The building is seemingly empty when I enter, but I immediately tune to hushed voices and shuffling feet in the maze of aisles. It’s not until I hit a clearing that people appear. I recognize the approaching men as Cartel members by their signature rose tattoos with “Riv” scripted across the middle. Having just murdered their leader and some of their crew, there’s no question what they want from me. I ball one fist into my other palm and crack my knuckles as the thrill of attack burns its course through my body. Today’s turning out better than I expected.
As if prompted by some silent cue, each of the five men draws a gun. “Where’s your costume?” one asks as they encircle me. “We were hoping for a Hero, not a yuppie.”
I relax my stance, my trained reaction to danger. The first shot rings out, catching me in the shoulder. I inhale deeply, drawing on the pain to fuel my anger—and smile. They look to each other as I advance. Two more shots are fired, one landing in my upper thigh and the other deflected as it comes at my head.
One yells in Spanish to slow down because they need me alive. I only laugh as I grab the two men nearest to me, easily lifting one in each hand by his shirt collar. Footsteps echo in the warehouse as someone I didn’t see runs for the door. My instincts will me to chase after him, and I know I should, but I’m salivating over what’s right in front of me. I launch one man into the nearest wall then seize the other’s head between both hands, snapping his neck with a satisfying crack. In the moments it takes me to kill both men, I hear shots outside.
The bullets I took are just starting to slow me down. The two biggest men grab each of my arms, pulling me back. The third slams his fist into my stomach. “Hijo de puta,” he curses, withdrawing quickly and cradling his hand. I kick him swiftly in the chest, sending him to the concrete, and rip one arm free. I use it to snatch a gun at my feet and shoot the three of them before they know what’s happening.
I tell myself I can catch the absconder, but it’s been too many minutes since he took off, and my body is weakening. I stop dead in my tracks though when I see the busted window of my car, the result of several bullets. The only thing missing from under the passenger’s seat is my wallet—and since it contains my identity, it’s the only thing of any real value.
15
Cataline
When I sit up, the book I’d been reading before I fell asleep slides off my chest and thumps on the ground. The room glows orange as the setting sun filters through the large windows. Voices prompt me to the library door, where I lean out into the corridor. Norman and Chef Michael huddle with Calvin near the mansion’s entrance. His words are short and rumbling, and concern blooms in my stomach. When they move across the foyer, I follow quietly, nearly tripping over a rug in my haste.
They disappear into the room I’d broken into my first day here. Curiosity propels me forward. Chef Michael exits in a rush almost immediately after, sending me hiding behind the staircase. When he’s gone, I tiptoe closer and crouch to peek inside. Calvin is shirtless and slumped in a chair, his legs spilling out in front him.
Pressed against his naked body last night, I could feel the steel in his muscles, but now is my first time seeing his bare chest in the light. His shoulders are sprawling and muscular, anchoring his towering frame. His strength is clear, but his body conveys only a fraction of the power I felt. He’s several inches over six feet tall, and even in repose, his abs are clearly defined, his arms brawny and solid—but bruises darken parts of his body.
“It was a setup,” Calvin says.
“Setup?” Norman repeats. “The tip was anonymous, filtered by the uptown sector.”
Calvin winces as Norman wipes his shoulder with a cloth. “Can we be sure our uptown contact is still with us?”
“I’ll have Carter look into it since he took the call. They assured him danger was imminent, or I never would’ve sent you out during the day.”
“Well, now I’m fucked. Whoever took that wallet has a death wish. I need more intel on the Cartel and its members. Is Carlos still in Mexico?”
At the mention of the Riviera Cartel, my body tenses.
“Yes, sir,” Norman says. “We’re tracking him closely.” Norman seems to hesitate, glancing at Calvin as he pulls on rubber gloves. “How many?” he asks.
Calvin barely nods. “Five. Had me cornered.” He looks up. “I had no choice. My identity was compromised. I had to kill them.”
Behind my hand, I inhale sharply. Calvin’s eyes cut right to me as he shoots out of his chair, sending it back into the desk. “What the—”
I scramble backward, falling on my ass just as the door bursts open and collides with the wall.
Calvin menaces above me, a tempest brewing in his eyes. “What did I tell you about sneaking around?”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I was worried—”
“I don’t give a fuck.” He bends over and seizes my upper arm, hurrying me to my feet. “Up to your room,” he says as he marches me to the staircase. “You’ve bought yourself a week in there, and you can forget about camera privileges.”
I glance at the sizeable, purple lump on his shoulder.
“Listen to me,” he intones. “Stay out of my business. It’s for your own good.”
“What is?” I cry. “You won’t tell me anything, and I’m scared, Calvin. What does the Cartel have to do with this, and why did you kill people?”
He shakes me hard, forcing the pools in my eyes to drip onto my cheeks. “That’s enough. Another word, and I’ll lock you up in the basement without your precious books or thousand-count sheets.”
“I don’t care,” I scream. I fall to my knees though he keeps his grip on my arm. “You’re going to do what you want anyway. Take me down there. Let me rot!”
With large strides across the room, he drags me kicking behind him. I yelp as my nightgown rides up and cold marble shocks my skin. He kicks open another locked door with a heavy foot. “Up,” he demands.
“I-I’m not going down there.”
“I thought you didn’t care? Thought you wanted to rot down there?”
I wiggle in his grasp, trying to free my arm. When he releases me, I start to get to my feet but his hands are swiftly under my armpits. He hoists me off the ground and carries me down the stairs as I kick and scream. An overpowering, musty smell chokes me as we descend into the basement. He drops me on my knees in a small cell and pulls the gate closed behind him.
“No, Calvin, please,” I sob, crawling forward and pulling on the bars. “Please, I promise I won’t sneak around anymore.”
His lids grow suddenly heavy as his hand grasps the front of his pants. “You’re making me so hard, Sparrow. Keep begging like that, and I’ll gladly find a way to shut you up.”
My stomach flips with charged nerves, and I can’t keep the shock from my face.
He laughs. “That’s right. And I’m not joking. I’m thinking a good fuck might finally do the trick.”
“I’d never let you,” I say.
He cocks his head. “If I wanted you, you’d know it, and you’d be right where you are, begging for it. Lucky for you, I don’t.”
I recoil, oddly hurt by the dig that’s delivered with a look of disgust. “Calvin, please,” I say as he turns away.
He sighs and pivots back, striding to me. “If you insist.” He grips the insides of two steel bars, and I swear they budge when he pulls.
“No,” I say, retreating further into the cell. “I’m sorry. I’ll shut up.” My leg knocks into something that clatters loudly against the concrete floor.
He pauses and releases the bars, his eyes glued to me. “Your toilet,” he says, pointing to a white, plastic bucket on its side. “Your bed,” he adds, nodding at a thin, dirty-looking mattress and pillow in the corner. With that, he jogs up the stairs, leaving me openmouthed and staring after him.