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Over the years, my driver has been the constant disruption of the Garcia sex trade to avenge Chloe, and it has worked. Enough to help thousands of women and children.
There also might be a few more people six feet under because of me. Bad people. People who did despicable things to innocents that I couldn’t look away from.
Sometimes it took me days or weeks, but they’ve all gone to meet their maker. I’m not a religious man, but none of them get to walk free now.
I feel like I’m doing the work my father would be proud of.
It doesn’t make up for me not protecting Chloe, but it’s a start.
I could have left years ago. Connor never expected me to be here for this long in the hunt for Carlos. Still, I stayed and continued the work. Obligation heavy on my shoulders, feeling both my father and Chloe’s ghosts following me around.
Now, with Carlos—or rather Gabriel—revealed, that excuse is gone.
Nathan is out, and now I need to make some big decisions as I seek to help both Isabelle and this next shipment of sex slaves.
Goddamn him for handing her over to me.
With bullets flying over our heads, I know he was thinking on his feet, but his faith in me feels unfounded as I step into the den with Isabelle beside me.
Pablo sits in his large armchair, smoking a cigar. His black shirt unbuttoned to his waist, revealing his dark aged, tanned skin, shitty tattoos, and a chain he never takes off with the Christ’s cross.
I cannot understand how someone so evil can wear that thing every day and do the things he does. My guess is he thinks it protects him from punishment for his sins.
I have bad news for him. No one is going to save him from my bullet one day.
Beside him, Jose and Diego lounge against the wall with their phones in their hands. Diego snorts, says something in Spanish, and then tucks it into his pocket.
Along the other far walls, two other cartel members stand with rifles across their chests. Behind us, Miguel closes the door.
Isabelle jumps, but I keep a tight hold on her arm.
“Hola, boss,” I say, greeting Pablo.
He nods coldly and runs his eyes up and down the length of Isabelle. After he takes another puff on his cigar, he blows it out, frowning. “So, you took the bridesmaid.”
He noticed the dress she wore earlier, meaning he’s been paying more attention than I thought.
Damn.
“I did.” I shrug, smirking.
“What is your name?” Pablo asks her.
“Iz-Isabelle,” she stutters.
“Issssabelle,” he draws out, and it even sends a chill down my spine. “Isabelle, Isabelle, Isabelle.”
I hold back my snarl as his eyes light up.
Fuck. This isn’t good.
Then he snaps his fingers and my back teeth grind together. Outwardly, I know I’m looking calm and chill, but I’m not.
Not at fucking all.
“You’re friends with the Italian mafia princess,” Pablo says. “And now one of my soldiers has taken you. Tsk tsk, Dex.”
Shit.
