The warehouse looks exactly like the one Kay brought me to at gunpoint, but it’s further down the pier, and salt from the ocean has weathered the exterior into a dull brown with rust as seagulls sit on the roof’s edge squawking. Jackson steers his truck through the lot, but it’s a bumpy ride thanks to the potholes in the pavement, which is probably an omen for what awaits us. However, I’m grateful that we’re facing this together.

Someone in dark blue coveralls emerges from the warehouse through its enormous open doors, and motions for us to park inside. So Jackson slows our speed, and we roll into the building where other cars are stationed. If I didn’t know any better, I would think this was an FBI gathering before a raid. Or at least from what I’ve seen on TV. 

Instead, it's a bunch of cartels standing around with weapons strapped to their hip or slung across their shoulders, but they’re all wearing tactical gear and bulletproof vests. Someone has set up a giant whiteboard with a drawing of what I’m assuming is the layout of the place we’re going to infiltrate to extract Alma. 

“Holy shit,” Jackson gasps. “Are all these people really here to save my girl?” 

“Sure looks like it.”

“I hate to say it because it’s messed up, but thank you for sleeping with Augusta for this.”

“Yeah…” I look away and unbuckle my seat belt. 

He doesn’t know I had sex with her again, and I don’t know if I have it in me to tell him how much of a fucking idiot I am. People often view me as a confident, and stubborn man, but as it turns out, I’m an easily manipulated pushover, and Augusta saw right through me.

This morning was a disaster.

Why wasn’t I strong enough to shove her away? Why did I let her put her mouth on me? Why did I let my mind and body betray me with arousal? I shouldn’t have stormed out on Gwen. Maybe she has the answers for why I behaved like a dog going back to his vomit. Then again, had it not happened, I wouldn’t have learned Augusta’s true motive.

The silver lining, I suppose.

But my stomach roils thinking about it, so there better be a bathroom nearby. However, taking a stress shit will have to wait because as soon as I hop down from the truck, Kay pins me against it, and breaths down my face. 

Where the hell did he come from?

“I’m onto you, you little shit.” He jabs his sausage finger into my sternum. “I know you took Richie.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play dumb.” He grabs a fistful of my shirt, but Jackson plows between us.

“Hey! Take it easy. He doesn’t have him.”

Kay’s glare flashes from Jackson back to me with a snarl as he whispers, “You’re lucky we’re surrounded by Cartel or I’d have you spitting your balls out.”

“I don’t have Richie, so back off, asshole.” I shove his chest. “Last I saw him was when you slung him over your shoulder, and left Dr. Banaag’s house. So maybe ask Jocelyn where he is.”

Kay releases a slow breath and leans in. “I know you took him, and when I get him back, I’m going to fuck you up so badly you’ll need a grave. Understood?”

“Then you better dig one for yourself,” I laugh, and smooth down his shirt in the same condescending way he did to me once.

The man wants to maul me like a grizzly bear, but he can’t with Emilio’s men around. So, I bump his shoulder when I walk away, and hold my chest high to mask my quivering spine. There is no doubt in my mind that Kay has the strength to kill me, which means I have a new problem on my hands. 

He needs to die before I do.

When we join the group, my coworker Lucas is watching me, and there’s a hiccup in my steps. I had no idea he would be here, but since he’s part of the same circle-jerk as the Sisters, I shouldn’t be surprised. And here I thought he was just a bartender. Maybe today I’ll find out how he’s involved with them.

Lucas tuts, with a slight head shake, “Thought I told you to behave and do as you’re told…”

“Who are you to the Sisters?” I demand, but Lucas presses a finger to his lips and nods toward the group. 

“Better pay attention, Miguel. Class is in session.”

When he turns away, Jackson leans in with a whisper, “You know this guy?”

“He’s a bartender at Penthouse.”

“No shit?”

“I wish it wasn’t true.”

“So how is he involved in this?”

“I don’t know, but I would love to find out,” I say.

Because the guessing games and Lucas dodging my questions makes me want to pick his ass up and toss him across the warehouse. The guy isn’t as tall or as muscular as me, so I could definitely beat his ass, but for now, I simply burn a hole in his skull with my contempt.

I will get my answers. 

Someone claps their hands, causing me to flinch, and it’s Emilio as he cuts through the group to get to us. A giant smile is plastered across his sun-rich skin like we're friends, and his hypnotic hazel eyes latch onto me. However, all I can picture is Augusta fucking him in their business exchange, and she's a woman of many... talents. No wonder he's happy.

I just hope he doesn't find out where else Augusta's mouth and vagina have been.

“Everyone, meet Miguel and his friend Jackson," he says in his thick accent. "They are the reason we're here today. Alma is Jackson’s girlfriend, so she will get priority when we do the extraction, but remember what I said: no woman is left behind.”

“Thank you for doing this.” Jackson shakes Emilio’s hand.

“Human traffickers are the scum of the earth. So I take pleasure in what is happening tonight.” Emilio pats Jackson’s shoulder, then nods at me before turning back to the group. “Where is Lucas?” 

“Here,” he says.

“Ah, right next to me!” Emilio chuckles. “Please explain to everyone what you learned while you were undercover inside the Hellion’s trafficking warehouse.”

“Gladly…” 

Undercover? Jackson and I glance at each other. Is Lucas a cop? The rabbit hole that has become my life gets deeper and deeper. Lucas takes over and begins explaining the different access points on the whiteboard. He describes which ones would be best for extraction, how many guards there are, the weapons they use, and how many women are being held, hostage. 

My jaw is on the floor as he eloquently lays everything out, and passes around photos. It’s thorough like he’s done this sort of thing before. When Augusta said Emilio had men on the inside gathering intel, I never imagined Lucas being one of them. I mean, for fucks sake! We work at Penthouse together. Was he the one who took the video of Alma? And did he know she’s my friend?

We watch and listen, but it’s hard to focus when Kay is glaring. Not to mention, Jackson is all sorts of anxious as he shifts from foot to foot, and bites his nails. The man isn’t a nail-biter, yet today he is.

“We will infiltrate the facility in teams,” another man says as he takes over, and introduces himself as Gustavo.

Then he proceeds to announce who will be grouped together. According to him, Lucas will be one of the sharpshooters positioned on a nearby rooftop. Sharpshooter? Seriously. Will the real Lucas please stand up? Because this can’t be the same dude who slings drinks at Penthouse.

“Excuse me,” Jackson clears his throat and raises his hand. “Which team are we on?”

“You two aren’t going in.” Gustavo shakes his head. “With your inexperience, you’d be a liability.”

“But I need to go in,” Jackson objects. “That’s my girl in there!” 

“No.”

“I am a firefighter,” Jackson continues. “I go into burning buildings all the time and save lives. So don’t tell me I’m not experienced!”

“I said no, and that’s fina—”

“Gus, let him go,” Emilio cuts him off. “He looks like a capable man. Besides, Alma will need to see a familiar face. She might not trust anyone else. Lord knows what kind of trauma these women have experienced these last few days.”

“Fine.” Gustavo places his hands on his hips and exhales an agitated breath. “Jackson, is it? You’ll join the Bravo team, which means you’re going in right after the Alpha team. They will receive the brunt if shots are fired, but I can’t guarantee you’ll be safe, and my men can’t babysit you either. Got it?”

Jackson nods. “Got it.”

“What about you?” Gustavo directs at me. “Are you feeling like a hero too?”

“Where he goes I go,” I say. 

But what these fellas don’t know is we have an additional plan to smuggle Richie inside the Hellion’s warehouse. Sammy will be on standby, and once Alma is safe, I’ll give him the signal. If all goes well, Richie will be a carcass amongst the other dead bodies, and everyone will think his own men turned on him. Then, I can wash my hands of that fucker, completing my deal with Augusta.

And Mindy will be free from him. 

For a while, I almost forgot why I started this shit with Richie in the first place. It feels like ten years in the making instead of weeks. These twists and turns were not part of the plan, yet here we are.

Before I know it, the meeting ends as Gustavo wraps up the discussion.

“Everyone needs to be back here at ten PM. We just received word the caravans leave town at midnight. So we need to ambush them before then. Get some rest, and kiss your loved ones. My goal is to get us out of there without a scratch, but we all know how quickly things can go wrong.”

The men disperse, with some forming smaller groups as they chat amongst themselves. Others leave, and we’re about to head for the truck when Lucas approaches.

“You still have time to back out,” he has the audacity to say to me.

“And why would I do that?”

“Listen…” Lucas steps closer and whispers, “I don’t know how you got involved in all of this, and I don’t really care, but this isn’t Penthouse where you toss people out of the club. We’re sneaking into the Hellion's warehouse, and catching them off guard by slitting their throats to make the least amount of noise. Got it? But at some point, we’ll need to use our guns, and when that happens, all bets are off. The Hellions won’t hesitate to kill you. So I suggest you back out now.”

“Fuck you, Lucas,” I laugh. “You think I’m just some dumb meathead knocking skulls through the club’s doors? You don’t know shit about me, buddy.” 

As I turn to hop into the truck, Lucas just has to have the last word. “You’re in over your head, Miguel. This is a turf war between the Cartel and the Hellions biker gang. So, this isn’t a one-and-done. You’re choosing a side by being here today, and you’ll be cementing it when you enter the warehouse. The Hellions won’t forget that.” 

“Well, then I guess it’s a good thing I’m on the winning side.” I settle into the truck and close the door, but Lucas motions for me to roll down the window.

“The Cartel won’t forget it either,” he says. “You don’t want to be stuck holding their pocket.”

“You’re working for them. So what does that make you?” 

“I don’t work for them. Or the Sisters.” He backs away from the truck. “I work contracts. This is just another job that will pay me well, but you can still back out, and you should.” 

What in the fuck does that mean? But we don’t have time to dissect Lucas and his bullshit. Angie texted. She said that Franky, our nerdy hacker, has some information to share with us, so we head that way, and the countdown to save Alma begins.

∆∆∆

The gate cranks open when we reach the top level of Franky’s building and step into her apartment. The curtains are open, causing sunlight to beam across the navy blue walls of this bat cave, where Angie sits comfortably on the sectional with Cha Cha across her lap. For someone who complained about dog-sitting, and picking up her massive shits, Angie sure seems to be having a good time carting Cha Cha around like a baby. 

This time, Franky’s man candy isn’t cooking breakfast in his undies. Thank fuck. Instead, he’s sitting on the couch, with headphones and his attention glued to the gigantic flatscreen as he plays Call of Duty. He’s like a child. I pinch the bridge of my nose and proceed to the couch. Some people have all the time in the world, and I wish my life were that simple. Jackson takes a seat, so Angie introduces him to Franky, then returns to petting Cha Cha’s head.

“Is that a dog sweater?” I point to the knitted pink thing draped over an animal. 

“She was cold.”

“That’s why Cha Cha has fur.”

“Yeah, and it’s short fur, and she got cold!” Angie glares.

“Did you…” I lift one of Cha Cha’s paws. “Did you paint her nails?”

“It’s dog polish, and completely safe.” Angie rolls her eyes as if I’m being ridiculous. “I took her to the dog spa. Everything they used is made of natural ingredients.”

“When do you have time to take her?”

“Don’t worry about it! We have more important matters to discuss, so how about you stop hovering, and sit your tightly wound ass down?”

“Fine.”

“Franky, tell the fellas what you found on my deadbeat ass-face ex-husband.”

"It's juicy." Franky slaps a folder onto the coffee table and tucks her brunette hair behind her ears. “I did some digging and Angie’s ex-husband Jeremiah started investing money into Rohan Reddy’s political campaigns around two years ago.”

“Political campaigns?” I gasp.

“Yes. Rohan plans to run for Mayor in 2025.”

“But, Augusta just gave him the OK to take Richie’s place in their drug operation. So you're telling me we could potentially have a drug dealer as our Mayor soon?”

“Yes, which is another thing that Jeremiah is helping Rohan with.” Franky rifles through the folder and points at a page. “Not only has he been investing, but he also pays hush money to people who want to expose Rohan’s connection with the family business.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Because Jeremiah does damage control for a living. People pay him big bucks to keep their name and reputation clean. And let's just say Jeremiah is good at making pieces of shit shine like gold. Remember that lawyer, John Torello?”

“That one who murdered his paralegal mistress, but was found not guilty, even though he totally was, and now runs a non-profit like some saint?” 

“Yep, that guy. Jeremiah does damage control for him too. He’s the one who spun the narrative in the media that the mistress was crazy, and the lawyer acted in self-defense. I found a paper trail of media outlets he paid off to spread the lies.” 

“Holy shit,” Jackson says. “I remember seeing that in the news and on Facebook.”

“You’re right.” I scratch my chin, recalling the media gossip. “It was like a witch hunt. That poor woman was murdered and got dragged through the mud as some home-wrecking whore. Suddenly, people were on the lawyer’s side. It was nuts.” 

Angie huffs, “Of course, Jeremiah would help an asshole like that.” 

Then a thought occurs to me, so I hold up my hand. “Wait a sec. So if Jeremiah can make a murderer look innocent, and turn a drug dealer like Rohan into Mayor, then it makes sense he was able to do what he did to you, Angie. He made you look insane while knowing all the moves to make him appear like the concerned husband.” 

“Fuck… you’re right,” Angie huffs, and sits upright with furrowed brows. “All of these years I never really knew what Jeremiah did. I mean, I knew he had clients and made a lot of money, but I thought it was like, stocks and bonds or something. Turns out, he’s every corrupt rich man’s wet dream, and he knew precisely how to use it against me.”

“And there’s more.” Franky slaps a photocopy of an invitation on the coffee table. “Jeremiah was invited to the Abramovitz annual gala.”

“What!?” The three of us say in unison.

“Yep. And so was I…” Franky shimmies her shoulders with a grin. “Who wants to be my plus one?” 

Without question, Jackson and I look at Angie. The gala could be the perfect opportunity to kill Jeremiah once and for all.

And it could mean the end to this entire nightmare.