Chapter 29
Angel
Lies come easy to me.
I’d even consider myself a professional at them.
But when I told Lauren I was thinking about keeping her, it didn’t sound like the lie I intended it to be.
It left me on edge, feeling a little out of control.
The woman is tied to my bed, yet is still somehow driving me insane.
I can cut her loose, set her free, but then she’ll run.
I don’t know why that thought bothers me so much.
Isn’t her leaving what I want?
I grip the steering wheel harder.
I had to get away. If she weren’t in my house, I never would’ve considered what I’m doing now.
The email requesting me to meet up has gone unanswered for weeks.
Liam Jones—I seriously doubt that’s his real name—wants to work with me.
He had the balls to reach out like I was running some sort of fucking business and thought it would be a good idea to contact me directly.
I have no idea how he heard of me or how he found me, but I had to get out of the house, away from that bitch I’m forming an addiction to.
South Padre is less than two hours from my house, so I decided this morning to meet with him.
I could be walking into a trap. He could very easily be employed by some federal agency. I could’ve just driven away from my house for the last time. I might be waking up in a cell in the morning.
You’d think that knowing all of this, understanding that Lauren may be tied to my bed until she dies, would stop me.
It doesn’t. I only drive faster.
I see Lauren Vos as no different from cancer. She has somehow sneaked inside of me, eating away at parts of me. Even though I know now what she’s done, she took over so thoroughly, I know she’s going to be the death of me.
I don’t want to go to prison, although anyone who knew all my secrets would think I belong there.
By legal standards, I guess I do. I’m a criminal.
There’s no other way to look at it. I know Lauren has committed crimes, done things she’d never get away with if they were committed on US soil, but her actions were for the greater good.
I just kill people when working because it’s the easiest way to get paid and get back home.
So, yeah, prison would suck, but I realized her being at my house is just another form of prison, one I openly welcomed by pulling her from Mexico.
I put myself in this situation, and I need to learn from my mistakes.
The thought of getting incarcerated and leaving her to rot on my bed makes my stomach turn. She dies, she needs to be just as beautiful as she is while living, my marks painting her skin rather than shriveling up from lack of nourishment.
It also makes me take a moment’s pause after parking my truck at the beach.
Even though it’s winter here in Texas, there are still a handful of people walking close to the water. It wouldn’t be impossible to kill the man I’m meeting, but those people pose a risk.
Seagulls cry out overhead as I climb out of my truck and make my way to the sand.
I’m honestly surprised to see Liam sitting on the beach ahead of schedule.
He emailed about being in Chicago, but didn’t complain when I scheduled this meeting this morning for the same day.
It either means he’s very eager, or he was already closer to me than he claims.
My suspicions immediately go up, despite him sitting in the speedo I suggested he wear.
The noise of the water and the ever-circling gulls will prevent anyone nearby from overhearing us, and the lack of clothes makes it harder to hide any type of surveillance equipment.
I sit down beside him without a word, and to his credit, he doesn’t look over at me as I scan him. No jewelry, watch, or sunglasses despite the bright afternoon sun. He isn’t even wearing shoes.
Brilliant blue eyes stare out at the water, sandy blond hair whipping around in the breeze.
The stubble on his jaw adds a little mystery, but overall, he’s a very unassuming person.
He looks like one of those bro-dudes that would wear boat shoes and is always holding some sort of frozen, fruity drink.
People look at him and see him as either trustworthy or uncaring. Either way, it works in his favor.
“Are you a fed?” I ask directly.
A slow smile spreads across his face as he turns to look at me. “Do I need to pull this speedo off?”
My jaw clenches. I’m already annoyed to be here, and ready to get back to Lauren. Knowing it keeps my feet planted on the damp sand.
“I didn’t ask if you were wired. I asked if you were a fed.”
“You probably wouldn’t believe me if I said no.”
“You’re correct.”
His smile only grows wider. “What can I do to prove that I’m just a guy with a certain set of skills in need of a job?”
“Nothing,” I answer quickly.
He nods, his attention going back to the water, and eventually I turn my eyes that direction as well.
We sit in silence. He doesn’t complain about me wasting his time or the goosebumps that pop up on his skin when the air turns colder.
“How did you find me?”
I hate to be the one to break the silence, but he doesn’t taunt me for losing the game.
“We ran into each other a few months back.”
I nod. “I don’t remember you.”
“Kind of the point, isn’t it?”
Sand filters from his fingertips. He’s composed but diligent, I realize, as I catch him clocking every person walking around.
“It was in Guadalajara on the Pinkett case.”
“How does a white boy go unnoticed in Mexico?”
His face is serious when he looks back at me.
“People see what they want to see. You have to know that some of the fastest growing trafficking rings are being led by white guys.”
He isn’t telling me anything I don’t know. The man that was standing in front of Lauren when I found her at the house weeks ago was as Caucasian as they come.
What does surprise me is that this guy just said all of that in perfect fucking Spanish.
His grin tells me I must not have hidden my shock as well as I would’ve hoped.
“Besides,” he says, going back to English. “Aren’t horny white men the ones buying all the abducted women?”
“For the most part,” I agree. “You were in Guadalajara for the Pinkett job?”
He shakes his head. “I was there to watch you work.”
I take stock of who is around me, and what my chances would be of slicing his throat and getting out of here before anyone noticed.
“How did you know I was going to be there?” He’s looking more and more like a fed to me.
“A friend told me.”
“I don’t have any friends.”
He doesn’t look flustered. He doesn’t start jabbering like most do when caught in a lie, and the man is lying. I can tell.
“Want to tell me the truth?” I challenge.
“I searched for you on the dark web.” He turns to look at me. “Actually, I just bumped into you in Farmington a few weeks back.”
My skin feels like it’s on fire despite the cool ocean breeze.
“Okay. I saw you a couple of weeks ago in Kansas.”
This motherfucker is following me, and I didn’t even know it.
I realize I’ve been distracted since the second I walked into the Cerberus clubhouse and saw Lauren standing there, but he’s been keeping an eye on me for much longer than that.
He’s gone unnoticed, undetected by me, and that’s cause for concern.
“Which one of those is true?”
All humor leaves his face when he looks at me again.
“All of them.”
“What are you not telling me?”
His eyes search mine for a long moment. “I’m number three-fifty-two.”
I swallow, my hands growing clammy. That burned patch of skin on the back of my neck feels as fresh of a wound as it did years ago when I had the tattoo burned off.
I don’t say a word as I stand and walk away, the number three-fifty-eight on repeat in my mind.