2. One
One
Miguel
I clench my fists to my sides as my eyes narrow in on the empty black duffel bags. "Fuck," I say, slamming my closed hands against the empty van. "How the hell does this happen? Who would be brave enough to steal from me?"
Marco shrugs, stepping away from the van and I grab him by the front of his shirt before he gets too far. I slam him against the van's door, fury burning through me. "You were supposed to make sure the merchandise was delivered successfully. I put you in charge, thinking you could handle the task, but apparently I was wrong."
Sweat drips from his brow. "I'm sorry, boss. I don't know what happened. I lost track of the van and by the time I figured out it was stolen, it was too late."
I drop him to the ground so hard he loses balance and lands on his ass. "You're going to fix this. You will make this right. You're going to find out what happened to my product and bring me the men who stole from me."
"How?"
"I don't know how, but if you don't make this right, you're going to be scratching your way out of the fucking ground."
"Yes, boss…consider it done."
"Good." I straighten my suit, taking a step back and that's when I see something shining in the corner of the van. It's a brass shell. I pull one of my gloves out of my pocket and lean over the back of the van, slowly picking up the shell. It's not from any gun I own. Spinning it between my fingers, I examine it further.
"Is everything okay, boss?" Marco stands over me, tilting his head with his gaze on the shell. "Did you find that in here?"
"Yes. Do you know who it belongs to?"
He shakes his head, getting a closer look. "No, boss. It's not one of mine. I can ask Able if he knows anything about it."
"Yes, ask him and every man who's been in this van. It had to come from somewhere."
Loud footsteps come from behind me. "Miguel, we have a problem."
I turn around to face Able, my right hand man. "A different one from this?" I gesture to the van, clutching the shell tightly in my palm.
"Yes, boss. It's...one of the clubs. It never opened today and it wasn't until we stopped by that we found out why.”
My eyes widen, pulse beating loudly in my ears. "What do you mean it didn't open today? Why didn't it open? Where are Nicholas and Pedro?"
Able swallows hard, unable to meet my eyes. "Dead. We found them—what was left of them—scattered around the club. We searched the whole place before the cops came. Whoever did it was long gone before we got there. They left nothing behind except for this." He holds up a Ziploc bag with a brass shell in it. I grit my teeth, squeezing the other one in the palm of my hand.
He sighs, lowering his hand. "It's strange, because neither man was shot. Whoever killed them used a knife. The security guard was strangled with his own belt and one of the dancers…I think it's better you don't know. The men who did this weren't amateurs."
I take the bag from his hand and toss in the other shell. It is an exact clone of the other. They sit side by side like a perfect matching set. "No, they know exactly what they are doing. This is a message. The question is from who and why leave bullet casings behind?"
My phone rings in my pocket and Isaiah's name flashes on the screen. I press the phone tightly to my ear, releasing a drawn out sigh, preparing myself for more bad news. I doubt my son is calling to invite me over for coffee. We were never huge talkers, and our relationship is still a bit shaky. "Hola?"
"Did I catch you at a bad time, old man?"
I roll my eyes. "Were you expecting to?"
Loud sighs come from the other end of the phone. "I don't know what to expect after all that's happened in the past year. We had a few problems recently. One of the casinos caught fire and one of our planes never went out for delivery. The pilot was found dead, hanging from his guts. The drugs were missing and the only thing they found was…"
I cut him off. "A brass shell?"
"Uh...yeah...how'd you know?"
"I think we may have the same problem."
"Do you think…how would they know?"
I huff out a breath. "Things weren't done very quietly and surely plenty of evidence was left behind. Vengeance and revenge come with a price, mijo. Looks like we are finally paying it. You don't start a fight with a sex trafficking ring and expect them to forget."
"You think we left someone alive who should have died with the rest of those assholes?"
"I think you didn't leave without notice for sure. They won't stop coming until they get what they want."
"I'd love to watch them come and get it. We'll be waiting for them. They have tried to take way too much from me. I dare them to try and take more."
"You really think men like this can be stopped?"
"We've done it before. We can do it again."
I shake my head, pinching the bridge of my nose. "The people you killed were nobody compared to these men. Those were the bottom feeders. The ones after us now are the masterminds behind the whole operation. I have a feeling they won't be the only ones we have to answer to."
"How do you suggest we handle this?"
"We take it one day at a time. Increase security, be aware of our surroundings, and never let our guard down. They want us weak. One by one they will try to tear us down. We will beat them at their own game."
"It won't be the first time."
I doubt it'd be the last. We pull ourselves out of one mess only to enter another. It is the life I have tied myself to and as long as my family remains in danger, I can never step away.
Just a little longer.
They are still the only words that help me get through the hard days. Even after all this time. They aren't as comforting without Marcus here. My son has yet to tell me about one of the main men he works with, but I managed to find out anyway. I have my ways and it wasn't hard to follow his tracks, discovering one of their shared clubs. Only minutes after sitting outside did I get the confirmation I needed. He’s older now, and other than an added scar and different colored hair, Marcus didn’t change much. His smile is still something worth stopping the world for. It has my heart beating loudly in my chest and it leaves me breathless. I couldn't get out of the car. It wasn't the right time.
I slide my phone in my pocket after ending the call with Isaiah, wishing I could be back in front of his club again, seeing the rise and fall of Marcus's chest; witnessing the blush in his cheeks and the light in his eyes brought back a part of me I had thought died long ago. Seeing him alive after watching his house catch fire eleven years ago isn’t enough. It won't be real until I'm touching him again.
I enter my office and walk toward my desk to pull out the blue pistol I'd once given to the man I love. It was never supposed to return to me without him holding it. I stroke the words engraved into the metal. "Come back to me."
The gun did, but he didn't. The more time that passes, the further away he feels. He's not mine anymore, but I'll never stop being his.