Burn (2 page)

******

There are few things in this life that have put me on the back foot. I’ve kinda come to expect shitty things from shitty people, so it’s not surprising when one of Charlie’s boys, or even some of my own boys does something seriously fucked up. But Sloane. Shit,
Sloane
keeps on surprising me. Sometimes in really good, entertaining, or really fucking hot ways. And sometimes in desperately stupid, idiotic ways. I haven’t decided which category her little act this morning falls under yet, but when I have I’m gonna make sure she pays for it one way or another. She needs to know she can’t pull that shit here. Not if she wants to survive. And I may not
be
much, and I may not
have
much, but I’m kind of attached to my life, too. I’d like to keep a hold of it for as long as I can as well.

I’m not gonna tell her about Julio’s reaction after she left his study. She’ll think it’s okay to speak to him that way, and it’s so not okay. It’s not okay for me. Not for Alaska. Not for Charlie. Not for anybody. I was a little surprised when he laughed, though. I straight up thought he was gonna pull out his gun and go shoot her in the back of the head, but instead he’d laughed like a fucking drain. Told me he totally understood why I’d brought her here, and then some.

“She wears you out, man, you send her straight to me, okay? I wouldn’t mind being toyed with by a pleasant piece of pussy like that.”

It turns out that Sloane was only half the issue with Julio, and once he’d decided she wasn’t a threat, he moved swiftly onto his other concern: Charlie.

“I’m going to need you with me today, Zeth. I need you to explain to me why you’ve run away from home like a dog with its tail between its legs. Plus, your help wouldn’t go amiss. I have some business to attend to.”

There wasn’t much I could do or say to refuse him. If I did, it would only make me look guilty as fuck. “Fine. Happy to help.”
Happy to bury a bullet in the back of your head. Happy to set this place on fucking fire and dance around the resulting blaze like a crazed mad man.
“What kind of business you got?”

“Is there more than one kind?” he’d said, shrugging. And that’s how we ended up in his basement.

I’ve never been down here before. No, a man’s basement is typically the place where they keep their darkest shit. If you end up in the basement, you’re either inner circle or you’re royally fucked. I’m hoping for the first, but in all honesty the later is more likely. The lower level is a series of small rooms, bare concrete boxes with no furniture and naked light bulbs dangling from the ceiling. It’s clear what goes on down here—I’m not even faintly shocked when I see the drain grates in the centre of each empty room as we walk by. In the third room we pass, a hospital bed has been set up and Andres Medina is laid out on it, hooked up to an IV with his right arm in a cast. He’s watching television, but his face is set into a permanent scowl—he’s definitely still mad that I kicked his ass. I didn’t know I’d broken his arm, though. That makes me deliriously fucking happy. Bitch should never have laid a finger on Sloane. Andreas notices us passing and tries to sit up, but we’re already gone by the time he shouts something offensive and Spanish down the corridor after us.

We pass more open doorways, until we reach one at the far end of the corridor that’s locked. I already know who’s inside that room. I haven’t forgotten about the guy Julio found spying on his girls outside the compound, and I haven’t forgotten the photos Julio showed me, either. Michael is behind that door, and I’m praying to all that’s holy that he’s still alive or I’m gonna blow my cover right here and right now and kill every last motherfucker within reach. I’ll probably die trying, but knowing that doesn’t change much. I won’t be able to control myself. And then everything really will be fucked.
Sloane.
I won’t be able to protect her if I’m dead.

“Teo, get the door,” Julio orders the other guard who was with Andreas when I arrived at the compound. Teo’s not like Andreas, though. He does as he’s told without voicing his fucking opinion over even the slightest thing. And he doesn’t seem to hate me the same way Andreas does. He just does his job and keeps his trap shut. This might make most people think he is less of a threat to someone like me, but actually the opposite is true. Andreas has shown me his hand. I know what’s going on in his head every time I fucking look at the guy. I have no idea what’s going on in Teo’s head. That makes him an unknown. A threat.

Teo’s all business as he opens up the door, and I brace myself for whatever we’re going to find on the other side. Am I gonna be killing a bunch of people in a second? Or am I gonna be putting my acting face on? Julio’s bulk blocks my view for a second, but then I see.

Michael.

Sitting on an armchair, hands cuffed together in front of him, watching television. There’s no other furniture in the room besides the chair and the television, resting on a splintering wooden stand. He doesn’t look up at us when we walk in. Just sits erect in his chair, eyes focused on the screen. Julio’s photos of Michael, taken when they captured him, had showed that they’d taken a pot shot or two already—he’d had a nasty black eye and a split lip—and I’d made the assumption that they would continue with their persuasion, but, weirdly, it looks as though I was wrong. He’s fine. Okay, not
fine,
fine, but they haven’t roughed him up any more. His black eye is a vivid purple against the coffee color of his skin, but the outer edges have begun to take on a jaundiced yellow, and his lip has had time to scab over. Julio lumbers into the room, pausing to take a moment to assess the TV set.

“America’s Next Top Model, huh? You gay, ese?” Julio asks in a conversational tone, as though he’s genuinely interested in Michael’s sexual orientation.

Michael, my boy, my right hand, smirks out of the corner of his mouth and raises one eyebrow. “Yes. That’s why I was checking out all those girls you got locked up here. ’Cause I’m gay.”

Julio snorts, nodding his head slowly. Michael finally peels his indifferent gaze away from the TV and rakes it over Julio and me, and the a silent Teo behind us. His expression doesn’t falter when he sees me. I’m cheering like a fucking moron on the inside. Seriously. Most people would twitch or something—would show some sign of recognition—but not Michael. He knows the drill here.

“Well,” Julio says, “I suppose it’s a good insight into how chicks’ brains work, I guess. You learned anything interesting yet?”

“That they’re all crazy bitches?” Michael rubs his nose with the back of his hand, apparently at ease in his surroundings. He’ll have been like this since they put him down here, which has undoubtedly been driving them, especially Andreas, stark raving mad. The problem is, a random perve busted for spying on chicks taking a shower wouldn’t react this calmly. They’d probably be shitting their pants. They may not have anything on Michael, but his attitude is telling them enough all by itself. He’s not just some pervert. He’s someone. He’s someone that someone else will eventually miss. Julio walks to Michael’s chair and picks up the remote. He switches off the set, which causes Michael to suck in a tired breath and pivot in his seat, so that his body is finally facing us.

Our eyes meet for barely a split second, and I get nothing. Not a warning. Not a flicker of recognition. Nothing. I’m itching to send him some sort of message, but I don’t. I do that and we’re both dead. Michael knows as much already. “You brought in the heavy artillery, I see,” he says.

Julio snaps his fingers and Teo hurries out of the room; they’ve clearly done this before. “Yeah, I brought in the big guns just for you, buddy. We gave you some time to think about what you’ve done and why you’re here. Now we’ve come to chat. Anything in particular you’d like to talk about,
ese?
”

Teo returns then, a wooden stool in either hand. He places them in front of Michael, and Julio sits down on the first. The other is apparently for me. I sit, trying to figure our how the hell this is all gonna play out. Badly, I’m guessing. Really fucking badly.

“Not particularly,” Michael says, letting his head fall to one side. His shirt is fucking filthy, covered in blood—not his blood; his lip wouldn’t have bled that much and his nose is just fine, which means it must be someone else’s. I get a kick out of that. My boy Michael is fucking dangerous when he needs to be.

Julio isn’t at all impressed with this show of nonchalance, though. He leans forward, making the chair creak underneath him as his considerable body weight shifts. “I ain’t got time for torturing people right now. I’m gonna ask you two questions, and then after that we’re not gonna use words anymore. You hearin’ me?”

Michael spares a brief look from Julio to me, and then to Teo, as if considering his options. Even I know they look pretty fucking bleak right now. But Michael also knows I got his back. I won’t let things go too far before I step in. “Sure,” he says. “You can ask your two questions. I have zero problem answering anything you have to ask me.”

Julio accepts this with a single jerk of his head. “You see this man?” He points his thumb to his right. At me. Michael nods, and an overly friendly smile spreads on Julio’s smug, fat fucking face. “Great. You ever seen this man before?”

“Nope.”

“You sure? You’ve never heard the name Zeth Mayfair?”

“Never, man.” Michael’s face is a brick wall as he denies knowing me. We’ve been friends, business associates, drinking buddies for close to eight years, but from looking Michael straight in the eye, you would never, ever suspect him of lying. There’s not a scrap of subterfuge on him; his eyes are clear and he doesn’t have a single tic to give him away. You could hook this guy up to a lie detector and he would charm the pants off the thing. Julio’s a persistent bastard, though.

“You ever heard the name Charlie Holsan?”

“Nope.”

“So you weren’t hired by anyone of that name? To follow this man to my home? To disturb the peace here?”

Holy shit. So…Julio suspects Charlie sent Michael here to spy on me? I guess in Julio’s head that’s the only thing that makes sense, except it never occurred to me that he might come to that conclusion. I’ve been too busy worrying that the real reason is glaringly obvious, but that’s just not the case. Julio has no cause to suspect I came here with the intentions of stealing a girl from him. I mean, why would he? That wouldn’t only be dumb. It would be fucking suicide.

“I told you. I don’t know this guy and I don’t know those names. I got laid off from my job with a nice fat pay out,” Michael explains, as though he’s had to tell this story before. “I knew about this place from my cousin. He said you had top pussy here, so I thought I'd come check it out first. Wanted to see the girls first, though. Didn't want to waste my money and all on some skanky, dried-up old whores."

So this is the story he's been telling. He must've had the money I gave him on him when Andreas and his buddies found him — it was a lot of cash. Too much money for your average person to be carrying around with them. But enough to have on you if you're planning on renting a girl or two from Julio Perez. The only problem is, people in the know who find themselves in the market for a girl also know that you can't just turn up at Julio’s place. That's suicide, too.

Teo shifts his grip on the assault rifle he's grasping hold of, as he's thinking the exact same thing. Julio nods at this, considering it. Maybe not believing it, but definitely considering it.

"Who's this cousin of yours, man? He someone who comes here often?"

This is an important question. If Michael refuses to tell Julio his cousin's name, he's dead. If Michael makes up a fake name and Julio knows he's lying, he's dead. I have no idea how he's going to get out of this one. I straighten a little on my stool, readying myself. If I see either Julio or Teo reaching for their weapons, my ass will be up and charging before they can manage to pull off a round.

Hopefully.

Michael still doesn't look bothered by this situation. I've gotta admit, I knew Michael was stone cold, but I can see the slow and steady pulse of his heartbeat twitching in his neck and it's barely fucking there. Even I would be sweating a little if I found myself down here, staring down the barrel of a weapon capable of riddling me full of holes in less than two seconds flat. "Well, my cuz is a regular here by all accounts. I could tell you his real name, but I don't think he'd be all that impressed with me."

Julio’s the one who isn't impressed. "Now is not the right time to be fucking around,
ese
. Please understand…you're on the brink of finding yourself shot in the back of the head and buried somewhere very unpleasant. I invite you to act accordingly."

Michael smirks at that. "Then I suppose I'd better take you up on your invitation. My cousin's given title is one I can't share with you, but you’ll recognise the name
Rebel
, I'm sure?"

Julio wheezes like Michael’s just sucker punched him in the gut. He folds himself over for a moment, trying to catch his breath. Teo reacts to Julio’s surprise by clicking the safety off the assault rifle, stepping forward, and making a nervous coughing sound back of his throat. He wants to shoot Michael, or at least he wants to know if Julio wants him to shoot Michael. Julio gestures immediately with an urgent flick of his wrist—get back. “You're Rebel's cousin?"