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“So,” Brick said between sips of his drink. “Are we ready to do this?”
The man waited for my response, as if expecting me to renege on the deal and toss him out on his ass.
I glanced at my lawyer who gestured for me to continue. “I am,” I replied.
Brick tried to hide his surprise, but I caught the slight lift of his eyebrow before he could pull it back. “Good. Good.” Brick’s lawyer unlatched his own briefcase and pulled out a stack of papers.
I opened a large file on my desk and began the tedious process of transferring my entire operation to my Houston competitor so I could retire from the drug business, then start my mission to hunt down and kill El Cuchillo in the most painful, sadistic way possible.
Miri
“I can’t believe you’re here.”
Cat smiled and tucked her long hair behind her ears. We rocked gently on the gazebo swing, the ceiling fan and a cool lake breeze preventing us from sweltering on the hot late summer day.
“Me either. I honestly thought I was going to die in there, Miri.” Cat’s voice was shaky and I noticed her hands trembling. I reached for the nearest one and threaded our fingers together.
“We’re both alive. We’re strong, Cat. We’ll get past this. We can have real lives. Normal lives.”
I wasn’t sure if I believed what I was saying, but I had to reassure my damaged friend. She was in that horrid house for almost a year, kept drugged and used for sex by who knows how many men. Jag was weaning her off the heroin the same as he did for me. It had been two weeks since we were rescued by Jag and one of the other bosses, a man named Brick who I learned ran Houston’s heroin trade. Because of how long she had been on the drugs, Cat was still on a pretty high dose of H, getting injections three times a day. The blessing was that her blood work came back negative for all disease, which was surprising considering Cat said that to her knowledge, the men didn’t always use condoms.
“I’m not sure if I’ll ever be normal, Miri.” I stayed silent, giving my best friend the chance to say whatever it was she needed to get off her chest. Cat lifted her head and looked around, taking in the gardens, the big house, and the lake. “Though I gotta admit, this sure is a nice way to get back on my feet.”
I grinned and squeezed her hand.
“Jag is a great guy. He’ll take care of you and make sure you’re safe.”
“Thank you, Miri. For helping me get out of there. I was ready to give up. You… you gave me hope. I’m just sorry you’re the one who got caught when we escaped.”
“Not me,” I said without even having to think about my response.
Cat released my hand and gaped. “How can you say that, Miri? They tortured you.”
I nodded and stared at my feet before lifting my head to look into Cat’s glistening brown eyes. “They did. But…” I took a deep breath so I could explain how I felt. “If I were the one who escaped and collapsed unconscious outside, Jag would never have known you were still in there, Cat. He would have taken me and left. El Cuchillo… he would have either fled and brought you with them, or shot you for being too much trouble before they could rescue you.” I shuddered at the thought. “At least it was a night where there weren’t any other girls in the house.”
Cat nodded at that. “Still, I hate what they did to you, Miri.” She sniffed and tears ran down her cheeks.
“I hate what they did to you too. All we can do now is move forward.”
She put her hand back in mine and we silently enjoyed the beautiful day. Despite everything I’d been through, it was great to be alive.
* * *
Cat and I spent most afternoons rocking on the swing in the gazebo. It sort of became a daily ritual. Peace, tranquility, and the ability to talk freely and lean on each other fo
r support without any of Jag’s Men in Black hanging around. Or more specifically, Milo. The big blond terror had a permanent scowl on his face ever since the day I arrived, and his attitude got a thousand times worse after Cat and I were rescued. I could literally feel the hostility and loathing pouring off him, combined with strange looks of confusion, whenever he was nearby, which seemed to be often, as if he were purposely seeking me out with the singular goal of scaring the shit out of me.
It was working. Whenever I saw him, my head would ache and knives would jab my eyeballs. Memories of my time at Cuchillo’s would flash by, but always so fast I couldn’t catch a single one.
Getting outside of the house and away from Milo’s toxic hate was good for my mental health as well as Cat’s. Plus, the fresh air helped us relax after being trapped in that horrible room for days on end. We chatted a lot, and not just about our time in captivity. It was way too depressing to fixate on the bad stuff. We recalled the fond memories and good times we had together before everything went to hell, laughing and smiling for the first time in weeks, or in Cat’s case, months.
One night, after Cat went to bed, I lingered in the library, waiting for Jag to emerge from his office. He’d spent an inordinate amount of time in there over the last two weeks, pretty much sunrise to sunset since I got back. Not counting the full twenty-four hours he stuck to my side and shadowed my every move while the doctor tended to my wounds. After that, Jag came to bed long after I was asleep and left every morning before I woke.
Whenever I asked if everything was okay, Jag simply responded, “I’ve got it all under control, doll,” and continued to work. I trusted Jag to do what he thought was best, so I didn’t pry. I missed him though. Missed how it was before. I wanted him back, in my arms, in my bed, in my heart. I was ready to move on. But Jag’s time was hard to come by. He was busy all day every day.
Brick, the Houston boss, showed up at the house multiple times, which was weird. Jag said Brick’s help was essential in tracking me down and storming Los Guerreros’ compound, so I figured maybe they were friends. Only, Jag said bosses didn’t have friends, let alone become friends with each other. Brick and Jag were up to something, though. Sometimes, they spent hours in Jag’s study. Other times, they left in a car and returned late at night.
“Hey, doll.”
