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It’s funny how I can focus on that and sound somewhat normal. It’s time to stop bitching. Franco is all that matters.
“The number stuff? Yeah. Or did you mean Francisco? I came by last night, but you weren’t here. Still, I took the liberty of tracking that house in the picture you had. It’s somewhere in Calabasas. Nice place. As for the other stuff, I left it on the coffee table, but Pita, what the hell is going on with you and Jaguar? Did you score him again—”
“I don’t want to talk about him. I need a ticket on a private plane or whatever the hell you can get me on. I need to be in California tomorrow. Can you help me, Pedro?”
“Mamacita, you’re scaring me. You sound strange. Like you’re high. Don’t tell me Jaguar had you sample his merchandise.”
“No, but listen to me, Pedro. I need a way out. Please.”
“Okay, Pita. I’m on it. But I’m going to start charging interest sooner or later. You are one expensive bitch. Oh, and don’t forget the number stuff is in the living room. Use it wisely, Pita. That was a very big favor to call in. I also had some copies of Tiena’s IDs made. Enjoy them while you can. I have to go. Ciao.”
He hangs up, and I call him back, only to get a busy tone. I don’t doubt that he’ll come through, but I’m anxious to go now. Fly now. Get to California now. Run now. Get as far from Jaguar as I can.
The last thing I should want to do is confirm my hunch about his numbers. Still, I find myself limping into the living room to discover the pile of documents Pedro left for me to find. As it turns out, I was right. Jaguar’s accountant was doing far more than just skimming off the top. I recognize the carefully arranged lump sums. I’m not an expert in calculations like Tiena, but I do know a thing or two about spotting theft. Diego was renowned for his caution—especially after he caught one of his men taking outside payments and using clever property buys to hide the excess.
Ronaldo had been paid off by someone who wasn’t Jaguar. But why? And for what purpose?
A woman loyal to him would try to find out or perhaps use the knowledge as leverage to get in his good graces.
Like hell will I.
I shove the papers aside and wind up on the couch. I don’t want it to happen, the sobbing. But it does, in slow snatches at first. Then a torrent.
Just like that, I’m decades in the past, stuck in an apartment half the size of this one. I can’t freely come and go as I choose. My entire life is dictated by one man’s whims. His actions decide my every reaction. He is my world, my universe, my god.
I owe him everything, and the mere second I forget that, he’ll take the last thing I have.
My life, if not my very soul.
CHAPTERTEN
Idon’t know how in the hell I managed to sleep, but I needed it. My head feels clearer, and I almost forget that I was mauled by an exotic animal last night at the whim of a homicidal psychopath.
Almost.
When I attempt to stand, my back burns like hell, and I curl into a ball, afraid to move for God knows how long. When I finally do drag myself upright, it’s early morning with snatches of sunlight licking at the windows. Good. I have an entire day of planning ahead of me. Just how quickly can I get my ass to California?
I will do whatever it takes to find out.
Pedro is a saint. I check my phone to find that he got me a last-minute flight to California that leaves in the afternoon. It’s not as soon as I would like, but it’s today, at least. A start. I don’t have anything to pack, and my fake documents are in my purse. I limp toward it to refresh my memory of the false identity, only to trip over a folder of stray documents, scattering them over the floor.
Getting to Francisco should dominate my thoughts, and it does… Lurking beside him, where he doesn’t belong, however, is a man who haunts me still. I could leave for California, but he’ll follow, always in my head. Unlike Diego, he didn’t earn his place there. My fascination with the bastard itches, uncomfortable and unwelcome.
The only way to drive him out is to end this “bargain” on my terms. As luck would have it, there is just enough time to do so if I hurry.
Maybe it’s a testament to how stupid I know this plan is deep down, but I don’t call Pedro for advice. He’d just talk me out of this insanity—but it’s been a long time since I’ve embodied crazy Pita. Without an ounce of uncertainty, I grab one of my new dresses from the floor and find a pair of scissors in the kitchen. My final outfit isn’t one my friend would approve of, but, wearing it, I don’t feel like a narco’s arm candy.
I feel like me. Lupita back from the dead with one last act of vengeance to carry out—confront a new monster before he can overtake the scars left by the old one.
Minutes later, I call a car service and head to an address I’ve learned by heart. When I arrive, it isn’t the welcoming paradise brimming with sexy young women that I’ve been presented with. It’s a fortress, guarded by armed men who patrol the front yard and eye me skeptically. The front gates don’t magically part for me, either. I must exit the car and address a stern-faced man who demands my purpose.
“To see Jaguar,” I say.
He steps away and barks into a cell phone while inspecting my appearance. From the neck up, I look the part of dumb, pretty arm candy. My outfit, however, tarnishes that image—I’m wearing a beautiful mini-dress with the back crudely cut out to reveal jagged, open wounds for anyone to see.
I think they’re even bleeding, aggravated by my trip here.
A minute later, the guard nods to beckon me inside, and the driver drops me off before the paved walkway leading to the front door. Viewed in the daylight, it’s a fiery path to Hell, and I follow it without hesitation.
