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He huffs, turns, and walks away. I carefully follow him, glancing into an open-plan living room with large windows. We’re so high up, nobody can see into here. We must be in the tallest apartment in the city or close to it. I find the front door, or whatusedto be the front door.
It’s a sheet of metal, gleaming, mocking. A moment later, a robotic voice announces,“Soundproofing enabled. Silence mode activated. Glass refraction altered. Entrances barred. User, please ration any food and use water appropriately. Use the approved word sequence with the recognized voice to alert law enforcement of your location. Thank you.”
Somehow, I doubt I’ll guess the word sequence, and I clearly don’t sound like Jamie.
I turn, almost jumping, when I see the dog sitting right next to me. How did such a big dog move so quietly? Like his owner, he’s deceptive for his size. He grunts, turns, and leads me into the kitchen, attached to the open-plan living area. He huffs and paws at a cabinet. It has some sort of child lock on it.
“Is this where the bad man keeps your treats, boy?” I ask, sounding defeated even to myself. What can I do? How can I escape?
The dog huffs again, causing his nametag to swing back and forth. I lean close, relieved when I see his tail wagging. “Demon, huh? I guess it fits.”
I unlock the child lock and take out a treat. I’m tempted to let the dog feast, but I don’t want to make him sick. After handing him one, I walk across the living room and drop onto the couch. There’s nothing I can do.
For a girl—for awoman—who likes to think I have some control, this is almost worse than anything. There’s nothing I can do except sit here, my belly churning, my head exploding with all the evil things that could be happening to Mom. Maybe Jamie was lying about helping me. He could be going to hurt her right now, but I don’t believe it. I felt him in the elevator. I felt how badly he wanted me. I don’t understand why he’d get like that unless he’s a sicko who’s turned on by destroying lives.
We almost kissed. I groan, stand up, and start pacing. It’s the only thing I can do: pace up and down, grind my teeth, and wonder why Jamie wouldn’t tell me anything.
CHAPTERSIX
Jamie
I drive through the city, sticking to the speed limit, hoping nobody saw me swing Lena’s car around to my hideout two streets over or saw her get into my car. Somebody probably saw the commotion on the street. I may have to change my plates or use my contacts.
I could’ve given her some answers, but that would mean revealing what I did to her mom, Simone. I’m not sure it’s fair to think of it like that—in terms of what I didtoher. We did it together, but I knew better. I was the one with all the power.
In the elevator, I couldn’t control myself. It was the worst setting, inappropriate as hell, but I couldn’t stop it. My manhood flooded and lust filled me up, making it difficult even to think. I was bursting from the base of my shaft, seed trying to reach her.
I could’ve held those hips again, squeezed tighter this time. It took everything I had not to pull her sweater up and sink my teeth into her hips, her curvaceous fullness. She’s thick in the best possible way.
“Focus, kid,”Imaginary Jack says, staring at me with his grizzled grey beard and scarred bald head.“Save her mother first. You can romance her later.”
That’s precisely how Jack would phrase it:courtingorromancinga lady. Those are civilized terms. There’s nothing civilized about what I want to do to her. It’s pure animal impulse. It’s hunger. It’s the urge to tear her clothes off and bend her over, spank her big juicy ass to show her I own it, ownher, then slip my shaft between—
A car honks behind me. I’m blocking traffic. I really need to focus. I drive to the edge of the city, the cartel basement bar. A cartel man is sitting out front on a stool. He’s wearing a leather jacket over a white tank, covered in tattoos, music playing from some speakers on an upturned crate. It’s a rap song in Spanish. When I walk across the street, the music gets louder, the lyrics clearer. The artist is rapping about killing somebody at midday and burying them at midnight. It doesn’t seem practical to me.
In Spanish, I say, “I’m here to see Diego. I have an appointment for my hair.”
The man, a little older than me, sits up, suddenly on full alert. The hair appointment is a code that means he has to take me straight to his boss, Diego, a low-level cartel member controlling this sad corner of the city. The man stands and gestures to the basement. I didn’t bring any guns. They wouldn’t let me in here with any.
But I’m walking out of here alive. Before, when I’d think that, it was just a matter of basic survival. Now, I have the motivation—to see my woman again.
* * *
Diego is a short man, always sweating. He dabs at his balding forehead with a handkerchief, his gold watch flashing on his wrist. He’s let his hair grow long down the sides. “You said we were done.”
“We were,” I say, keeping my voice low despite the music Diego switched on when he saw me. He doesn’t want anybody to know he’s worked with… with what? What am I? Not a cop. Not a hitman. Not an angel. Not a devil. “But things change. This is about the Gutierrez family’s cryptocurrency wallet. I’m sure you’ve heard some whispers about it.”
Diego is already shaking his head, but his eyes give him away. His eagerness to pretend he doesn’t know what I’m talking about tells a lot, too.
“I don’t need anything from you,” I say, leaning forward slightly. Just enough to remind him I’m twice his size. Just enough to remind him that the last time he saw me, I had just finished killing one of his cartel buddies who liked to hurt little kids. He helped me. Against his will, but he helped, and they can’t ever learn that. “Except for a name. You’ve heard about that old cryptocurrency wallet. You know it was stolen. Who’s making a play for it?”
“Is this about the woman?” Diego says, reaching into his top drawer and taking out a small table for chopping lines. There’s already some powder on it.
I slap it off the table. It crashes into the wall, powder lacing the air. I slam my fist close to Diego’s hand, causing him to leap into his chair. “A name. Now. Or you can call your men in here. Have me killed. Try to, at least.”
His mouth opens and closes like a fish searching for water. He’s only in this position because of family connections. He’d be eaten alive by the real cartel down south.
“Better start talking, Diego.”
