Cheyenne McCray - Point Blank (Lawmen Book 4) (27 page)

Mark balled his hands into fists then forced himself to relax. El Verdugo didn’t give a flying fuck if Christie was killed. Mark did. He liked the way business had been going with Natasha moving his product. He needed Natasha’s loved ones to keep her in line—if he started killing them right away, he would lose leverage.

He wasn’t taking any chances. If Natasha panicked and went to the cops, he’d kill all. He had men following each one of them and they wouldn’t survive two minutes after he gave the order to eliminate them.

“Join me downstairs.” Mark put his fingertips at Selena’s slender waist. “I know you enjoy seeing me torture scum like Faderic.”

He thought he felt a shudder go through her but she remained calm and cool. “As usual, you are correct.” She smirked. “I like seeing you enjoying yourself.”

Her answer made him smile. It was intoxicating having this beautiful woman at his side, a woman who clearly reveled in the same things he did. She was the perfect partner. A life partner.

Marriage had been something he’d thought was not for him. Selena was changing his mindset day by day. He wanted her at his side, attached to him by the marriage bond.

Later.
He would consider that later.

He guided her through the warehouse where he kept art objects that he used to transport drugs when he had an order to fulfill. Natasha had been instrumental in some of the biggest deals he had arranged in the past six months. She was making him rich. Fucking richer than he was already.

It was never enough. The more money, the more power he had. He was surprised he’d ever considered getting out of the business. It was far too lucrative.

They went to a corner of the warehouse where his office was, and strode into the room. Mark guided her to the closet where a hidden set of stairs would take them to the old boiler room.

He slid open the paneled door then placed his hand on Selena’s tailbone, at the top of her ass, as they walked down into the concrete-sided and floored basement. The floor was rust brown from blood in areas surrounding Mark’s favorite torture location. To the left were huge rusted black pipes and ancient pieces of equipment, including the boilers, which would be considered antiques if anyone cared to dismantle and sell them.

Mark smiled as his gaze rested on the scum who had betrayed him in more ways than one.

The sniveling shit now hung naked from his ankles over a fifty-gallon barrel of acid. A candle had partially burned into a heavy rope attached to a ring in the wall and looped over a pulley above Francis Faderic’s head. Mark had lit the candle earlier with no intention of killing the bastard—yet. But psychological torture was one of Mark’s favorite ways to deal with employees who tried to cheat or ruin him in any way.

The candle had burned down so that the flame barely licked at the rope suspending him over acid. But the rope was thick—later Mark would make the flame more intense.

Faderic’s tiny dick was shriveled and sweat rolled down his naked body. He wasn’t blindfolded—Mark wanted the shit to watch the candle burn into the rope. The room stunk of Faderic’s fear as he shook above the barrel of acid. Mark was certain the short man had pissed himself, the urine likely running over his face and the cut on his cheek from the breaker bar.

His missing index finger was wrapped for the time being. It had been enormously satisfying, almost erotically so, to listen to his screams when the rubbing alcohol was poured over the bleeding stub.

Feeling particularly sadistic this morning, Mark picked up the acetylene torch. He placed the cold nozzle beneath the rope where the candle had partially burned through.

“No.” Faderic flailed above the drum of acid, tears rolling from his eyes, over his forehead and into his hair. Droplets of sweat and tears plopped into the acid. “Please. You gotta believe me. I told you everything. Don’t kill me.”

“You cost me a lot of money because I have to change the location of the delivery.” Mark narrowed his gaze. “The price dropped by a hundred grand and I won’t get paid until the new date. All thanks to you and your fucking big mouth.”

Mark turned on the torch and bright blue flame tinged with yellow shot out of the nozzle and began burning into the rope. “By the way. Your mother has been dealt with and I have the drugs and money you stole from me.”

Faderic burst into tears. He was incoherent as he sobbed and watched Mark burn away more of the rope.

Mark’s mobile phone rang. He shut off the torch, and Faderic’s sobs were louder. Mark pulled his cell out of his pocket, and when he saw the screen, he knew without a doubt it was EV.

“Shut the fuck up,” Mark commanded Faderic. “Or I will finish burning through the rope and you will die here and now.”

The sniveling bastard bit his lip, his features strained to keep from letting out any sound.

Mark looked away from Faderic and answered the phone.

“I want you to recruit more fucking mules to traffic my merchandise at every tradeshow possible.” El Verdugo immediately launched his demand in Spanish. “We can move more product across the U.S. and give the fucking addicts what they crave. Find enough mules and I will arrange for buyers in every city.”

For a moment, Mark was too stunned to speak. “I’m in a small town and my operation isn’t large enough. Anything bigger would draw attention.”

“You think I give a shit?” EV snorted. “Open a branch in Tucson and prepare to move more product.”

“I don’t have the cash to start up a whole new operation.” Sweat rolled down the side of Mark’s face as if he were Faderic, hanging over the barrel of acid.

“I will get you the cash.” EV growled out the words. “You get the mules and the operation going.”

“Yes, El Verdugo.” It was the only thing Mark could say. He had no options. No options at all. “Right away.”

When EV disconnected the call, Mark stood in place for a long time, not aware of anything but EV’s voice in his mind. Every word the cartel leader had spoken played on an endless loop in Mark’s head.

His phone rang again and he jumped. He prayed it wasn’t EV calling back. Mark looked at the screen and saw that it was Pancho.

“What do you want?” Mark all but screamed when he answered.

When he spoke, Pancho had a note of fear in his voice, as if he was afraid of Mark killing the bearer of bad news. “Last night Romero died…and the woman with the baby is gone.”

Heat tore through Mark from his head to every extremity, and the hand holding the phone trembled. “Start with Romero.” The man had been one of EV’s hired killers and had been the one to almost kill Christie Davidson.

“Some cop spotted his car and there was a chase. Romero crashed into a telephone pole. My sources say he died instantly.”

Mark was certain his entire body was turning dark purple with as much rage as he felt. EV would be beyond furious to lose one of his best men, and Mark might pay the price in some way. At least Romero couldn’t talk. He might have if he had survived and been taken into custody.

“What about the woman?” Mark ground his teeth as he waited for Pancho to answer. “You were to watch her.”

“She left in the night.” Pancho cleared his throat. “I tried to follow her but I lost her in Tucson.”

“You fucking idiot.” Mark’s voice rose to a near scream again. “Get back here—to the boiler room.” He nearly threw his phone as he ended the call.

Mark was aware of Selena standing next to him and for the second time he wanted to hit her, just because she was the closest person to him. She would probably shoot him between the eyes without a second’s hesitation.

Instead, he strode over to the corner where he kept all of the tools and instruments of torture he kept. He selected a bullwhip.

The terror in Faderic’s eyes grew as Mark reached him and raised the whip.

Natasha reached into the pocket of her skirt, pulled out the crystal butterfly, and let it rest in her palm. She moved it in the light that streamed in through the shop window and it threw rainbow prisms of light onto the wall behind her.

That Brooks had given her such a special gift pulled at her heart in unexpected ways.

For a log moment she studied the beauty of the piece, marveling at its loveliness.

The cell phone rang, jerking her out of the trance she’d been in. No doubt it was Mark. She’d been dreading the call. Afraid of it.

Last night Brooks had returned and stayed with her until early this morning. Being with him made her feel safe, and as if she wasn’t alone in this.

But now that he wasn’t with her, she felt beyond alone.

She slid the butterfly into her skirt pocket and stared at the phone. It was face down on the table beside the cash register, and she was unable to see the screen. She bit her lower lip as she reached for it, wrapped her fingers around it, and turned it over. Her stomach flipped over, too.

Mark could be calling about Christie. Or he could be calling about Brooks, who’d spent the night. What if Mark had found out who Brooks was and that he was a Federal agent?

Or Mark could be calling about both.

She swallowed and answered, going for the more casual-nothing’s-changed route. “What do you want, Mark?”

“You warned Christie.” Mark had fury in his voice. “She’s gone.”

“I didn’t do anything.
You
did.” Natasha sharpened her tone. “You had someone nearly kill her and it scared her to death, not to mention she’s injured. She took the baby and went to Tucson to a spa to recover and relax. She’ll be back when she’s ready.”

Mark was silent for a moment. “You’d better not have warned her. I have your grandparents under watch. If I find out Christie did go into hiding, your grandfather or grandmother is as good as dead.”

A chill rolled over Natasha and goose bumps erupted on her skin. “I told you, Christie is in Tucson. She knows nothing of what is going on. If that was the case, they would have hidden Grandma and Grandpa, too.”

Each word Mark said was ice cold. “If that happens, your friends are dead.”

“I understand.” She let some of her nervousness show through. “I haven’t said anything to anyone and I won’t. I care for all of them too much to put them in danger.”

“Good we’re clear on that,” he said. “Tell me where Christie is.”

Natasha walked to the front door of her shop and peered out, wondering if someone was watching her store. The street was shaded in the morning sunlight and a few tourists walked up and down the sidewalks. “Trace didn’t tell me where. He just said she went to a hotel with a spa in Tucson. I figure she’ll get a hold of me when she’s settled in and isn’t so upset.”

“As soon as you know, call me,” he demanded.

Screw you,
she wanted to say, but of course she didn’t. She blew out her breath. “Okay.”

Mark shifted gears, now sounding pleased with himself. “You’re going to be spending most of your time attending tradeshows now.”

“What?” Her throat constricted as she stepped away from the window. “I have my store to run.”
And I don’t want to be a pawn in your freaking game.

“You’ll hire someone.” His smirk was so clear in her mind she could puke. “As a matter of fact, I’m sure I can find an employee to manage your business while you’re gone.”

“I’ll find my own employee.” She clenched the phone. “I need someone I can trust and I know won’t steal from me. Someone who understands the business.”

“You have two days,” he said. “If you don’t find an employee who can manage your store when you are gone, which will be regularly, I’ll take care of it.”

“Two days?” She couldn’t believe what he was saying. “You’re only giving me two days?”

“You have a tradeshow to go to in Los Angeles this coming weekend,” he said.

“This weekend?” Her breath caught. “I’m not ready.”

“It’s all set up,” he said. “All you have to do is show up and do your thing.”

“
My
thing?” She understood why men wanted to punch walls or people when they were angry. She wanted to punch Mark. “My
thing
isn’t to traffic your damned drugs.”

“Now it is. And you’re going to deal with it.” He disconnected the call.

Her breathing came harsh and heavy as she stood near the front entrance of her store, shaking with fury. She saw a couple coming up the street and she flipped the
Open
sign to
Closed.
She couldn’t deal with anyone right now, whoever he or she might be.

She strode to the antique desk that she used for transactions. She had thought to sit and go through her list of contacts to find an employee, but began pacing instead. There was no question who she wanted. Jane Adams. Right now the retired former owner of the shop filled in every now and then when Natasha needed help. She didn’t know if Jane would mind working more than an occasional day, but it was worth a shot. She pressed the icon for Jane in the favorites menu on her phone.

“Hi, Natasha.” Jane greeted Natasha when she answered the phone. “How are you?”

“Great.”
Pleasantries.
Natasha didn’t want to mess with them right now, but she did her best to sound like her normal, formerly happy self. “What do you think about coming out of retirement part time? You wouldn’t have the responsibility of being a business owner, which you told me is one of the reasons why you sold the shop.” Natasha didn’t want to give Jane a chance to refuse. “You can work for me part time and I’ll pay you well.”

“This is sudden.” Natasha could picture Jane with her head tilted to the side, her silver chin-length hair swinging against her face. “Is everything all right?”

“It’s wonderful.”
Act bubbly, act bubbly.
“The tradeshows have been so successful that I’m going to do them on a regular basis. Some of my merchandise sells like crazy.”
To drug dealers who want the cocaine or marijuana hidden inside.

“How often would you need me to work?” Jane asked.

“Three to five days a week, depending on the length of the tradeshows.” Natasha seated herself behind her desk and fidgeted with a pen. “My store is open Monday through Saturday and closed on Sunday. I need to leave a day early to set up and prepare, so that’s why I might need you Wednesday through Saturday.”