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It’s 2 in the morning when my phone chimes with the message I’ve been waiting for.
L: Got it.
Me: Where and when?
L: Diner on Main Street. One hour.
I don’t reply, he knows I’ll be there.
The twenty-four-hour diner sits between a laundromat and a nail salon. Its flashing red and white lights are the only ones lit up on the otherwise quiet street. With my helmet hanging from my fingers, I enter the diner and immediately take in the scent of freshly ground coffee. In the back corner, Liam sits in a booth, his well-worn leather jacket folded on the seat beside him.
“You’re on time,” Liam says, a smirk on his lips that I can just make out beneath his thick, black beard. He nudges a mug of steaming hot, black coffee toward me as I slide into the seat opposite him.
Grunting a thanks, I inhale the rich aroma as I take my first sip.
“Priest know you’re doin’ this?” Liam asks.
My mood instantly sours. “I don’t need his fuckin’ permission.” I scowl at the man opposite me, hating the fact that he knows enough about me to know that at one time, I would’ve had Priest right here by my side.
Those days are gone. I have to do this alone. It’s the only way I can keep them safe.
Liam raises his hands in a placating gesture. “Fine with me, D, you do what you gotta do. You always were a lone wolf.”
Not always.I remember a time when I wouldn’t have jumped into anything without back up. Then Sara died, and I was fixated on finding those responsible. Bullet could only help so much, and the rampage Priest and I went on left nothing but dead bodies and no answers in its wake.
That’s where Liam came in. We met by chance while I was searching for answers about Sara’s death. A private investigator from Australia, he was hunting down a human trafficker. A few conversations were all it took to discover that Liam’s sister was kidnapped while she was on a skiing vacation in Colorado, by the same man who took Sara. While Liam’s vendetta doesn’t run as deep or volatile as mine, he never lets Manuel far from his sight.
When Liam contacted me a month ago and said he had entry into the cartel’s next auction, I jumped at the chance.
I huff out a breath, dragging myself back to the present and away from memories of the past. “What have you got for me?” I ask, getting back on topic.
Liam lifts an envelope from the seat beside him and places it on the table. When I reach for it, he slaps his hand over the white paper. “I just want to go on the record and say that I think this is a bad idea.”
When I open my mouth to tell him to give me the fucking information, he continues, “It’s a bad idea, but if you’re going to do this, you need to be meticulous in your planning. If Santos even suspects you’re not who you say you are…” he trails off then adds, “There’s no out, D. You need to do this their way.”
I nod once, take the envelope from beneath his palm and pull out the contents. After a quick glance over it, I hum in satisfaction. As usual, thorough is an understatement when it comes to information provided by Liam Taylor. My alias—Rook Cylar. A solid background story, and details of the time, place,and products available at the next Demonio de Hielo cartel’s auction. “This is good, Liam, fucking good, man. How did you do it?”
“Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to,” he says before taking a mouthful of coffee.
Liam’s job as a private investigator is no secret. But his ways of obtaining information aren’t exactly legal, and often head into dangerous, if not criminal territory. Like me, he has no problem disposing of filth, although his tactics—from the rumors I’ve heard—are a hell of a lot more ruthless and bloodier than the Heaven’s Guardians would ever go.
Shifting in my seat, I stretch out my legs before asking the question that’s been sitting on the tip of my tongue since I received Liam’s text. “Is she still alive?” I shouldn’t be asking about her. This is about Sara, not some cartel princess who’s probably living the perfect fuckin’ life in the Santos mansion while other girls are being sold to the highest bidder.
She didn’t want that life…A voice in the back of my mind reminds me of the first time I saw Isadora Santos. The fear in her eyes, her trembling hands, and the slap to her face courtesy of Diego, her own fuckin’ brother, that sent her to the floor.
I have no idea why Isadora Santos is still plaguing my thoughts after all this time.Maybe it was the haunted look in her eyes…
I rub my hands over my face.This isn’t about her.
Liam raises a brow and quirks his lip, but before he utters a word, I cut him off. “Don’t say a fuckin’ word,” I warn. “I’m doin’ this for Sara, nothing more.”
He dips his chin in acknowledgement. “She’s alive. Living in the mansion with her father and brother. That’s all I know.”
That’ll have to do, for now.
Chapter 8
Isadora
