“You don’t know what I saw. I spent two weeks tracking Hero, trying to find something to give Carlos. Did you know he would stop by your apartment building each night to check on things? Did you know he walked you home after work most nights? He cares, chiquita. I wouldn’t waste my time on you otherwise.”
“Those things aren’t my fault. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“They don’t just want to kill him. They want their suffering to become his suffering. And sadly, that’s where you come in.”
I slump backwards as my head swims.
“What’s wrong? Don’t think your hero can save you first? I thought he was your knight in shining armor.”
My shoulders sag from the weight I carry. I don’t have the answer to his question. I can’t declare with the same confidence I used to that as long as Hero is near, I feel safe.
“Finally you look scared. And you should be.” He smiles. “But I can save you, Cataline. I’ll take you with me. Tell me what you know. Where does he get his strength, and how does he survive bullets? If he’s not immortal, what kills him? I’ll make all this go away. You have my word.”
The door rattles when someone pounds on it. “Vamos, Guy.”
“Last chance,” he says.
Whatever the Cartel does with the information will put lives at risk, most of all Calvin’s. I don’t care. I’ve already sacrificed enough. I urge myself to speak, to spill Calvin’s secrets and take my revenge, but I remain unshakably mute.
Someone opens the doors.
“Yavoy,” Guy shouts and slams his fist into the wall. “Fuck. I can’t help you then. I don’t know why you’re keeping his secret,” he pauses, glancing over his shoulder, “but there’s a chance it’s about to get you killed.”
I swallow thickly. Before he turns away, he pulls my face up to his and kisses my cheek. He leaves without a look back.
46
Calvin
My bare hands have served me well so far. They are my weapons. My skin is my shield, my strength is my lifeline, and Cataline, my motivation. I’m not sure there’s greater motivation to me at this point. I am alarmed to learn all the things I would risk for her.
We arrive at the East Side in record time. I don’t know what to expect, or even who from the Cartel will be present. The call didn’t come long after our contacts around the city were alerted to our emergency. I’d snatched the phone from Norman, trying to listen for Cataline in the background, but the messenger had already hung up.
McCormick is a weak substitute for Carter. I’ve employed him as my driver for years, but the possibility that Carter betrayed me has deepened the fissure of mistrust I carry with me. I watch him closely as we drive. He has one command: get Cataline to safety with or without me.
Overgrown weeds lick at my boots and dirt crunches beneath them as I approach the shithole where I’ve been directed. I’m still in full uniform, though I’m not sure it’s necessary. Part of me hopes seeing me this way will restore some of Cataline’s faith in her hero.
There’s a small crowd of men out front, some I recognize, others I don’t. What links them all is their ink. To send a message, I grab the nearest Cartel member and shove him in the dirt. My boot flies into his ribcage, sending him onto his back. “Take me to Riviera.”
The only one who doesn’t step back flicks his cigarette on the ground and stamps it out. “This way.”
I throw my shoulders back and follow him inside, my eyes scanning the space around me. My body locks into a tense knot when I’m led into a room with seven men. As if on cue, they simultaneously raise their guns. Carlos Riviera stands center, his arms crossed and his chin raised.
“Where is she?” I ask.
“She’s safe,” he says. “Play nice, and she can go when we’re done with her.”
“Let her go now, and maybe I’ll kill you with mercy.” I step forward and a chorus of gun hammers sound.
“Espera. Wait,” Carlos says, holding out his hand to them. “This kill is mine.” He rips the gun from the hands of the man nearest him, but as I anticipate the shot, he calls out, “Get her.”
One of the men pounds on a side door, and Cataline comes hurling through it. Her hands are cuffed in front of her, her mouth is gagged with fabric, and the clothing she left the mansion in is covered in dirt. But it’s her undone pants that blind me with a white-hot rage. The thought of Carlos’s hands on her ignites a burning in me that only his blood will extinguish. When she sees me, her eyes widen and she whimpers.
Riviera’s head snaps to the boy who comes in after her, and under his breath, he asks, “¿Qué pasó—dónde está el gringo?”
The boy shrugs. “No sé. Se fue.”
“He left?” Carlos asks. “Stupid motherfucker.” He yanks Cataline’s upper arm and places the gun against her temple as his eyes dart off the walls and back to me. “We fuck her while you watch. Hope you taught her right, ‘cause if she’s good, we keep her. If not, she dies. Then we kill you.” Cataline’s lashes glisten with fresh tears, and her eyes are heavy with resignation.
“This doesn’t involve her anymore. You got me where you want me, now let her go.”
“Don’t tell me what the fuck to do.” He grabs the hair at the back of Cataline’s head. “Get down,” he says, pushing her to her knees.
My feet are moving across the floor, but I stop when Carlos grinds the gun’s muzzle into her cheek. “Either you watch as she blows me and my crew, or I put a bullet in her head right now.” Without taking his eyes from me, he says, “Untie it.” The man next to her sets down his gun to remove the gag. Cataline’s shoulders quake as Carlos traces his barrel down her cheek.
“Stop,” I say, but I barely hear it because my heart pounds furiously in my ears.
Carlos wrenches her head back and looks directly at her when he says, “Open your mouth, bitch.”
She swallows, and her effort to avoid my eyes is obvious. My skin is so hot it would burn anyone who touches it. Carlos hands his gun off and undoes his pants. Her skin pulls taut across her face, but I can still see her grimace through it.
“You can have whatever, I’ll go wherever you want,” I say. “Just stop.”
“Calvin,” Cataline whispers.
“Did you hear that?” Carlos asks her, his voice eerily low. “Hero’s going to trade his life for yours. He’s going to sacrifice an entire city for you, leaving them unprotected. Did you know about his obsesión?”
This unfamiliar impotence unnerves me in a way I can barely contain, and I know I’m going to erupt if he doesn’t let her go within seconds. Cataline looks at me finally, and the resignation from before has vanished. In its place is something wild I recognize from the night she cut herself open. She has nothing left to lose. Her message is clear: she’s going to fight back.
My first step lands heavy on the concrete, upsetting a cloud of dust. As Carlos looks up, Cataline buries her head in his thigh. I lunge forward just as he cries out and throws her to the ground by her hair.
Men are coming at me, but I only have eyes for Carlos. I just dodge a bullet as I tackle him, but Cataline’s scream shatters my focus. Two men are dragging her from the room with a knife pressed into her cheek. Its blade is red with the reflection of her blood. I leap to my feet, ignoring the shot that burns into my calf. The man drops the knife and runs, so I swipe it as someone jumps on my back. I turn, grabbing behind me, and throw a man across the room.
When another shot rings out, my muscles tense, but nothing hits me. Carlos runs, and I pounce, catching him by the back of his shirt and hurling him. He collides with a wall, where I pin him with my forearm on his neck.
“What are you?” he wheezes.
“I’m a predator,” I say, my voice unnaturally deep. “I target, and I kill. You mistook me for a hero. I can’t be outrun. Nobody can escape me. Nobody can hide.” I spear the knife into his chest, pull it out just as quickly, and drop it. He grunts an inhuman noise. “Now you know my secret,” I tell him. “I cannot be defeated. And nobody touches what’s mine.” His mouth moves in a silent plea, his eyes round when I drive my fist in the wound. My hand wraps around his thumping heart, and I rip it out. It’s seconds before he collapses.