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I nod, gritting my teeth. “Take one of my men with you.”
“Miguel will go with us. He’s in the car waiting.”
“Okay.” Without taking my eyes off the woman, I bend down and kiss my mother’s temple. “She doesn’t leave until I’m satisfied with what she knows. I don’t trust her.”
“Of course, son.” Mom pretends to clean something from my collar, her lips barely moving. “You know I’m protective of our girls.”
“Thank you.” Rising to my full height, I give her and Cindy my back while Israel ushers them to the awaiting vehicle. Dad hasn’t said a word all this time, but I catch his eye and he gives me a nod. We wait in silence for a good fifteen minutes while my guard comes back, knowing the women are gone and won’t hear any of this.
The area we are in is mostly closed off to the public and leads to larger bodies of water where you’re more likely to find dangerous animals. Not that the entire park doesn’t have wildlife everywhere, but the deeper you go off trails and into the marsh, the terrain changes and so do the encounters.
No barriers separate you.
No illusion of safety.
“Wake him up.” My father does the honors, landing a solid kick to his face with his favorite pair of church shoes, breaking the idiot's nose. For an old man who uses a cane, he’s still strong and his violent tendencies are slightly below his son’s. Not far, though.
“Motherfucker,” Dalian groans from the floor, twisting on the ground while blood drips from his nose. A hand comes up to cup his face but then halts midway. His eyes open, the fact he’s on a patch of dry grass and not in a comfortable bed inside of an Atlanta hotel hitting him. As is the harsh sunburn growing across his face and neck, then lower to his bare chest.
I can see the recognition on his face, the slight shake of his frame.
“Get up.” At my voice, his face pinches tighter. There’s fear in his expression, but more pronounced is the anger. “Now.”
“Fuck you, cabron.” That earns him a foot to the neck, pinning him down and cutting off some of his airflow. Dalian sputters and tries to push it away, but my father doesn’t budge. “Get off!”
“No, hijo de puta,” Dad sneers before adding a little more pressure. It’s entertaining to see him this pissed. It’s been a while. Orlando De Leon is strong, loving, and above all else, protective of his family. The only reason he’s relaxed a bit is because of my mother. She wants to relax and enjoy what’s left of their lives, and he lives to not disappoint her. “Fucking scum. I should chop your head off and ship it to your uncle.”
“They’ll be reunited soon enough.”
Dad’s gaze snaps to mine, and his lips curl into a grin. “I trust you have a plan?”
“Was there ever any doubt?”
“You’ve always been the more creative one of the two. Your brother’s more—”
“Straightforward in his approach.” I match his smile, and the men here chuckle. “We each have our strengths, Viejo.”
“You are my kids, after all.” Cocky bastard puffs out his chest a bit. “I expect no less.”
“Funny.” Shifting my gaze to Israel, I wave him toward Dalian. “Stand him up. We need to have a little chat.”
A whimper comes from just a few feet to the left of Israel, drawing my attention. “Is there a problem, Montgomery?”
“Please let me go.”
“Why should I?” While my attention is on the arms dealer, my men stand an unsteady Dalian up, but not before Orlando elbows him in the gut twice. The Cuban president’s nephew coughs and groans, then sputters out a pained fucking shit before my father steps back. “This is your chance to save yourself.”
“I meant no disrespect, De Leon. That’s something I need you to understand, please.”
“Go on.” Pulling my shirt over my head, I toss it to a soldier near me. Next, I remove my gold watch, two rings, and then stretch my arms out. The ink on my skin glistens under the hot sun, the story on my body an homage to who and where I come from.
The island. Our culture.
Yet the scripture on my neck comes from an old poem my mother loves written by a famous Cuban author. It speaks of the land, the treasures unseen by the eyes of most, but for those that know of its beauty strive to hold close.
Montgomery swallows hard, the blood on his face mixed with sweat and he licks it off his lip. “They approached me with an offer too interesting not to entertain.”
“Isn’t that always the story.” Stretching, I extend both hands back and feel a pop at each shoulder. Feels good. “Get to the point.”
