Page smiled and gave her friend the side-eye and asked, “What, or better yet, who is your alter ego?” Judy should have known better than to pique Page’s curiosity; now, she would be brain probed until the woman was satisfied. Page took interviewing people to a whole new level. She had a way of making you feel like you were the only person in the world; it lent to people opening up about things they usually kept hidden. It was always that way with Page… until the next job. It wasn’t that Page didn’t care about the people she interacted with, she did. She just became totally engulfed in whatever she was doing—she lived in the moment. She lived in the moment, but the people she connected with lived in the wake of not being able to forget her. Page had a way of making you crave more of her without realizing what she was doing. It was part of what made her so intriguing. Once you crossed paths with her, you never forgot her. She was as wide-open as the prairie and as closed-off as a tomb. It put people at ease because they believed she was opening up to them as well. Still, even her best friend was often surprised by the things Page did. She would go to whatever lengths necessary to stand in the gap and defend the people she believed were being taken advantage of, even if they were complete strangers. Sometimes Page’s ability to see both sides of any story got her in trouble.
A mischievous glint sparked in Judy’s eyes. “A vixon, a sex kitten, a woman who can wrap a man around her finger and get anything she wants, then walk away with all the information she needs and leave him high and dry.”
“You just described a sadistic Domme.” Both girls busted out laughing.
“We need to get ready, Page. This conversation is getting way too deep.”
“I know that’s right. Now come on and help me pick out some sexy clothes that I feel confident in.” Page jumped up and headed to her closet, ready to tackle the next adventure with the only person in the world she trusted: Judy.
Chapter Four
Mano scrubbed his hands over his five-o-clock shadow as he sat slouched down in the seat of his black panel van. He had access to various vehicles, but he always took the black van when there was any chance of a kidnapping. He could toss a body in the back without fear of someone seeing a woman squirming in rope, tape, or handcuffs—well, a woman in this case, anyway. Usually, it was a man from a rival organization who needed to be interrogated. Though he wasn’t a sadistic man, he enjoyed watching Antonio Wayne work; the man’s imagination, when it concerned various ways of torturing people, was matchless. Ricardo and Antonio Wayne used Mano to stalk and kidnap victims; it was Mano’s area of expertise. Years of experience and training had taught Mano how to stalk, interrogate, capture, and take-down prey—he was the best in the biz. Combining their abilities ensured any job was successful. Like a well-oiled machine, each person involved in the Colombian cartel served a purpose: no deaths or arrests.
He wasn’t quite sure how he was going to deal with his little victim, yet. It was one of the things that intrigued him about her: you never knew what the girl was going to do. She was as unpredictable as the sea.
Thinking about all the various ways he could slowly destroy her was entertaining. She was a loose cannon. If somebody didn’t stop her, she was going to get more people killed. The cartel was an intricately woven web of what could best be described as six degrees of separation. Sooner or later, her antics were going to cause his retired parents to be involved in her clusterfuck of a mess and that… wasn’t going to happen—not on his watch. He’d cut her throat and watch her bleed out with no remorse. There was also the issue of her possibly causing problems for the Colombian cartel. No doubt, the woman was an adrenaline junkie. She’d shown no sign of slowing down, even though her fixer had been brutally killed. Most women would be scared into retirement, but not Page, it only seemed to solidify her intent.
He adjusted the mirror and watched two women walking up the sidewalk, weaving their way into the red velvet roped off area that was a line halfway down the block. He picked up his phone and dialed a number. A security guard, no doubt a Colombian bouncer stood at the door picking and choosing who would grace the doors of the prestigious club. The man who ran 'The Club'—Diego—made certain only the most elite of Louisville’s gangsters and celebrities entered. Though Diego operated 'The Club', he worked closely with Antonio Wayne Ramirez and his older brother Ricardo. There were monthly meetings, and no detail was ever overlooked; that included the image of ‘The Club.’ Nothing screamed 'image' like who you allowed to come into your establishment.
“They’re in line.”
“Description.”
“5’10—Six foot in heels, long blond crimped hair, wearing a white shirt, tight jeans, and black stiletto ankle boots. Her friend has brown shoulder-length hair, glasses, and is wearing jeans and a white button-up shirt with a blazer and heels.”
“I’m on it.” Antonio Wayne was a man of few words.
“I’ll wait five minutes after they get in, and then I’ll come in.”
Mano wasn’t offended when Antonio Wayne hung up. That was just how the man rolled—all business. Mano chuckled when he thought about the men who stressed over the uncomfortable silence Antonio Wayne carried with him like a concealed weapon. The atmosphere changed when he walked into a room, and it was a trait you wouldn't soon forget. Mano had been childhood friends with the brothers and remembered how it grieved everyone when Ricardo sent Antonio Wayne to the United States. Ricardo had feared his little brother being killed and had made the hardest decision in his life when he sent the boy stateside. Going stateside was a conversation Colombian-cartel children grew up hearing. He had witnessed his parents have the same conversation many times—usually after a confrontation with the military or a rival organization. Nothing like bullets whizzing by your head to make you reevaluate your location. The issue with being part of the Colombian cartel was trouble followed you wherever you went, and the locale provided no assurance of safety. Fidel had the connections to make sure they were as safe in Colombia as they would be anywhere. However, the conversation of going stateside was still a familiar one Mano grew up witnessing. He cringed every time the issue came up. Mano needed the freedom the mountains provided to grow into the man he was destined to be. He still credited his upbringing for making him an intricate part of the Colombian cartel; he was crucial to the organization—a true indispensable employee. They all knew it, and Mano never took advantage of the fact. He was a confident man who didn’t need to use childish antics to prove his worth. He was also one of the very few the Ramirez brothers liked. Childhood memories bonded the three like the Musketeers. All for one and one for all. That was their mentality.
Mano shook the childhood memories from his head; not everybody had the blessing of growing up with loving parents. He was grateful for his family. He needed to protect them from Page. Her drive to write was presenting a danger to complete strangers; she was clueless. Mano was going to teach her a lesson she wouldn’t soon forget. Ironically, her naivete was what had kept the girl safe. Lack of paranoia provided a safety net of sorts. Fear had a way of drawing the negative, almost like a self-fulfilling prophecy. As much as he hated it, he respected her fearlessness. He had to take her down before he developed an admiration for her. There was no room for mixing business with pleasure.