Page 50 of Blurred Red Lines

Out of nowhere, a horrifying thought gut punched me. “You think he’s dead.”

Mateo raised an eyebrow, taking in my hardened stare. “We didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

A tightened squeeze on his phone was his only response as he lowered his eyes.

From what I’d gathered in eavesdropping from my curled-up seat on the couch, a neighboring textile factory called in an explosion to the Corpus Christi Fire Department concerning an abandoned warehouse five miles off Highway 59. Mateo got the call from one of his crew members two hours ago, causing chaos to erupt at the safe house.

Within minutes, Emilio arrived and men came in and out, all eyeing me up like I was some kind of black widow.

Maybe I was.

If the rumors were true about Val, the last two men I remotely had any sort of relationship with had been murdered. I’d never recover from losing Nash. The memory of being in that kitchen would haunt me until my last breath, but the thought of Val walking into an explosion forced a reaction out of me I didn’t expect.

He’d made me his prisoner. He indirectly had a hand in my brother’s death. Yet, I found myself clawing at my neck for my St. Michael medallion, offering up a prayer for his protection. Of course, my fingers scraped nothing but bare skin.

“Hey, Danger…”

“Eden…no.”

“Take it. It’s for luck. It’ll protect you.”

“Like it protected you?”

“We’re still alive, aren’t we?”

I just hoped it’d done its job. With Nash gone, and my father on the run, I realized the man who’d initially held me against my will had become all I had left. Whether morally right or wrong, I needed him. I didn’t give a shit what anyone else thought. I never did.

Mateo’s phone rang again, knocking me out of my introspective revelation.

“To the ground?” The lines in his forehead deepened. “How many bodies?”

Reality slapped me cold in the face. “Bodies?” Running to the table, I braced my palms against the edge. “Whose bodies? How many?”

Mateo dismissed me with a wave. “How long before the medical examiner can identify?” With a slow shake of his head, he sat back in the chair and raked a hand over his sparse goatee. “Send extra men and call me the minute you find anything. Search the car, search the area…fuck, search within a ten-mile radius.” Ending the call, he cursed under his breath.

“Is he dead?”

A deeper voice called out to me. “Sit down, Eden.”

Panic shifted my attention toward Emilio. “What doyouknow?”

“Don’t stick your nose into business you know nothing about, Eden O’Dell,” he bit out, refusing to look at me.

“Lachey.”

“Whatever.”

It took me half a second to lose my shit.

Nine days of physical restraint, fear, and hunger strikes simultaneously set me off. Pushing off the table, I lunged at him, my fists curling into his dirty white button-up shirt as I shoved my nose against his in a bold move.

“My last name is Lachey. You remember it, don’t you, boss? You said it enough when you beat the shit out of my brother.” Bottled up anger and grief exploded into an uncontrollable verbal tirade.

Val explained that their rival cartel orchestrated Nash’s execution, and for some fucked-up reason, I believed him. Emilio didn’t kill my family, but when I didn’t know if the man I needed more than I cared to admit was alive or dead, rationality wasn’t a high priority.

Emilio’s eyes widened. “Get the hell off me, you crazy bitch!”