Page 14 of Cartel Viper (The Cartel Brotherhood #2)

She already confessed he’ll hunt for her.

It terrifies me that this unknown man will find her when I’m not there.

My conscience says I should stop stalking her and trust her judgment.

But it also tells me if I were a good potential boyfriend, I would’ve assigned men to the hotel to watch her when I can’t.

I don’t know which part I should listen to.

It thoroughly tempts me to do both. Assign the men and I stop watching her, but I can’t bring myself to do that.

I’m not ready to make my interest public, and I’m not ready to relinquish control of the surveillance.

I haven’t admitted I placed a tracker on her car when I staked out her parents’ home.

I didn’t admit I spent the night watching the house.

I left the reception before she did, and I worried she might think I left in a pissy huff.

But as I moved toward the ballroom door, our gazes met again, and she offered me a half smile.

I think she understood it’d been a long day for me.

What she didn’t know was I wanted to arrive at her parents’ home in New Jersey well before they did.

Since she parked in her parents’ driveway, it was easy to attach the tracker.

I made sure it worked while she drove home from the park.

I’ve already checked her vehicle’s location, and it’s at the hotel.

I’m starving, so I give in and head to my kitchen, bringing my laptop with me. I keep glancing at the screen as I make myself lunch. I am about to put the leftover patacones con hoago —fried plantains with a tomato and onion sauce—in a pan to reheat when I notice movement on the screen.

Who the fuck is that? I have no reason to suspect the two men I see approaching the front of the hotel. But my brothers and I didn’t survive growing up in Bogotá without a father, without having some Spidey senses. I don’t know who these men are, but something feels remarkably off about them.

The way they move screams syndicate. It’s an air of self-assuredness, along with their muscular build. It’s not just “I’m hot shit because I’m bigger than you.” It’s “Nothing can stop me. ‘No’ doesn’t mean no.”

I wish I had a way to tap into the hotel’s security feed, but I didn’t put any cameras in there.

I’m stuck with just the parking lot. I leave the food on the counter and grab my computer as I hurry to my bedroom.

I continue to watch what’s happening as I yank off my tie and button down, dropping them on a pile with my trousers.

I never leave my custom-tailored suits on the floor when I change, but I don’t bother wasting a moment to pick them up. I watch over my shoulder as I yank black cargo pants and a black long sleeve shirt from my closet. I’m hopping from one foot to the other as I put pants on.

I know there’s no possibility I can get to that hotel before something happens, if anything does. Maybe I’m being paranoid, but my intuition screams I need to get to Maddy. I’ll call, but that won’t be enough.

Once my clothes are on, I head back to my living room. Some instinct long ago told me not to delete Maddy’s number from my phone, but I have no idea if it’s still the same one it was when we were in high school.

I tap the button on my phone and give the command.

“Call Madeline.”

I’m grabbing my keys as I speak, still carrying my laptop.

I try not to lose my shit as I wait for the elevator to carry me down to the basement parking garage.

When my computer loses the Wi-Fi signal from my condo, it links over to my phone’s hotspot.

I continue to watch the live feed of the hotel parking lot.

Maddy hasn’t answered even though I’ve called three times.

It goes to voicemail, so I know I have the right number.

Maybe it’s because she doesn’t recognize mine.

“Text Madeline.”

My phone follows my command, and I dictate my message.

Me

Maddy, it’s me, Javier. Answer when I call, otherwise I’m going to think something’s wrong.

I give the message a chance to go through before I dial again. My car picks up the Bluetooth once I turn it on. It’s still ringing as it switches over to hands-free. It rings through to voicemail again.

“Text Madeline.”

Me

Answer the damn phone, Maddy. I’m about to panic.

I call yet again.

Maybe she’s in the shower and doesn’t hear it ringing. Maybe she left her phone in her purse and can’t tell it’s vibrating. I’m certain there’s a solid explanation that doesn’t involve those men attacking her, but none reassure me. I keep one eye on the road and one eye on my computer screen.

Fortunately, it’s Sunday, so I’m not facing too much traffic. But it still takes me a half an hour to cross over to Brooklyn. It’ll take me at least another twenty minutes to get to her hotel.

Nothing’s changed outside the building. Those men haven’t come out yet. I haven’t seen them before. They carried no luggage as they walked in. That’s part of what raised my suspicions.

Who’re they there to visit? Is it a situation like what brought Joaquin and me there in the first place?

Unfortunately, the cameras can’t zoom in enough for me to make out the license plate on the car I saw them walk away from.

I can tell its make and model, but nothing more specific than that.

I don’t know if the tags are New York or out of state.

And by that, I mean not New Jersey or Connecticut either.

Every light I stop at tempts me to blow through it, but there are still other cars on the road. I don’t need to cause an accident or have anybody call the police and report my license plate. I drum my fingers on the steering wheel, impatience battling to take control of my usually reasoned mind.

I’m three exits away when I watch Madeline burst out of a fire escape and barrel down the stairs, nearly falling twice.

She jumps down the last few steps on each flight before she bolts to her car.

The men are right behind her and threaten to overtake her as she weaves through the parking lot.

She waits until the last minute to unlock her car.

She barely slams it shut before one man tugs on the handle.

I can’t see more specific details within the car, but he hammers on the window.

The second guy stands in front of the hood. Not smart.

Maddy can pull through to the next spot, so she inches forward, letting her bumper push the man.

He doesn’t back up, instead pressing onto the hood.

She continues forward, and the man scrambles onto her car.

The moment she’s free of the cars beside her, she makes a sharp turn while accelerating.

She whips into another tight turn at the end of the row of cars.

The man goes sailing off the hood and smashes against another car.

That’ll hurt in the morning. I can practically hear her tires squeal from here as she peels out of the parking lot and onto the street.

The guy on the ground staggers to his feet, shaking off what probably feels like a bulldozer hit him.

The first guy’s already pulling their car around to get the second one.

With one hand on the wheel and glancing at my computer, I pull up Maddy’s tracker.

I expect her to head to Queens where Maks and Laura live, but she doesn’t go in that direction.

It makes me think she might head into New Jersey to go to her parents, but she’s pointed toward Manhattan.

Does she think she can lose them in traffic there?