Cocked: A Stepbrother Romance (17 page)

“What is this?”

“I said, stop the car. And tell your boys to stay where they are.”

“You shoot me? I help you.” Mikhail seemed outraged.

“My mom doesn’t take baths, and she doesn’t fucking sing. Stop the truck.”

After half a second, the truck slowly came to a halt. We were about fifty feet from the front of the house.

“Roll down the window. Tell your boys to relax.”

Mikhail rolled down the window and yelled something in Russian. The two boys perked up but didn’t move.

“If you speak Russian again, I’ll kill you,” Camden said.

“What’s your goal here?”

“Get out.”

“What?”

“Get out of the truck,” Camden repeated.

Mikhail looked at me and I stared back, fear jolting through me. I had no clue what was happening, but I was trusting Camden.

“Is this what you want, pretty girl?” he asked me.

“Talk to her again and I kill you. This would be easier if you were dead, you know.”

He glared at Camden for a second and then began to move. He unbuckled his seatbelt, opened the door, and slowly climbed out of the truck, keeping his hands in sight at all times. He stood just outside the door.

“Slide into the driver’s seat,” Camden said to me.

I did as he asked. He kept the gun pointed at Mikhail.

“Tell them to get out,” he said.

Mikhail motioned at the boys and they both climbed off.

“Shut the door.”

Mikhail slammed it shut.

“Reverse out of here,” Camden said to me.

“Camden, what’s—”

“Fuck, do it now, Lacey!”

I jammed the truck into reverse and slammed on the gas. It shot back, scattering the three men. I saw the boys draw weapons seemingly out of nowhere and aim at us.

Suddenly, there was a loud crack from somewhere toward the house and a loud bang from the truck. The steering suddenly felt strange, like I was having trouble controlling the car. There was a loud flapping and banging sound coming from underneath the truck as I continued driving.

“Shit!” Camden said.

There was another crack and another loud bang. The truck started to swerve.

“Camden!” I yelled. He grabbed the wheel and tried to stabilize the truck, but we were out of control.

“Brake!” he yelled over the sound of grinding gravel.

I slammed the brakes but it was too late. The back of the truck fishtailed and we began to skid. Finally, we slammed into a tree.

The airbag deployed, a white blur slamming into my face as I was thrown forward. I heard a sickening crunch and felt blinding pain roll through my body. The whole scene suddenly went into slow motion as smoke curled up from the car’s engine, filling the cabin.

I heard a ringing in my ears and managed to look up, groggy. Camden was wedged up against the windshield and the dashboard, blood running down his forehead. I tried to say something but couldn’t. He wasn’t moving.

I looked up. The house seemed so far away. I grabbed for the door handle, terrified and desperate.

Why did Camden do this?
kept running through my mind.

As I pushed open the door, rough hands grabbed me. They pulled me out into the cold air. It felt good, being out of the car.

“Camden,” I said. The arms gathered me up, lifting me off the ground. Someone said something, but I couldn’t understand. The ringing in my ears was so loud, and I was really dizzy.

“Camden,” I said again.

Nobody answered. I tried to look around, but I couldn’t find him.

I realized that I was slung over Mikhail’s shoulder, and they were carrying me toward the house. I looked over and saw Camden held between the cousins, his head dangling limp as blood from a cut on his head trickled down into his eyes.

I tried to struggle but couldn’t. My head was pounding, but at least the ringing and the dizziness was starting to abate. Mikhail kicked open the front door and carried us inside.

The house was sparely furnished. I didn’t get a good look, though, because I was practically upside down and not thinking right. We went through another door and down some steps, around a few more corners, and I was finally deposited down onto a chair in a tiny room.

Camden came in after me and was shoved down onto the chair beside me. The cousins began to duct tape our hands and feet to the chairs, and finally wrapped tape around our mouths. I looked at Camden and felt relieved to see that he was gazing back at me, sadness and fury in his eyes. But he was alive and conscious.

Mikhail stood in front of us, smiling.

“You should have done this the easy way,” he said.

Camden tried to say something and struggled against his bonds. Tomas punched him in the gut, making him stop.

“Don’t struggle, Camden,” Mikhail said. He gestured at the boys, who both left the room immediately.

I looked around. There was no window and the walls were made of cinderblock. I had no clue how everything had suddenly changed without warning, my whole world shifting again. One second I was happy for the first time since everything had happened, and the next I was duct taped to a chair and shaking with fear, my head still spinning from the crash. I inspected my surroundings some more, trying to get my bearings. The door was thick wood with several locks on the outside. There was a single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling and a little grate in the floor toward the back corner. It felt damp and uncomfortable, though that was probably because I was duct taped to a chair.

Mikhail stood there grinning at us for another minute. My head was pounding, but I was able to think more clearly with every passing minute.

“Well, here you are,” he said. “Welcome to salvation.” He laughed softly to himself. “Trip will be seeing you both soon, I’m sure.”

He turned to leave, but he stopped and looked back. His eyes were shining with joy, like he was thinking of the funniest joke in the world.

“And by the way,” he said, grinning wickedly, “El Tiburon says hello.”

He slammed the door and was gone.

I
was so fucking stupid to not see it coming sooner.

I knew something was strange about the guys. The way they carried themselves didn’t make them seem like they were normal civilians, but then again they were up front about being mob. I figured that was all there was to it. But I didn’t put it together until it was much too late.

El Tiburon worked with people up north to help distribute the product. It must have been Mikhail and his people; otherwise, why would the Russian mob be working with a random Mexican cartel? I knew it seemed odd at first that Trip knew some Russian mobsters, but their story seemed like it made sense.

But I didn’t put that together until we were almost to the safe house. By that point, there wasn’t much I could do.

And then when I finally did make my move, it hadn’t worked. I put Lacey in danger and I didn’t even get us away.

Anger and pained lanced through my body. I looked over at her and saw the anger reflected in her eyes. We were stuck to the chairs, alone in the basement room. The duct tape itched and was cutting off the circulation to my hands, but I didn’t care.

To come so far, only to get caught by another random mob.

But this proved it beyond a measure of a doubt: Trip had betrayed us. I didn’t know why, but Trip clearly wasn’t who he said he was. Or at least he had motives I didn’t understand.

Question swirled through my mind. Why hadn’t he just killed me sooner? Who had blown our cover?

And most importantly, what happened next?

The room was damp and cold as time slowly ticked past. I wanted to tell Lacey that it was going to be okay, but the tape over my mouth made sure I wasn’t speaking anytime soon. I had no clue how long we were down there before someone finally came to the door. It was Mikhail again with Tomas in tow.

Mikhail yanked off the tape over my mouth. I took a huge, deep breath, tasting glue and plastic.

“So, here you are,” Mikhail said.

“You could be gentler with the tape next time,” I said, smirking at him.

“You know,” Mikhail said, sitting down on a little stool that Tomas placed in the room before stepping back out and shutting the door, “I hate this part. I didn’t like it in the army, and I don’t like it now.”

“Poor guy. Must be hard.”

“I need answers.” He pulled a slim, sharp-looking knife from a holster on his belt. “Answers to all my questions.”

“Why are you working with El Tiburon?”

He gave me a long look. “I’m going to answer one of your questions. Choose wisely. After that, for every new question you ask, I cut off part of her body.” He jerked his head at Lacey, whose eyes went wide.

I leaned back in my chair. “Okay then. Where’s Trip?”

Mikhail laughed. “Good question, but ultimately of no use to you.”

“Still, that’s my question.”

“Trip is farther north in another one of our houses. He is safe and so are your parents.” Mikhail looked at his knife longingly. “We have others like me, up there. Men good with a knife.”

“You don’t need to hurt them.”

“We don’t? That’s good. Then you answer all my questions.”

I stayed silent, staring at him.

“Okay, we start now. What did you tell the Americans?”

“Nothing.”

He stood up and punched me in the jaw. My head snapped back and my ears began to ring. I heard Lacey struggling.

“Quiet girl, quiet,” Mikhail said to her.

“It’s okay, Lace,” I said.

“What did you tell the Americans?” Mikhail repeated.

“It doesn’t matter.” He punched me again.

“What did you tell the Americans?”

I shook my head. “You don’t get it, do you?”

He punched me again and again. I could feel blood pooling in my nose and my mouth.

“Now, you answer, or I begin doing this to pretty girl here.”

“Don’t touch her,” I spat.

“Answer me now.”

I struggled against my bonds. “Don’t touch her,” I said again.

Mikhail sighed and walked over to Lacey.

“You know,” he said slowly, “torturers usually like to choose a single piece of the body. With me, it’s the skin. I can peel it off in thin sheets, layer after layer, each cut more painful than the next.” He smiled at me. “She would look awful without her skin, don’t you think?”

“Okay, okay,” I said. “Stop.”

He raised an eyebrow, knife perched between his fingers, waiting.

“I told them everything.”

He smiled. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

“I told them everything,” I repeated, and spit blood onto the floor.

“Now you give me specifics. Dates and times.”

And so I told him. As I rattled it off, information like when meetings took place and when sales went down, I could see that he began to realize that it really didn’t matter. I didn’t mind telling him everything, because the information the Americans had was irrelevant. It wasn’t going to change their situation and they couldn’t do anything about any of it.

“How long?” Mikhail said, interrupting me.

“How long what?”

“Were you working for the Americans?”

“Since the beginning.”

He sighed. “Oh, Camden. Poor Camden. Your boss really liked you.”

He moved away from me, walking back over toward Lacey. “What are you doing?” I asked.

“Hurting the girl now.”

“Stop. Why?”

“Because you are useless and I am frustrated.”

“Don’t fucking touch her,” I growled.

He looked down at his knife. “You know, Camden, I used to do this. For Soviet government, back when I was very young man. They taught me many good things with knife, many good things. Many painful things.”

“You sick fuck.”

“Yes, I am sick fuck. I admit.”

He grabbed Lacey’s arm, moving the knife down toward her skin.

“I’ll tell you who they are,” I said quickly.

Mikhail stopped and looked at me. “You don’t know.”

“Yes, I do. I know some names.”

“Speak.”

“First, we make a deal.”

He raised his eyebrow. “You are taped to chair. You don’t make deal.”

“I’ll give you names. Descriptions. Everything I know about them. But you promise you don’t hurt my family. You promise you’ll kill only me.”

Lacey made a sound, but it was muffled by the tape.

“Kill only you?” he asked. “Very dangerous. Why let family go? They may talk.”

“They won’t. They’re normal people. They’re not like us. They’ll be too afraid to talk.”

He crossed his arms, thinking. “So I make this deal, kill you, dump family off in Canada, and we’re good? You tell me everything?”

“That’s the deal.”

“Okay. Save me time. Start talking.”

“Promise me.”

“Camden. I am gangster. What do you care about my word?”

“Come on, Mikhail. You want to avoid some blood, save some time? Make Castillo happy? Make a little promise and follow through.”

“Okay. I promise.” He walked over and sat back down on his stool, his knife balanced in his hand still. “Talk.”

“The first man I met called himself Steve.” I told Mikhail everything then, every name I learned and every place we met. I guessed they were CIA, but I admitted that I wasn’t sure. Mikhail listened patiently, nodding at some things as if he recognized a name or a place.