On the Edge (17 page)

DON'T THINK. DON'T FEAR. JUST SURVIVE THIS.
For Ortiz.

I had to focus on one thing: the moment I'd have him in my arms again. Nothing between this moment and then mattered.

X drove, a maestro of the roads. He knew where he was going and it took him all of twenty minutes to get there. The city lights were long behind us.

We came to the Palmeras, a glitzy resort with tall fountains shooting up from an enormous blue pool. It was the cream of the industry, Mom had once told me, the only six-star hotel this side of the Atlantic. I wondered if the owners knew they were favored by a Mexican cartel.

“High security here. Valet parking. I have to drop you off.” X pulled to the side of the road a few yards from the entrance. It was a huge archway that reminded me of MGM Studios.

“We'll wait for you here,” X said. “Now go to the front desk and ask for Mr. Crooks. He'll send someone down. That's when you'll have to make your case to see him.”

“What am I going to say to El Chueco?” Between the pounding of my heart and the engine of the car, I wasn't sure I'd hear his answer.

“Tell him the truth. Don't lie. If you lie, he'll smell it.”

“I'm going in with her,” Manny said from the backseat.

X threw him a
don't fuck with me
glare. “Yeah, a former Reyes. One of his men could recognize you.”

Manny seethed. “Then you go with her.”

“I wish I could, but there's no chance he would trust me.” X turned my way. “Tell him who you are, Maddie—that you're the witness. Tell him about Ortiz and the Destinos. And tell him that he owes us a favor.”

I nodded. Tell a cartel head that he owes us. Right.

“What favor are we talking about?”

“We rescued a couple of girls from his village a few months ago. Cousins of his. El Chueco knows what we did for them. It should get you in the door.”

“And if he isn't there?”

“Then he's probably close by. This is where I dropped off his cousins—they told me he goes by the name Crooks. Guess he has a sense of humor. I've been keeping an eye on the place ever since, and I've seen his men coming and going.”

“Okay.” As I got out of the car, I caught a flash of X's face in the car light. It was a
you will do this
look. Then I caught a glimpse of the fear in Manny's eyes, and slammed the door.

I walked through the archway, my knees trembling. I had a sudden memory of being twelve years old and having to dive off the three-meter springboard. I'd gone up there on a dare, nervous but determined to do it. But the second I'd looked down, I was lost. I'd stretched my arms out hesitantly, not fully committing to the dive, and did a painful and humiliating belly flop.

I had to commit to this, I realized. There was no other option. No running away, no screwing it up halfway through. Ortiz's life—and mine—were on the line.

The lobby of the hotel was a white marble palace, its ceilings vaulted like the Vatican. Huge crystal chandeliers dangled over the elegantly dressed guests.

The front desk was a long marble counter that seemed to be floating in the middle of the room. A male staff member in a maroon suit greeted me with a smile.

“Hi, I'm here to see to Mr. Crooks,” I said.

The man blinked, my only clue that this was not a normal request, but his smile stayed put. “Sorry, ma'am, you said Mr. . . .”

“Crooks.”

“Crooks. Thank you, ma'am.” Although he was extremely subtle about it, I could tell he was looking me over. I wore black jeans, ballet flats, and a white tank top with a picture of a black rose on it. Though I wasn't all done up, he'd probably still conclude I was a prostitute.

“I will call Mr. Crooks's room. Kindly give me a minute.” Instead of using the company phone, he took out his cell. He stepped away from the desk and spoke very quietly. The conversation seemed to last forever. Finally, he returned. “Someone will come and meet you. Won't be long.”

“Awesome, thanks.”

I tapped my foot as I waited, trying to stand up straight and keep a sunny look on my face. Trying not to reveal that I was terrified.

Ortiz. Focus on Ortiz. Nothing else
.

A minute later, a big Mexican man in a suit came out of the elevator and headed straight for me. He gestured to the corner of the room beside a small palm tree.

“¿
Quién es?
” he asked.

“Maddie Diaz. Sorry, my Spanish isn't very good. I need to speak to El Chueco.”

That was my first risk, calling his boss by his real name. The big man didn't flinch. “He's not expecting another girl tonight,” he said in English.

“That's not why I'm here. I'm here for the Destinos.” I cleared my throat, trying to push out a strong voice. “I can help him find Salazar.”

The man glared at me, his dark eyebrows slashing together. It hit me that this man had probably killed on El Chueco's behalf without hesitation or remorse. And now he was assessing what, if any, threat I posed to his boss.

“Tell El Chueco he owes the Destinos for helping his cousins, and I'm here to collect.”

The man didn't look impressed by my show of bravery. Maybe it was because my voice broke on the word
collect
.

“Come.” He grabbed my arm, a little too tightly, and brought me to wait for the elevator. The doors opened.

In the elevator, he released my arm and pressed a button for the twelfth floor. The elevator shot up quickly, the floor lurching below us. When the doors opened, we stepped into an opulent, too bright hallway lined with huge sconces. There were two security suits stationed in the hallway.

They surrounded me and frisked me thoroughly. I didn't care; I spread my arms and legs to make it easier for them. My purse was snatched away and one of them went through it, examining my driver's license. I told myself this had to be a good sign. They wouldn't be scrutinizing me if they didn't intend to let me see El Chueco, would they?

When they were finished, one of the suits led me into a room and left me there, closing the door behind him.

It wasn't your typical hotel room. Pure white, with gold accents and a massive four-poster bed. There was no luggage, so I doubted anyone was staying in here. I bet El Chueco had rented the whole floor.

I breathed, slowly and steadily. Any second now, El Chueco could walk into the room. What would I say? So many possibilities flooded my head that I was afraid they would fall out in a jumble and he'd send me away.

My name is Maddie Diaz. I'm the witness who's going to testify against two Reyes for killing that homeless man. I'm a friend of the Destinos gang. We can help you get Salazar
.

Minutes passed and no one came. Eventually I sat down on a plush couch. It was just after ten. I should contact Mom while I had the chance.

My fingers shook as I texted her.

I'd added the “I love you” just in case. Just in case this was the last text I ever sent.

As the minutes ticked by, my optimism about seeing El Chueco was starting to die. What if El Chueco's men had no intention of letting me speak to him? What if they were keeping me here for some other reason?

I pushed those thoughts aside, and turned them back to Mom. I could imagine her cursing as she read my text, making plans to ground me until I went off to college. I'd gladly accept being grounded if it meant I survived tonight—and if it meant Ortiz survived.

The thought of him almost undid me. I refused to believe that he could be dead. I couldn't even go there. But I knew he must be suffering. Suffering at the hands of Salazar.

Oh, God
.

My stomach lurched and I ran to the bathroom, dry-heaving over the toilet. My own situation, I could handle. But to know that Ortiz could be fighting for his life right now . . . I couldn't bear it.

Ortiz had always known this day could come. That was why he'd written the note.

. . . just so you never doubt it. I love you and always will
.

I should've told him I'd read the note. Should've told him that I loved him too. A wave of grief crashed over me, but I didn't allow myself to break down. Instead I asked myself what he'd say to me if he were here.

The answer popped into my head.
Don't count me out yet, Madeleina
.

He'd want me to get it together. To be strong.

Slowly I got up and went over to the couch. I had to find a still place inside me. I remembered the night we'd walked on the beach. Before he had told me about his past, he'd held my hand, and we hadn't needed words. I clung to that memory, to the happiness I'd known in those moments. I could almost feel the wind whipping my hair, hear the rhythm of the waves.

I walked around the room, touching the painting on the wall, the television remote control, the lamps, trying to ground myself in the present.

The door opened. I turned around calmly. Three black suits walked in with a heavyset, scar-faced guy in his forties. Though he wore jeans and a loose black T-shirt, he exuded authority.

“What is
this
?” El Chueco asked, narrowing his eyes.

This
, I figured, meant
me
. “I'm Maddie Diaz. I'm the witness who—”

He flicked a hand, silencing me. “I know who you are. What you want?”

Slow and steady
, I coached myself. “I'm here because of Lobo, the head of the Destinos. Salazar kidnapped him. I know where he's being held. And I need your help to get him out. I can lead you to Salazar.”

His chin hiked. “How can you promise me Salazar will be there?”

“Salazar hates Lobo. He wants to be the one to hurt him. Do you think he'd be anywhere else? Would
you
?” I wanted him to think of his own enemies and what
he
would do when he got his hands on them.

El Chueco didn't answer me. “Where's his hideout, then?”

I hesitated. “So you're going to help us?”

“I asked you,” he repeated slowly, “where is Salazar's hideout?”

He moved a step closer. I stood my ground. El Chueco wasn't used to being questioned and wouldn't allow anyone to hold out on him. But I had to bank on X's view that he didn't go after women the way he did men.

I took a breath. “He's hiding out in a warehouse outside the city. But I need you to promise you'll help us before I tell you where.”

He scrutinized me, like a scientist who didn't know what type of specimen he was looking at. “Tell me how you know about this warehouse.”

I remembered what X had told me—
don't lie, or he'll smell it
. “My friend used to be in the Reyes and he still has connections. He knows where Salazar's hideout is.”

El Chueco's face morphed into a smile. He snapped his fingers.

The door swung open and Manny was dragged in. He'd been beaten, and was gasping for breath. “This your friend? We found him hanging around.”

Manny's shirt was ripped open, revealing the
R
tattoo on his chest.

“Sorry,” Manny uttered before taking a punch in the face.

Trust Manny to play the hero and go in after me. If I hadn't admitted I had a friend in the Reyes, El Chueco might have killed us both.

“That's him,” I said coolly. “He's not in the Reyes anymore. He wants to see Salazar go down as much as I do.”

“You know what we do to Reyes?” El Chueco taunted me.

I wasn't sure if I was supposed to answer or not, but I couldn't risk silence. “The mark of death?”

“No, señorita. Only death.” He snapped his fingers again, and one of the suits put a gun to Manny's head.

I froze.

“You think you can come here and lead me into an ambush?” El Chueco spit out. “You think I'm
estupido
?”

“No!” I said, putting my hands out in a plea. “I know you're way too smart for that. And you're too smart to give up a chance to get Salazar. If you kill my friend, you've lost your chance. He's the only one who knows the exact location of the warehouse and the best way in.”

El Chueco flicked his hand. I squeezed my eyes shut, but there was no gunshot. When I opened them, the goon had lowered his gun.

“All right, señorita.” El Chueco's smile was scary as he turned to his men. “Let's have some fun, eh?”

The men nodded, lips curling.

El Chueco walked up to me until his face was inches from mine. “You and your Reyes friend are gonna lead my men into this warehouse.” I could practically taste the smoke and liquor on his breath. “Something goes wrong, we kill you on the spot. What you say to that, little señorita?”

“I say let's do this.”

AT 11:37 P.M., WE WERE DRIVING DOWN
a dark highway.

Manny and I sat hunched together in the back of a van with six of El Chueco's men. Six goons whose mission it was to find Salazar. Six goons who didn't give a shit about rescuing Ortiz—and who wouldn't hesitate to kill us if they thought they'd been set up.

If Manny was wrong about this warehouse, we were both screwed. And if Salazar wasn't there, it was all over for us. But Manny was convinced that he was right.

“There are usually two guards at the back door,” Manny told Nino, the security guy I'd met in the hotel lobby. “Salazar hangs out in one of the top floor offices. We check there first.”

Nino gave instructions to his men in Spanish, then called the other van full of El Chueco's men. It all felt surreal, like we were part of a SWAT team on some TV show.

Manny turned to face me. “Ortiz will be down below, in the basement. That's where Salazar holds people. When we get inside, go to the first stairwell on the left and go down as far as you can. They have these huge storage lockers for airplane parts. Search them. It's a maze down there, so it could take some time. If anyone's with him, stay back and wait for us. Got it?”

“Got it.” I wished Manny could come with me, but he had to stay with El Chueco's men to help them find Salazar. Once that was done, I could count on their help to rescue Ortiz. That was our deal.

Suddenly I heard the clicks of machine guns all around us—the clicks of the safeties being removed.

Nino gave the order, and the van surged forward, barreling toward the warehouse. I held on to my seat. The van stopped, and men rushed out, opening fire on the guards at the back door. Manny and I hung back until the way was clear. Once all of the men had disappeared inside, we went in.

Shouting and gunfire echoed through the hallways, blasting my ears.

“That way,” Manny shouted to me, pushing me toward a steel door. “Go down all the way. Go!”

I ran down the stairs and swung open another door. I found myself in a long, gray hallway with storage lockers on either side. I moved forward, glancing inside each one. Empty. Above me, I heard the shrill sounds of gunfire as El Chueco's men engaged the Reyes.

I went down the rest of the hallway, careful not to make noise.
Where the hell is Ortiz?
I found another door and a connecting hallway with more storage spaces. Nothing. The place was completely empty. There was no sign of Ortiz, or of anyone having been down here recently.

A cold feeling gripped me. If Manny was wrong about Ortiz being down here, what else was he wrong about?

Had Ortiz been here at all? Was he already . . . ?

The sound of people running vibrated the floor above me. Gunfire erupted again, reaching a deafening pitch. I hoped Manny was staying back, out of the crossfire.

Oh my God. Manny didn't send me down here to find Ortiz. He sent me down here to keep me safe
.

Suddenly the gunfire stopped.

I had to go upstairs. If Ortiz was in this warehouse, that was where he would be.

Running up several flights of stairs, I opened a heavy door and caught my breath. Four dead bodies sprawled on the ground. They were all Reyes, since they weren't wearing the black gear of El Chueco's goons.

The smell of blood filled my nostrils, and a wave of nausea came over me. But I kept going, trying not to look at the bodies.

I heard agonized screaming from farther down the hallway.

Turning a corner, I came face-to-face with four of El Chueco's goons. There were two more bodies on the ground in front of them.

I spotted Nino. “Where's—” But my words got cut off by a horrific scream.

Manny came out of the next room, carrying a body over his shoulder. A body whose clothes were bloody, in shreds.

It was Ortiz.

My heart stopped.

“He's alive,” Manny said, breathing hard. He kept moving, heading down the hallway, carrying Ortiz's limp body while stepping over bodies and guns.

Alive. Ortiz was alive
.

Another agonized scream. It came from the same room he'd dragged Ortiz from.

“Is that Salazar?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Manny said through gritted teeth. “And it's just what the motherfucker deserves.”

Right before we reached the back door of the warehouse, it swung open. X stood there. “Let me take him.”

X propped Ortiz on his shoulder, then maneuvered him into his car. Ortiz crumpled into the backseat, and I slid in beside him. Manny and X jumped in front and X hit the gas, taking us from zero to seventy in seconds.

I propped Ortiz's head on my lap, tilting it up so he wouldn't choke on his own blood. The sight of his messed-up, swollen face was horrifying. I grabbed a blanket and put it over him.

I flashed back to a moment when the situation had been reversed—when Ortiz had cradled me in his lap after I'd been attacked. I'd been hurt, bloody, traumatized. He was a stranger then, but he had been able to comfort me. He'd told me that I would be fine, and I had believed him.

“Helluva night, huh?” I said, echoing his words of that night. His eyes were closed, but I hoped that he could hear me. “Don't worry. You're gonna be fine.” I fought to keep the tears out of my voice. “I've got you.”