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“Where’s the boy,puta?” he spits the words as he steps into the room, and I see he’s not alone. Behind him a slightly smaller, younger man, or boy is better suited, with the same long black hair moves into position next to him. This one is carrying a navaja and spins it confidently in his hand.
Keeping a rein on my emotions, I say, “I don’t know where he is. I haven’t seen him since I arrived. They kept us separated.” I throw a little hitch in my voice to make them think I’m afraid, but in reality, I’m anything but.
The bigger one of the two men strides toward me, snatching me by the hair and tilting my head back to look at him from my seated position on the bed.
“EresMentirosa! You are a liar.”
I try to shake my head, but his grip on my hair tightens, stinging painfully at my scalp. I see from the corner of my eye that the younger guy is now casting an inquisitive eye around the room. Shit.
“I’m not lying. I don’t know where he is.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, he releases my hair and strikes my face with the back of his hand. The hit forces my head to the right, and as I wait out the stinging pain to my cheek, I note the younger guy’s attention is now back on us.
I push down the urge to strike him back, needing to wait for the right moment. It will come, and when it does, I’ll be fucking ready.
I have a lot to fight for.
His hand rises to strike me again but is stopped short when a yell from below carries up the stairs.
“Bring her here, Alesandro.”
Dropping his hand, I breathe a fake sigh of relief and let out a small whimper to keep up the pretence. I think he’s going to turn away, but instead, his other hand comes up and grips my face.
“On your feet,” he says, tightening his grip and pulling my face upwards, forcing me to my feet unless I want my head ripped from my shoulders.
Once I’m standing, he lets go, and I force my face upwards, looking him in the eye. This time, I show him no fear, and I guess he doesn’t like it much because his hand flies out, and his fat, sweaty fingers wrap around my throat. He wastes no time in lifting me from the ground, only an inch, but it’s enough for a spike of panic to sliver up my spine as my airway is blocked off.
A wicked gleam lights his eyes as he sees my fear return, and he lets out a throaty and full-bellied laugh before dropping me. I stumble, almost falling back onto the bed, but I manage to remain upright.
He continues to laugh as he walks towards the door. He flicks a finger to the younger guy who comes over and takes my arm while holding the navaja beneath my chin.
“Move an inch and your blood will spill,puta,” he whispers as he begins walking, and I have no choice but go with him.
Some of the tension and worry eases as we exit the room and descend downstairs. I send up a silent prayer that Max is okay and stays where he is.
We skip the office this time, and instead enter a small lounge come kitchen where the man I used to call father is on his knees with a cut to his lip, and the sight brings me a small amount of joy. Gigi is next to him with her hands clasped in front of her but unhurt.
I haven’t missed the man standing off to the right, leaning on the mantel cleaning his nails with the tip of a small knife. His aura makes it impossible to miss him even if you don’t see him. He’s wearing dark blue jeans and a crisp black shirt, untucked, that’s open at the top, showing dark chest hair. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up, displaying tanned skin and several tattoos.
“Welcome, Jessica,” he says, dark hazel eyes meeting mine as I’m led to the sofa and forced to sit. I notice that the two men of my father’s aren’t here, and I wonder if they’re dead or left. “It seems someone is missing. Where is the boy?” He looks to the man at my side, then to Alesandro, the man who hit me.
“She was alone.” The man’s nostrils flare, and he pauses his nail cleaning, sucking his cheeks in and making his lips pout.
“It seems we have a problem then.” He steps away from the mantel to stand behind my father. “You think you can double cross me again,cabron?” He lays his hands on my father’s shoulders, the knife still gripped in one hand.
“He is here, Garcia. I swear it. And I told you, I didn’t fucking double cross you. But I still paid with my son’s life.” My father looks to me as he speaks, and now things are starting to make a little more sense.
This man is the same man that Rick and the others were talking about and confirms, just as I suspected, that my father is involved in trafficking.
“Yes, I did enjoy watching my brother work.” The smile that was gracing his face while talking about his brother killing Christian fades quickly and is replaced by something that could almost be considered sadness. “It’s a shame he won’t be here to witness my retribution.”
His words make my skin crawl, and a sickness spread through my stomach that will be very difficult to ever heal. I know how this will end if I say these next words, but I don’t have any more fucks to give when it comes to my father. The man is the devil in disguise. In his nice suit, nice car, nice fucking mansion of a house and who holds a respected and honoured role in society that he has squandered in the name of what? More money and more power. It’s not love that makes this world go round—it’s money and what the life of one person can buy you. It’s power and how far all that blood money can take you. It’s fucking sick!
“The boy was never here. He fucked you over—again. He’s real good at it too.”
My mother’s head snaps to me, but it’s my father who I’m watching.
Eyes widening in shock, then narrowing as he realises what I’ve done. His face turns a brilliant shade of red as anger takes over, but I see a hint of fear. And I bask in it.
“You lying little bitch!” my father shouts. “He is here. Find him.”
