Forty-Seven

He stopped at the car long enough to ditch his Kimber. Michael thought about calling Ben for backup, but in the end, he just tossed his phone in the trunk. Estefan belonged to him, and he didn’t feel like sharing.

Crossing the street, he left the drunk-guy routine behind, heading straight for the pair of heavily muscled security guards who manned the front of the club. Ignoring the long line of hopefuls, Michael pushed his way to the front. “Cartero. I’m on the list.”

The bouncer’s eyes, pale blue and glassy from steroids, scraped along his frame, taking it all in. He was a mess: hands bloody, dark stains splattered across his shirt, reeking of another man’s sweat and fear. It wasn’t hard to guess what he’d been doing thirty minutes ago.

Aiming his skeptical gaze at the clipboard in his hand, the security guard scanned the list in front of him before coming to an abrupt halt. He looked at him again, his ’roid-swollen face taking on a wary cast.

“Hold ’em up,” he said, motioning with his clipboard for Michael to lift his arms. As soon as he did, he was frisked. This guy wasn’t nearly as thorough as Song’s men, though. A few pats here and there and he was done. “Zip up your jacket,” the man mumbled, eyeing the bloodstained shirt. Michael obliged while the bouncer unclipped the braided gold rope to let him pass.

Behind him he heard the grumble of club kids who’d been waiting all night, but they faded fast behind the pulse and bump of the house DJ. A sea of bodies was in front of him, grinding and writhing against each other. Mindlessly undulating under a dizzying throb of light and sound.

“This way, please.”

He turned toward the voice to find a scantily clad woman next to him, the silver mesh that barely covered her catching and throwing the sweep of light that was timed perfectly to the music. She started to move and he followed—up the stairs, leaving the lights and the heavy crush of bodies behind. She stopped and moved to the side, ushering him into the VIP area.

As soon as Estefan saw him, his face split in to a grin, the facial movement wrinkling and bunching the scar tissue on his face.

“I’m so glad you found me, Cartero,” Estefan said as if they were friends. “Hector?”

“Dead.”

Estefan’s smile deepened. “You must be thirsty. A drink, yes?” He snapped his fingers, and the woman who escorted him appeared next to him.

“I don’t want a drink.” His throat burned, calling him a liar.

Estefan shrugged. “Some things never change, eh?”

“When it comes to me and you, no, nothing ever will.” He shot a quick glance at the pair of guards that flanked the leather sofa their boss lounged on. The same ones who’d been with him at the club in Spain.

“We don’t have to be enemies, Cartero. Not anymore.” Estefan lifted a glass to his lips and drank—watching him the entire time—until it was drained dry. “You and I, we want the same thing.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s that?” His hands were shaking—rage and adrenaline washed through his blood in a wave so fast and deep his whole body throbbed.

“To put an end to my father’s reign.” Estefan held out the glass in his hand and the woman nearly tripped over herself at the opportunity to refill it. “It’s long overdue, don’t you think?”

Michael laughed. He tipped his head back and cut loose until tears streamed down his face and his stomach ached. The entire room went still. Watching him. Looking at him like he’d lost his mind. He finally ran out of steam, wiping his hands across his face. Trading tears for blood. “Junior … it’s not your father’s retirement I want.” He shook his head. “It’s his head in a box I’m after. Yours too.”

He could do it. He could be over the table in a heartbeat, shattered glass jammed into his carotid. Estefan would be dead before his guards had time to react.

As usual, Estefan seemed to read his mind. “Tsk, tsk, tsk … Now is not the time or place for such things, Cartero.” He wagged a finger at him, settling into the sofa with a fresh drink.

“Any time would be the perfect time to watch you bleed.” His hands cranked into fists. His weight redistributed, shifting toward the balls of his feet, readying him for launch.

“What of your woman? Have you considered what happens to her if you kill me? There are people—my people—watching her as we speak. Waiting …”

“Sabrina can take care of herself.” Even as he said it, he forced himself to relax. Push back against the rage that crowded around him.

“So I’ve heard. But we both know how much you enjoy playing the hero, don’t we?” Estefan said with a grin. “What it must do to you to love a woman who doesn’t need one.”

“Fuck. You.”

Estefan took a genteel sip and sniffed as if the use of foul language offended him. “If not a partnership, then I propose a truce. I won’t lift a finger against you or your Sabrina.”

“In exchange for what?”

“You let me finish my business here and leave. With my head intact.”

Accepting would be his smartest course of action. He had bigger things to worry about right now. “Where is Leo Maddox? As a sign of good faith.”

Estefan sighed, inclining his head slightly. “Quite safe.”

“Where?”

“The same place my father keeps all of his prized possessions. I’m sure you remember.” Estefan offered him another smile. “Do we have a deal?”

If their plan worked, he’d be gone within the next twenty-four hours. Until then, he had to do what he could to keep her safe. “Forty-eight hours. After that, if you’re still here, all bets are off.”

Before he could get his answer, the guard to his left cocked his head slightly, listening to the comm in his ear before bending down to whisper something to his boss. Estefan’s face slammed shut, his pleasant expression morphing into something much closer to the truth. He brushed the guard off and stood moments before the house lights snapped on and the music came to an abrupt end. Downstairs the collective groaned in unison but were cut off by a voice over the PA, telling everyone to evacuate the building immediately.

“You’ve been busy, Cartero,” Estefan said as one of his guards helped him into his jacket. Without the mask of music to hide behind, he could hear them: sirens wailing in the distance, getting closer by the second.

“I’ve reconsidered my offer. I think I should like to meet your Sabrina after all. What is it you Americans say? Game on.”

He didn’t answer, and Estefan didn’t wait. He turned, letting his security team lead him to an elevator and safely away.

Michael waited until he was gone before leaving, taking the service corridor that led down a narrow set of stairs, feeding him into the alley. The smell of smoke greeted him. At the mouth of the alley the partiers stood in the street, murmuring and gasping as they watched Reyes’s warehouse burn, the flames dancing high in the distance.