Chapter 12
DEAN
Night pressed against the compound, thick with a strange tension, like the world was holding its breath.
The air was heavy. It felt like a hand was squeezing Dean’s throat.
He sniffed and caught the mix of ocean, dirt, generator oil, and the sharp tang of freshly harvested crops.
Dean moved through the dark like a shadow among shadows, every footstep measured, every breath silent.
Was he stupid to do this? Possibly.
He didn’t know Ricco well enough to know if this was a trap, but the opportunity to gain allies in this place was too tempting to pass up.
Dean didn’t tell Yasmine where he was going. He couldn’t. If Carlos found out about this secret meeting and suspected she knew, she’d be the one dragged into the cell instead of him. Hell, she still might be knowing his insane father.
Dean didn’t believe in waiting around to be rescued. He believed in necessity and doing shit yourself. Yes, he was keeping fingers crossed that Trev would come, but at this point…Trev was just as likely to think that he’d turned into the enemy.
Dean had no idea that these maintenance tunnels existed.
Ricco said that they were installed about seven years ago when Alvarez used RPGs to strike the compound.
They smelled of rust and stale water, the concrete walls sweating even down here.
The room Ricco led him to was small, and filled with crates of dry goods stacked high enough to drown a man in.
One bare bulb swung overhead, casting long shadows.
There were six faces he recognized.
Four men and two women. A mix of guards and servants, their eyes sharp but haunted. Dean scanned their faces, cataloguing and putting the stories that Ricco had told him to the faces.
Matteo, a wiry guard with a scar running from jaw to ear. He had been at the dinner the first night Dean was here. He lost his brother to Carlos’s paranoia.
Elena, a cook no older than twenty-five, her apron still stained with stew. Her son had been taken to train as a soldier and she never heard from him again.
Rafael, a stocky driver with scarred knuckles, and fingers crooked from punishment.
Luis was older, broad-shouldered, his eyes hollow. Rumor had it Carlos had executed his wife for whispering with a rival’s cousin. Unfounded of course.
Ava, the girl that had looked after his children while Yasmine was in labor. Ricco said that she’d been chosen by Carlos more than once for his extra curricular activities.
Lastly, Juan. This was the man that surprised Dean the most. He was Carlos’s personal guard and head of security, he had been ordered to kill a dozen of his own men just because Carlos didn’t like how they looked at him.
He’d taken the time to dig their graves all by himself to show his respect and grieve with the families.
They looked at Dean as if he were both salvation and a curse.
Ricco closed the door behind them and posted himself at it.
“We don’t have much time,” Juan said. “The guards will be rotating and checking the tunnels in fifteen minutes.”
Dean folded his arms, stance relaxed considering the situation. “Then let’s not waste any time. You want out. You want him dead. So do I. Tell me something that I can use.”
They remained silent and just stared at him. Then Elena spoke, her voice soft.
“The American military guys send shipments every two weeks on the dot. Not just weapons. But all sorts of stuff. I don’t understand all of it. But I hear the deliveries. They always arrive at two in the morning, and the rumble of the trucks wakes me up.”
Dean’s jaw tightened. “I have found where they are storing everything. Thank you for the other information.”
Rafael leaned forward. “There’s a new drug running route. Across the border at San Ysidro. Smaller shipments, less heat. Carlos keeps the manifest in a safe in his car, hidden under the middle seat in the back. He thinks no one will look there, but it requires his fingerprint.”
Dean filed it all away, every detail sharpening the map in his head. “I can take care of the fingerprint that is not an issue.”
Matteo’s voice cracked the tension. “Confident. Tell me why should we trust you? You’re his son. Blood of his blood. Maybe you’re just sniffing out traitors for him.”
The others shifted, uncomfortable. Luis muttered in agreement under his breath.
Dean didn’t flinch. He stepped closer, let them see the murder in his eyes.
“You think I bleed his blood? I bled for a flag, and he tried to bury me under it because he was disappointed in me. I bled for brothers, my family. He had them executed in front of my eyes. I bleed now for my wife and my children, who live in this cage because of him, and are constantly under the threat that he will abuse one of them the way he did me. Don’t mistake my name for loyalty.
If I could…I’d slit his throat and smile at his corpse.
But to do that I need help because I won’t do it at the sacrifice of my wife or children. ”
Matteo held his stare for a long, taut moment before looking away.
Dean exhaled slow. “You want to live? You follow my rules. You keep your heads down. You smile when he passes. You laugh at his jokes. You don’t look at me too long in daylight. You play the game until I say otherwise. One slip, and he’ll have our tongues nailed to the wall.”
Nods, reluctant but real. The spark of something dangerous flickered in their eyes.
Ricco cleared his throat. “You’re building momentum, Dean. Men are watching the differences. Not all are loyal, but some fear him and the American military too much to come forward. Fear isn’t the same as loyalty, but just as dangerous.”
Dean gave a sharp nod. “Fear we can turn. Show strength and safety, and fear can be a spear.”
A sound of boots passed the door and the group froze. The bulb swayed. Then the footsteps faded.
Dean looked at Ricco. “Meeting’s over. Go home. Be ghosts. Give Ricco any intel you find, anything at all can be helpful.”
One by one they slipped out, vanishing into tunnels and then the compound.
When the last of them were gone, Dean caught Ricco by the arm.
“Stay,” he murmured.
Ricco hesitated, then shut the door again. The two of them stood alone beneath the dim light, the bulb’s low hum filling the silence.
Dean lowered his voice, every word a risk. “I need more than men ready to slit Carlos’s throat. I need an army outside these walls. Can you get a message out?”
Ricco’s eyes narrowed. “Depends…who is it to? How much risk do you want me to take?”
Dean stepped closer, close enough the bulb etched shadows across their faces. “The Alvarez family.”
Ricco stiffened. “Are you out of your mind? The Alvarez family will gut you and kill me on sight, and that’s before your father finds out and does worse.”
“Not if the message is about their daughter.” Dean’s voice dropped even lower. “Isabella Alvarez. Tell him she’s alive. Tell him she’s in danger. If Mr. Alvarez want to ever see her again, he agrees to a private meeting. Just the two of us.”
Ricco stared like Dean had just slit his own throat. “If Carlos finds out—”
“It’s a risk I need to take. We need the men. Can you do it?”
Ricco sighed. “You’re gambling with your life.”
Dean’s mouth curved in sad smile. “Every day I breathe under this roof is a gamble.”
Ricco studied him, jaw working. Finally, he nodded. “I can try. No promises. But I can try.”
Dean clapped him once on the shoulder, firm. “That’s all I need.”
Ricco left first, and Dean waited until the next guard swap was complete before he ventured out.
The risk of all of this was enormous, the fallout inevitable.
But Maeve needed to remain safe and there were only two people that could accomplish that.
Trev and her father. Senor Alvarez would want to meet, and if he agreed to Dean’s terms…
maybe Carlos’s empire suffer its first crack in the foundation of his power.
And Dean intended to drive a knife straight through it.