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He waits—letting it sink in, I think. Waiting for me to scream and cry and put on theatrics. A part of me wants to. My eyes are already watering, my throat so tight it hurts to breathe, but I don’t sob or wail. Pedro deserves more than that.
He deserves more than me as a friend. “You need to find him!”
“I will,” Jaguar says with a nod. “This was sent to your cell phone not long ago.”
He holds up the device for me to see.
“Oh, God.”
Pedro kneels before a black backdrop that obscures his surroundings. Blood is smeared across his lower lip, but apart from that, he’s alive, his eyes fixed on the camera.
“My Butterfly,” he says, but his voice is monotone. Wide with fear, his eyes dart from the camera’s lens to a space just left of it. He must be reading off something. “If you want him back, come and get him. He won’t be harmed before then. Take your time, knowing that with every delay, I’ll adjust your punishment.”
The video goes dead.
“It was being broadcast from another location,” Jaguar adds. “Along with their video of you. Boaz can no longer cause you harm, but Bastian... He awaits his final judgment at your discretion.”
“I don’t care about revenge,” I manage to spit. “I need Pedro. God, he could be…”
Tortured. Mutilated. Dead—because of me. Even at the hint of Diego’s return, I should have done something. I should have protected him.
As if to taunt me, a familiar mocking voice echoes in my mind,Did you think I would let you go so easily, Butterfly? Hell no. You will pay…
“You’re angry, but you aren’t a fool. Dealing with Bastian Cortez isn’t a mercy,” Jaguar explains as his hand stills against my cheek. “This isn’t even a gift. It is the right you earned. You defended me against thatpendejo,and for that, you earned a say in how he is punished. That is the least of what you have earned after tonight. If he knows anything about Pedro’s whereabouts, I will discover it. But worrying yourself sick won’t help him now. You’re smarter than that.”
He stands, putting his back to me. I can sense a heaviness in his posture that isn’t normally there. A quiet, stoic rage, and unyielding strength. He’s dropped his mask again, letting me glimpse the real Julian Domingas beneath.
And for a second, just one, I consider that he wasn’t behind the attack after all. It caught even him off guard—but the prospect of him being outplayed is more terrifying than one of his mind games.
“First, you need rest,” Jaguar continues. “I’m sending you back to our home tonight—”
“No.” I try to sit up. “I’m not leaving—”
“It’s yours, paid for in blood,” he continues as if I never spoke. “A doctor will meet you there to deal with your injuries. Horatio will accompany you, and I will join you shortlywithinformation on Pedro. Then, I’ll face the wrath in those eyes, chica. I deserve it for failing to honor the trust you have placed in me, but know this... The time for play is over. You are mine.”
He leaves what I slowly recognize as the private suite in his manor. Not long after, Horatio enters, with a black duffle draped over one arm.
“We leave tonight,” he tells me in a brusque tone. “No phone. You will get a new one when we land.”
“Wait.” I attempt to sit upright. “I’m not going anywhere. Not until I know that Pedro—”
“You leave tonight.” Horatio steps forward as if to help me to my feet, but I beat him to the punch, moaning with every muscle I have to flex to stand. I’m shaking. My knees buckle, and I nearly fall when I try to take a step.
Somehow, though, I remain standing.
No matter what life, or Jaguar or even Diego, throws at me…I will always remain standing.
CHAPTERSIXTEEN
It kills me to admit it, but Jaguar was right—panicking over Pedro will get me nowhere. Right now, my old friend needs far more from me than self-pity. Besides, giving into fear would only be playing into Diego’s hands in the long run. As painful as it is to watch the minutes tick by, I must think clearly.
At least there is one small shred of hope to take comfort in. I know Diego. If he did take Pedro, he’d keep him alive—long enough to make me come crawling to him on my hands and knees.
Trusting Jaguar in the short-term is the only option to circumvent him. In any case, the narco has stayed true to his word. I’m ushered onto his private plane by Horatio and transported in utter luxury. When Horatio drives me to my final destination in a private car, I am not surprised.
Bathed in the blood-red glow of sunset, Jaguar’s modern mansion in the California hills cuts a striking image. At first glance, I’m not sure whether to feel relieved or doomed.
With little fanfare, Horatio parks in the driveway and escorts me inside.
