Authors: Lisa Cardiff
The Bargain (15 page)
When I finished swimming my laps the following day, Ignacio was waiting at the edge of the pool. Just like every other time I’d seen him, he dressed in all black.
“I’d like you to take a drive with me,” he said as I stepped out of the pool.
I draped my towel over my shoulders. “Do I have a choice?”
He chuckled, and for the first time I saw amusement in his dark eyes. “No, you don’t.”
I frowned. “I didn’t think so. Can I dress first?”
He pointed to my navy and white striped cover up. “That will work. It’s just a drive.”
“Okay, then,” I mumbled, pulling the cover up over my still damp hair and swimming suit.
“Follow me,” he said without turning around as he started down the pathway to the front of the villa.
A black SUV sat in the driveway. Ignacio opened the front passenger door for me and he slipped into the driver’s seat a minute later.
“No driver today?” I questioned as the car pulled away from the house.
“Not today. I don’t want any witnesses.”
“What?” I said, my heart slamming against the walls of my chest.
He reached over and patted my leg before returning his hand to the steering wheel. “I don’t plan to kill you.”
“I’m not a target?” I questioned, recalling Ryker’s conversation about cargo and targets.
Ignacio chuckled. “Nope, you’re still cargo.”
“Then why?” My mind scoured his face, searching for the answer in his eyes, but he was unreadable. “Wait. Am I leaving for good?” My words betrayed my excitement.
“Are you ready to go home?”
“Of course. Why would I want to stay?” The moment the words left my mouth, grief lanced through my chest. I wanted to go home, but I craved Ryker. I wanted—no, needed—to see him, touch him, talk to him, one more time before I disappeared from his life forever.
Ignacio smiled, but his eyes lacked warmth. “I think we both know why you want to stay—”
“I don’t,” I protested before he could finish his thought.
“If you say so, but you’re not leaving us yet. We have to make a few more arrangements, but it shouldn’t take longer than three or four more days. How’s that sound?”
I sucked in my lower lip and ducked my head to hide my relief. “Perfect,” I replied sarcastically, even though it was the truth. I had three or four more days to see Ryker. “So where are we going now?”
“For a drive to Highway 307.”
“Isn’t that the highway to the airport?”
“It is,” Ignacio answered without glancing at me.
“Why are we going to the airport if I’m not going home?”
“We’re not. We’re going for a drive.”
I slumped in the seat. “So we are,” I mumbled.
“What do you know about the Vargas Cartel?”
“Other than that it smuggles drugs across the border? Not a lot.”
His ebony eyes landed on mine. “Law enforcement agencies, on both sides of the border, describe drug cartels as snakes that grow another head as soon as the other is dismembered. It’s interesting imagery, but this characteristic has allowed cartels to thrive despite the all-out war launched by the DEA and the Mexican government when former President Calderón took office in 2006.”
Ignacio turned onto Highway 307.
“How did you get involved in the cartel?”
“When I graduated from high school, I became a police officer, but I quickly realized I could make more money working for drug smugglers. I worked my way up the chain of command, and here I am.”
“So you’ve done it all?”
“I started at the bottom. I’ve donned a ski mask and dragged men away from crying wives and mothers. I’ve tied people up and cut them apart, piece by piece. I’ve hacked off heads. I’ve ordered countless assassinations.” He spoke slowly, and his eyes were distant, almost unfocused. Otherwise, his face was void of emotion. “Living that life robbed me of my compassion, and I didn’t want that for Rever. I wanted him to start at the top, and maybe that was my mistake. He didn’t appreciate the gift I gave him.”
Speechless, I shuddered, and bile burned the walls of my throat. If I stopped to think about it, Ignacio’s confession wasn’t surprising. I didn’t believe anyone could make it to the top of the cartel without committing countless murders. I turned my head to the side, fixing my vision on the passing landscape, praying this car ride ended soon. “How can you live with yourself?” I whispered more to myself than Ignacio.
“I don’t have a choice. Once you’re in a cartel, the only way out is prison or death.” He brought the car to a stop and turned off the ignition. “But I don’t like either of those options, so I fight to maintain what’s mine.”
“You could disappear.”
“Not anymore. I’m too high up the food chain, but that isn’t the point of this drive.” He tapped me on my leg, and my eyes met his. Any amusement I had seen in his eyes earlier this morning had disappeared. They were a black hole, sucking me into a void of emptiness. “The only way to bring your enemies down and save yourself is by annihilating their whole infrastructure: their police protection, their soldiers, their friends, their families, and their assets. You kill them before they can kill you.” He pointed his finger directly in front of the car. “Dario’s son.”
Twenty yards in front of us, a boy, not older than seventeen, was tied to a lamppost. His bloodied head lay sideways next to his feet, and a pig’s head was placed on top of his corpse. A knife was buried in his chest, affixing a piece of white paper to his body. The sign said, “
VC captura y exucutes traidores.
”
“The Vargas Cartel captures and executes traitors,” Ignacio whispered almost reverently. “The turf war between the Vargas and Alvarez Cartel has begun. Every cartel has a calling card of sorts. What do you think of ours?”
For a split second, I didn’t do anything. My mouth gaped open, silently straining for air. I stared at the horror in front of me, my mind swirling with disbelief even as time slowed to a meager crawl. Then, the gravity of the vision in front of me struck me like a bolt of lightning, and my mind shattered into a million pieces. Air rushed into my lungs, and I screamed and screamed some more until my voice gave out, because I didn’t know what else to do. When my shrieks of terror morphed into a soundless whisper, I buried my head in my hands, my entire body shaking.
At some point, Ignacio started driving again, but I refused to open my eyes. I refused to look at him. It was official: I was living in a nightmare.
One sunset turned into four, and before I realized it, four days had elapsed since my drive with Ignacio. I had slipped into a routine, which did wonders for my obsessive need to schedule and organize my life down to the last detail. More importantly, it kept my mind off the murder scene Ignacio showed me, and I pretended as though it hadn’t happened—at least until I fell asleep. Then, the nightmares overwhelmed my unconscious mind, and I rarely slept more than four for five hours.
Javier brought me a light breakfast every morning at eight. I swam laps until my muscles ached. Then, I read books from the comfort of a shaded lounge chair by the pool. I showered at three in the afternoon, and I ate dinner at five in my room.
Ignacio invited me to join him for dinner every night, but I declined. Even though I wondered if I’d see Ryker at dinner, my need to avoid Ignacio overshadowed my desire to see Ryker. I wasn’t ready to see Ignacio. I didn’t know if I’d ever be ready.
After dinner, the torture began—not physical but mental.
The first night, it started with a simple splashing noise in the pool around ten at night. Curious, I had peeked out my curtains, and I saw Ryker swimming laps in the pool. Every night since, I had left my drapes open while I sat in the comfort of my bed with the lights off, watching Ryker swim back and forth for nearly an hour.
He knew I watched him, but he never acknowledged me. He never let his eyes drift to my window. He never waved. He swam and then returned to his room. It was like I didn’t exist, had never existed. Maybe it was better that way…for both of us.
“Can I come in,” Ignacio pushed the door open to my room as I finished my last bite of breakfast.
“Sure.” My hands shook as I placed my spoon on the tray, and I moved to stand up from the bed.
“You don’t have to get up.” He walked past me to the window overlooking the pool, pausing there with his back turned to me and his hands clasped behind his body. I was grateful he didn’t sit next to me on the bed. I waited for him to say what he needed to say and leave. I hated being in the same room with him.
“You’re leaving tomorrow. Before breakfast. It’s all arranged,” he muttered.
I clutched the folds of my skirt and nodded, unable to look at him even if it was only his back. “Okay.” I forced myself to remain calm and keep my voice even. He scared me and tied my mouth in knots. When I looked at him, I saw a monster. A soulless, heartless monster.
He cast a glance over his shoulder, and a small smile tugged at the corners of his normally grim mouth. “We finished negotiations yesterday. I planned to tell you at dinner last night, but you declined as usual.”
“Sorry,” I lied, but I didn’t know what else to say. I didn’t want to be alone with him. Even sharing the same room and air filled me with a sickening rage.
“No, you’re not.” He spun around and leaned against the wall. “I get it. You think I’m a bad person because you don’t think I feel any guilt over the things I’ve done, the people I’ve killed.”
The statement hung in the air, weighing it down. I drew my knees up to my chest and rested my head on my knees. “Is there any other way to look at it?” I asked, my voice hardly a rasp.
Pushing away from the wall, he expelled a heavy breath and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I improve the lives of the members of my cartel. I make sure they adhere to a code of ethics, which includes embracing family values. None of my members abuse drugs, and if they do, we clean them up and then they work for me to repay the favor of saving their lives. My members attend mass regularly. I give loans and gifts to local schools, businesses, farmers, and churches. We are so much more than a cartel smuggling drugs. We are a social organization. We bring order and meaning into the lives of the poor.”
“Really?” Stunned by his admission, I didn’t know what to say. I never considered a cartel might do as much good and as it does bad. Not everything was black and white.
“I help people. The Vargas Cartel is a necessary evil, but you wouldn’t understand. How could you? You’ve never lived in Mexico. You’ve never been poor and without resources.”
“No, I haven’t,” I admitted.
“We don’t kill women. We don’t kill innocent people, only those who deserve to die.”
“Nobody deserves to die.” My gut lurched as I said the words. I killed a man. I did it in self-defense, but maybe I had lost the moral authority to judge Ignacio the minute I pulled the trigger.
“Your innocence is almost charming.” A condescending smile spread across his face. “Have you talked to Ryker?”
I shook my head. “No, not since he showed me to this room, but I’m sure you already knew that.”
A lopsided grin pulled at his mouth for a second. “The cameras.”
“Yes, the cameras,” I snapped, not even trying to moderate my voice.
“So you’re planning to walk away without saying another word to him.”
I swallowed over the sudden tightness in my throat. “That’s what he wants.”
His nearly black eyebrows arched. “Are you sure about that?
“Yes.” My voice faltered, and I sounded unsure, confused even. “But even if it isn’t, you made it clear that you’d ruin my life if I didn’t stay away from him.”
He nodded. “Ah, we’re back to the video and the cameras.” He strolled across the room, his hands in his pockets. “Maybe that’s what is wrong with your generation.”
“What?” I answered, not understanding why I bothered prolonging this conversation. How in the hell would he know if something was wrong with my generation? He was a sick and twisted murderer.
“You’ve been handed everything without working for it, so you’re afraid to go after what you really want in life. You settle for mediocrity when you should go after your dreams. Mediocre spouses. Mediocre careers. Mediocre lives.” He shook his head, disdain dripping from his voice. “How boring.”
“And murdering your way to the top of a cartel was your dream?” I taunted, the smugness in Ignacio’s voice grating on my already threadbare nerves.
“Being the best at whatever I did was my dream.”
“And you’re the best.”
“I’d like to think so.” The declaration sounded almost serene. He opened the door. “Have your things packed and be waiting by the front door at seven in the morning. Take care, Miss Covington, and good luck with your life.” He paused with his hand on the doorknob. “With whatever you choose or don’t choose.”
What the hell did that mean? “And if I choose Ryker?”
“Then you choose Ryker.”
I rubbed my hands together. “You won’t do anything to stop me.”
“No. I got what I wanted.”
“And what was that?”
“Your compliance until I could secure Rever’s release. I’ve secured his release, so what you do or don’t do isn’t my concern.”