Page 16

T he outside of the building is quiet. Beyond creepy, past eerie, something is definitely hiding around the side of the building waiting to jump out and kill me, type quiet.

It also doesn’t help that one of the parking lot post lights is flickering, and another that was hit by an agent last month leans a little, casting a long wavering shadow from the entrance to my car. Not to mention the crickets are unusually loud, the wind is whistling with the incoming storm, and goosebumps now cover ninety-six percent of my body.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been in much scarier, more dangerous situations without so much as batting an eye, but something isn’t sitting right in my gut. In fact, it’s been bubbling with something disgusting since that meeting with the chief of police. I get that the department is dealing with two serial killers, a lethal cartel that has the one up on every branch of law enforcement, and new drugs being introduced to the streets. But the way things are being handled doesn’t mesh well with my gut bacteria.

Pushing forward through the sudden alarm that’s begun signaling in the back of my mind, I scan my key card at the entrance and am welcomed inside with the faint beep and heavy thud of the door unlocking.

When I open the door, the fine hairs on my neck and forearms rise in tandem, but I push the annoying trepidation aside enough to walk through the normally bleak halls. Each step, my pace quickens with the beat of my heart and by the time I get to the work floor, I have to take a steadying breath to keep from getting dizzy.

Get your shit together! I bark at myself, shaking my hands and moving faster through the long row of desks.

I’m frustrated with how worked up I am, but with everything happening, I’m unable to compartmentalize how I normally can. It doesn’t help that, unlike a month ago, I didn’t have anything to truly lose. Now…well, my involvement with the cartel and Alexi could put Elena in harm’s way.

My cheeks warm with the memory of her lips, followed by a sharp slap of shame.

Why couldn’t I have met her before? Back when I was a different, much lighter and happier person. Back before the grief and bad decisions, before the heartbreak and vow at vengeance. Before my obsession became my life, even at the expense of others.

My heart squeezes in my chest. The notion that now my vendetta could affect her, sinks nails into the tender muscle.

Luckily, before I decide to simply give up two years of my life for a woman I just met, a yellow glowing light that illuminates my uncle’s blurry window catches my attention. A singular shadow walks in front of the door, and my pulse thrums as his muffled voice comes from behind it.

“And why are you telling us this?”

Another voice, this one much deeper and arrogant, responds. “Because the boss wants him gone.”

The hand I lift to open the door pauses, ice running down my spine. The person doesn’t have to say the boss’s name for me to know who he’s referring to. It’s all Julio talked about when we worked together.

“I know this is going to sound crazy, but my cartel boys want Babin’s head on a stake even more than you do.” Julio pushes back a thick lock of black hair that had fallen over his forehead as he lines up his cocaine using a silver-plated card. “Every time we meet, it’s something new. Something else for them to be pissed off about.”

“I mean, it could definitely be how many businesses of theirs he’s blown up.” I try to tug my arms from their crossed position over my chest, but fail miserably. “And even so, I doubt anyone wants Babin more than I do.”

I knew when I first “ran into” Julio that he would be nothing but trouble, but I told myself it was a means to an end. That this deep set affliction I had with Alexi needed to end once and for all, and it would be worth it. And yet…serving as his therapist has been anything but.

Not only does Julio have a severe God complex, otherwise known as Narcissistic Personality Disorder, but he was raised with dysfunctional family patterns—particularly with his father—has Intermittent Explosive Disorder and also exhibits major traditional gender role stereotypes. He’s literally the worst person I’ve ever met, which says a lot considering the people I’ve encountered in my field, and I very much hope our arrangement ends soon.

‘Arrangement’ sounds like an odd way to say I listen to the inner workings of his fucked up mind while he feeds me niblets—no, scraps—of information on Alexi. He’s supposed to help me find some concrete evidence through his girlfriend or something, but really, he’s just a little rat to his own cartel organization, and likes to regurgitate gossip.

Julio sucks in a massive breath through a single nostril, vacuuming up the white powder in one fell swoop. After doing a full body jiggle, he runs his hand through his hair again. “No. I’m telling you. My boys are salivating to get a hold of him.”

It takes all the self control I can squeeze out of myself not to roll my eyes. Julio keeps insisting he is some big head over the cartel when he and I both know he’s too fucking stupid and high to be anything more than a liability. But until I know why they need him, I have to keep my mouth shut. Because at the end of this, I’m for sure bringing all this information to my uncle and taking down the gangs alongside the Babins.

“So tell me what’s the plan this week?”

Julio’s phone dings and, after inspecting it, a face I know all too well transforms his features. “Maldito idiota.”

He stands in a huff, his eyes roving over the small table between us before falling on his wallet, which he snatches up. “Our session is over. My driver got a flat with Dominique and let some random fucking pendejo take her somewhere.”

I don’t argue or say anything as I stand, simply nodding as I tell myself next week is a long way away and maybe by then I’ll get lucky and won’t need him anymore. But even as I think it, I know my only end with this man comes when either he dies or I do. Maybe both.

I’m not sure what I feel worse about. That Julio is dead, and I likely accelerated it by pushing him to get more information on the Babins, or the fact I’m not sad about it.

I lift my hand and knock on the door. “It’s Frances.”

“Come in.” My uncle’s voice is stern.

I twist the knob and open the door to find a situation that in no way warranted my earlier fear, but definitely reeks of it. There’s a man in the chair across from my uncle’s desk, and my eyes make quick work of memorizing him and analyzing his body language. Dark brown eyes and hair—ear length—a long crooked nose, possibly having endured two or three breaks, week old stubble, various tattoos covering majority of his exposed skin, leather jacket, tattered jeans and grass stained Nikes. One leg is thrown over the other, and his demeanor is nothing short of relaxed. Confident, even.

This man isn’t a messenger. He’s a broker.

“So what?” my uncle starts as I walk around and hop onto the edge of his desk. I know he’s called me because he wants me to profile him. Pick up on everything he’s putting out. Find the lie or catalog the truth. So I start reading him as if he’s a fresh new file on my desk. “You give us information on the Babins and we look the other way to the cartel infesting the city?”

He lifts one shoulder in an arrogant shrug, the corners of his lips tilting in a knowing smirk. “Hey, I’m not saying what you should do, amigo, but if we scratch your back, isn’t it right y’all scratch ours?”

My eyes narrow. I absolutely hate cocky, entitled men. And this one is about to eat his fucking words when he realizes Agent James walks the line better than those adrenaline-chasing tightrope walkers.

My uncle clears his throat. “And what if we simply take the information you give us and then turn around and arrest you all?”

See?

“I mean, the fishes gotta eat, so they’d be grateful for your contribution.” He shrugs again, his smile growing as he hints at our death, making my hands curl into fists. Again, I go over the features of this man’s face, memorizing the ink embedded in his skin, the insignias on display. Counting the moles and freckles, noting the chip in his front left incisor. I want to look into who he is. What his rank in the organization is. Though I only ever met Julio at his house, there were the rare occasions I saw a few higher-ranking members. This guy wasn’t one of them. At least, not then.

This gets a laugh out of my uncle. It’s high and strained, exposing how exasperated he is. “Federal agents are a little above your gusto, no?”

The man makes a show of rolling his eyes before inclining forward. “Nothing is above my gusto, mi hombre. Especially when it comes to getting what I’m owed.”

“And in this case, Babin’s arrest,” my uncle interjects.

“Sounds good to me.”

“Of course it does.” He sighs. “But here’s the problem. Alexi Babin isn’t currently ruining my city. He isn’t flooding my streets with drugs or using the adolescent children to peddle it. But what we do have is a known, active gang member in my office, bribing a federal agent in order to cover illegal acts. Sounds like an easy arrest to me.”

I have to hold in a laugh. Idiot. The cartel doesn’t know shit about my uncle if they thought they could get him to agree to anything.

“Stop with the bullshit. We know you want him.” He adjusts in his seat, completely unbothered by my uncle’s threat. “Bad enough that you’re willing to do some pretty illegal shit to get to him.”

“Enlighten me what you think we have done?—”

I know before the words come out of his mouth and my core tightens for the impact.

“Her.” The man nods toward me. I may not have seen him, but he knows me. At least, my below the table relationship with Julio. I should have anticipated this at some point. It’s not like I was discreet about it. Blinded by rage and all that. He continues, “Word on the street is shorty here will do anything to see that little shit behind bars.”

He turns to me head on, his eyes taking on an empathic curve I immediately flag as bullshit. “We can give him to you, carino. On a silver fucking platter. All you gotta do is say the word and make a little promise.”

A flame ignites in my belly. A year ago, it would be because everything I’ve been working to get, dragging myself through the muck and blood to reach, has suddenly been dropped right at my fucking doorstep. But it’s not. Now it’s from anger. Humiliation. The way he’s come and laid out how easy it is for me to be swayed—no, controlled and manipulated—forces me to realize I’m on a goddamn leash of my own design.

An array of my fucked-upness swirls around my mind, thoughts and actions I’ve been all too willing to give into burrowing in my stomach. Still, still, to stop now would mean it’d be all for nothing. That I did all that, and for what? For him to win. For me to look like an idiot who has wasted years of her life all for him to still get away with being the worst person ever?

I fix my lips to ask what promise this man would need but am cut off by my uncle who can seemingly sense my fragile walls beginning to crumble.

“We’ll pass?—”

“Let’s stop pretending you have a choice.” His eyes flash to me and then back to Agent James. “Unless of course you’re prepared to let Goldilocks go to prison with me.”

I wince, already knowing that if the broker is making the threat, they have more than enough evidence to see it through. For the first time ever, I actually wish I would have listened to my uncle’s scolding when he said everything I was doing would catch up with me. The fact that it’s landed me here, in a fucking blackmail situation has got to be the biggest, and most embarrassing “I told ya so” of my entire life.

Not only that but it’s at a serious cost. It’s so much bigger than me now, and to neglect that in the form of heartbroken revenge…well, not even I’m that petty.

“We know you have a location. All we need you to do is stay away.” The man continues, confident he’s got us by the throat. “Show up, and the deal’s off. Simple.”

My uncle’s posture becomes rigid at my side while my blood immediately runs cold. No one knew we had a location except the four people in that meeting.

Which means—before I can even process the rest of my thought, he adds a final note.

“And for our side of the deal, Boss wanted you to know that the glass of the vial you’re chasing is a dead end. It’s what’s inside that y’all need to be looking at. He also said you’ll find she’s responsible for a lot of those bodies you’ve been finding.”