strangle her.”

  She sucked the air through her teeth. “Did you see him do it?”

  Diego let the question hang, and the only sound was the roar of the engine and the crunch of the tires over the rough gravel. Finally, he huffed out a sigh and turned back to her. “Sí.” His voice was way too calm considering what he was admitting to.

  “Jesus! Did you report it to the police?”

  He captured her gaze with his, and the urge to head-butt him was huge. “He pay me lot of money to keep secret.”

  She clenched her jaw against her simmering rage. “Asshole!” She kicked out with her foot, but her stupid dress was caught beneath her thighs, restricting her movement, and her toes stubbed the driver’s seat instead. She screamed with both pain and fury.

  Diego laughed, a quick spontaneous snort. “Soon, I very rich asshole.”

  “Really?” She said it sarcastically. “How much is he paying you?”

  “One million dollars.”

  A million dollars. For Charlene Bailey, or Claudia Álvarez, or whoever she was. She burst out laughing, and Diego’s eyes festere
d with suspicion.

  “What?” He snapped.

  “You’re a fool if you think he’s going to part with that kind of money. He doesn’t even know me. Why would he believe I’m his daughter?”

  “Because Benita tell him when she begging for her life.”

  That comment was like a punch to her stomach. It took the wind out of her and weakened her resolve. The timbre of the car’s tires slowed, and she turned her gaze outside the vehicle. A jumble of ancient memories came flooding back at the first thing she saw.

  It was a set of marble stairs that’d been painted in a potpourri of vibrant contrasting colors. The building surrounding the magnificent feature was long gone. Four people sitting on the stairs played musical instruments and stared into the flames of a fire built in a rusted forty-four-gallon drum.

  The scene was exactly the same as twenty-two years ago when Charlene had been driven along this street. She contemplated calling out to them. Yelling for help. But at the same time, she knew it was pointless. Not with Diego beside her.

  Although she’d barely had an hour with him, she remembered enough from her childhood to know Diego was a man to be revered and feared. Nobody would go against him. Not his ardent followers and not the strangers on the street.

  Charlene was on her own.

  Her thoughts tumbled to Marshall again. A little piece of her heart crumbled at the thought that she’d never see him again. It wasn’t very often she met a man who captivated her as much as he had. She blocked out her brutal reality and took her mind back to that moment on Miss B Hayve when he’d wrapped his arms around her to chase away the bitter cold with the warmth of his own body. She went over that embrace in her mind, hitting rewind each time their hug ended. Something about how she felt in his arms had her heart aching. It was impossible to believe that she’d never see him again.