Cruz
The door closed with a thud behind us, and I prayed that Chavez hadn’t noticed my pulse hammering away in my throat. I’d thought I had been prepared to see her again. I’d been wrong.
Lydia Ayala was even more breathtakingly beautiful than she’d been eleven years ago. Age had rounded her curves, given her laugh lines around her eyes that told a story of happier times, and lips that had plumped—so red and so sweet, it had taken all of my self-control not to take her in my arms and taste them.
“She’s beautiful, no?” Chavez’s voice cut through my thoughts like a knife. If he had any idea what I was thinking, the man wouldn’t hesitate to kill me.
“She is. You’ve made an excellent choice.”
“Yes, I have. Just be sure to keep your hands to yourself, or I might have to relieve you of them.”
It was no empty threat. He meant every word. There was no need to respond. Assuring him of my loyalty would only make him doubt it, so I said nothing, letting his words hang in the air, weighty and pregnant with the promise of retribution.
Chavez turned on his heels, sauntering down the hallway to the staircase that led to the main level where his office was. He didn’t ask for me to follow—it was implied. He’d yet to dismiss me.
When we reached his office, a space fit for a king, he motioned towards the leather chair in front of his hand-carved, mahogany desk for me to sit in it. He sat across from me and folded his hands on top.
“You understand why I want my fiancée protected.”
“Of course.”
“And let’s just say that, although relationships are said to be built on trust, I don’t believe that. I believe they are built on fear and the threat of consequences.”
Well, that was certainly warped. No wonder the man was a psychopath.
“Yes, I agree.”
“Do you?” He stood, taking a cigar from the humidor behind his desk. He clipped the tip off and threw it in a can beside his desk then lit it, puffing slowly to draw in the heat and smoke. The smell of tobacco filled the room and tickled my nose, the memory of the aroma threatening to send me back to a darker time three years ago when I’d died.
“Would you care for one?”
“No, thank you.”
“Your loss.” Chavez shrugged and took another puff. “I read that you’ve dabbled in some MMA fighting. Is that true?”
“I have. Mostly here in Miami in the amateur circuits, and a few in Atlanta as well.”
“Have you lived there long?” He knew all of this, of course, but still felt the need to grill me—make sure I had my story straight.
“Not long. About a year or so.”
“What made you leave Miami?”
I shrugged, feigning nonchalance as I told my cover story.
“Fight gone bad. I won—the other guy didn’t like it, so he waited for me in a back alley and set me on fire.” We’d come up with the story to show why I had the scars still covering my torso, back, and arms. It was covered up mostly with tattoos, but anyone who got close would see the puckered scars from my time in captivity.
“Running from your problems?”
Laughing, I leaned back and crossed my leg over my knee. “Waiting for the right time for revenge.”
Chavez grinned and copied my stance, leaning back in his chair. “Very well. Your room will be upstairs just down the hall from Lydia’s. I expect you to keep an eye on her and be at my beck and call for other things I might need. I’d also like to enter you into a few fights, if you’re willing to earn your keep another way.”
I was hopeful the fights would help me to further infiltrate the cartel and its comings and goings. Levi Slater, my boss at Shadow Force, would be happy to hear it had worked.
“I’d love to. Is there a gym here on-site I can use?”
“Basement. I’ll send a few guys down to spar with you as you get ready for the first fight. It’s next weekend. Think you’ll be ready?”
“Absolutely.”
“Fantastic.” Chavez stood, stubbing out his cigar and leaving it on the small ashtray. “Oh, and Cruz?”
I looked up into deadly eyes—the eyes of a man who tortured and killed for fun. “I want to make sure I’m clear. Lydia is off limits. Should I catch any of my men with their hands on her, they will regret they were ever born. Understand?”
“Perfectly.”
***
Underground cage fighting was a lucrative business in Miami, sifting thousands and thousands of dollars each weekend through gamblers’ greedy hands.
I wasn’t a regular fighter at Shadow Force, but I sparred with the other guys enough to know the ropes. I’d throw in a fight here or there, but I spent most nights taking care of wounds, not creating them.
The fight was being held in an old warehouse near the Little Havana district. There was a cage in the center of the room, and people were crushed together like sardines since there were no stands or seats to be had. There were also no locker rooms, just small areas in each corner that were partitioned off in order for the fighters to change. It wasn’t ideal—no running water, no shower, nothing like that. Just some jugs of water, a massage table, some first-aid supplies, and a couple of benches.
I changed into my shorts—Chavez had insisted I wear “his” colors, purple and gold—and shook out my muscles. After a few practice punches and warm-up drills, I skirted around the partitions, ready to meet my match. I had at least an hour before it started, so I watched the crowd as I waited.
A couple of rows of chairs were placed on one side of the cage. Chavez sat with Lydia at his side. It pained me to see her close to him, but there was nothing I could do about it until I was ready to get us both out of there.
First, I had to see if she even wanted to be out of there.
Levi had filled me in, saying that Lydia had been taken from her clinic’s parking lot. She’d told her family that she had left of her own free will, but video surveillance had shown that she’d been drugged and carried off. Her father, Dr. Esteban Ayala, had called in a favor to Washington, who had in turn called Levi to take the case. Since it involved Chavez, the man we were chasing anyway, it was an easy case to take.
And since Lorenzo Gallos was dead and Cruz Ortiz flew under the radar at Shadow Force, I was the best guy for the job. Years of working in undercover situations for the marines had honed my skills of blending in. But working every day with Lydia was harder than I’d anticipated.
She had a quiet strength I remembered from ten years ago, a compassion for others that astounded me. The way she cared about Pilar, a woman in the employ of someone who’d taken her against her will, was remarkable. But it was how she responded to Chavez that had me wondering if she was starting to enjoy the “good life.”
Lydia didn’t recoil when he touched her. She didn’t stiffen at his kisses or when his hand roamed a little lower on her waist, skimming the top of her backside. She laughed freely and smiled warmly.
If she was acting, she was damn good at it.
And I desperately wanted to believe she was acting, because the alternative was too terrible to bear.
The announcer, a beefy dude wearing a bad toupee and a cheap suit, stood in the center of the cage announcing the next fight. I would be next.
Just as I started to turn around to work myself into fighting mode, I noticed a man sit down next to Chavez. I recognized him. Angel Rubio.
Cade Montgomery, one of the Shadow Force operatives, had brokered a deal between the man and Chavez a couple of months ago. A leak in the DEA had intercepted the information and had sent agents in early to disrupt the deal.
Angel had left without his haul, and everyone at Shadow Force assumed the connection had been lost, but it was obvious now that it had not been. I needed to get closer to hear what they were saying.
The buzzer sounded, and I whipped my head to the cage. One of the fighters was lying on his back, unconscious it seemed. The other fighter was shouting his victory, jumping onto the fencing surrounding the ring and screaming with triumph.
Where was the medical staff?
When it was clear no one was coming to his aid, I ran to the cage, hoping I could help. As I reached the door, a hand landed on top of mine.
Lydia.
“What are you doing?” Her eyes searched mine, waiting for an answer.
“I have medical experience.”
“Oh. Right. Well, I’m a nurse. Maybe we can both help.”
I opened the cage door, and we rushed to the man’s side. Lydia jumped right in, not caring that her white designer dress could be stained from the blood splattered on the mat or on the man’s body. Instead she checked his vital signs, looked into his eyes, then lightly patted his cheek.
When his eyes opened, she sighed in relief.
“Can you tell me where you are?”
It was the first of several questions she asked, determining how bad his concussion was. There was no doubt he had one. He’d been out cold for several minutes.
He sat up, dazed and disoriented, and Lydia propped her shoulder underneath his arm. I lifted his other side, and we helped him off the mat and to the partitions where the table sat as well as first-aid supplies.
When he was settled on the table, the announcer’s voice rang through the warehouse and called my name. Concern lit Lydia’s eyes as she glanced at the poor sap she was attending to and then back to me.
“Be careful.”
I nodded and left her to her ministrations. Not much more I could do to help. When I reached the cage, my opponent was grandstanding, yelling obscenities and racing around the ring. Such a peacock, strutting his stuff. We’d see how he fared once I’d had a go at him.
For a moment, I’d forgotten about Rubio and Chavez, but looked up to find them still talking together. Chavez raised his head, catching my eye, and beamed. He stood and walked over.
“Make me proud.” It was a threat as much as an encouragement. The message was clear: win or face the consequences. He didn’t have to tell me twice.
The referee called us to the center of the mat. I hadn’t even caught the guy’s name, I’d been so distracted all evening. Matt or Mike or something like that. The guy was snarling at me, spittle flying from his mouthpiece as he stared me down. Oh, goodie, a blowhard. Just what I needed.
We shook hands, and the ref blew his whistle. I danced around the mat a bit, waiting for hothead to make his first move, as I knew he would. He didn’t disappoint.
He moved in, clumsily, all force and no finesse, which worked perfectly to my advantage. I sidestepped and came up with a knee to the solar plexus. He fell to the mat, and I climbed on top. Matt or Mike didn’t stand a chance. Within seconds, he was out, and I stood the victor.
The referee held my hand up over my head, and I felt a tiny bit guilty that I didn’t need his assistance. Matt or Mike laid on the ground, his eyes trying to focus on where he was and what had just happened to him. The crowd was wild, yelling and screaming—money was changing hands all right. No one had bet on that outcome.
I left the ring and jogged back to the partitions, finding Lydia still with the poor guy from earlier. He was clearly smitten, and I hoped to God that Chavez didn’t walk back and see him flirting. I sauntered over and saw the shock on Lydia’s face when I reached her.
“I thought you had a fight.”
“I did.”
“It’s over?”
“Yep.” I unwrapped my hands and threw the tape in the garbage next to her, then gave the faker a death glare. “I think it’s time for you to leave.”
The threat was clear in my voice, and I saw Lydia stiffen. The guy sputtered something unintelligible before jumping off the table and skittering out.
“You didn’t have to be so rude.”
“Yes, I did.”
“I don’t like your tone.”
I unwrapped the other hand and threw the tape in the trash, getting into her personal space. I could smell the sweet scent of lilac and honeysuckle wafting from her hair. I wanted to inhale and nuzzle the spot on her neck I loved so much. But if I was going to get out of this alive, and hopefully bring her along with me, I had to hold it together. Not to mention, after what I’d done ten years ago, I didn’t deserve her. No—my mission here was to get her out alive and then get the hell away from her so she could live the life she deserved. Without me in it.
“What do you think Chavez would do if he walked in and saw that guy flirting with you? You’ve been gone from his side for half an hour. What assumptions do you think he’d make?”
“But—but—I was just trying to help him.”
“And you did. But Chavez doesn’t give a rat’s ass about that guy. He only cares about what’s his.”
The rise and fall of her chest against the white fabric of her dress was mesmerizing, and I longed to take the silky strand of her hair that lay there between my fingers. Instead, I turned, leaving her there angry and frustrated.
She growled—yep, definitely frustrated—and I couldn’t help the smile that broke out on my lips.
“You need to get back out there before he comes looking for you.”
Instead of answering, she just nodded and stomped out, like a child throwing a tantrum. The smile grew bigger.
It was good to know she still had that fire that I loved so much in her. It was there. And she was going to need it to survive this thing she was caught up in.
I changed my clothes, longing for a shower but knowing it would have to wait until I got back to Chavez’s compound. I grabbed my duffel bag and left the partitioned area. The crowd had already mostly dissipated, and I didn’t see Chavez, Rubio, or Lydia on my way out.
The parking lot had been reserved for spectators, so I’d parked behind the building. When I opened the back door, I heard voices speaking in Spanish. I quietly closed the door and pressed my back against the wall of the building. I recognized Chavez’s voice.
“The shipment is large. It will take some time to arrange passage so it can’t be detected.”
“My boss is not accustomed to waiting.”
“These things take time, Rubio. You know that. The DEA is still sticking their nose in my business. I have to hide the cargo very carefully. Especially when it is this large.”
“Just make sure it gets here on time, or you’ll be looking for a new buyer.”
Rubio walked over to a waiting black car and slipped into the back seat. The car sped off as Chavez stood there, his head in his hands. He stood upright then, tucked his hands into his pockets and rounded the front of the warehouse.
My car sat waiting, a 1969 Chevy Camaro Convertible that I’d bought after Lorenzo Gallos had died. I’d donated most of the proceeds from my death to Lydia’s free clinic under an undisclosed trust. It paid out equal payments to her each month. And then I’d tucked a little away for a rainy day, but the car—that was my gift to myself.
I slid into the driver’s seat and turned on the engine. She purred like the good lioness that she was and rumbled with impatience, ready to get her legs under her.
“Just a minute there, baby.” So, I talked to my car. There were worse habits to have.
I pulled the secure cell phone out of the glove box and dialed the only number programmed into it.
“Mario’s Pizza.”
“Hey, Ryder, I need to speak to Levi.”
“On it. You holding up okay?”
“Yeah. Won my first underground fight tonight.”
“Think you can take me?” I could hear the teasing in his voice. Ryder was an up-and-coming fighter, second only to Cade Montgomery. But now that Cade was settled down with Piper, he was taking a step back from the ring, and Ryder was ready to take his place.
“I guess we’ll have to find out.”
Ryder chuckled. “Here’s Levi.”
“What’s the update?” Just like Levi. Never beating around the bush.
“Interesting development. Angel Rubio was here tonight with Chavez. They had a heated discussion during the fight, but it was what I overheard afterwards that caught my interest.”
“Oh, yeah? What was that?”
“Some big shipment coming in. I’m assuming from Venezuela. He told Rubio he’d have to wait because it was a large order and harder to hide. Also confirmed that he still believes the DEA are the ones digging around his organization.”
“Rubio and Chavez. What would Rubio want with a shipment so large there’s a problem in delivering?”
“He said his boss wasn’t accustomed to waiting, which I guess means he’s not working alone. Any idea who he works for?”
“None. I’ll get Ryder on it. Anything else?”
“No. I didn’t get a date for the deal. Just that it was supposed to happen soon. I’ll keep my ears open.”
“Good. How’s Lydia?”
“She’s either a damn fine actress or she’s starting to like the fancy clothes and fine dining.”
“You think she’s really into him?”
I thought back to our exchange in the warehouse when I mentioned Chavez’s wrath. Her hands had been shaking and her pupils dilated with fear. No, she wasn’t into him. She was terrified of him.
“I don’t think so. I think she’s surviving the only way she knows how.”
“Keep an eye on her. Let us know if you need backup. We can be there in a few hours.”
“Roger that.”
I disconnected the call and gave Leona (yeah, I’d named the car, too) her go-ahead, pressing down hard on the accelerator. She hit sixty in just a few seconds, and I cruised down the mostly empty streets of Miami. The fights had started at midnight, so it was just after three a.m.
Memories of another time flitted through my mind as I passed the art deco district of Miami. Lydia and me lying on the beach under a blanket, kissing, touching for the very first time.
My grandmother cooking dinner for us before prom her senior year. Slow-dancing till the wee hours of the morning. Kisses that melded us together, binding us to one another.
And then it had all gone to hell in a handbasket. Too many deaths. Too much loss. Bad decisions that changed my life forever.
Decisions that lost me the one thing that meant anything.
Lydia.