“Don’t talk to anyone else.” I didn’t trust myself to say more.
I took my anger out on the road, pushing the limits of the Tahoe to speeds it was never meant to hit. Eight times I called Leighton’s phone. Eight times it kicked straight into voice mail.
My tires squealed as I slammed on the brakes in front of Caliente. I didn’t even bother pulling around back. I didn’t give a shit who saw me. Startled patrons gasped as I kicked the door open and roared his name as I stomped through the cantina and toward his office.
“Reyes! Get your fucking ass out here!”
The waitress who’d tried to handle Leighton when she was piss-ass drunk met me in the hallway. She wasn’t smiling.
“Where’s Emilio?” I demanded.
“I don’t know,” she admitted, wringing her hands. “I don’t know where anyone is. Sarah never showed up for work. She didn’t call or anything. Emilio was already pissed, but he got a phone call then ran out of here earlier mad as hell. No one has seen him since.”
I walked away during the second wave of her rant. I’d heard enough. Grabbing my phone, I dialed while climbing into the Tahoe. Once he picked up, there wasn’t time for a greeting.
“Emilio has Leighton,” I said, slamming my foot on the gas.
Chapter Forty-One
Leighton
I tried to open my eyes, but they felt too heavy—stuck even. In a moment of confusion, I wondered if they’d been glued shut. It would make sense.
No. It wouldn’t make sense. That was stupid. No sane person did something like that.
Concentrating harder, I tried again, this time forcing them open just enough for a sharp ray of light to pierce through my retina and set it on fire.
Oh, God, why does my head hurt so bad?
I blinked, which caused the fire to dig into my brain and explode a pain inside my head that nearly made me vomit.
Maybe I did get hit by bus?
Forcing myself to focus, I lifted my head, staring at the white wall in front of me. It was bare except for a clock, which seemed weird. No pictures. No paintings. Just a clock ticking away the seconds as I wrinkled my forehead and tried to figure out where I was and how I got there.
Ouch.
The skin on my forehead stung, pulling tight every time I moved it.
Hell, did someone glue that too?
Irritated, I lifted my arm to run my fingers across it but stilled when it tugged against something tight and restrictive. Panic swelled in my throat, but I continued to jerk, only succeeding in pulling the muscle in my shoulder.
Because they were behind me. My wrists were taped behind me. I was bound to a chair.
“What happened?” I swallowed, my mouth feeling like sandpaper.
“Welcome to the party, little lamb.”
I knew that voice. I’d heard it before. I frantically scanned the room, but seeing no one, I forced my mind to think back. The answer was somewhere in my memory.
I was in a car. Someone was yelling at me. No, I was the one yelling. I was crying. I remembered spinning and then a Good Samaritan saved me.
“You’re welcome, little lamb.”
They were the same voice. He’d picked me up and dumped me into the floor of another car. I squeezed my eyes closed, focusing on seeing his face before I’d passed out. Everything was so hazy.
Then the haze cleared, and I saw his face.
I drew in a sharp breath. Opening my eyes, I widened them as he stepped in front of me, smoothing a finger over his mustache.
“Emilio,” I breathed.
He just grinned. “Hola, señorita. Or should I say señora. So, what is this thing you have I’ve been looking for?”
I jerked on my restraints again, searching the room for anything I could use to protect myself if he attacked me. Unfortunately, the room was as bare as the walls. Besides a clock, I saw a table, another chair, a body...
Oh, God!
Whipping my head back around, I stared in horror at the crumpled female discarded on the floor like a piece of trash. She lay on her stomach, her orange hair fanned around her.
“Sarah?” I called out, although the chances of her responding were slim to none considering the blood staining her back.
Emilio shook his head. “Good bartenders are so hard to find.”
The bastard just stood there with his arms crossed, smirking at me. Then I saw it.
A skull with half of the jaw missing on his left forearm.
As I suspected.
I’d only ever seen Emilio in long sleeves. Today, he had them rolled up to his elbows, answering a question that had plagued me since hiding against a wall in Luis’s apartment.
“It was you,” I stammered. “In Luis’s apartment—it was you. What did I do to you to deserve this?”
I didn’t expect an answer, but I guess arrogance was its own worst enemy.
He let out an amused chuckle, seemingly pleased with himself. “I knew about you and Mateo years ago. Pussy is pussy, so I let him have his fun with you.” Walking a slow gait toward me, I held my breath as he gripped the chair’s armrests and leaned down. “Until you convinced him to turn his back on his own. Then I had to do some pussy damage control.”
More pieces fell into place. “You had him arrested.”
“I’m flattered you think I wield that much power, but it was a group effort.” Stepping back, he shrugged. “I could’ve killed him. I was soft back then.”
“He trusted you!” I screamed.
His look of validation came with annoyance. “What part of I could’ve killed him did you not hear, puta? And how did I get repaid for my mercy? I got left in this piece of shit town while he lived the life of a god.”
I jumped as he fisted his hands and hit the wall.
Crooking a finger, he tapped it against his temple. “But I always think ahead. I plan. I watch. I see. And when something benefits me, I take it.”
“Did my mother benefit you?” I hissed, tired of his self-congratulatory rant.
“Ah, yes. Our little home video. I assume that’s what your phone call was about?” He leaned against the wall and laughed as I scowled. “Years ago, she asked for help getting rid of some dead weight, so I requested payment—an insurance policy, so to speak. Between you and me, I think she enjoyed it more than she wants to admit.”
“Shut up!” Spots filled my vision, and my head swam as a whimper floated up from the floor.
“Sarah,” I whispered. “She’s innocent.”
Pushing off the wall, Emilio stood over her. “That bitch stole from me—shit I’d kept for years to cover my ass. Then I went through her phone and found out she was Hector Diaz’s side piece.” I winced as he pulled his foot back and kicked her in the ribs. “Whore.”
My heart broke as Sarah collapsed again. I wanted to help her, but my mind was too focused on one thing.
“Where’s my daughter?” I shrieked.
He clucked his tongue and pulled his phone from his pocket. “It’s showtime.”
Showtime could’ve meant anything. Since he had an obvious love for preserving moments on film, maybe he was calling someone to capture my death for his future viewing pleasure.
He smiled as the person on the other end of the call answered. “It’s not quite three o’clock, but the meeting has started.”