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He didn’t answer immediately, didn’t look perturbed at all. Just regarded me.
The gaze was cold and uncomfortable. The stare of a being with nothing underneath his skin but a black soul. A true psychopath.
“I don’t doubt you, Rosie. You seem to make quite sure to keep your promises,” he said. “You caused a lot of trouble for me and my business.”
I gaped at him. “Do you want an apology? So sorry, Doctor Evil, for foiling your evil plans to rape and enslave innocent women.” Then I glared. “You’re the most despicable person I’ve ever come into contact with,” I whispered. “I hope when you die, it lasts for months.”
“Well, you’re not the only one who hopes for that, but I’m a stubborn man. I don’t plan on dying just yet,” he said, unbuttoning his suit jacket. “I’m not here to get you to understand my business. Most people have… trouble.”
“Most people have hearts, that’s why, motherfucker.”
He raised his brow. “I came because I have a certain reputation to uphold. If people think they can interrupt my business without retribution, I have troubles, you see?” He sighed. “So retribution is necessary. Your team, they were easy. They didn’t quite have the complications you do.”
I tilted my head. “There should always be complications. Taking human life should never be easy,” I hissed.
He shrugged. “Ah, but it is. You know this. In the right, or wrong, circumstances, it is easy. One of the easiest things on earth. But your family, they are powerful. So your life is not as easy to take. It would cause me more trouble, you see? I’ve had quite enough of trouble.”
“So if you’re not here to kill me, what are you going to do, slap me on the wrist?” I snapped, seriously doubting that was the case. The man had cut a man’s hands off for fucking up his car detailing. True story. Wire showed me.
He looked at me a beat longer, then nodded to one of the men guarding the door, the one without the sniper rifle. He reached into his jacket and passed Fernandez a large brown envelope. He dumped the contents of the envelope and started laying photographs on the chipped coffee table in front of us.
My eyes were glued to the photos as soon as they landed on the wood. And they kept coming.
Mia chasing after Rocko, who was holding some kind of lit firework.
Cade in his bedroom, throwing a laughing Isabella into the air.
Amy and Brock holding hands as she scowled at him and he grinned wide at her.
Bex walking out of an NA meeting, Lucky bringing her into his arms.
Luke walking down the street, on the phone, grinning.
Evie sitting on the porch of her and Steg’s house, smoking.
Ranger and Lizzie cheering on their kids at a soccer game.
And it went on.
“Your family is very large,” Fernandez said pleasantly. “And very unique. Loyal. Strong, a lot of them.” He tapped an image of Cade, watching Gwen from a distance. Then on Luke’s photo again. He moved the photo so it focused on Belle, running after her baby brother in their backyard. “And also very vulnerable.”
“Don’t you say another word if you want to keep breathing,” I hissed, my voice small.
“I want to keep breathing very much,” he said calmly. “I want everyone in your unique family to keep breathing. Which is why I’m here, having this chat with you.”
“You’re calling threatening babies a chat?” I hissed. “You really are a piece of shit.”
“I’m not asking for your acceptance of my character, just your understanding of the situation.” He stood up, straightening his jacket. “I’ll leave you some time to think. You are my guest here, which means you will not be harmed.” He looked to his guards. “In any way. And I will be back. Soon.”
And then he was gone. I was left with all the photos of the people who made up my world, and the unsaid threat by a man promising to destroy that world.
Cade
Cade was frustrated.
They were getting nowhere on this Fernandez motherfucker.
Scratch that, they were getting a lot. A lot of things that made even Cade’s stomach turn. A lot of things that haunted him, even after he’d put his children to bed, fucked his beautiful wife and she fell asleep in his arms.
Warm.
Breathing.
Her heart beating against his own.
But he lay awake for hours afterward, staring at Gwen’s chest rising and falling, holding onto her. He lay awake and thought of that shit they’d found. The fucking atrocities. And he thought about Rosie being tangled up in that shit.
It scared him. She always scared him. The girl had no fear. She leaped, didn’t look, didn’t fucking think. Her courage wowed him. Her strength.
And she’d gone through shit the previous year and had done it without him. No matter what she said, he’d failed her. Because she’d been there every fucking step of the way when shit got rocky in his life. Got dark. When he thought he might lose Gwen. The baby. Rosie was there. The months he was without Gwen. Rosie was there. His wedding. His children’s births. And every time after that. She was always there.
