Shadow Man (Grayson Duet #1) - Catherine Wiltcher Page 0,28
seeking out the moon again. “They thrive too much in the darkness.” I rise to my feet, feeling a little unsteady. I’m done with this day. My emotional exhaustion is like a sinkhole, sucking me down into the dirt. “Do you have a couch or something I can crash on?”
“I mean it, Anna,” she says seriously, rising to her feet as well, looking and sounding like some beautiful Colombian Kill Bill assassin with much cooler shoes. “Just say the word.”
“The word is sleep,” I argue, swaying not so gently in the evening breeze.
“No, American Girl,” drawls an amused voice from behind us. “The word for tonight is betrayal.”
13
Anna
“Isn't that so, Viviana?” The deep voice reaches into the yard where we’re standing again, curls around us like tentacles and forces us back inside. “Would you like to tell your new friend its definition, or shall I?”
“Tell me what?” My gaze snaps to Vi, but hers is fixed on the Colombian standing in the middle of her bar without an invitation; the kind of man who looks like he never seeks permission for anything. Late thirties, black suit with an open neck white button-down, tough lined skin like a lizard. He’s huge in every sense of the word: Broad, muscular… Even his moustache is two sizes too big for his face.
“Vi?” I prompt again in a panic.
“What are you doing here?” she says, ignoring me. “We agreed on tomorrow.”
“Vi, who is he?”
Again, she doesn't answer, but I’ve made the connection anyway.
My suspicions are confirmed when the two men from outside the airport terminal start crowding up the place as well. They’re sicarios, I realize with a jolt. They’re cartel soldiers who hurt and kill for their leader, and they’re even sleazier in person. I watch their gazes slip from our chests to our bare legs as the truth slams into me like a wrecking ball: I ran from drama into the arms of more drama, and this time there’s not a hope in hell of my shadow rescuing me.
Alberto Fernandez himself is exuding the worst kind of sin. If I’d thought Vi was bad news at first, this cartel prince is kicking that rep to the curb. No one says a word as he circles the bar and helps himself to a new bottle of aguardiente, tossing the shot glass down and pouring out a double with a sinister amount of care. He doesn’t offer anyone else a drink until long after he’s downed it, and then he’s sliding the bottle toward his men, not us.
“Our deal still stands, Viviana,” he says, his jet-black eyes flickering between us as an icy cold hand takes a hold of my stomach and squeezes. His accent is as thick as his neck, the dark flesh stamped with skulls and crosses. “I’m moving the delivery time forward a day… Let’s just say I was anxious to sample.”
“I don't care. I’ve changed my mind. You’ll get your money another way,” she says, slipping into urgent Spanish; firing missives at him that sound more like pleas and bargaining.
Fernandez chuckles and shakes his head, dismissing her like he’s swatting a bug. Meanwhile, every bad intuition I’ve ever had is crushing me. Snap shots of R-rated images blitz my mind—basements, cages, brutal hands. My past is rushing up so fast I can feel the incoming breeze.
Betrayal.
They couldn’t have been talking about me. Could they?
“Please, Vi—”
“Se?or Fernandez was just leaving,” she says in a tight voice, but she can’t hide her undertones of desperation. If her fierceness were a tigress, she’d be slinking around her ankles right now.
“Am I?” he says casually, shifting his attention back to me. “You didn’t exaggerate, Viviana. She really is quite lovely.”
He can’t mean…
“The terms have changed,” she snaps, but her face is drained of color. “Come back tomorrow. You can have your money in full then.”
“I disagree.” He pours himself another shot as the chilly atmosphere in the bar drops a couple of degrees. “I make the decisions—not you.”
Vi goes to speak in Spanish again, but he bangs his fist down on the counter. “English only,” he snarls, before gliding back into his deadly smooth drawl. “You have guests, Viviana. Do not forget your manners.”
“This isn't up for discussion,” she argues. “We both know I’m what you really want.”
“What if there’s a better proposition on the table now?”
“We can leave right away.” She reaches for her purse on the nearby table with shaking hands.
“No.” The word rumbles around the room like breaking thunder