He’d detected my subtle telepathic probing and had some of the strongest mental shields I’d ever come across. He’d set up a contingency plan before meeting me, and he hadn’t attacked until Irma had neutralized it. Obviously, he wasn’t completely off his rocker. He must gain something from all this, and if I could figure out what that was…
Irma’s phone pinged, interrupting my thoughts. She glanced down at it but made no move to text back while driving.
“Eddy?” I asked.
“Corpse-Maker,” she corrected.
Oh, right. I’d almost forgotten about that.
“Still trying to sweet-talk you into taking that job?” I asked. “What is it, anyway?”
“Standard contract hit. Nothing special.”
“Working for me not exciting enough for you?”
“More than enough. Please, Valentina, don’t go getting yourself into more trouble because you think I’m bored.”
“If you say so.” I propped my elbow against the window and rested my head on my hand. “You decided if you’re going to accept it yet?”
“No, not yet.”
“Waiting for this mess to blow over, or is something else bothering you?”
Irma’s gaze flicked to me in the rearview mirror, hesitating before she responded. “I don’t know. I think it’s a little reckless to be taking contracts at my age.”
“Bullshit. I saw you running down that catwalk to knife Jean-Baptiste’s men. You’re in great shape.”
Irma shrugged, suddenly very determined to keep her eyes on the road despite the lack of other cars driving down it.
“Do you want to take the job?” I asked. “Because if it’s me you’re worried about, I’m completely fine with it. Just make sure you wait until we’ve put Joey in the ground and—and that’s taken care of first.”
I’d been about to say, “and everything’s back to normal,” but there might be no end to that wait. Dave may never wake up, and nothing would ever be normal again. I squeezed shut my eyes, feeling suddenly dizzy, as if the car was swaying due to the entire world crumbling beneath it.
“It’s not that,” Irma said. “It’s— It’s silly.”
I buried my worries like a murder victim’s corpse and forced my eyes open. “Have you seen the costumes I used to commit crimes in? I can handle silly.”
Irma sighed, slowing down as another car approached, revved its engine, and sped past us. As the seconds ticked by, I thought she was going to pretend she hadn’t heard me, but then she spoke.
“When I first came to work for your father, I was an assassin. By the end of my first year, he had me working as his children’s nanny.”
I’m not sure how to describe how much her statement shocked me. It was almost like something large crashed behind me, the jolt going through my body and making me clench my teeth. I suddenly looked at her in a whole new way.
“Oh,” I said.
“I don’t regret it,” she said quickly, glancing back at me for a moment. “Raising you and your sisters is the most worthwhile thing I’ve ever done. You needed a caregiver who could protect you from Lucio’s enemies, and I was overqualified, but…”
“But Dad was sexist. You’re preaching to the choir.”
Irma nodded. “I wonder sometimes how many opportunities I missed. This job from Corpse-Maker could be my last real chance to make a name for myself.” She huffed. “But then I think that’s the kind of vain, attention-seeking attitude that gets people killed, and I should be old enough to know better.”
“Nothing wrong with that. It’s only human to want a little recognition for your skills.”
“Humans are morons, so that’s not exactly reassuring.”
A soft puff of laughter left my lips. “Still, it wouldn’t hurt to try—but only if you really want to.” I got more comfortable in my seat, crossing my legs. “And look at it this way: maybe you didn’t get all those hot, sexy assassination contracts that would’ve made you the envy of the underworld, but you taught Bianca, Sonia, and me everything we know. And we’ve used that knowledge to commit more crimes than any single person could in her lifetime, so in the end, you’ve got a bigger legacy than anyone.”
I couldn’t see her whole face in the rearview mirror, but the way her eyes crinkled meant she was smiling. “Thank you, Valentina.”
“Hey, I’m only saying what’s true.”
We drove on in silence for a time, passing battered wooden signs with painted letters advertising boiled peanuts, Florida oranges, and “gator jerky.” Eventually, a stand came into view on the roadside, but its paint was faded and its roof collapsed. We were the only car on the road again, and I wondered when the last time was that someone had driven by, gotten really excited for gator jerky, and found only disappointment when they reached the abandoned stand.
“I wonder if it was the right thing to do sometimes,” Irma said softly.
I shifted my gaze back to her. “Hm?”
“Teaching you and your sisters. Sometimes, I think I should’ve stolen you all away in the night and hidden you in Australia or something, try to give you something like a normal life.”
It was a nice thought, sort of. I never would have met Dave in Australia—but, as a sinister voice in the back of my head whispered, if I’d never met him, he wouldn’t be in a coma right now.
Though if I’d never met him, he might very well be dead. I’d gotten him into a lot of trouble over the years, but I’d saved his ass a fair number of times, too. It was pointless to play What If. Besides, if we’d never met, Elisa would have never existed, and for her, the two of us were willing to pay any price.
“Eh,” I said. “Dad would’ve found us no matter how far you ran. You can’t shield kids from everything. You can only teach them how to take care of themselves and hope for the best.”
I looked out the window, thinking of Elisa, when I spotted a billboard torn apart by wind, the words “Live Gators!” barely legible.
“Turn left here,” I said.
Irma turned, and the car started rattling over gravel. Wild grass grew right up to the roadside, and it must have rained here recently, because there were puddles the size of small ponds. Tall trees made it impossible to see what we were getting ourselves into as the way curved and twisted, so I stretched out my telepathic senses.
There they were.
I could only sense the closest couple of guards, and one of them turned suddenly alert as he heard our engine. I wiped the memory from his mind and told Irma to stop the car and cut the ignition.
We got out and continued by foot. The air had a damp, earthy smell, and the sounds of birds and bugs reached my ears now that the engine was silent. We stayed on the gravel; it was a lot harder to move stealthily through bushes, and the chances of stepping on a coral snake grew higher. Though we might have to risk it as we got closer.
The hot, muggy air had me sweating within minutes. I kept mental tabs on the guards, drawing close enough for another to come into range, and—
Fear. Shivery skin, eyes aching from crying, a hollow feeling deep within. The force of it stopped me cold. I smelled sweat, grime, and urine and felt a swollen eye and a sore jaw. The terror of what would come next consumed me, turning me into a pitiable creature I didn’t recognize and didn’t want to know.
Irma looked back questioningly. I shook my head and started walking again, my feet moving at a more hurried pace. I could still feel the fear, but I kept it at arm’s length, my own rising rage acting as a shield. Three guards were now in range of my telepathy, but from their minds, I knew there were two more. As the trees thinned ahead, I made my decision.
Wait here for two minutes, then follow, I told Irma. I’ll call you if I need backup before then.
What are you going to do? she asked.
Fists clenched, the gravel crunching beneath my boots, I didn’t answer.
I strode out of the trees and into an open parking lot overgrown with weeds. Two guards spotted me, and I summoned them. Th
ey crossed the open lot, roughly grabbed my arms, and pulled me forward—which is exactly what I forced them to do. It was a good show, and if either of the two remaining guards out of my range were sitting somewhere with a sniper rifle, it should keep me from getting shot.
My escorts brought me to a building that had been painted green once upon a time. The walls were water-stained and faded now, and even way out here, it hadn’t escaped graffiti, though there was nowhere near as much as at the Miami Marine Stadium. The glass windows had broken, and once-landscaped bushes in front had grown wild, almost hiding the building from view.
If you don’t stop crying, you little bitch, I’ll give you something to cry about.
I squeezed shut my eyes, wanting to block out the jumbled memories I sensed. But I felt I had to bear witness, that I owed them that respect.
Try to run again, and I swear to God, I’ll shoot the both of you. You want that, boy? Do you? You want me to shoot your sister in the face right now?
I took a deep breath through my nose and exhaled through my mouth. The mind of one of the other two guard came into range. I made him start walking to the building, figuring I may as well get all these bastards in one place. But where was the last one?
The hum of a generator grew louder as we entered the building, and inside, it smelled like a moldy gym locker. The generator was hooked up to five fans that failed to banish the humid heat, and hurricane lanterns were scattered across the floor and atop cheap folding tables. The walls displayed peeling murals of swamp scenery, and empty alcoves separated from the main room by bars had once held alligators, turtles, and—according to a sign that had escaped graffiti—a puma.
But the only things living here now were men—far more dangerous creatures. The third guard I had detected was inside. He looked up from watching a video on his tablet, and when he saw me, he shot to his feet.
“You dumbasses! What did you bring her here for? You know she—”
He froze as I seized control of his mind. As I walked closer, I sensed the last guard coming back from taking a piss in the woods, so I grabbed control of him, too. That was all of them. Every man Joey had posted here now belonged to me.
A shuffle drew my attention, and I turned to the only two people in the room I hadn’t put under mind-control. They were huddled together in one of the cages, sitting on the stained concrete floor. Jean-Baptiste’s children: Emmanuel and Farah Dupree. Joey’s men—my father’s old men, men I’d once thought I knew, had stuck them in there like animals.
“Emmanuel.” I kept my voice soft and gentle. “Farah. Do you remember me?”
They were in rough shape, their school uniforms dirty and torn, and Emmanuel had a bruised jaw and black eye. He was thirteen years old.
I felt the cold fear of the guard whose body I’d frozen as he thought about what I was going to do to them, and all I could think was Good. You should be afraid.
“Ms. Belmonte,” Emmanuel said slowly.
“That’s right,” I said. “Let’s get you out of here.”
I held out my hand, and one of the guards pulled a key from his pocket and walked toward me. His steps were jerky and halting as he fought me for every inch. I could have twisted his mind so far around that he didn’t want to fight me, but this way was better. I wanted him to realize exactly what was happening to him.
He dropped the key into my open palm, and I crossed the floor in a few quick strides and unlocked the cage. Emmanuel rose cautiously and helped Farah up. She was only seven or eight, if I remembered right, her hair pulled into braids with brightly colored beads at the ends. The last time I’d seen her, she must have given me at least five pictures she’d drawn.
The back door opened, making Emmanuel jump as the remaining guards filed in.
“It’s all right,” I said quickly. “I have them under mind-control. They won’t hurt you again. They’re not going to hurt anyone again by the time I’m finished.”
Emmanuel relaxed a little, but he didn’t let go of Farah’s hand as they left the cage.
“Go out front and wait,” I said. “I’ll be right behind you.”
Emmanuel studied me, his muscles coiled like he might bolt at any moment. His father had only been a few years older when I’d first met him, and the resemblance was like looking at a ghost.
After a moment, he nodded, and he and Farah exited through the front door.
I turned back to the men assembled in front of me. I’d thought of them as my father’s old men, but in truth, I only recognized one of them. The rest were younger than me, making me realize how much I’d lost touch with the Belmonte crime family. They’d surrendered their designer suit jackets and ties to the heat; sweat stained their dress shirts; and the hands that had beaten Emmanuel were adorned with gold rings and designer watches. They would’ve killed those kids with a word from Joey.
As one, they pulled their guns. Then they pointed the barrels to the sides of their heads.
“I want you to know I’m not cruel.” I walked slowly around where they stood frozen, their eyes bulging in fear and at least one pissing his pants. I fingered a half empty whisky bottle on one of the tables. “I could smash this bottle and have you spoon-feed yourselves the shards. I could have you saw off your fingers one by one or gouge out your own eyes. And I could do it for real or in your head, where you could relive it as many times as I want.”
I stopped and took another deep breath, unable to discern the hum of the generators from the buzzing anger in my ears.
“But I won’t,” I said. “Because I’m not cruel. So, as you’re calling me all those lovely names in your heads, remember to thank me for making this quick.”
Guns still at their temples, they turned and marched out the back door to the woods. No reason to leave their corpses here to traumatize the next aspiring graffiti artist. No, they’d be better off as gator chow.
I went out the front door, finding Emmanuel and Farah shivering despite the heat, staring around like they expected more kidnappers to emerge from the trees at any second. I breathed in deeply, trying to let my rage leave me as I exhaled. Retribution could wait; I had two traumatized kids to take care of.
“Come on,” I said gently. “Your dad’s been really worried. We should get you two back to him, don’t you think?”
Chapter 20
I took them to my house, not theirs. Call me crazy, but Jean-Baptiste’s attacks had shaken my trust, and I wanted the home-court advantage. After I telepathically swept the place, we went inside, and Irma mentioned something about stocking up at Eddy’s weapons storeroom as I took the kids to the kitchen.
Water was the first thing I got them. It was amazing they hadn’t passed out from heatstroke trapped in that hot cage for so long, and I doubted Joey’s men had made sure they were hydrated. The way they quickly downed the drinks and immediately asked for more only confirmed it.
“Wait a moment and let it settle,” I said. “Too much at once, and you’ll get sick.”
I rummaged around the pantry and fridge, pulling out cheese, crackers, and fruit. Soon, they were happily munching away and comfortable enough to let me fuss at them and use a washcloth to get some of the dirt off their skin. I cleaned their cuts and scrapes and was trying to fit a Band-Aid over Farah’s elbow when I sensed Jean-Baptiste’s approach.
“I think that’s your dad,” I said when a car door slammed out front.
Emmanuel and Farah jumped out of their chairs and would have immediately taken off running if they’d remembered the way to the front door. I led them at a moderate pace, and they positively bounced with eagerness and impatience. When we reached the door, Irma was waiting beside it. She opened it for us, and the kids dashed forward.
Jean-Baptiste carried his white cane, using it to guide himself up our front walkway, five of his men following close behind. When he heard the kids shout, he froze.
Emmanuel and Farah slammed into his midsection, hugging him desperately, and his cane clattered to the ground as he wrappe
d his arms around them. Jean-Baptiste sank to his knees, running his hands lightly over their faces. Both kids started talking at once, their rushed attempts to explain everything incomprehensible, and tears spilled from their eyes. I looked away from the touching family reunion and sucked my teeth.
I guess you can add “jealousy” to my list of character flaws.
The hugging and crying continued. I crossed my arms and waited, resisting the urge to tap my foot, and finally asking Irma to close the front door to keep bugs from flying into the house. Were I in Jean-Baptiste’s position, I’d shoot anyone who dared try to rush me. Eventually, though, he stood and started to usher Emmanuel and Farah into the car—a task that became infinitely harder when they realized he wasn’t coming with them.
Farah clutched his leg with a grip like an alligator’s jaw, and Emmanuel’s alarmed voice rose to a pitch the whole neighborhood could probably hear. Slowly and painstakingly, Jean-Baptiste coaxed them into the back seat and kissed them both on the head with promises to follow right behind them. Three of his five bodyguards got into the car, and it drove off, presumably to take the kids to a safehouse. I hoped he’d thought ahead and bought one bigger than mine.
“Valentina?” he asked.
“Over here,” I said.
He made his way back up the stone walkway to my front door, his bodyguards trailing behind. When he reached me, I brushed his arm with mine, and he grasped my forearm, allowing me to lead him inside. I took him to the kitchen, leftover cheese and crackers still on the table, but as soon as he took a seat, I went straight to the wine rack. After pouring us both a glass, I sat across from him.
Jean-Baptiste’s hand located the glass, and he raised it to his mouth for a contemplative sip. I took a gulp that would have had wine connoisseurs clucking their tongues. Barely tasting the vintage, I studied Jean-Baptiste. There was stubble on his usually cleanshaven face, and his tie was slightly crooked. I should’ve noticed those signs when I’d met him yesterday, keyed in that something was wrong, but I’d been too wrapped up in my own grief over Dave.
The White Knight & Black Valentine Series (Book 4): Kill Them All Page 15