Before I can think a text pings on the phone. Two words.
Five minutes.
I set the phone and the note on the counter and move. I don’t have time for anything else. Five minutes to get to the Marriott. I can’t risk telling Santiago. Can’t risk harm coming to my sister or nephew. Santiago will find the note. Someone will.
I walk out of the bathroom and hear the noise of the crowded reception room. I swear I hear Santiago’s voice but I don’t see him and I hurry to the exit.
Abel is desperate. Was he desperate when he tried to abort our baby? No, this is different. He is out of friends. Out of choices.
And I know he means me harm. Even if he is blood. But I have no choice but to go. His threat is real.
A waiter almost barrels into me when he comes hurrying out of the swinging door of the kitchen. He begins to apologize, but I shake my head and tell him it’s fine.
Before Santiago or any of his men see me, I slip into the kitchen, pausing only to spot the open door leading out into the street beyond. I hurry through the bustling space, thinking about this ceremony of serving a meal after a funeral. Wondering how people can eat on such an occasion.
And when I’m outside, I see two of Santiago’s men standing at one end of the street as the one lights a cigarette for the other. I hurry to the other end, and a moment later, I am on a bigger, busier street. I rush down one block, two, and when I turn another corner I see a queue of taxis at the hotel. I’m about to cross the street to hurry to the lot when a car screeches to a stop beside me and I have to jump out of the way.
I see them then. The terrified faces of Michael and Hazel in the backseat. Abel leans across the front seat and pushes the passenger side door open. I don’t miss the pistol in his hand.
“Get in,” he barks and I do and we’re off before I’ve even closed the door.
30
Ivy
“What are you doing? He’s a child!” I half turn to the back and half to Abel who shifts into a higher gear as he speeds out of town.
He glances at me, his gaze dropping to my rounded stomach with disgust.
“Ivy,” Hazel says. “I’m so sorry.”
“Santiago… he said he—” my voice breaks. He was protecting them. He said he was protecting them.
“Soldiers are stupid,” Abel says. “If you set your mind to it, you can achieve anything. Isn’t that right, Mikey? Life lesson for you. You’re fucking welcome.”
Michael starts to howl.
“Slow down!” I yell as a he runs a red light and cars honk their horns at us. I take a deep breath in and fasten my seatbelt with shaking hands. “I’m here. Let them go, Abel. I’m here. You said you’d let them go!”
“Shut up.”
“You said it! He’s a child, Abel.”
Abel glances at me and there is something in his expression that gives me a sliver of hope. But he keeps driving, the gun in one hand, his foot a lead weight on the gas pedal. We drive like this until we’re out of town and after about twenty minutes he finally slows and pulls off at a run-down looking gas station. He brings the car to a screeching halt and makes sure we can all see the gun as he half-turns to Hazel.
“Get out.”
Hazel looks from him to me. “Abel…” Her lip is trembling. “You can’t hurt her.”
“Get the fuck out!”
“Go! Hazel go!” I plead.
“Mommy!”
Tears stream down Hazel’s face.
“You know what? Suit yourself. I’ll take you all with me!”
“No!” I scream as Michael howls.
Hazel moves, pushing the door open and getting out, never once letting go of Michael as she hauls him out and closes the door. Abel’s foot is on the gas pedal in an instant and Hazel jumps back as he takes off at an insane speed back onto the road.
“What are you doing? What do you want?”
My brother looks deranged. I don’t know when he last showered or shaved. He is desperate and that scares me the most.
“Please, Abel. I can help you. Just slow down. Please.”
He looks out the front window, face serious, but he does slow a little. “You’re growing.”
I touch my hand to my stomach but don’t reply. I don’t know what to say. We drive like this for ten more minutes before he pulls into the parking lot of a motel along a noisy stretch of road. It looks as run-down as the gas station.
“We’re making a pit stop.” He parks in front of one of the last doors and turns to me. “Don’t do anything stupid, got it?”
I nod.
He climbs out then comes to my side and opens the door.
“Get out.”
I do. “Have you been here all this time?”
He shakes his head. “Just got to this shithole recently. My friends seem to have abandoned me.”
“Your friends?”
He takes out a key and unlocks the door. I step inside the dingy, stuffy room and he closes it again.
“So, Dad’s dead.”
I nod.
“It’s real?”
He must see my confusion at his question.
“I wouldn’t put it past your husband to fake our father’s death to lure me out. Would you?”
“What? He wouldn’t…” I stop, think about what Santiago had said when he’d wanted to leave the reception, but I’d refused. “No, Abel,” I say, shaking my head. “Dad’s dead. He wouldn’t fake that.” Not knowing what it would do to me, to us. “What happens now? What do you want?”
He checks his watch. “Just shut up. I need to think.” He reaches for the open duffel on a chair and starts to gather up the clothes strewn about the place, tossing them into the bag haphazardly.
My legs feel weak, and I perch on the edge of the bed. I close both hands over my stomach as Abel’s eyes fall once again to it.
“Did you have anything to do with the explosion that killed Santiago’s family and all those other men?”
“Wow. You really think I’d do something like that?”
“You were jealous of him. Of how Dad was with him.”
“I got over that. That explosion, as you call it, was a gas leak as far as I know. If anything, The Society is indebted to me for bringing to light the families breaking their laws, potentially getting IVI into serious trouble. Not that they’d ever acknowledge me. Although now that Dad’s gone…” He trails off, eyes distant momentarily before focusing back on me. “But I’m sure your husband has made sure I’ll never climb the rungs of their precious ladder. You know it’s a pretty discriminatory system. But no, I guess you wouldn’t know that, not as Mrs. De La Rosa. I arranged that, you know. That was me. I didn’t even get so much as a thank you though, did I?”
I don’t tell him his purpose was self-serving. Instead, I watch his expression darken as he seems to disappear into his thoughts. I take in his ragged appearance and see the half-empty pack of cigarettes.
“Did you have anything to do with Colette’s kidnapping?” I ask.
His forehead furrows. “Who the fuck is Colette?”
“Jackson Montgomery’s wife.”