Page 8

8

Roman

“ H as the property registry got back to you yet?” Roman asked, his lilo—or pool float, as Bri would call it—lazily drifting past the outdoor furniture on which she perched.

Her shoulders slumped, and he knew the answer before she spoke. “They did, but they need an address to search. This ,” Bri held up the now-crinkled letter from Vivian, “isn’t an official address. It’s just a location off the federal highway that doesn’t go anywhere. It’s owned by the federal government. There’s a settlement near there. The plots are privately owned, but without knowing more, they’re just a list of different names.”

“And I’m presuming your mother won’t just, I don’t know, give you his name and phone number ?”

Over on the table he’d been using as a desk, Aldous snorted, his fingers poised over the keyboard and the reflection of the fluorescent pink lilo turning his skin the colour of undercooked chicken. “It’s something else that is miraculously not her problem.”

“Funny how that works.” Roman rolled his eyes beneath the sunglasses he’d stolen from Bri. “Meaning all in all, there’s nothing on Google Maps, and the registry is no use.”

Bri propped her feet up on the stool opposite her. Her bruises had receded in the past few days, but faint remnants were still visible around her ankles. “Pretty much.”

The glance he and Aldous shared held an air of resignation about it, a conclusion neither of them wished to arrive at.

Aldous put them out of their misery. “So we need to go there, basically?”

“We?” Bri asked, surprise raising her tone.

“I’m not going to let you run off to Mexico by yourself, Brianna. It’s dangerous—even putting aside your sister’s warning about the Wraiths.”

“But you don’t speak Spanish,” she replied softly.

He shrugged. “My wife does.”

“Your wife minored in Spanish in college,” Bri countered. “That is not the same as speaking Spanish.”

Roman decided to cut in. “But thankfully your bodyguard is fluent in both Spanish and referring to himself in the third person.”

Bri turned to him with a smirk. “I like you when you’re snarky.”

“Don’t you always like me?” He lowered the sunglasses and sent her a wink. “And either we all go or we all stay. I can’t protect both of you if you’re in two different countries.”

Narrowed amber eyes stared at him from the glass table. “How are you fluent in Spanish?”

“Um, I don’t know, maybe because I work with cartels for a living. Do you expect me to get my business from suburban mums going to fucking Pilates?”

Bri let out a laugh. “Technically my mom lives in the suburbs.”

“If you tell me she does Pilates I’m never going to be able to take her seriously again.”

“She has a personal trainer,” Bri reasoned. “She could be doing Pilates.”

He’d hazard a guess that axe throwing was more Vivian’s style. “And she could also be peeling the skin off her enemies, Ramsay Bolton style.”

Aldous shoved a hand through his dark hair with a disgruntled exhale. Beneath the table, Jasmine curled up under his feet, taking advantage of the shade. “Very reassuring. Thank you.”

Roman waved his worry away. “I’ve got friends keeping an eye on your family. They’ll be fine.” Jensen was the closest thing Roman had to family; he was doing everything in his power to keep him safe.

“Forgive me if I don’t trust you implicitly.”

Roman blew him a kiss. “I’d forgive you anything, baby.”

Aldous’s lips twisted into a grimace of revulsion. “God, I hate you,” he whispered, returning his focus to his laptop, his fingers flying over the keys as he worked.

Do you, though? Somehow Roman doubted it.

“It’s just under 600 miles to the Ruta de Los Cardónes 193 location,” Bri piped up, holding her phone out for Roman to see. A route was planned out for them, taking a winding path all the way down to the bottom of Baja California.

“Ten hours,” Roman read. “I’d need to give Jasmine’s pet sitter a call, but other than that I’m free. Aldous? You’re the only one with outside commitments.”

“I’ve noticed,” Aldous said snidely. He rolled his eyes. “I’ve got meetings lined up all day today and tomorrow, trying to wade through the shitstorm Vivian called in. After then.”

“So, what, the day after tomorrow? That all right with you, Bri?”

Her nod was frantic, a smile lighting up her face in the California sun. She could be meeting her father as soon as the day after tomorrow. “I can’t wait.”

Roman was glad Aldous was driving—because after twelve hours of being surrounded by sand and fucking cacti, he was ready to end it all.

He’d brought along a book to read. A smutty cowboy romance that he was having just the best time reading. He hadn’t given the cowboy genre much attention before, but he had been missing out on a trick. He’d flown through the book so quickly that they’d barely left the States before he finished.

The first few hours had at least been visually interesting, although they’d managed to get stuck in traffic in Los Angeles, San Diego, and Tijuana, so they’d had plenty of time to gawp. Right now, Roman would give anything for a glimpse of the ocean. A restaurant. A hotel. Something.

On long, Jasmine-less journeys like these, he usually travelled on his motorbike. The combined rush of adrenaline, speed, and freedom was like nothing else he’d ever felt. The connection between him and the road was a thousand times greater.

On his R1, he wasn’t simply driving, he was the vehicle. It was a symbiotic connection he never wanted to break.

And in the garage of Aldous’s home, Roman had caught a glimpse of a Ducati SuperSport hiding beneath a motorbike cover, and realised he had more in common with the uptight businessman than he’d first thought.

He had offered to drive, of course, but he’d been firmly rebuffed. He wasn’t sure whether Aldous just didn’t trust Roman to drive his car, or if he didn’t trust him full stop. Probably the latter.

And after the years of abuse Aldous had endured as a child? Fuck, Roman couldn’t blame him.

A couple of years ago, Aldous’s cousin Jensen had asked him to do some digging to find old news articles about the murder that had imprisoned him. Roman had found the news articles he’d requested—and a whole host of others.

Articles about why Jensen and Rhys, Aldous’s brother, had tortured a man to death. The headmaster of Aldous’s school, no less.

Drumming his fingers on the luxurious white leather lining the car door, Roman let his gaze drift over to Aldous’s profile. The way his jaw clenched, even now. The tiny bump on his otherwise straight nose. His large hands clasping the steering wheel, knuckles locked tight.

Roman wondered when the last time Aldous had let someone touch him was.

And then, because his mind was a filth-ridden cave of depravity, he wondered when Aldous had last been intimate with someone. Had he ever ?

Since he’d flirted with Bri the other day, Roman had been keen to see that aroused intensity in Aldous’s eyes again. It was greedy, but he wanted more. He wanted to be the one to soothe that fire in Aldous’s soul. He wanted Aldous and Bri both .

“I think this is it,” Aldous interrupted his thoughts. Roman thought he was right; they’d stared at the sandy track enough over the past couple of days on Google Maps to recognise it.

The car slowed, pulling off the road, dodging the endless series of telephone poles. “Brianna?”

In the passenger seat, Bri was slumped against the door. Her head rested against a pillow Aldous had thoughtfully packed for her—although Roman didn’t fail to notice that there hadn’t been one for him. Rude but fair.

When Bri didn’t stir, Roman reached out to gently touch her shoulder. Because let’s be real, Aldous wasn’t going to. “Bri? We’re here.”

“Mm?” She shifted, flopping her head over to look at the two of them.

“We’re here, cutie patootie.”

Consciousness returned to Bri in an apparent rush as she sat up straight. She let out a gasp of excitement. “This is it.”

Roman scanned the area. Even if he hadn’t already known about the settlement several hundred metres off the smooth asphalt, people left their mark wherever they went. Aged tyre tracks were carved into the sand, whilst litter was scattered throughout the dried undergrowth. Dusty bottles were easy to pick out, but a plastic bag pinned to a cardón cactus was perhaps the easiest of all.

Slowing his speed, Aldous turned the car onto the sandy track that would take them to the settlement. Trash lined the track like lights on a runway, guiding them on their way.

Before long, buildings came into view. There was little uniformity in either their location or their construction. The neatest of them was built of nothing but bare cinder blocks, with gaps left for where the windows should be. Others were in various states of disrepair; plasterwork fell off in great chunks, whilst missing roofs had been replaced with rusted sheets of corrugated iron.

Roman’s heart gave a pang when he saw three children running around next to a busted up old pick-up propped up on cinderblocks. Two girls and one boy. Puppies ran after them, and he spotted a black-and-tan dog snoozing beneath the truck itself, clearly taking advantage of the shade.

How had Vivian ended up meeting someone from this neck of the woods? Roman did his background research on everyone he worked with—and Vivian hadn’t exactly grown up poor.

The children stopped playing as they pulled up, unabashedly staring as only children did. A wave of sweltering heat assaulted Roman’s senses as he got out. He opened Bri’s door for her, holding out a hand to assist her.

“Mamá,” one of the boys shouted, glancing back at the cinderblock house. “Aquí hay alguien para ustedes. ” There’s someone here for you.

A moment later, a woman swept aside the curtain blocking the door. Worry was knotted across her face, but she clicked her fingers at the children. “Get in the house. All of you,” she muttered in Spanish. “Look after the baby.”

Roman’s eyes swept across the settlement. Was there just one family here? There certainly didn’t seem to be any men, and there was a slim chance of this woman recognising a photo of Vivian. She looked to be about the same age as Brianna.

He had a sneaking suspicion they may have just come all this way for nothing.

The woman glared at them; her arms crossed. “?Les puedo ayudar?” Can I help you?

Roman cleared his throat; he was the one who spoke the language, so they’d already decided he would be the one to do the talking. “Disculpe la molestia,” he began, dusting off his Spanish, “estamos buscando a alguien. A un hombre.” We’re sorry to bother you, but we’re looking for someone. A man.

She narrowed her eyes. “?Cómo se llama?" What's his name?

“We don’t actually know it,” Roman replied in Spanish. “All we know is 20 years ago he had a relationship with this woman.” He reached into his pocket, shifting the leather of his gun holster out of the way to bring out the small stack of photos Reina had copied for them—pictures of Vivian some 20 years ago.

The woman leant forward to peer at the photos before shaking her head. “I’ve never seen her. I’m sorry.”

Bri held up her phone with a saddened smile. “She’s my mom,” she said, her Spanish more accented than his. “And this is where my father lived.”

The woman lost some of her defensiveness and replaced it with pity. “I’m sorry. The only men who live here are my dad and my husband. Neither would have fathered you, I am certain. My father was committed to my mother, and my husband only moved here maybe 15 years ago.”

“Can we speak to them?”

She shook her head, looking back at the cinderblock house—and frowning when she saw her children were peering out of the window hole. “They’re at work.”

“Do you know when they’ll be back?”

There was another shrug, but it set off something in his instincts. “It could be five minutes or five hours.”

She’s lying. “Either way, we printed out some photos of the woman. Would you be able to take the photos and show them to your father? And give me a call if he does recognise her.”

They’d written his phone number on the back of the photos, but he handed over his business card anyway. As business cards went, it was an odd one; a black background with his phone number written in white—and nothing else.

“ Yo no quiero nada. Yo sólo…” Bri trailed off, clearly struggling to find the words.

“She doesn’t want anything,” he translated. “She just wants to meet her father.”

Bri’s nod was earnest. “Exactly.”

“I will ask him,” the woman conceded, once again looking back towards her house. “But I do not think you will find your father here.”

As Bri’s shoulders sunk inwards with disappointment, Roman thanked the woman for her time.

Once they were back in the air-conditioned car, Aldous broke the silence. “I’m assuming that was a dead end.”

“Unfortunately.” Roman nodded, patting Bri’s shoulders from the back seat—although even that small bit of skin contact caught Aldous’s eye.

“We’re not far from the nearest town,” Aldous said, tapping the screen on the dash. “Why don’t we find a hotel there for the night? Tomorrow, we can visit the public registry and see what we can find in the old ownership records. Sound good?”

“Are you sure?” Bri’s voice was small. “We might as well just go home.”

“I’m sure.”

She reached out to touch his hand, but Aldous flinched away. “I’m sorry,” she stuttered. “I forgot. Just—thank you, is all I meant.”

Aldous gave her a gruff nod, shifting the car into reverse.