Chapter 24 Marlowe
TWENTY-FOUR
marlowe
The world wobbles back to life. But it’s wrong. Everything about it.
A sharp, noxious smell of industrial cleaner burns my nostrils. The metallic scent of rust permeates the air.
My cheek rests against something cold and scratchy. Concrete under my cheek. I try to wiggle my fingers but they’re numb and—
I try to move my arms. Fuck. Zip ties wrap tight around my wrists, making them throb with every sluggish beat of my heart.
What the hell?
I force my eyes open. My lids feel like lead weights are pressing on them. The air is thick, my brain foggy and aching.
Realization hits. I was drugged. Someone fucking drugged me.
But who?
Fluorescent lights flicker overhead. I squint from my position on the floor.
Looks like a vacant warehouse. It’s a big space with exposed pipes running along the ceiling and water stains staining the cinderblock walls that surround me.
Pallets are stacked in corners. A metal chair is bolted to the floor about ten feet away from where I lay.
My shoulders are screaming. A dancer’s flexibility means I can feel exactly how excruciating this position is, and it’s only going to get worse when the drugs wear off.
Footsteps approach. But they’re slow, like the person who took me is in no hurry to be exposed.
A shadow finally falls over me.
“You’re awake. Good. I was worried I gave you too much.”
Leon.
Leon?
He crouches down. His eyes are vacant. Completely hollow and ice cold. Nothing like the warm, helpful gaze of the friend I thought I knew.
“Leon.” My voice comes out cracked. “What—?”
“Don’t talk yet.” He straightens, running a hand through his hair.
Sweat pebbles on his temples even though it’s cool in here.
His fingers tremble before he steeples them in front of his face.
“The sedative takes a while to clear. I’d rather have this conversation when you can properly understand what’s happening. ”
I try to push myself up, but my arms won’t cooperate. I collapse back to the concrete, the cracked surface scraping against my cheek.
“Rest,” he says. “Your husband will be here soon enough.”
Declan.
The name slices through the fog of my memory. Declan. The brownstone. The animals going crazy. Raffy at the door. I was upset because Declan sent me to bed like a child. Then I went outside to clear my head and…
Leon was there. Waiting in the shadows.
I’d been shocked to see him. Then something sharp and silver caught the overhead light. A gleaming knife pierced my throat. A hand slapped over my mouth.
Then…nothing.
“It was a beautiful coincidence, really. You appeared as if I’d summoned you. But I never even had to send a text or make a call.”
“You drugged me,” I say.
“I did.” No apology. “The element of surprise only works if you can’t fight back. And you would have, Marlowe. All that fire in that dancer’s body. You’d have fought. Hard.”
The calculated way he says it makes my skin crawl.
“Why would you do it? Why would you kidnap me?”
Leon laughs. It’s a hollow, horrible sound that grates against my ears and makes me shudder.
“Because you’re worth more as bait than you ever were as a friend.”
Then he leaves me.
Time passes. Minutes. Maybe an hour. It’s hard to tell when your brain feels like it’s wrapped in gauze.
Leon disappeared into another part of the warehouse.
I use the time to take inventory and figure out a way to break free.
I tug my hands apart, gritting my teeth.
Shit. My wrists are bound, raw, and most likely bleeding where the plastic digs in.
Fucking useless. My ankles, equally so. My brain can at least function now that the drugs are fading.
But that also means the pain is coming. A dull roar already builds in my shoulders.
I push myself into a seated position against the leg of a nearby metal chair. It’s not comfortable, but I’d rather be sitting up than face down on the floor like a damn animal waiting for slaughter.
Think, Marlowe.
Leon is not my friend. That’s obvious now. But why? What does he want with Declan when this has always been about my father? The drug haze has lifted somewhat, but my brain is still sputtering.
Leon returns with a water bottle and a phone. He sees I’ve moved and raises an eyebrow.
“Impressive. Most people stay down longer.” He crouches in front of me and holds the water to my lips. “Drink. I need you coherent.”
I want to refuse because fuck him. But my throat is sandpaper, so I drink.
“You have questions,” he says. “I can see them behind your eyes.”
“Then answer them.”
“I don’t owe you anything.” He settles back, quiet for a long stretch. He sighs. “But I guess it doesn’t matter now. You’re not leaving here except through your husband. He’s interfered with my business and now I’m going to collect.”
“Your business?” I ask, giving my head a confused shake. “You’re in finance. How would Declan interfere with your business?”
Something flickers in his eyes. Surprise, maybe. “Because while I am technically in ‘finance,’ I have one primary client. And now everything, including my life, is on the chopping block because he fucking interfered with my plans.”
My mouth drops open. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m saying that I’m not the person you think I am.” His eyes glitter with ice and anger.
“T-then w-who are you?” I say in a breathless whisper, trying like hell to process what I’m hearing. Because Leon is a wealthy financier who dabbles in social circles around the arts. That’s how we met in the first place. He’s cultured. Educated. We’re cut from the same cloth.
Or are we?
“Leon Fuentes. Garcia was easier. A more forgettable name. The alias I work under. Garcia is the kind of name that lets you move through donor galas without anyone looking too hard.”
“Fuentes,” I repeat. Why does that name sound familiar to me? Maybe it doesn’t. Maybe it’s just the drugs making me think that. But I don’t think so. I think I’ve heard it before.
“My father runs the Roja Cartel.” He laughs bitterly.
“But I’m not good enough for his business.
Never was. So I work for the Cinco Cartel instead.
Moving and laundering money. Facilitating deals.
Keeping my head down and doing what I’m told.
” He shrugs. “I guess in very loose terms, you could say it’s a flavor of finance. ”
“Jesus,” I mutter. Cartels. Cinco. Roja. Names I’ve heard whispered. By Declan. By his brothers. Connected to violence and drugs and things that live in dark, dangerous shadows.
“I don’t understand,” I say. “Why would you lie to me about who you really are? You said you’d help me find my dad. I trusted you.”
Leon stops pacing. His whole body goes tense, eyes narrowing to slits.
“Newsflash. Your dear daddy liked to gamble. Big time. Dog fights, boxing matches, anything with blood and odds.” His voice hardens to stone.
“But he wasn’t very good at it. And when you’re bad at gambling, you borrow.
When you borrow from Cinco, you’d better be prepared to pay.
Or you run for your life because if they find you, they’ll take it. No questions asked.”
Oh my God…Daddy…how the hell could you do something so fucking stupid?
“Did he…run away?”
Leon gives a swift nod. “Liquidated what he could without your mother noticing, scattered it across offshore accounts, and fucking vanished.” His face twists.
“Left behind his wife. His company. His precious ballerina daughter. Because Heston Briggs loves Heston Briggs more than he loves anyone else.”
The words hit like a machete to my chest.
I want to defend him. I know my father loves me. But if this is really true…
A sudden flash of anger roars through my insides. My heart clenches tight, and I nearly choke on my thudding pulse.
He hasn’t reached out at all to make sure I’m okay. He left me and Mom here all alone with those cartel thugs circling like vultures because of something he did, and he’s out there somewhere, protecting his ass.
He left. He left and didn’t tell me. Didn’t warn me. Didn’t take me with him. I’ve been worried about him, trying to figure out any clues that might lead to his whereabouts.
And all the while, he’s been safe. Protected somewhere. Unlike me and Mom.
Pieces of the puzzle snap into place with disturbing clarity. “So the threats I’ve gotten,” I muse. “The shoot-out at my apartment, then again at the party his family threw. All of it was—”
“Because of him. Cinco wanted their money. They were going to use you, then your mother, to draw him out of hiding. Whatever it took. They were banking on the fact that if he knew you were in danger, he’d step up.
But he fucking didn’t.” Leon runs a hand over his face “I was supposed to deliver. That was my job. Find Briggs, or some leverage we could use against him. Or fucking else.”
“And I was going to be the leverage?” My voice is tight, a gaggle of tears lodged in my throat.
Leon’s eyes focus on me, spewing ire. “Yes.”
All this talk is making him unravel. Cracks in his composure widen with every minute that ticks past.
He paces. Checks his phone. Paces some more. Mutters to himself.
“I owe Cinco money, too,” he growls. “A lot. More than your father. I made dumbass mistakes. Skimmed when I shouldn’t have.
Tried to get ahead, figuring I’d be able to call the shots in my own life, fuck my father.
” His laugh is sharp, unhinged. “But they found out. They always fucking find out. And now they want my fucking head unless I can redeem myself.”
He turns to face me, the muscles in his jaw ticcing.
“They gave me a choice. Produce something valuable or die. Your father was supposed to be that something. I was going to use you to find him by gathering information. Old accounts, stories, names, where he liked to go, who he did business with.” A thin smile lifts his lips.
“Offering to help you gave me an excuse to ask questions. To poke around with your consent.”