Heat

My hair drips down my back as I stare at my bare feet. Estephon is on his phone and he’s not happy. He angrily paces and yells in Spanish. If I get out of this, the first thing I’m doing is enrolling in a Spanish class. I don’t like being in the dark when my life is on the line.

  Estephon finishes his call, walks over, and slaps me so hard I stumble back. What the fuck did I do? I try not to let the fury show in my eyes. I’m a woman. Men expect weakness. I push a few tears out. They have nothing to do with my stinging cheek and everything to do with seething anger.

  “Moon doesn’t want this puta,” he tells the men in the room while he stares at me with hatred. Counting Estephon, there are four men. One was waiting at the house when we arrived. “Moon says I have declared war on him and he will no longer negotiate.” Estephon grabs my hair and jerks my head back. My stitches are almost healed but all the hair pulling reminds me they’re there. Estephon keeps babbling, “I know this not to be true. His tia assured me you are his woman.”

  I know that “tia” means aunt. Fucking Danita.

  “I could send you in pieces like what happened to his mother, no?” He seriously can’t be asking me this question. I allow my eyes to glaze over. “Your man will not change my plans. I will start with the traitor who helps him.”

  He speaks to one of his men in Spanish and then the man leaves the room. Estephon watches me closely. He’s not stupid, and I only have a very slim chance that my plan will work. It’s not much of a plan, either. Wait for the opportunity, fight to live, go home to your family.

  I shift my eyes to a commotion at the door. Shit. Even with his eyes blindfolded, I recognize Al. What stops my heart is the man pushing him into the room. A black hood with eye slots is pulled over his head. Al’s eyes are covered with tape and his hands are tied behind his back. Al’s struggling. I tear my eyes away when another of Estephon’s men walks to the center of the room and unfurls a sheet of plastic. Fucking hell. I know what plastic means.

  “You see, Señorita Kinlock, this man thought he could double cross me. He is wrong. There is only one death open to traitors.”

  Al is struggling in earnest now. I step toward him, but Kennedy pulls me back, jerking my arms behind me. He has a hood pulled over his face now too. He fucking knew about this. Al is a cop. Kennedy, unbelievably, leans into me and whispers, “Close your eyes.”

  Fucking Kennedy. The man who put down the painter’s plastic pulls his own hood over his face and removes a sharp knife from a sheath at his hip.

  My brain makes sense of what’s about to happen. “No,” I scream and kick backward toward Kennedy. “Fuck you, you motherfucking monsters. Fuck you all.” Kennedy jacks my arms up and the pain in my shoulder is so intense I can’t even scream. Al’s sobs fill my ears. This can’t happen. Kennedy lowers my arms and I bring my head up. I’m functioning on pure hatred. Al’s legs are kicked out from under him and he falls. He’s jerked to his knees. My sobs combine with Al’s. “Close your fucking eyes,” Kennedy whispers harshly.

  I can’t process this horror, and I close my eyes. After a silent prayer, I open them. Moon will save us, I know he will. Tears pour down my face. Estephon pulls out his phone and begins recording. I can’t breathe. I’m shaking my head and muttering “no, no, no” when Al lets out the first high-pitched scream. The blade enters his throat on the right side. His head is held back against his captor’s legs as the blade saws through flesh and cartilage.

  “Stop, stop, stop,” I beg, but I can’t be heard over Al’s screams. I will never forget this sound.

  “Pull her closer,” Estephon says. “I want her in the picture.” I hear him through a foggy tunnel.

  Kennedy walks me forward until we’re so close blood splatters my yellow scrubs. My stomach heaves and I fight down vomit. Screams turn to gurgles as the man behind Al continues sawing at his neck. Then nothing but the squishy sound of a blade slicing skin. Al’s bowels release and the putrid smell combined with blood permeates my senses.

  I’m crying so hard I can’t see. Kennedy released my hands at some point and his arm is around my middle holding me up.

  “Perfect.” Estephon’s gleeful laugh also comes through a tunnel. “Moon will appreciate the irony. I am sending him the video, señorita, and then we will see if he chooses to speak to me.”

  There’s blood everywhere. It’s on me and Kennedy. The man who beheaded Al is covered in it. Al’s body is on the plastic and his head is tossed beside his stomach. The only way I can control myself is to start a list. It’s the list of who I will kill.

  Kennedy.

  Estephon.

  The man who killed Al.

  The fourth man in the room.

  I have no idea how much time goes by. I’m caught in a world of death. Estephon’s voice finally breaks into my thoughts.

  “Señor Moon. How do you like my film? Your lovely lady enjoyed it, no? She will die next. This will make a good addition to my collection, no?” His voice has been repulsively pleasant to this point. Now it hardens and he bites out commands. “You have two choices on how your puta dies. You will deliver the money within the hour to the address I sent earlier. You and your men will leave the state tonight. The next video will be of your lovely senorita. I will have her cleaned up so she looks nice for the party, no? You choose how she dies. That is all I will give you—a bullet or the knife. And because I am a generous man, you may say goodbye.”

  The phone is thrust against my ear. I take a breath and control myself. “Moon…” I’m trying not to hyperventilate.

  The sweet sound of his voice flows through me. “I love you, baby. I’m sorry.”

  He’s not coming for me. “I love you,” I say because he deserves to hear it. The phone is removed from my ear.

  “Clean her up. I want her pretty for the camera.”

  Kennedy pulls me from the room, closes the door behind us, and leads me in the direction of the bedroom I was in earlier. I stumble and keep my head down, completely cowed.

  “You should have closed your fucking eyes,” he says in the hallway as we approach the bedroom.

  He loosens his hold a bit as I walk like a zombie in the direction he guides me. This is my only chance. My knee comes out as I twist around. I miss Kennedy’s groin, but my fist slams into the side of his face and I kick him again. If I’m fucking going to die, I’ll be damned if I go down easy. Kennedy can beat me to death here and now.

  He swings his fist and catches me on my good shoulder. I’m beyond feeling pain. I land a blow beneath his chin and hear his teeth clang together. I hope he bit his goddamn tongue off. His knee connects with my hip and we go to the floor with him on top of me. He has my hair in his fist, but it doesn’t keep me from twisting over to my stomach and bucking him off as I get my hands and feet beneath me. Where my strength is coming from, I don’t know. I’m not stopping until I’m dead.

  Kennedy wraps his arms around my middle in a classic wrestling hold as I propel myself forward to try to gain traction with my legs. His weight is suddenly gone and I land on my hands and knees. I twist and look up. Gomez has Kennedy in an arm bar. Kennedy’s face goes from red to purple and his eyes roll back into his head. Gomez lowers him to the floor as I manage to rise to my feet. Gomez places his finger to his lips and then drags Kennedy’s body into the bedroom.

  Gomez drops Kennedy and stalks to the bed, takes out a knife and begins cutting the sheets into strips. I’m hunched over Kennedy in case he moves. Gomez carries the strips over and quickly hog-ties Kennedy. After his arms and legs are taken care of, Gomez pinches Kennedy’s jaw, stuffs in a wad of sheet, and ties another strip around his mouth and head.

  “How many?” Gomez whispers.

  “Four. No, three now,” I whisper back. “That’s all I’ve seen, but there could be more.” My brain is working on autopilot.

  Gomez removes his phone and types in what I said as I look over his shoulder. He’s calm and that keeps me calm. Gomez removes his gun from his chest holster, a Glock .45, and hands it
to me. He pulls another gun, this one a Kimber, from the middle of his back.

  Gunshots come from the front of the house. Gomez crouches and moves out of the room with me following. My left hand is on his shoulder and training takes over. Gomez fires as a man rounds the corner toward us. It’s the man who brought Al into the other room before they killed him. He goes down. We stay at the edge of the hallway. I’m waiting to hear “Clear” sound off in the house. That doesn’t happen. But then I see Moon walk from the room where Al was killed. He holsters his gun when he sees me.

  I release my grip on Gomez. I’m going to lose it again. Gomez turns and removes the gun from my hand one second before Moon has me in his arms. I burrow into Moon’s blood splattered white shirt. “I’ve got you, baby,” he whispers. I’m done. My legs won’t hold me. Moon lifts me and carries me back into the bedroom. He steps around Kennedy as Kennedy’s eyes follow us. Gomez stands at the door to the room, his gun drawn.

  Moon walks to the bed, and I begin struggling. “Shh, baby. I’ve got you,” he says again.

  I don’t care. Only one thought runs through my mind. “Give me your gun.” Moon releases me and looks into my eyes. “Your gun. I need it.”

  Slowly, Moon’s hand goes to his holster, and he removes the Glock and hands it to me. “Okay, baby,” he says as I wrap my fingers around the stock and check the chamber.

  My focus turns to Kennedy.

  Moon places a hand on my shoulder. I shake it off. “Madison,” he says.

  I ignore him. Four steps. I lift my arm and shoot Kennedy between his wide eyes. I keep the gun trained on him even though I know he’s dead. My arm begins trembling, and Moon’s hand covers the gun. I release it.

  I look at Gomez before turning to Moon. “I will never regret this.”

  Moon places his arm back around me and I bury my face against his shirt again.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine