Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
DEAN
T he hits just keep coming—one after another. Pain radiates through the left side of my face. I’ve lost count of how many hours I’ve been tied to this chair; it could be two, it could be twelve. It’s hard to think when you’re a human punching bag. All I know is I’ve been here long enough for my hands to go numb and my face to swell from all the beatings.
“Dime la verdad,” the man in front of me shouts.
I can hardly hear his raspy voice over the ringing in my ear. Spitting out the blood that’s pooled in my mouth, I squint up at him. The only thing I see is a blurry, sausage-shaped figure.
“Eat shit,” I reply, hoping the sausage-shaped figure is the asshole who’s been hitting me from the moment they strapped me to this hunk of metal.
He swings his meaty fist again. Helpless to stop it, I take the blow to my face. Warm blood trickles down my cheek. My split eyebrow throbs, but I stay silent, forcing my body not to cringe in agony. This isn’t my first time being tortured. When I was fifteen, a rival cartel snatched me, trying to move into the Las Vegas territory. Back then, Declan’s father was in charge. I was just as loyal to him as I am to his son—but I failed him that night. I sang like a canary. Because of that, Patrick lost good men and a lot of money. Even so, Patrick rescued me. He forgave me. He showed me mercy. Since then, I swore I’d never break again. And I haven’t.
“Dime!”
He yells at me once more. I don’t answer. Call it playing dead. I’m not stupid—I know ignoring him will only piss him off. But I also know it’ll draw the attention of his bosses. This guy is nothing more than muscle. Takes one to know one. I may be the head of Declan’s security, but that’s just a fancy way of saying I’m hired muscle, too.
Two more punches slam into my ribs. I feel my bones crack from the impact. Blood floods my mouth when I bite down on my tongue to keep from making a sound. A pulsing, throbbing pain courses through me, and my mind drifts, searching for comfort in my memories.
(line break)
I see her—Juliette. She’s standing in front of me with her big blue eyes, looking at me like I’m some kind of hero. Warmth spreads through my body as I remember how sweet my name sounded on her lips.
“Dean,” she whispered.
I couldn’t help but lean down and kiss her. It didn’t matter to me that her family was in the next room and, except for her big sister, Vivienne, no one knew we were together. The way her soft hands cradled my face while she kissed me back is something I’ll never forget. The memory is so vivid, it’s like she’s here with me. I can practically feel her silky red hair in my unworthy hands.
“You’re so beautiful,” I murmured to her.
Looking at her was never a choice. Juliette McBride is captivating—like a full moon on a dark, starry night. You just can’t tear your eyes away. I never could, at least. Seeing her now, even if it’s only in my mind, is torture. Like spotting a lush oasis in the middle of a scorching desert.
A creaking metal door opens and slams shut, yanking me out of my nostalgia. Juliette’s image dissolves like smoke, leaving me hollow. I come back to my senses just in time to feel another punch rock the side of my face.
A rough chuckle slices through the room, echoing off the walls. It’s a coarse sound, like the laughter of someone who hasn’t cracked a smile in years. The man in front of me tenses, his body heat pulling away as he straightens to greet whoever just walked in. Judging by his reaction, my gut says this newcomer is the clown running the show.
“Jefe.”
That same raspy voice confirms my suspicion. My eyes are too swollen to see clearly, so I rely on my hearing. My heartbeat ramps up when I realize he’s brought someone with him. The second set of footsteps is lighter, less menacing. It has to be Juliette. Finally.
“This one yours?”
If I thought his laugh sounded harsh, his voice is even worse. My heart pounds as I wait to hear her speak, adrenaline coursing through me in one tangled rush of excitement and relief.
“Unfortunately.”
My world screeches to a halt. That’s not Juliette’s voice—it’s Declan’s. Everything in me collapses. She’s not here. Did they leave her back at the mansion? A dreadful thought chills my veins: What if she was never here at all?
“What’s it going to take to get him out of that chair?” Declan asks.
“He burnt my property to a crisp. What makes you think I’ll let him go?”
I grunt. He acts like that one little guard shack was the crown jewel of his empire.
“You wouldn’t have brought me here otherwise. What do you want, Mr. Ortiz?”
Ortiz. Before I came, I did some homework: Diego Ortiz is the star player here in Colombia. I didn’t dig too deep into him because I figured I’d never end up on his radar. Great call, Dean.
“Guns. I’m standing on the verge of a war, and I need weapons.”
I can practically hear Declan grin. Weapons are his specialty—those and whiskey. They keep talking, working out the details of my release. My earlier burst of hope fades into frustration. Yet again, I’ve come up empty in my search for Juliette. My only prayer is that she’s in the mansion. She has to be. Otherwise, I don’t know what I’ll do if I have to go home empty-handed.
“Juliette,” I whisper.
Neither Declan nor Diego seems to hear me. They drone on about guns, ignoring the only thing that actually matters.
“Juliette,” I repeat, louder. “Where is she?”
I’m backhanded almost as soon as the words leave my mouth. The sharp sting barely registers.
“Who?” Diego demands.
“Juliette McBride. My little sister,” Declan answers for me. “I sent Dean here to look for her. She ran away.”
“I’m sure she had her reasons,” Diego mutters. “But I have no idea who she is.”
“Her signal pinged here,” I insist. “She had to be here.”
“Did you not hear me the first time? She’s not here.”
His Spanish accent is thick, which almost makes me want to believe I misheard. But that’s just wishful thinking.
“Suéltalo,” Diego barks.
Feet shuffle in front of me. Expecting another blow, I brace myself, but it never lands. Instead, my numb wrists are freed. Pins and needles stab through my hands as the blood rushes back. Someone yanks me up by my shirt, the stench of sweat and body odor nearly choking me as I’m shoved forward—likely into Declan’s arms. I can’t see clearly, thanks to the dried blood stuck around my eyes. That’s probably for the best; I don’t want to see Declan’s expression right now. It’s bound to be equal parts fury and disappointment.
We leave the room, which is really a warehouse. Stepping outside, I’m momentarily blinded by the bright sunlight. So it’s morning, which means I was in there long enough for the night to come and go.
Diego and his man follow us to a massive iron gate. It’s big and black, with the name ORTIZ spelled out in oversized letters. My stomach sinks. She was supposed to be here. With every step, my hope crumbles, taking my heart with it.
What am I supposed to do now? I could accuse Diego of lying and force a search, but deep down, I know he’s telling the truth. Juliette isn’t here. She never was. My algorithm was wrong…again. I can’t explain how worthless I feel right now. Maybe Juliette was right to leave me. What good am I to her? I should let her go. But the mere thought of it makes me sick. I can’t. I won’t.
The gates swing open with a creak.
“It’s been fun or whatever you Americans say.”
“We’re not American,” Declan replies curtly. “I’ll be in touch about the stock.”
“I expect a call in two days,” Diego fires back. “Don’t make me come to Vegas.”
Diego’s threat doesn’t faze Declan. We’ve bested men a hell of a lot more dangerous than Diego Ortiz. This guy’s just getting started in the grand scheme of things.
Declan turns, letting Diego’s words hang in the air.
“You,” Diego calls to me. “I don’t ever want to see you on my property again.”
I try to laugh, but my split lip protests, sending a sharp stab of pain through my face. “I hate this fucking jungle anyway.”
With that, I shuffle out of the gate behind my boss. I climb into the back of Declan’s SUV—what’s left of me, anyway.
“Where to?” the driver asks, his accent tells me he’s a local Declan hired.
“The airport,” Declan replies. “We’re going home.”
Back to Vegas. Perfect.
Declan says nothing the entire drive. I know Declan’s mad. He wants to punch me, scream at me, maybe throw me off a cliff. I’m sure he’ll let me have it once we’re on the plane and out of earshot. He’s probably going to force me to apologize to that little snitch of a co-pilot, too.
We pull up to a crowded airport.
“You didn’t fly private?” I ask, confused.
“I did,” he replies, turning to look at me. Something in his vivid green eyes is so icy it makes my blood run cold. “We’re dropping you off.”
“Excuse me?”
He shoves a ticket into my hand. “You’re going home, Dean.”
My mouth goes bone-dry as I read the bold, black letters. “Declan, I know you’re angry, but this is insane.”
“There’s nothing else I can do,” Declan says. “You’ve given me no choice.”
“You can’t send me back to Ireland.”
Anger flares in my gut. What the hell is he thinking? I haven’t set foot there since my grandfather sent me to live with Declan’s family over twenty years ago.
“What about my job?” I demand. “Who’s going to run security for you?”
“Grady. Same man who’s been running it every time you go off on these expeditions.”
“Expeditions you sent me on,” I remind him.
“Not this last one. You went rogue. I can’t help but wonder why.” He pins me with a sharp look. “Tell me the truth, Dean. Did you have anything to do with my sister running away?”
I drop my gaze, unable to speak or lie outright. It was easier when we were thousands of miles apart, and I didn’t have to look him in the eye.
“That’s what I thought,” he snarls. “I don’t know what you did or why you did it, but you’re out, Dean. Out of the family, out of the business, out of Vegas. You’re done.”
I can’t believe it. He’s kicking me out.
“Why don’t you just kill me, then?” I snap. “I know too much. I could squeal like a pig.”
Declan’s fists clench. “I’m doing this out of respect for your grandfather. For the Walsh family and the history we share. But make no mistake—if you step out of line, I will.”
Before I can say another word, the door beside me flies open, and Declan shoves me out onto the curb like I’m trash. What the hell am I supposed to do now? All I know is I can’t get on that plane. I can’t go back to Ireland. Juliette needs me, and I won’t find her from across the ocean. I need Declan’s resources. My mind is made up. I’m staying.
I turn to leave, only to find Grady blocking my path.
“Going somewhere?” he asks.
“Declan left you here to babysit me?” I mutter.
“To make sure your stubborn ass gets on that plane, Dean. You gonna make me drag you?”
In two seconds, I realize I have no choice. Declan’s not letting me weasel my way out of this. Looks like I’m headed back to my home country with nothing but the clothes on my back and a chest full of hatred.