Godfathers
A gruff voice called out from behind the heavy door.
“Come in.”
Leigh pushed the door open, finding herself in a low-lit room filled with several flat screens. Most of the televisions were on, featuring news feeds from all over the world. It felt like a situation room, and Leigh realized the extent of Rubén’s decline into paranoia.
The man she had known employed a flock of minions to do the most mundane of tasks, from telling him the weather to arranging his illicit assignations. The person before her, bags prominent under his eyes, the scent of stale cigar smoke in the air, didn’t look so much like a former cartel boss as an overworked contractor. Which was exactly what he was.
Leigh’s attention shifted to one of the screens featuring a reporter standing outside the Señor Sapos restaurant. Leigh turned to where Rubén sat behind his desk.
“Señor Sapos, never heard of it,” she said, forcing a smile.
Rubén returned the gesture, the lines on his face deepening.
“You’re looking, well,” Leigh forced out, as he rose to greet her.
“You lie almost as bad as Guero.” He gave her a curt once-over. “You make me wish I were thirty years younger. What I would do to a woman like you,” he continued, his eyes brightening.
Leigh took a seat, pleased that her appearance had the intended result.
“Don’t let Guero hear you talk like that,” she said, feeling her stomach twist at the playful words.
She felt like she was on the verge of bursting into tears. What was happening to her? Leigh looked down at her shoes, trying to reassert her calm demeanor.
“I told him you were fucking his brains out,” Rubén said ruefully.
Leigh laughed, the outburst quickly dispelling her malaise.
“Nothing wrong with that,” she replied, studying the piles of paper on his desk. “Rubén . . . ” He stared fixedly at his hands, unwilling to meet her eyes. “Do you know why I’m here?”
He looked up, his expression pained. Something about the scene—the televisions, the stress on his face, suddenly took on new meaning.
Fuck, Leigh thought, I played this all wrong.
Rubén didn’t kidnap Guero. He was one of Cavanaugh’s victims. She spoke before thinking.
“What does Cavanaugh have on you?”
The question made him flinch. He shook his head, massaging his temples.
“Screw that guy,” Leigh said, her frustration growing. “I’ll kill him.”
“No,” Rubén cried abruptly, eyes like steel. “I’ll kill him myself. Right after I find her.”
Leigh froze, thinking through the words. Rubén’s wife had passed from cancer a few years before. Who could he be referring to?
“Find who?” Leigh asked, breathless now.
“You wondered why I’m working for Cavanaugh?” Rubén asked, pausing as he studied her. He sighed heavily, closing his eyes. “He found my granddaughter living in California. I have no idea how he did it. He’s keeping her somewhere.” He cleared his throat, his eyes flashing. “She’s only ten years old for Christ’s sake.”
Leigh exhaled slowly, thinking this through. Cavanaugh certainly knew how to get to the heart of his victims. She felt her anxiety deepen. If Rubén was tied up with the Improve Group, who would help her?
“We severed ties with the Improve Group,” Leigh stated calmly.
“When?” Rubén asked, studying her intently.
“Last night—or the night before, I can’t keep my days straight. Cavanaugh offered up one last job—it didn’t go as planned.”
“Yes, I see that,” Rubén said, gesturing to the television.
“I walked right into a trap,” Leigh said. “Luckily, I got out alive, but when I returned, Guero was missing.”
“What do you mean missing?”
“They took him,” Leigh said, keeping her voice steady. “If you give me my purse, I can show you who is responsible.”
Rubén grabbed his phone, barking out an order. Moments later, Juan entered the room.
“Give it to her,” Rubén directed, as Juan dutifully handed over Leigh’s purse.
She took it, searching through the contents. Removing her phone, she flipped to the picture. Juan peered over her shoulder to look.
“You,” Rubén hissed. “Out.”
As Juan beat a hasty retreat, Leigh handed the phone to Rubén, pointing at the photograph.
“This was the mark,” Leigh said.
“The DJ?” Rubén asked skeptically.
He studied the image closely.
“Recognize anyone else?” Leigh asked.
“This is Carlos Beltran,” he said, tapping on the man in the center of the picture.
“That name is familiar,” Leigh said.
“It should. You killed his brother.”
“Oh,” Leigh said, her body turning to ice.
“The infamous Beltran brothers,” Rubén continued, studying the picture in greater detail. He put his finger next to Gia. “This one.”
“I’m positive it’s Gia,” Leigh said.
“Made sense, I sold her to smooth things over.”
“Ah,” Leigh said, mentally tying up that little puzzle. “Why didn’t Beltran kill her?”
“Look at her,” Rubén said, glancing up at Leigh. “Look at you. Who’s going to kill such a beautiful girl? They probably didn’t make things easy for her, though.”
“So, she’s still alive,” Leigh said, shaking her head slowly. “These are the people behind Guero’s kidnapping, I’m sure of it.”
“Why?” Rubén asked, seemingly unconvinced.
“To get even,” she replied, her pulse quickening. “We fucked over Gia, and now she’s out for revenge. Isn’t it clear enough?” Leigh fell silent, frowning over what she had learned. “What is Cavanaugh’s role in this?”
“Beltran probably bought you both,” Rubén said, sounding exhausted. “He was probably looking for a way to get rid of you—especially after all the shit you did for him. Beltran’s offer must have felt like mana from heaven.”
“So that’s how it’s done,” Leigh said, instinctively wrapping her arms around her. “You think Cavanaugh set us up?”
“Why are you asking me? What does your gut tell you?” Rubén retorted.
Leigh remained silent, wanting to be miles away. In bed—with Guero. Out of these uncomfortable clothes and ridiculous shoes. Just herself, without any pretense. She was feeling his absence now, realizing all the ways she had kept him at a distance. It was getting exhausting, all this guilt. How she pined for the past!
Just days ago, she was looking for something new, something different. Is this how the universe doled out rewards? Steadying herself, she straightened.
“Beltran must have offered Cavanaugh a considerable amount of money for us.” Leigh retrieved her phone. She studied the picture. “DJ Chac has nothing to do with it.”
“I’m sure he’d shit his pants if he saw you coming.”
“I’m supposed to finish the job tonight, at Cavanaugh’s house.”
Rubén looked up at Leigh, his face hardening.
“You want to get Guero back? You want my support, is that why you’re here?”
Leigh felt the familiar energy of the man who once ruled Cancun returning, with Guero by his side.
“What do you want?” Leigh asked, realizing a negotiation tactic when she heard one.
“Find my granddaughter. You bring her back, and I’ll give you whatever you need to go after Beltran.”
“Guero might be dead by then.”
“That’s my offer, and I think after what you did to Guero, it’s the least you can do for me.”
“You think all of this is my fault?” Leigh asked in a choked voice.
Rubén shrugged.
“Before you came along, Guero was a committed man—married to his job. Now he’s some government lackey—my empire is dead, and my granddaughter is missing. Yes, it’s your fault. Now make it right.”
Leigh shifted in her chair, letting his words sink in. It could be concern over his granddaughter speaking. But even she knew there was a kernel of truth behind his outburst. Ever since they started working for Cavanaugh, things hadn’t felt right.
“Okay,” Leigh said, easing to a stand. “But I’ll need a few things.”
“Juan will show you to my equipment room. Take whatever you need. But know this,” he leaned forward, and Leigh saw more of the man she had squared off with at the border. “If my granddaughter dies, I’ll kill you and Guero myself.”
***
Guero lay on the bed, counting his breaths—an old trick he used during his cartel days. It had been some time since he used them, the tactics to keep himself sane amidst the chaos. Being in this situation made it all come roaring back, whether he wanted it to or not.
It had been hours since he’d arrived, and every second felt like an eternity. He turned over onto one side, shifting uncomfortably. Funny that he would feel so uneasy in a place as sumptuous as this veritable castle.
He never would have guessed in a million years that the woman he had traded at the border would be the reason for his current situation.
Gia.
He remembered the scene, how could he not? Gia lay twisting in the dust as Eva held her fast. Leigh, white as a sheet, frozen during the negotiations with Rubén. Eva had traded her for safe passage across the border, and Leigh—though she tried to stop it—could utter nothing convincing to Rubén.
Guero thought nothing of it—his focus was on Leigh, and Leigh alone. But now, he regretted his impulsiveness. People hold grudges, even blonde coeds.
He sat up, running a hand through his hair. Beltran’s estate was undoubtedly one of the nicest prisons he had ever been in—even if the host was, shall we say, unhinged.
Thinking of their last interaction, his body turned to ice. They had been interrupted, not by Gia’s actions but by the guards bursting in and demanding Guero be sent to his room on orders from Beltran. So Beltran knew, or suspected, Gia’s plans for Guero were far from disinterested.
Guero wasn’t sure how he was going to play her, but he had no doubt he could. She was as vapid and wicked as Leigh had led him to believe. But all of this made sense, given her current rise in Beltran’s outfit.
What was becoming of the business? Guero thought, shifting to his feet and moving toward the en suite bathroom. He stared at himself in the mirror. After Beltran’s initial outburst, his men had dealt with him very delicately. He was surprised by their handling, but it awoke in his gut a familiar foreboding. Anyone kept in pristine condition was often being prepped for a more unpleasant, untimely end. Of this, he had no doubt.
Gia’s threats flashed into his mind—her wielding the obsidian blade. She couldn’t be serious. One couldn’t cut through a man with something as ancient and flimsy as an obsidian blade … right?
Guero shook this from his mind, splashing his face with cold water. He wanted a shower—needed it—to wash everything away. But a part of him didn’t trust himself. A part of him believed the guards could burst in at any moment, trying to catch him unaware.
He walked back into the room and out onto the balcony, glancing down at the palatial estate. He stared down at the guards posted at their stations, their hands gripping their weapons.
What was becoming of the cartel business? Did government contracts seduce them all? Was it a different set of rules now—something Guero had aged out of?
He ran his hands along the smooth marble of the railing. It seemed that perhaps Leigh and Gia were the women to inherit this new world, where nameless transactions replaced previous associations and decades of loyalty, adept handling of a situation for a bit of money . . .What had become of strong, trusted networks, the ones Guero had spent a lifetime building?
He had never felt his age so keenly as he surveyed the lush estate, every balcony and turret of smooth, white marble—the gleaming fortress sprinkled with roaming guards and twinkling fountains. Everything reminded him how far his fortunes had fallen.
Think, he admonished himself.
Self-reflection was all well and good, preferably if you were alive to do it. Guero focused his mind on what he knew. He was in Mérida. The location of Beltran’s house was no mystery. That they would be so obvious about what they were doing did surprise him, though. Even if they had been enemies before, Beltran had now entered the same business as Guero and Rubén.
Why would he target Guero?
There could be only one reason.
Guero walked back into the room as a knock sounded at the door. A woman entered, dressed neatly in a uniform. She placed a tray of fruit, pastries, and hot coffee on the table beside his bed, smiled, and left.
Guero watched her go, frowning.
He sat down in front of the food. He was famished—he couldn’t pretend he wasn’t. And he wasn’t about to dismiss the hospitality of the people who might be preparing him for a much more bitter end.
Drinking the fruit juice, he savored the pulp on his tongue before eating the pastry and washing it all down with black coffee. As he ate, a part of him began to return. He felt his instincts begin to prick at his fingers, like a caged tiger. But it would take more than juice and pastry to make him feel like himself again. He was badly outnumbered, ripped from his spiderweb with no patron to look after him.
Guero shook his head, muttering into his dark coffee. Rubén wasn’t forthcoming. Was this what he had planned all along? Did Rubén sell him out? Why?
It made no sense.
Why would anyone think Gia was still alive—let alone plotting revenge?
No. It had to be something else. Something held Rubén fast to Cavanaugh.
And then … there was Leigh.
He tugged on his chin distractedly. He had eaten everything. And dank all the water. He didn’t care what they had put in it. What difference would it make? Pretty soon, he would be dead. And Leigh—abandoned. Or worse.
At least they hadn’t gotten their hands on her.
That was who Gia really wanted to wound. Guero was collateral damage in her intricately woven plot of revenge.
Staring at the empty plates, he shook his head. He had underestimated Gia, who would have thought he’d make the same mistake in underestimating a young woman? It occurred all those years ago, a shock to the system when Guero realized two scantily clad coeds were the cause of so much chaos. Leigh, the ringleader, of course. Traipsing around Cancún with weapons too big for her to even hold properly.
He knew then that she was fighting to stay alive and prove herself. And in their courtship, he’d found a twin flame—burning brightly beside his. But he never would have assumed this was the world Leigh would inherit, that she would move through it so seamlessly—more dynamically than he ever had.
It was almost as if his instincts were failing him.
The thought disturbed him enough that he finally risked a long, hot shower to calm himself down. When he emerged, the room had been cleared. A fresh white linen suit was laid on the bed. He frowned, then dressed, moving to the door. He fully expected it to be locked—but to his surprise, the door handle turned easily in his hand.
He opened it, greeted by an armed guard. The man looked at him and blinked. Guero blinked back.
“Morning,” he said reflexively, stepping into the doorway. He half-expected to be shoved back inside, but the guard merely stared, then gave a curt nod.
Was he being given full rein of the property?
Guero stepped farther into the landing. The house was elaborate, with several wings stretching in both directions. He seemed to be placed in the central area of the upper floor. He couldn’t tell where everyone else was, but the house had a silent feel. He judged his hosts as late risers as he strode along the top level, hands in his pockets. Reaching the stairs, he glanced at a grand chandelier hanging over the foyer below. Glancing down, he noted several other guards. Moving into the opposite wing, he paused.
Guero couldn’t say how he knew these rooms were Gia’s—her aura permeated the space. Guero noted with some alarm how near she had placed his room to hers. He realized from her actions yesterday that she was eager to humiliate him—sexually and by any other means necessary. She hadn’t done more than untie his belt, but it had been enough.
He descended the long staircase slowly, absorbing every detail. Even if he was a fish out of water in this new world, at least he still had some instincts to keep him alive. Long enough to warn Leigh. Maybe even get her out of Mexico.
He entered the large foyer, bare feet brushing the cold marble. He stepped into a gleaming kitchen. Women moved about in crisp uniforms, pausing just long enough to greet him before returning to their work.
They were Mayan, by the looks of them—native to the region. Guero noted the language: a mix of Spanish and their ancient tongue, used seamlessly as they worked.
Left to roam like a dog, he exited through the kitchen onto the back of the property, where several layered fountains cascaded down terraced pools. He studied one with a frown. A carved statue sat in the center of the fountain—a perfect rendition of Gia. He could see it in the turn of the calves, slim thighs, narrow hips, and heaving bosom. Naked nymphs formed a circle around her, pouring water from spouts above her crowned head.
Guero felt his earlier confidence fade. Beltran was one of the most ruthless men of his acquaintance, and now he had Guero’s mortal enemy as his centerpiece.