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Juan and I have been scouring this fucking city for any sign as to what’s happening, but there’s nothing. No clues, no hints. It’s like someone took bleach to the streets and dissolved all the bones in vats of acid.
Who the hell could be so evil? Because it’s not just my men who have disappeared, but their families, too; the families that are usually hidden away from our violent world...
But last night was when shit really hit the fan. Last night, Juan stopped returning my calls.
It’s like I’m living in the twilight zone. Was I ever really the leader of a cartel? Have I just daydreamed my entire life? Am I going crazy?
Right now, my only tether to sanity is sitting across from me on a rooftop patio, shrouded in the cool shade of potted banana leaves.
Catalina.
I didn’t realize how much I really needed to see her until I did. Thank god she hadn’t already left. If it weren’t for her, I might be out burning the entire city down right now, looking for answers.
At least one part of my life is still going as planned. Before Juan disappeared, he showed me all the hubbub over the paparazzi photos from our dinner last night. Something must have happened between midnight and 4am, though, because when I tried to reach him again, just before sunrise, his phone was off.
My first instinct was anger. I went right to the warehouse district where I know some smaller cartels operate and I made it known, loud and clear, that I wasn’t to be fucked with.
I didn’t use my fists this time. My gun did the talking.
I must be caked in gun residue. Maybe I should have showered before taking Catalina out for breakfast...
“So, I’ve made my decision about your proposal...” she says, pushing the fruit on her plate back and forth with a fork.
I’m almost too tired to go rigid, but I do anyway. This is important; if it falls apart, I might snap.
“And?” I ask, trying to keep the intensity out of my voice. For some reason, I need Catalina to want to do this with me. I definitely don’t have the time or the energy to force her anymore.
“I’m in.”
The relief is palpable. I could sink into my chair and go to sleep right now.
Instead, I get to work.
“The contract will be waiting in the car that’s taking you to see your friend,” I say, typing an email to one of the few body guards I have left; he hasn’t been in my organization long—hell, he’s even younger than Dante—but it’s not like I have many options right now. Whoever’s left is going to have to step up.
“So formal,” Catalina teases.
I wish I had the energy to bite back, but I’m already just barely hanging on by the skin of my teeth. “I’ll send the car with your luggage ahead now. You can take another car after breakfast.”
Catalina sighs and leans forward, ignoring her food for me. When I’ve sent off the relevant emails, I stuff my phone into my pocket and place my fists in a ball on the table, automatically expecting to be met with resistance.
But Catalina’s eyes aren’t filled with fire. A glint of something else shimmers just behind those dark brown irises. My heart twitches under its heavy cloak of responsibility.
To my absolute surprise, Catalina gently places her hand on top of mine. The warmth from her touch is so different from the coldness of my night that it’s shocking. My first instinct is to pull away. So, I do... and I immediately wish I hadn’t. Frigid tendrils quickly replace her lingering tenderness with hard ice.
“And what will you be doing while I’m away?” she asks, rubbing her hands together like she’s cleaning them of a dirty deed. Catalina looks hurt that I didn’t accept her sympathy.
“Work,” I grumble.
“You look like you’ve had enough of work.”
She’s not wrong. “It never ends. Even this,” I gesture between us, referencing to our ‘staged’ breakfast date, “is work.”
“I can’t be that bad,” she gestures back, making reference to my disheveled appearance. She’s not wrong on that mark either. I usually love the rough and tumble nature of my job, but the psychological wear and tear of whatever’s going on right now is a nightmare. A nightmare where the only pinpoint of light seems to be the girl I stole, then asked to marry me, all in the span of about a week.
What can I say? I work fast, even when the world is crumbling all around me.
“You’re easy,” I assure her, making note of the way her breezy dark green tank top hugs her lean figure. A dash of sunlight glimmers on her exposed shoulder blades. I drink her in, reveling in the softness of it all, before spiky black vines crawl back over my mind and try to pull me down. “I have other things on my mind.” I grumble.
