Manuel chuckles and lowers the tune. “Okay, okay,” he smiles thinly and cruelly. “The big speech man now, huh?”
I shrug once again.
“You want to play stupid fucking games, puta?”
“My schedule is clear.”
He smiles. “Your schedule is about to be real clear.” He glances over his shoulder. “Hola! Muchachos!” He bellows back down the dank hallway.
“Vamanos!”
Carlos and about seven other faces I recognize come jogging down the hall, and they grin when they see the standoff.
“Que paso?” Carlos mutters through a grin.
Manuel sighs. “El perro here doesn’t want to fight tonight.”
Carlos smiles wickedly, along with Manuel and the rest of them too.
“So,” Manuel chuckles. “We’re going to show him a new place to stay, so he remembers that this place he’s staying now is a fucking presidential suite at the Ritz Carmine.”
“Carlton.”
Manuel turns back to me and frowns. “What?”
“It’s Ritz Carlton.”
“Suck my dick.”
I roll my eyes. “So we doing this or just gabbing about it like a bunch of little girls?”
They all scowl, and I grin as I beckon with my fingers.
Manuel chuckles, shaking his head as he opens the cell door. He mutters something in Spanish, and the guys all crowd the doorway, but no one’s coming in.
I laugh quietly. No one wants to be first.
Manuel hisses in Spanish, and a few of them suddenly pull out tasers.
Shit.
I growl, bracing as they start to flood into my small cell. I throw a punch at the first, but three tasers hit me in the torso at once, and I grunt. I’m twice the size of most of these guys, but with that many taser-shocks to bare skin, I’m not going to be putting up much of a fight.
I growl, my legs giving out under me. I slam a closed fist out and smash one guy right in the fucking mouth. His teeth break, and blood pours from his lips. But then they’re on me like a mob, and I’m down. Taser after taser, and I grunt as the lights dim and I sink to the ground. Manuel is standing over me, chuckling.
“Not so tough now, puta,” he grins.
He leans over and spits on me and I slump to the floor.
“Take him to the hole.”
My arms are yanked my behind my back. Two sets of handcuffs go around my wrists, and another pair goes around my ankles. Eight of them drag me from the cell and down a dark, wet hallway, but I already know where I’m going.
The hole—a literal pit in one of the old cellars of this place. It’s a nightmare of windowless, damp, engulfing darkness—home to your demons and a place where hope goes to die.
But I don’t give a shit. I’ve been down there before. I’ve been in worse holes, figuratively and literally. And they could throw me into hell itself and I’d still find her.
Oh, and I’m going to find her, alright. And when I do, nothing in this world will take her from me.
Chapter Six
Catalina
Down in the ring, the two groups of men crash together in clamor of fists on skin and screams of pain. I wrinkle my nose and turn away to walk over to the bar up in the VIP box.
“Una tequila, por favor,” I say quickly to the private bartender.
He nods stiffly. “Si, absolutamente, señorita.”
“Dos, amigo.”
I turn and smile to see my father standing behind me. The bartender stiffens and nods quickly.
“Como quire, Señor Del Campo,” the man says formally. Of course.
“Gracias,” my father purrs in his Catalonian lilt. His dark eyes twinkle as he looks at me and smiles.
“Mi hija,” he says gently, stroking an errant lock of my hair before tucking it behind my ear. “Not enjoying the fight?”
Behind him, down in the ring, it sounds like something out of a horror movie.
I shrug. “It’s… okay.”
He sighs. “I know, I know. It’s not as much fun to watch without the Beast.”
I frown, but my father doesn’t see as the bartender passes us our glasses.
“Salud,” my father says, clinking his glass to mine. My dad is handsome guy—tall, bronzed, and very, very fit. His dark goatee frames an aristocratic, chiseled jaw and kingly mouth, and he’s got the same regal nose that I do. He’s a rich, good looking widower. And it’s been a question for years between me and Elena why he doesn’t date. But I guess I know why. My mother was my father’s one and only. At times, I think she was the one thing keeping him from going full Apocalypse Now in the “go crazy and build a compound out in the desert” sense of it. Which is why after she died, he did exactly that.
“Where is the… uh, him?”
He’s the entire reason I’m here. The only reason. He’s also the reason I haven’t slept in three nights—why I’ve been taking lots and lots of long showers. He’s the reason I’ve come more times than I can count with my own fingers, just imaging that huge beast of a man just taking me. I’ve had fever dreams of him doing whatever he wants to me, tugging his pants down to show me just how massive that bulge is that I felt.
I blush as my father clears his throat.
“The Beast? Hush Hush?” My dad frowns. “My people say he couldn’t fight tonight. Ask Manuel though. He’s in charge of my fighters.”
“Your prisoners.”
My dad frowns.
“Mi hija, why do I sense resentment?”
“Nothing, papa, I just…” I frown. “They are your prisoners though, right? Hush… he’s your captive?”
He scowls “He’s not a good man, Catalina,” my father growls. “None of them are. The men who fight in that ring…” he scowls. “I’ve never claimed to be the Pope, but these men are scum. Not thieves, or men who were desperate. These are unremorseful rapists, molesters, and murderers. Psychopaths and degenerates.”
I nod. “And Hush Hush?”
He frowns and nods. “Him too.”
I shiver, a cold feeling creeping through me. “What did he do?”
My father’s face darkens, and he slams back his tequila.
“That’s business, mi hija. Pay it no mind.”
I’m never sure if I’m annoyed or glad my dad has never made any sort of moves or suggestions for me to learn the “family business.” I used to wonder if we’d get there to that talk, but we never have. I guess it’s fine, because I have approximately zero interest in running a brutal drug empire, and it’s not like I need the money either. But having something to aspire to in life instead of wandering aimlessly like I am now would be nice.
My father smiles and turns to nod at the bartender.
“Uno mas, gracias,” he growls raising his glass before he looks back at me. “You look sad, princessa,” he says gently. “Are you enjoying being home?”
“This isn’t home, papa.”
He frowns sadly. “I know, mi hija,” he says quietly. “But it is now.”
I look into my glass. “I like being here, dad. I mean I like being with you, and Elena. It’s just…”