Ransom (Dead Man's Ink Series Book 3) (23 page)

Once upon a time I would have been stunned myself. But serving in the military changes things. It changes everything. Nothing will ever surprise or horrify me again. I grab hold of Carnie by the arm, pulling at him until he sits himself up. “Where are the others?”
 

“Outside,” he pants. “Out the front. Julio’s gone fucking crazy.”

“You okay? Can you watch the doc?”

Carnie takes a deep breath and hauls himself to his feet. “Yeah, I got this. Go.”

******

Outside, body parts lay strewn in the long grass. The air is choked with copper, making the back of my nose itch, reminding me of memories I’d rather forget. Under foot, something snaps, cracks, crunches every time I take a step. It’s almonds. There are sugared `almonds on the ground everywhere. The external wall of the farmhouse is painted in blood, and Julio and his men are standing around in a half circle while someone screams and shouts loud enough to wake the dead.
 

“
Sick. Mother. Fucker!”
 

I know the sound of flesh striking flesh well enough to know that someone is taking a serious beating. I know the sound of flesh on broken bone, too. Whoever Julio and his men are watching right now is pounding on dead flesh, or close enough to it anyway. I look around, trying to catch sight of Cade and Sophia, but they’re not here, or at least not where I can see them right now anyway. I head for Julio, noting that every single one of the four men he brought with him appears to be alive, though perhaps slightly bruised and bloody. I’m about to ask him if he’s seen the rest of
my
guys when I stumble onto Keeler repeatedly pile-driving his broken hands into Hector Ramirez’s skull.
 

“She was pregnant,” he sobs. “She was fucking pregnant, and you chopped off her fucking head.”

I halt in my tracks, my heart climbing up out of my chest and up into my throat. Bron? Bron was pregnant? Oh, god. Keeler carries on openly weeping as he slams his fists into Ramirez’s head and chest. The leader of the Los Oscuros cartel doesn’t move. He doesn’t twitch. He doesn’t flinch. As far as I can tell, he’s dead.
 

“I wanted to do it myself,” Julio tells me under his breath. “But this one seemed like he had a bigger score to settle.”

Shit. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do in this situation, but I can’t just let Keeler grind Ramirez’s head into the dirt. I don’t care if he kills him. I couldn’t care less if Ramirez checks out of this world in the most undignified, terrible way possible. I do care about Keeler’s mental state though. If he smears Hector’s brains all over the porch with his bare hands, that’s going to affect him. It’s going to take a piece of him that he won’t be able to get back.
 

I nearly take an elbow to the face when I wrap my arms around him, pulling him away from Ramirez’s body. “Get off me! Get the fuck off me! I’ll fucking kill you!” he wails, over and over again. I collapse onto the ground, Keeler braced against my body, and I hold onto him tight.
 

He shakes and cries, and I continue to hold him. I don’t let him go until his hysteria passes, leaving him limp and exhausted.
 

No one’s moved. No one’s tried to figure out if Ramirez is still breathing. Carnie and Alan stand in the doorway, watching on, and it feels as if the world is holding its breath, waiting to exhale.
 

“I’m sorry, man,” Keeler whispers. “I’m really fucking sorry. I shouldn’t…I shouldn’t have lost it like that.”

“It’s okay. It’s okay. Just take a minute. It’s all going to be okay, brother.”

But it’s not. It’s not, because
that’s
when the world exhales.
 

That’s when we hear the gunshot.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

SOPHIA

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Cade’s voice sounds so disconnected. So inhumane. It’s like he’s flipped a switch somewhere and he’s not feeling anything. I almost find myself believing the words that are coming out of his mouth. But they can’t be true? Can they?

“She’s caused nothing but trouble since the day she showed up, man,” he says. “She’s distracted my friend. Brought Ramirez here. It’s her fault that one of my brothers’ girlfriends is dead. If she hadn’t come back to New Mexico with us, it would be status quo as usual. So no. I really don’t give a shit if you shoot her in the head. Have at it, Alfonso. Either way, I’m walking out of this basement, and I’ll be climbing over your dead body in order to do it.”

“Bullshit,” Alfonso snarls. “You’re just trying to rile me. She’s Rebel’s bitch. You wouldn’t just let me kill her.”

Cade pulls an ugly, disinterested face. “Only one way to find out. Test your theory.”

“How about you
don’t
test that theory.” I adjust my grip on my gun, sweating over every inch of my body. “How about you let us both by and none of us gets hurt. I just want to get my father and go.”

“And
I
told
you
, your father is fucking dead,
whore
. We killed him days ago.” He glares at Cade, shaking his head violently from side to side. “I’m not letting you walk out of here, asshole. No fucking way. You humiliated me. You
scarred
me. You’re going to wish you’d never been born.”

“You’d be surprised how many people have said that to me,” Cade muses. “None of them ever followed through, though. Some of them tried, of course, but…you know how these things go.” Alfonso looks like he’s boiling inside. I’ve never seen anyone look so angry before. Cade takes a step forward, eyes fixed on the man hovering halfway down the stairs, standing between us and freedom. “Once upon a time, I might have felt sorry for a guy like you, Al. I might have gone a little easier on you the other night. It was pretty clear you were a pathetic, weak, useless sack of shit. I might have just broken a rib or two and let you leave with your pride in tact, but I don’t know. After years of dealing with spineless, pitiful losers who can’t get anything done, I just couldn’t take it anymore. I just had to make you feel worthless. See, I
enjoyed
it.” Cade takes another step forward, smiling at Alfonso in the most arrogant way.
 

“Stop right there, motherfucker. Don’t you take another fucking step.” Alfonso briefly swings his gun around and points it at Cade, but then he swings it back, aiming it at my head. A jolt of adrenalin fires through me, mixed with a considerable stab of relief. I suddenly know what Cade is up to.
 

He doesn’t want Alfonso to shoot me. He wants Alfonso to shoot
him
instead, presumably so I can get a round off and put the bastard down. It’s a horrible, horrible plan that will never work, but I’m sure he knows that. He’s a smart guy. Why the hell would he even dream of risking his life on a long shot like this?

“Your mother must have been so fucking disappointed in you,” he says. “I have no idea how you fooled Ramirez into hiring you, but he must be kicking himself pretty hard too right now. You can’t even come down here and do this right.”

“You’re a fucking dead man.” Alfonso trains his gun on Cade, giving him exactly what he wants. He’s going to shoot him, no doubt about it. I want to scream. This is really fucking bad. If Cade gets shot and Alfonso kills him, he’ll be shooting me three seconds later and Cade’s sacrifice will have been for nothing. I can’t breathe. What does he want me to do? How can he expect me to get this right? I’m not Jamie. I haven’t been to war with him. We haven’t saved each other’s asses more times than I can count. My father is probably already dead, and the guilt of that will cripple me for the rest of my life. If I have to carry the guilt of Cade’s death around with me, too, I don’t think I’ll survive it.
 

“Do it,” Cade snaps, sneering at Alfonso. “Take your fucking shot.
Take it
. What’s the worst that can happen?”

That last comment seems odd.
What’s the worst that can happen?
Why would he be talking Alfonso through this? It makes no sense. It dawns on me almost instantaneously, though: Cade isn’t talking to the man on the stairs. His, ‘
take the fucking shot. What’s the worst that can happen?
’ is aimed at
me
, and he’s waiting on me to follow through and squeeze the trigger.
 

I can think of plenty of terrible things that can happen. I could list them off in my head, but there’s no time. There’s no fucking time whatsoever. Cade takes yet another step forward, gritting his teeth. “Come on!” he shouts. “Fucking do it! DO IT!”

I fire. For good or for bad, I fire. The recoil of the weapon exploding in my hands sends a shockwave of panic through me, and for a moment I’m too stunned to react. Time catches up quickly, as though someone is leaning on the fast forward button, and I see Cade launching himself toward me. Alfonso has disappeared from my line of sight, but does that mean that I shot him? Is he fucking dead? I don’t have a clue. The oxygen leaves my lungs as Cade tackles me to the ground. I make a pained
ufff
ing sound as he lands on top of me, his body covering mine, and I can’t breathe, hear, or see anything. My ears are still ringing from the gunshot. Cade rolls off me and spins onto his back, gun raised, pointed at the stairs, but Alfonso isn’t there.
 

Another shot rings out, loud and violent. A bullet hits the concrete wall next to my head, and Cade starts firing, this time aiming at the ground where we were just stood a second ago.
 

Alfonso is sprawled out on his side, grimacing, his shirt and his neck drenched in blood. I didn’t kill the bastard but I certainly managed to injure him. Cade’s gun barks again, and Alfonso’s body jerks as the bullet hits him in the stomach, just below his ribcage.
 

“Fuck.” Cade grabs me by my shirt and literally slides me behind the wall next to us. A tower of boxes topples over between Cade and Alfonso, sending rubber sex toys tumbling out over the floor.
 

“You fucking whore!” Alfonso screams. “This isn’t over. This isn’t fucking over!”

 
“Oh, yes it is.” Out of nowhere, Rebel is tearing down the basement stairs, Carnie behind him. The two of them are shooting rapidly, over and over again, and Alfonso is bleeding freely. They shoot him countless times, in his torso, his legs, his arms, and finally, when Rebel hits the bottom of the stairs, in his head. The air smells metallic, of gunpowder and blood.
 

Through a haze of concrete dust, Rebel emerges like some kind of ruthless god. He’s covered in blood, his shirt torn, his right hand bleeding, but he looks invincible. He looks terrifying—a nightmare in the flesh—and I have never been happier to see him.
 

He drops down to his knees and takes me in his arms, his hands frantically roaming all over my body, looking for injuries. “Jesus, Soph. Are you okay? Tell me. Are you fucking okay?”

“Yes, yeah, I’m fine, I’m fine.” I really am, which is a goddamn miracle. I should be dead, or at least severely injured, and yet I’m pain free, completely fine. Weird. Not that I’m complaining. Rebel holds my face in his hands, his cool eyes traveling over me, trying to find signs of discomfort, despite my protests. “I’m okay, I promise,” I say, leaning my forehead against his. He lets out a deep breath, hugging me to him. “Are
you
okay?” I ask.
 

“I’m fine. Everyone is fine.”

“And…” God, I don’t think I can say the words. “My dad? Is…we were too late, weren’t we? Is he…is he dead?”
 

Rebel slowly shakes his head, a tiny smile playing at the corner of his lips. “No, sugar. We weren’t too late. Your dad’s alive. He’s just fine. He’s waiting upstairs for you now.” He places a deep, slow kiss on my lips, and my head swims. I’m so fucking relieved. I’m ecstatic. My father’s alive. He’s alive, and he’s waiting to see me. I used to resent my father, feel stifled by him most of the time, but right now I’ve never needed him more.
 

“I don’t know about you, sugar,” Rebel says, brushing his thumb along the rise of my bottom lip. “But I’d like to get out of here before the cops show up. What do you say?”

I manage a weak smile as he helps me up from the floor. “I say I couldn’t agree more. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

REBEL

Ramirez is dead. Keeler is still sitting on the porch with his head in his hands when we go outside. He informs us that Julio told him to remind me of the agreement we came to, and then he left. Keeler stops talking. He rocks silently back and forward, knees drawn up underneath his chin, and we leave him in peace. Grief is a funny thing. You think revenge will fill in the hole that grief causes inside you, but more often than not revenge only makes the hole deeper. Bottomless, in some cases.
 

Alan Romera stands like a statue when Sophia steps out onto the porch. His face is carved marble, his shoulders rounded in on his body, as if bowed under a great and unbearable burden. Sophia bursts into tears the second she lays eyes on him.
 

“Daddy?” she whispers.
 

“Hey, pumpkin.” The Doc twists his filthy handkerchief over and over in his hands, looking very unsure of himself. “Are you…are you all right?”

Sophia nods. “I am. I’m
so
sorry. God, Daddy, I’m sorry.”

I back the fuck off. Sophia doesn’t need me loitering on the peripherals as she tries to explain where she’s been for the last six months. He’s going to hate me. He’s going to fucking
despise
me. Cade saved his daughter in one way, but I was the one who really took her away from him.
I
was the one responsible for guilting her into staying here in New Mexico.
 

There’s so much blame to be thrown around, though. So many fingers to be pointed. I’m too fucking tired and worn into the ground to bother with that right now, so I let Sophia tell her father the truth, and I accept how he’s going to feel about me.
 

At the end of the day, it’s how Sophia feels about me that matters, and I’m hopeful that that won’t be changing any time soon. As she speaks to her father, I see him shaking his head, her bowing hers. At once point, the doc takes her head and holds it in his, and she collapses against him, sobbing silently. I want to go to her and take her in my arms, to comfort her, but it’s not my place. Hard though it may be for me to remember, she was the light of someone else’s life before she was the light in mine. Alan hasn’t seen her in six months. They both need this time together to heal the hurt between them.