Consuelo had whispered those words to him, a few short years ago. An eternity ago. A lifetime ago.
Keep him safe. No matter what it takes, mi hermano, you must keep him safe from his father . . . starting now.
So he had. He’d started then, doing the very thing that would keep Reyes from finding them. Doing everything he had to keep the monster from tracking them down.
“He must die,” Gus said quietly as he continued to speed through the night instead of pulling the car over. He passed by the area where he’d planned to ditch the car. They continued to drive through the night, chasing the moon. “No matter who is there, what is there, no matter what happens, he must die. It is the only way Alex will be safe.”
“I know.”
BRUISES were expected.
The cable ties around her wrists and ankles were expected.
Even the brutal backhand was expected.
Nalini blinked the cobwebs from her mind and focused on the man in front of her just as he was drawing back his fist again. Pain exploded through her face as he struck her again, but she swallowed back any sound she might have made. Head averted, she sucked in a breath and ran her tongue over her teeth, checked her jaw. Nothing felt broken.
She wiggled her wrists, but there was absolutely no give in the restraints. No give in the restraints, and she didn’t have a lot of options around her, either. They’d moved her at some point. She didn’t like the looks of the small, dark room she was in, either.
For some reason, it made her think of a coffin. Or a grave.
A place where she was going to die, she realized. Die, restrained to a stupid chair with a couple of cable ties, all because she hadn’t gotten the hell out of there fast enough.
Damn, what she wouldn’t give to be a bad-ass bitch like Black Widow just then. Just bust up the chair and bust up the bastard in front of her while she was at it. Wasn’t going to happen that way, though. She was going to die here, and she wasn’t going to see her mission through. The son of a bitch she’d been chasing for so long was going to get by unscathed for what he’d done. Ignacio was going to survive this. They all were. Everybody but—
“Look at me, puta.”
Slowly, she swung her head around and stared at Ignacio’s right-hand man. His name was Jorge. He was mean as a snake, and although he pretended otherwise, he was too smart. He was also wearing a pair of gloves. That was a problem. If there was skin contact for even a second . . .
Through her lashes, she stared at him for a minute, holding her breath, hoping he’d edge close enough.
But he was careful, keeping just enough distance between them that she couldn’t wiggle around to touch him, not even a bit.
“The señor says I can do whatever I want with you now,” Jorge said, smiling at her.
“Whatever?” She doubted that. She suspected Ignacio had figured out how she worked and he wasn’t going to risk having her pull Jorge in. She licked her split lip, the taste of blood a metallic wash on her tongue. “He said you can do whatever to me and you decided you were going to just hit me?” She laughed and tugged at her bonds. “He told you to beat the shit out of me, didn’t he?”
He shot out a hand, fisting it in her shirt.
“You stupid little bitch. I’m going to have a lot of fun with you, you know that?”
“This?” Despite how much it hurt, Nalini made herself laugh. “This is how you have fun? Whoever taught you about women seriously neglected their lessons, hijo de la chingada.”
His face went red.
Nalini just smiled, keeping her mask in place.
His hand shot up to her face and squeezed, squeezed . . .
Through the pain, she tried to focus. So hard to do it. His gloves. Damn the gloves. No skin-to-skin contact.
“That’s enough for now, Jorge. I want to ask her some questions.”
With blood pounding in her ears, fear cloying in her throat, Nalini sucked in a breath as Jorge’s hand fell away from her face. Turning her head, she stared at Ignacio as he appeared in the doorway of the dim room. The star-studded sky was at his back, the moon shining down on his black hair, casting his face in shadow.
Then he came inside, shutting the door at his back.
He had showered and changed, dressed in a suit that cost more than she would have made in a month working for Jones in the Bureau.
Jones. She’d needed that out and she hadn’t had time to so much as call.
Life really was a bitch, she decided. A mean, sucker-punching bitch.
As he came to a stop in front of her, she spat out a mouthful of blood at his feet. Nalini watched his eyes narrow in distaste as he moved his shiny, slick shoes back from the small bit of saliva and blood.
So careful with his clothes, with his shoes, with his home. So arrogant.
People around him scraped by for every damn thing they had. People died acting as his mules . . . died or were jailed, and they took the risk because they felt it was their only option.
A monster, that was what stood in front of her. One who sent mercenaries after his son, so he could . . . what? Use that kid?
The frustration she’d been feeling abruptly died.
Okay, so she hadn’t gone after the bastard she’d promised herself she’d find. But she hadn’t wasted the past few weeks, either. This son of a bitch wasn’t going to touch the kid, and she’d had a bit of a hand in that. She’d help save a kid from dealing with some of the hell she’d had to deal with. It was enough.
Ignacio’s face smoothed and he came closer, sat on the bed across from her. “You have proven to be such a problem, Nala . . . or is that your real name?”
“A name,” she said, heaving out a sigh. “What’s in a name, really?”
Jorge moved to stand behind her, tangling his hand in her dreads and twisting so hard her scalp screamed at her. She smiled through the pain. “Is that the best your trained monkey can do, Iggy? Come on. I had schoolyard punks pound on me harder than this.”
There was a table just outside the narrow pool of light, and she watched as he turned and reached for something. Her gut clenched as she saw what it was. A knife. A big-ass machete. “We’re going to talk, Nala. About my son. How you know about him. Where he is. How I can find him. And for every time you fail to answer me, I’m going to cut off a finger. If we go through all your fingers, then I’ll move to your eyes. I’ll save your ears and tongue for the last. Am I understood?”
Horror twisted inside her, but she didn’t let herself babble in fear.
In the end, there wasn’t a damn thing she could tell him, really.
The boy was probably safe, but she’d deliberately avoided learning anything about him. Defeat settled over her and she slumped in the chair. “You might as well start cutting, then. Have fun getting bloody. I don’t know where he is, who has him . . .” Then she lifted her lashes and stared at him. “Even if I did? I’d lose my eyes, my ears, my heart, my kidneys, every damn thing I have before I’d turn some poor kid over to the likes of you.”
Ignacio simply smiled.
TWENTY-ONE
“WE walk from here.”
From where he’d stopped the car, he could see Reyes’s villa.
His gut was tight and every sense was on red alert.
It was too quiet.
Too quiet and the skin on the back of his neck was crawling, like something or somebody was breathing down on him.
But there was nobody there.
He wanted to ask Vaughnne if she felt something, but she was focused on the big house, sprawling out under the silvery sheen of the moon. It was as though something had enchanted her, and she just couldn’t pull herself away. Even as he went about readying himself, checking his Kevlar vest, knives, the Sig Sauer, slipping the strap of the Heckler & Koch MP5 over his shoulder, Vaughnne was moving toward the house.