Chapter 17
The bass thumped through the walls like a second heartbeat—steady, relentless, and loud enough to rattle Drew’s teeth.
Neon lights flashed under the crack of the office door, bathing the concrete floor in pink and blue pulses.
She sat on a battered metal chair, wrists bound with zip ties, ankles lashed to the legs of the chair, in a room that reeked of spilled tequila and desperation.
Miami.
The heat was oppressive, even in the air-conditioned club, and sweat slicked her spine beneath the thin blouse she’d been stuffed into after the flight.
Rodriguez clearly had no interest in her comfort.
Just control. She winced as she tried to shift her position.
Her back was killing her, and her ass was numb.
When she had the chance, she would make Rodriguez pay, and she promised herself she would get that chance no matter what.
The door opened with a sharp squeal of hinges, and two men entered—both broad-shouldered, gold chains visible at the neckline of shirts that were two sizes too tight.
But behind them came someone she hadn’t expected.
Dunlop? What the hell was he doing here? Her mind immediately went to Billy. Did something happen to him, or did Dunlop just leave? Was Billy trying to get in touch with her? Shit.
The man paused mid-step, pale blue eyes locking on hers. The color drained from his face like a bucket of cold water had been dumped over him.
“Jesus,” he muttered, and she was pretty sure he was about to talk to her, so she quickly shook her head. It wouldn’t be good for anyone to know that she knew Dunlop.
She straightened as best she could, chest rising. “I need to go to the bathroom.”
The goon nearest her smacked his hand on the back of her chair. “Shut it. You’ll speak when spoken to.”
Drew jerked away and shot him a glare. “Right. Well, if I don’t get to a bathroom in the next five minutes, you’re going to have more than just smartass comments to worry about. You’ll have one hell of a mess to clean up.”
The guy’s expression twisted. “Tough shit.”
Drew arched a brow. “You think Rodriguez wants to walk into a room that smells like piss? His impatience with screw ups is legendary.”
The two men glanced at each other.
“She’s got a point,” Dunlop said, surprisingly casual. “You want to be the one he chews out when he gets here?”
They grumbled under their breath.
Drew pushed it. “It’s a bathroom, not a portal to freedom. You’d still have to drag me past the dance floor, up two flights, and out the door while half the club watches. If I could make a run for it, don’t you think I would’ve done it already?”
The taller of the two guards swore under his breath. “Fine. But she doesn’t go alone.”
“I’ll take her,” Dunlop offered quickly. “You two can guard the exits. She’s not getting anywhere with me there.”
They hesitated, but eventually nodded. “Make it quick.”
A moment later, Dunlop guided her down a narrow hall to a staff bathroom; a dingy single-stall thing with flickering lights and no windows.
The mirror was cracked, and the sink leaked into a rusted bucket beneath the pipes.
The door clicked shut behind them, and she slumped against the wall as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a knife.
“Relax,” he muttered. “I’m just cutting the zip ties. Keep your voice low.”
She stared at him in surprise as the plastic restraints fell away.
“I thought you were with them.”
“I was told to show up and ‘watch the back rooms.’ No one said shit about you being here.” He frowned. “What the hell did you do?”
Drew rubbed her sore wrists. “Apparently, I pissed off a cartel. Long story.”
“Is this because of that Morgan thing, the two hundred and fifty K?” Dunlop asked, his voice quieter now. Concern flickered beneath the surface.
Drew hesitated. “Did you hear me say it’s a long story? More importantly, what the hell are you doing here? Why didn’t you stay with Billy?”
Dunlop looked at the floor guiltily. “Well… uh, you see, your lawyer friend got me off the charges. He tripped up my friend and got him to confess to the whole thing. So…” he continued as he rubbed the back of his neck.
“There was no real point in running anymore. I mean, Rodriguez wasn’t going to find out about the charges since they were dropped, and well… I had nowhere to go and no money.”
Drew stared at him. “So you came back here?”
Dunlop shrugged but looked defensive. “It’s not like I had a lot of choice.”
“Fine,” Drew said through gritted teeth. “What can you tell me about what’s going on?”
“With what?” Dunlop asked with a puzzled look on his face.
Drew closed her eyes and counted to ten. “With your cousin. Who are all those guys with him? What’s the story with his missing girlfriend?”
“Oh, that. Yeah, those guys are scary, right?” He shook his head. “I’ve been staying well out of their way for sure.”
“Dunlop.” It was half a plea and half an order.
“Right. Sorry. They’re cartel guys. It turns out Tessa, the girlfriend, was a crooked cop, and she stole one of Rodriguez’s major shipments. He has to get it back pronto because the cartel guys are super pissed about it. If he doesn’t come up with the drugs, Rodriguez is a dead man.”
Drew wanted to smack Dunlop like she would swat an annoying mosquito. Why the hell was he back where his cousin could get him killed? She blew out a breath. Not her primary concern right now. “What’s he planning?”
“Rodriguez?” Dunlop asked.
“No, the Easter Bunny. Yes, Rodriguez!”
Dunlop shrugged. “No clue. He hasn’t been talking much with those other guys around, so I don’t know.” Drew narrowed her eyes at him. “But I can find out,” he continued quickly.
There was banging on the door. “What the fuck are you two doing in there?”
Dunlop jumped, and Drew rolled her eyes.
“Making fucking brownies,” she snarled back.
Then she pushed Dunlop out of the way and washed her hands.
At her nod, he yanked open the door. She walked into the hallway, where the taller bodyguard put zip ties back on her wrists and led her back to the office.
Rodriguez entered the office less than two minutes later, flanked by two of his usual muscle and three others Drew didn’t immediately recognize.
They were taller, leaner, wearing crisp suits that didn’t fit the sweaty, neon pulse of the Miami club.
These were cartel men, and their presence electrified the room with an unspoken threat.
Drew frowned. The tallest one looked familiar.
She didn’t know him, but she was pretty sure she knew of him.
He was one of the head of the cartel’s, Hector Belasco, henchmen.
He’d been up on a murder charge but had gotten off when the only witness mysteriously disappeared.
No wonder the tension in the room had skyrocketed. These were not men to be messed with.
Rodriguez looked the part of the Miami nightclub owner—almost. Still decked in his designer threads, still flashing the expensive gold watch, but once again, she saw something different in him now.
Something akin to panic. The gleam in his eyes held an almost manic quality, and his swagger was jerky.
Had something happened to increase the pressure?
The shadows beneath his eyes, and the new creases around his mouth made him look much older than forty. He looked like a man unraveling.
Rodriguez barked something in Spanish to the suited men behind him.
Drew caught a few words—la reunión, presión, el plazo—the meeting, pressure, the deadline.
He was talking about the sit-down with the cartel.
The meeting that clearly hadn’t gone his way.
No wonder the pressure was increased. He was definitely fraying at the edges.
One of the cartel men answered coolly, something clipped and low. Rodriguez’s nostrils flared, but he didn’t argue. Just nodded tightly before waving a dismissive hand and stepping toward her.
Drew stayed seated, wrists bound again, but her spine straightened. If he thought she’d cower, he was going to be disappointed.
Rodriguez’s eyes raked over her like a slow, disdainful inspection. “You are not what I wanted,” he said in English this time. “But maybe… you will still be useful.”
Drew didn’t respond. She just stared at him, jaw tight.
He leaned down, so close she could smell the cigar smoke clinging to his skin. “You better hope your friend Tessa decides you’re worth saving. If not…” His smile was thin and snaky as he touched one fingertip to her upper chest. “I will take my payment a different way.”
Drew’s stomach turned, but she didn’t flinch. She wouldn’t give him that.
He straightened, then spun toward his men. “Do we have any idea where the puta is since you lost her again?” he snapped.
They were looking for Tessa. Thank God they still hadn’t found her.
That meant maybe Drew still had a chance.
Maybe her brother and sister were looking for her.
She could only hope Tessa and Stone had gotten word out.
Her mind briefly skipped to Cross, but she shut that thought down as fear and pain radiated in her chest. She couldn’t fall apart now.
There would be time later for that. Time to process the loss of Cross once again.
One of the goons—the short, jittery guy—spoke up, a rush of words. Something about resistance. Gunfire. Losing them in the dark.
Rodriguez’s face darkened. In a blink, he pulled a pistol from beneath his jacket and shot the man in the temple. The sound exploded through the room, muffled only slightly by the thrum of bass below. Blood sprayed the wall.
Drew jerked back in her seat, heart pounding, but no one else even moved. That was the second time Rodriguez killed one of his own. Oh yeah, he was unraveling. She just needed to hold on a little longer until an opportunity came to escape. She did not want to be here when Rodriguez finally blew.
Cool as ever, Rodriguez wiped the barrel clean with a silk handkerchief before tossing the scrap of fabric on the dead man’s body. “Incompetence is not tolerated.”
He turned back toward her and studied her face. “Do you know what your biggest mistake was?”
Drew raised her chin. “Getting on the plane?”
“No,” he murmured, walking behind her now. “Thinking you could help your little friend and get away with it. He’s dead, and you’re next.” His voice turned venomous.
She said nothing. She wouldn’t play his game.
Rodriguez circled back around to face her. “Maybe I kill you tonight. Maybe I don’t. But if I do, I’ll have some fun first. Your fucking puta friend Tessa took from me. It’s only fair I take something back.”
“Why not just kill me now?” Drew asked, glaring up at him. “Why wait?”
Rodriguez’s smile faltered. “Right now you are leverage.”
Then he motioned to one of his men. “Clean that up,” he said, gesturing to the corpse on the floor. He turned toward the desk where Dunlop stood, still dutifully polishing the glass like some underpaid janitor. Rodriguez froze.
His gaze narrowed. “You. I forgot about you.”
Dunlop stiffened, the rag in his hand stilling.
Rodriguez stepped closer. “Help them,” he gestured toward the body that two of the men were picking up. “And keep your fucking mouth shut.”
Dunlop just nodded. He was pale, and his hands were shaking. Drew guessed he couldn’t have made a sound if he wanted to.
“Make sure there are no more fuck ups,” Rodriguez growled. Who he was talking to was up for debate. No one said a word.
Finally, one of the cartel enforcers spoke in rapid Spanish, which Drew had trouble following. Rodriguez’s lips thinned in a stark line as color fled his face. But he nodded, as if he understood.
The cartel enforcers left the dank office, with Rodrigues following silently behind. The bass from the club rose again like a heartbeat that never stopped, dimming only once the door slammed shut.
Dunlop moved back to the desk, eyes wide, hands shaking.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “I need a drink.”
Drew stared at the door, her pulse pounding, her jaw clenched so tight her teeth ached.
“What did they say in Spanish?”
Dunlop stared at the blood spatter, and Drew had to hiss to get his attention.
“What?” he said. “Oh, they gave him forty-eight hours to get the drugs or the money.”
Forty-eight hours.
Rodriguez was running out of time, which meant so was she.