Chapter 34
THOMAS
Cesar “El Segador” Ruiz and Salvador “El Eliminador” Ruiz.
The two sons of one of the most violent cartel leaders ever documented.
They murdered police in broad daylight. Civilians disappeared without a trace. Fentanyl deaths skyrocketed the last eight years under their leadership.
Corkscrews, electrocution, flayings, and live feedings to tigers.
Just a few of the extreme torture methods they employed against their rivals and anyone who interfered with their territory when they’d taken over the cartel’s operations, their tactics far exceeding Fernando’s reputation as The Butcher.
“This isn’t right,” James muttered under his breath.
Of course it wasn’t right. Nothing about the trajectory of their lives had been right since Phil invited the Hidalgos into Donato Enterprises’ operations.
Was it possible they never intended to bring Claire? Could she already be dead?
Or…
Did they really have her? Could the photos have been doctored or AI-generated?
Thomas realized he’d asked out loud when James said, “They have her. Intelligence says she’s with Ruiz.”
Was he inside the plane? Coward sent his sons out first.
He also could be arriving separately. Another plane might arrive, or a car. Claire had to be coming with him.
Thomas rapidly calculated. The Ruiz brothers were meeting their father to fly him back to Mexico. Claire was bait to ensure his safe departure.
Question was, where did that leave him and James? Dead or alive?
“They cut off her finger, Tom.”
Thomas swung his head to look at his brother in pure shock.
“They cut off her finger and sent it to my house.” James roughly cleared his throat, his face tight with emotion.
Thomas went stiff and turned his gaze back to the Ruiz brothers, struggling to contain the rage threatening to consume him. His mother—the woman who had shaped him, who despite her flaws was still the only mother he had—mutilated as a message. “You’re just telling me this now?”
“I’m sorry. I should have returned your calls.” He spoke low, the apology tumbling out of him as he stared straight ahead. Neither of them were taking their eyes off the brothers.
“I should kick you in the ass for not picking up the phone.”
“For once, I wish you would.”
Because this banter was normal, stupid brother stuff compared to the life-or-death situation they now faced. They had to hold themselves together for a short time more and maybe Thomas could broker a deal that guaranteed Natalya, Julian, and Marcus would see him again.
“The guy on the left is Cesar, the older one. They call him The Harvester,” Thomas murmured, his mouth bone dry.
“Lovely.”
“The other is Salvador, The Eliminator. He’s the most violent.”
“This just gets better and better.”
“Do not take your eyes off him.” Thomas emphasized each word. “Don’t show fear. That’s what he thrives on.” A thousand other instructions jammed in his throat, all the things he should have told James about the Hidalgos years ago instead of sending him blindly into their path.
The Ruiz brothers stopped and stared at them. Nobody said anything.
A gust of wind kicked up dust, tousled their hair. A bird called. Then…
Salvador studied James as if something about Thomas’s brother nagged him. Then his eyes widened like whatever that was had clicked into place. He swore and spat on the ground. “Te conozco. Te supone que estás muerto.” I know you. You’re supposed to be dead. James’s eyes flared wide. “Yo te maté.”
I killed you.
An electric jolt of adrenaline shot through Thomas, bringing cruel clarity along with it.
They were staring down the man who’d tortured James and dumped him in the ocean.
The abuse his brother had suffered at the hands of The Eliminator had been extreme enough to erase James’s memory from existence for a good six years.
Memories bombarded Thomas—the sour odors of the hospital in Puerto Escondido.
James’s battered face unrecognizable even to him.
Doctors warning he might never recover his identity.
The horror of knowing what the Hidalgos had done to his little brother tormented him even as he faced his own imminent demise.
Salvador brandished a gun and aimed at James’s chest.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Thomas lunged to stand between them as James shuffled backward.
Cesar pushed his brother’s arm down. “Espera.” Wait.
“He won’t care.” Salvador switched to English, eyes flashing with manic energy.
“He’ll care.” Cesar peered at Thomas. “We wait for The Butcher.” He pointed behind James.
Ice crystallized in Thomas’s veins. Another vehicle approached at high speed. He turned back to Cesar. “Fernando?”
“Sí. He has your madre.”
“She better be alive,” Thomas ground out.
Cesar reached behind his back and aimed his own gun at him. “Shut up.”
Thomas jerked to attention and something vital ripped apart inside him.
His thoughts flying to Nadia. Fascinating how the mind grasps for the light of love when faced with the darkness of death.
The image of her smile blazed in his mind, the sunlight caught in her hair the morning after the first night they spent together.
Her laughter. Her touch. The way she looked at him as if she saw the man he was beneath the hard, cruel layers baked onto him.
He shared a look with James. He loved his brother hard. He’d die for him if it meant he’d live. And it looked as though that would very well happen tonight.
“I’m sorry,” he said to him. Sorry for not being the brother he deserved. Sorry for the years he spent in Mexico. Sorry for not considering other options and believing the only way to keep him safe had been to fake his death. James had lost so much because of him.
James gave him a small nod, understanding pooling in his eyes. “Me too.”
The vehicle took a wide turn, aiming straight for them.
It stopped abruptly behind Cammy’s old truck.
A door opened, the driver got out, and Thomas’s blood thundered in his ears at the sight of Fernando.
He rounded the front of the black SUV in an unzipped green windbreaker worn over all black.
Black pants, black shirt, black sneakers.
“?Mis hijos! ?Papá ha vuelto!” Fernando stretched his arms wide, his voice booming. Cesar remained emotionless, his eyes cold. Salvador beamed, his joy over his father’s arrival plastered on his face.
“Bienvenido de nuevo, papá.”
“I’ve missed you.” Fernando switched to English.
Thick mustached, thinning hair, belly hanging over a tightly cinched leather belt, the escaped felon had only smiles for his sons.
If Thomas wasn’t so intent on getting his sights on his mother, he’d throw up in disgust. The casualness of their reunion—as if they were meeting for dinner instead of an execution—made his skin crawl.
Salvador threw out his arms, waving the gun, his gestures as exaggerated as his father’s. “We’re here to rescue you! Your plan played out muy bien.” He kissed his fingertips and flared his fingers. Chef’s kiss.
Cesar looked at his watch. “Hurry up.” His tone was all business.
“Always impatient, that one.” Fernando smiled at Thomas and James. He opened the rear passenger door, reached in, and yanked out Claire.
“Jesus,” James said.
Someone had worked her over. Her silver hair, usually tied behind her head in a simple twist or clasped in a long, straight ponytail, was disheveled.
A noticeable bald spot was on the side of her head, dried blood crusted around the edges as if someone had pulled out her hair.
Her face was bruised, the left eye swollen shut, her bottom lip engorged.
Hands bound with zip ties at the wrists in front of her.
The light blue silk blouse she wore was torn and smudged with dirt, as were her cream pants.
She was barefoot. Fernando yanked hard on her arm and she stumbled as he hauled her toward the group.
Her gaze swung vacantly past Thomas and back. “Thomas.” A hoarse whisper.
“Mom.” His throat closed. The sight of her—proud, elegant Claire Donato—reduced to a broken shell twisted something in his chest that would never be right again.
“Take it easy on her.” James stepped toward their mother and Salvador yanked him back by the collar of his shirt. James swung, but Salvador easily dodged him.
“James, stop,” Thomas hissed. He shook his head when James glared at him. Salvador was already unhinged. Last thing they needed was for James to give him a reason to shoot him.
James blew out a breath of frustrated rage. Fernando kept a tight grip on Claire’s arm. Thomas tried to get her attention, just an eye lock so he could measure her frame of mind. But she stared vacantly past them, disassociated.
The metallic taste of fury coated his tongue at the unspeakable pain she must have endured the past few days. “What did you do to her?”
“He said, shut up.” Salvador lifted the gun and fired just as Fernando thrust Claire at James. White hot pain tore through Thomas’s arm. He bellowed and Claire screamed. James almost fell with their mother in his arms as she tried to reach for Thomas. Both of their expressions horrified.
“Tom!” James yelled. He muttered something that sounded like “sand” under his breath.
“I’m okay. Just a graze,” he downplayed.
He gritted his teeth as warm blood seeped down his arm.
He clamped a hand over the wound to staunch the flow.
He didn’t think the bullet hit an artery, but he didn’t have to look down at his arm to know it had gone through his triceps.
“Let them go and you can do whatever you want with me.”
“No!” Claire shrieked.
James pushed his face into her hair, begging her to shush.
Fernando joyously hugged both sons and turned to them, looking first at James, who had his arms around Claire, holding her up. He then looked at Thomas.
“Lo siento, no.”
“Everything is negotiable,” Thomas pushed.
“Not when your life is worthless,” Cesar said.
“Then why did you bring us here?” he demanded.