Page 20 of Gabriel (Legacy of Heathens #4)

Gabriel

I didn’t bother knocking.

The heel of my boot slammed into the wood and the apartment door cracked open with a bang, ricocheting off the wall like a gunshot.

Inside was a shoebox that overlooked the shipyard, cluttered and likely rat-ridden.

The place reeked. It was the kind of smell that stuck to your clothes if you stayed too long.

Good thing I was planning a quick visit.

Three monitors glowed in the half-light, sitting above what looked to be a disassembled burner phone and about a dozen hard drives. The chair was empty.

Where the hell was he?

The sound of a window sliding open—a faint metallic screech—cut through the silence. I moved fast.

By the time I reached the back room, Esteban was halfway out the window, his legs dangling over the ledge, trying to wriggle into the alley like a cockroach diving for a drain.

I stepped forward and grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking him backward. He let out a thin, high-pitched scream as he landed hard on the floor, thrashing. A clump of hair stayed in my hand. I dropped it without looking and drove a boot into his ribs. He folded with a wet grunt, gasping for air.

“How nice to see you,” he wheezed, curling around the pain.

“Why are you running, Esteban?” I drawled.

Esteban Santiago was a twenty-year-old punk.

He was born in Miami, raised online, and currently in hiding, mostly along the shores of Colombia.

He was brilliant but arrogant, lacking the street smarts necessary to survive our world.

The younger syndicates practically worshipped him, although personally I didn’t see the appeal.

“ Por favor… por favor… no me lastimes …”

“Come here before I pull out my gun and decide to empty the magazine.”

I hauled him off the ground like he weighed nothing and shoved him into the desk chair. He barely had time to blink before I pulled the zip ties from my jacket pocket and fastened his arms and legs to the frame, tight enough to bite into the skin.

Esteban whimpered, pleading under his breath in a mix of Spanish and English. It didn’t matter what language he begged in, he wouldn’t get mercy until I got my answers.

I grabbed a chair from the kitchenette, turned it to face him, and sat down slowly. Calm. In control. He needed to see that.

“Now,” I said, voice razor-sharp, “tell me what you’re working on for Amara Brennan Cullen.”

“Who? I-I don’t?—”

I pushed up from my seat in an instant and threw my fist. The crack echoed in the tiny room. His head snapped back, eyes wide with shock and pain.

“Wrong answer,” I said coolly, flexing my fingers at my side. “And just so we’re clear, lying only makes this worse.”

He groaned, spit mixing with blood on his lip.

I gave him a few seconds to breathe. I wanted him scared but conscious. Alert. Focused on me.

“Again,” I said. “What are you up to with Amara?”

“I-I don’t know. I swear, senor . Por favor?—”

My knuckles split his cheek open this time. Blood ran freely now, dripping from his chin onto his shirt. Still not enough.

I settled back in my chair, brushing a piece of imaginary lint from my shirt. My heart rate hadn’t even gone up. Running the cartel out of Miami meant staying calm while people screamed.

There was a general belief among factions that I was too rich, too distracted, too comfortable. That I wasn’t across every part of my organization. I found that it worked in my favor for the most part. Let them believe it.

I leaned forward, eyes locked on his. “Your priorities are fucked up, Esteban. You’re scared of Amara, but you should really be terrified of me and what I’m about to do to you if you don’t start singing.”

The idiot actually started singing. “ Pooor faaaavooor .”

“You’ve already pissed me off,” I said, cutting him off. Blood was soaking through his pants now, turning the fabric black. “But I’m giving you a chance. One chance. Tell me what she wanted or I swear to God, you’ll wish I’d killed you when I walked in.”

I slid the switchblade from my pocket and clicked it open with a deliberate snap. The silence did the rest.

“I don’t know,” he whispered, eyes darting, lip trembling. “Nobody came to visit me.”

I drove the blade into his thigh.

Esteban screamed, a wet, animal sound. The room trembled with it.

“I can’t tell you,” he roared. “She’ll kill me.”

“You’re missing the fact that I’m about to kill you if you don’t give me answers,” I said, twisting the blade.

“Stop, no—I… She wanted me to hack into a device she recovered in the jungle,” he choked out.

“Whose device was it?”

“Her sibling’s,” he cried.

“Which one? Did she give you a name?”

“No! She just gave me a locked phone.”

“What did you find on it?”

“I didn’t read it. She took it right after I broke through the encryption.”

A slow, menacing smile spread across my face. “Come on, Esteban. Let’s not pretend that you didn’t copy whatever was on that device.”

“I… I…”

“You kept a copy, didn’t you?” He let out a sigh and nodded. “Good boy.” I untied his hands and handed him the burner phone. “Now send it to me.”

He reached for his phone with a shaky hand and I watched him as his fingers flew across the screen before my phone beeped.

“I haven’t had a chance to… decode it.”

“Don’t worry about that.”

I yanked the blade out. He howled and collapsed sideways, blood smearing the floor. I stepped around him, wiped the blade clean on a filthy towel slung over a drawer, and slipped it back into my pocket.

I didn’t look back as I left the shitty apartment and stepped into the stairwell.

I took the steps two at a time as I pulled out my phone.

I dialed Nikola—my nephew, friend, and a perpetual pain in my ass.

He picked up on the second ring. “What do you want, Gabriel?”

“Show some respect.”

He scoffed. “Fuck you, Uncle. How’s that for respect?”

“I need a favor.”

“You’re in luck. I’m giving out favors because I’m in a good mood.” I heard some rustling on his end, and he added, “Give me a second to help Skye.”

I chuckled. Skye had been good for him. Since their wedding, he’d been more grounded, and even more reliable, but mostly he was just happier.

It took no time and Nikola was back on the line. “Okay, what’s up?”

“I need you to try to decode information that came off a device that Amara Cullen picked up in Colombia,” I said. “It’s military-grade.”

Nikola exhaled. “She’s in your territory?”

“Yes.”

A pause. “Alright. I’ll dig.”

“Appreciate it. I’m sending it to you now.”

I stepped outside of the shitty building just as the call ended, determined to find out what was on that phone. One way or another.

I slid behind the wheel of the Mercedes at the same time my burner buzzed. The screen lit up with one name: Nikola .

Luis raised an eyebrow, already smirking. “Your side piece?”

I flipped him the bird and connected the call through Bluetooth.

“That didn’t take long, Nikola. Talk to me.”

He didn’t bother with pleasantries.

“Amara accessed a message from an encrypted device. From Jet.”

My grip tightened on the wheel. I put the car in drive and rolled out of the parking lot, trying to ignore the sudden twist in my gut.

“What kind of message?”

“A grab order,” he said, hesitating. “Its target is… you.”

My foot eased off the gas. We slowed as a siren howled somewhere in the distance, like the city had already heard the news.

Luis turned toward me, smirk gone. His voice dropped a note lower. “Does it say anything else?”

“It also mentions coordinates,” Nikola replied. “But there’s no data attached. It might’ve been scrubbed or sent through another channel. I’m still digging.” Frustration tinged his voice. Nikola hated holes in the story.

“Told you she’s a siren,” Luis muttered.

“What?” Nikola sounded confused.

“Nothing,” I said. “Luis is just feeling poetic lately.”

“Hmm. Right.” Nikola clearly thought we were both insane.

“Whatever’s going on, don’t be acting reckless,” he added.

“Define reckless,” I snickered. “And that coming from someone like you is rich, nephew.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, what was I thinking? You and reckless don’t belong in the same sentence. Except for where your fixation with Amara is concerned.”

“Go back to your wife, Nikola.”

I ended the call before he could reply while Luis narrowed his eyes. “So what’s the move? We hit the yacht first?”

I shook my head and exhaled slowly. “No, we let Amara kidnap me.”

Luis blinked. “Come again?”

“There’s a purpose to the order. They’re not grabbing me for sport. If I let her snatch me, it might lead me to Jet. All this… It has to do with him and whatever plan he’s cooked up.”

Luis stared at me like I’d grown a second head. “So you want to get kidnapped. By the siren mermaid.” His voice went up half an octave. “Are you concussed? Or just terminally stupid today?”

I gave him a tight smile. “A little bit of both.”

“Gabriel, please reconsider.”

“I have, and it’s a good plan,” I claimed, although it remained to be seen.

Amara being with Elira could become a problem since she was just as crazy as her brother.

“Amara is my way of finding Jet. I’m going to charm the pants off her to get her to trust me.

She’ll tell me where Jet is and what his plans are. ”

He muttered something that probably wasn’t a compliment and started tapping his fingers nervously against the dashboard. “Fine. But if you’re going in, I’m coming too.”

“No. You follow. I’ve got a ‘date’ with Amara tomorrow.” I looked at the time on the dash: 2:43 a.m. “Or, tonight, I guess. We’ll get me fitted with a tracker, and you’ll monitor the route.”

Luis rolled his shoulders, jaw set. “And if I lose your signal?”

“You burn the world to the ground.”

“Yeah. Got it. Gotta buy earplugs first.”

I frowned. “Earplugs?”

“So I don’t fall for the same song you did.”

I scrubbed a hand down my face, exasperated. “God help me. I’m going to get killed by either this idiot, Satan’s twins, or the love of my life.”

Luis snorted. “Stop whining. Let’s go shove a tracker in your ass or some other part of your flesh so you can play bait like a damn Bond extra. Honestly, best idea I’ve ever heard a mobster utter.”

He didn’t agree with the plan.

It didn’t matter.

I wasn’t asking for permission.