The more hysterical I got, the more he seemed to enjoy it, the dim light highlighting the sinister curve of his lips. “I knew the minute you walked out of this warehouse you had no intention of doing as you were told. That’s what a true leader does, Adriana. He doesn’t wait for shit to happen. He makes it happen.”
I fought for air. “I won’t help you.”
“You already have.”
“You’re lying,” I hissed. “Brody doesn’t know this place exists, and unless you plan to stop hiding like a scared little bitch, no one is coming for me. This is it, Ignacio. This is the end of the line. Walk into the sun or fade into the background. I don’t give a shit.”
His cold eyes searched mine then hardened. “You really don’t know?”
I scowled through a rattled cough. “Enlighten me.”
“When I said you were nothing but a puppet, I meant it. When I said you were the rat who never failed to take the offered cheese and got her fucking neck snapped, I meant it. When I explained that you’ve done exactly what I thought you would do and run to exactly who I thought you’d run to for years, I fucking meant it.”
“For years…” My voice trailed off, the words flitting through my head. Ignacio saw the moment they clicked together, and his smile widened along with my eyes. Slowly lifting my hand, I covered my mouth, my shoulders heaving with exertion.
Speaking the words out loud peeled back the hidden layers to reveal a truth that I didn’t want to face but couldn’t deny.
“What’s wrong, rat? Cat got your tongue?”
“Cristiano,” I whispered, the word muddled behind the safety of my palm.
Ignacio’s dark gaze gleamed under the muted glow of the swinging overhead light. “How do you think I found you in the first place, puta?” he taunted, running his tongue across his teeth. “Did you think he really wanted to marry you?”
“It can’t be.” I was going to be sick. I rolled over, my stomach contracting into a coiled knot of betrayal.
As the light flickered again, Ignacio stood, a deep laugh rumbling in his chest. “I warned you not to fear the knife to your throat as much as the one in your back, Mari.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Brody
Mexico City, Mexico
Val looked up from his glass, narrowing his bloodshot eyes at the bruised man standing before him. “Your eyes are blue.”
Ignoring the two soldiers holding him immobile, Cristiano centered his gaze on the force of nature across the room. “Yours are red, and blue and red make purple, which, incidentally, is the color of Harcourt’s face. Care to discuss the other sixty-one colors in the crayon box?”
I shook my head.
Dumbass.
Antagonizing the man who held his life in his hands wasn’t a smart move.
Val had Cristiano hauled in bleeding, bruised, and barely able to see out of two swollen eyes. To be honest, I had no idea how he could tell the guy had eyes, much less what color they were.
“I assume I’m here because of Mari.”
“Adriana,” I muttered. Not that anyone heard me. Those two were too busy playing a fucked up alpha chess game we didn’t have time for.
However, it was Val’s move, and he played to win. “You’re only half Latino.”
Cristiano smirked. “And yet, you’re one hundred percent asshole.”
“Motherfucker,” Val growled, his monotone voice low and clipped. Even soaked in alcohol, it was there, stretched to its limits.
Snap threat.
Cristiano glanced my way while licking blood off his teeth. “Is he always this pleasant?”
“Shut up!” Tilting my head back, I stared at the ceiling, trying to rein in my temper.
Once he helped us get Adriana and Santi back, I was breaking that asshole’s nose.
Inhaling hard, I settled my eyes on a pissed-off, half-drunk, guilt-ridden Val. “Where did you find him?” My teeth gnashed as I scanned Cristiano’s beaten face. “And why didn’t you let me at him first?”
Cristiano smirked. “Patience, Brenda.”
I glared at Val. “Screw being first, I just want to be last.”
“Stop it!” Val roared. “My sister and son are missing. I want them back. I don’t give a shit if it’s you…” He shouted, pointing to me. “…you…” He swung his finger toward Cristiano. “…you…” He tossed a nod over his shoulder at Mateo. “…or the goddamn tooth fairy who makes it happen. When they’re safe, you two cabrones can beat the hell out of each other for all I care, but until then, shut the fuck up!”
Cristiano’s face paled. “Mari is missing?”
I didn’t bother to correct him. “Along with Val’s son, Santiago. They disappeared sometime last night.”
“No, no, no, no. This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
The sudden shift in his demeanor set me on edge. “What wasn’t supposed to happen? Do you know something, Vergara? I swear, if you had something to do with—”
“How could I have had something to do with it?” he snapped, a razor’s edge away from losing control. “Your jefe’s men ran me off the road into an embankment. I’m good, but I’m not that damn good.”
What the hell?
I glanced at Val, who simply nodded.
“Ignacio,” I said, speaking the one name on everyone’s mind.
Cristiano laughed. “I guess I can cross running from a homicidal parent off my bucket list.” A dark haze crossed his face. “That asshole kept me in a dirty warehouse for days until I managed to overtake a couple of his stupider guards. I stole a car and was trying to find Mari when I was given an unwanted escort.”
Stopping his pace, Val swung around, his fists locked by his side. “So, you are Ignacio Vergara’s son.”
The room fell deathly silent as Cristiano closed his eyes, his chest rising and falling with short rapid breaths. When he opened them, the earlier arrogance was gone, replaced by dull acceptance. “Yes.”
Mateo shot to his feet. “Does anyone want to tell me what the fuck is going on?”
“My father was a son of a bitch who left my mother pregnant and shamed,” he ground out, cracking the surface of his façade. “Even as a boy, I knew I’d find him and make him pay. Watching my grandfather reject both of us, condemning my mother to a life of disgrace, and forcing a child to become a man to ensure our survival kind of sealed the deal.”
Crossing his arms, Mateo circled around him, his stoic expression firmly in place. “I take it he didn’t approve?”
Cristiano barked out a dry laugh. “Only pure blue Irish blood deserved Ronan Kelly’s kindness. When contaminated by a lower-class Latino, the only thing it deserved was to be spilled.”
Catching movement out of the corner of my eye, I saw Val’s face morph from blank indifference to shock to blackened rage. “¡Qué chingados! You’re Ronan Kelly’s grandson?”
“The Northside Sinners,” I added.
Ice shot through my veins. I heard the words and each one clawed into my head, digging through masks and lies until all that was left was a stripped away version of my own blindness.