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Chapter Sixteen
Maceo
My palm leans against the window frame as I gaze outside my office. The sky is bright blue for the late autumn, the trees nearly stripped bare of their leaves. Brandon has been waiting for me to continue talking, but my mind is focused on the mission.
Esteban has gone underground again, but my team is working nonstop. We’ve had no time to decompress, and the night we had planned on it was foiled by an impromptu meeting with Piero. Team morale is low. My men are exhausted.
We need something to go in our favor, and soon.
Piero has been keeping us in the now, calling me with recent discoveries into his deceased cousin’s criminal activity. All of it interesting, but nothing useful for discovering Esteban’s safe house. At least we know he’s actively searching for answers which will help us.
When my crew isn’t vigorously seeking Esteban, we’re tracking Opal’s perp. Since she’s started therapy, she has been coming more out of her shell. Gauge has been very patient with her, supporting her through her counseling sessions and encouraging her to return to her normal activities. It’s slow work, but we’re getting somewhere. The guy hasn’t returned since approaching her outside the property, but the team feels confident he will. And when he does, we’ll be ready.
Along with the manhunts, we resume our routine work. We had been actively tracking a flesh trade market working in Denver and last week, we made a bust. Over twenty women were rescued and returned home to loved ones, and we walked away with a fat check from state security.
The sad part is the real work for those women starts now. They may have survived physically, but their mental state is a whole other matter and something way above our pay grade. We can only hope these women get the proper mental healthcare they need.
What’s on my mind I can’t share openly with Brandon, whether it be client confidentiality, club business, or an active investigation. Once Brandon passes his exams and becomes a licensed therapist hired by my company, then I can share information that is restricted because he’ll already be in the know.
The only things I can openly discuss are my feelings. My hatred and anger for Esteban, my concern for Josephine’s health and safety, my worry for my unborn babies’ developments, my fear of having everything I love ripped away.
“I’m tired,” I mutter, my head resting on my forearm. “Physically and mentally drained.”
“Have you been taking care of yourself?”
“If you’re asking if I’m eating, exercising, and sleeping, the answer is yes. If I lack in any of the three, it’s the latter.”
“These are simple tools that, when balanced, can help regulate your mental health,” he reminds me. “The sleep you get, is it restful?”
Flashbacks of last night’s nightmare sweep in my mind. It was unsettling, and I couldn’t fall back to sleep. I turn to face Brandon, leaning against the wall. “Not really. I’ve been dreaming about shit that fucks with my head.”
“What are they about?”
“They’re all different, but all involved Esteban. Last night, it was a chest game where we faced each other. The dream was from my perspective sitting across from him. He played white, and I played black. When I looked at the board, my pieces had the faces of my family. I was the king and Josephine the queen with my crew making up the other pieces. Esteban’s were faceless. All the white pieces were gunning for my queen, Jo, and I couldn’t do anything to help. It ended with him taking my queen. I’m not entirely sure what it all meant aside from Esteban is trying to take Jo.”
Brandon sits back in his chair, putting his pen and pad on in his lap. “Do you play chess?”
I snort. “I was in the Navy for over a decade; of course, I play.”
“Then you know the rules. The dream is rather symbolic of your current feelings. Chess is a game of strategy—your hunt for Esteban is no different. What color plays first?”
“White.”
Brandon’s lips twitch up in the corners. “Yes. You’ve said you’re always one step behind Esteban, so naturally, you would play the black color, which is defense. Esteban playing white would be offense.
I rub my thumb over my freshly shaved chin. “Okay, makes sense, but what about the rest?”
“Your pieces have faces representing your crew because you handle your team. Hence, why the dream is from your perspective sitting across from him as a chess piece. Esteban’s are faceless soldiers because you don’t know them—Esteban doesn’t do the dirty work. He’s the chess master, moving all the pieces.
“Jo being the queen is no coincidence. Jo is the MC First Lady. She is a powerful woman in your family. The queen is the most coveted piece on the board because of how invaluable she is—the other color wants to take her out to weaken the opposing team. The queen can be won back by promotion where a pawn of the same color reaches the other end of the board. Still, it’s risky as the other pieces are used to obtain it, exposing the king.
“And then there’s you, the king. You need your queen for support, much like you expressed to me you need Jo in your life. The king also has little control over the board in helping the other players, much like you feel you have no control over the Esteban situation.”
I glower at the floor. “So you’re saying I’m the weakest fucking player in this game?”
Brandon shakes his head. “I’m saying that’s how you feel about yourself and how it manifested itself in your dream.”
Fuck if he ain’t speaking the truth.
