40. Maverick
40
Maverick
I stormed out of the suite, my heart pounding like a jackhammer against my rib cage. The door shut with a definitive click, and I immediately locked in on Paulie, who stood unaware that he was about to be on the receiving end of my pent-up fury.
“Paulie,” I spat his name like it was venom on my tongue. I took a step closer. “This is your fucking fault.” I shoved a finger in his face, feeling my temper slip.
Even in the dim light of the hallway, I could see his face drop, confusion etching across his features before I slammed his body against the wall. My fist connected with his jaw, a sickening crack echoing down the corridor. Pain shot through my hand, but it was nothing compared to the ache in my chest—the betrayal, Sophie’s hurt, everything compounding into this one explosive moment. I shook my hand out, keeping my other hand on his chest to pin him to the wall.
“What the fuck, man?” Paulie shouted. He sneered up at me, but I wasn’t done—not by a long shot.
“Fuck you, Paulie.” I grabbed the lapels of his jacket, yanking him off the wall only to send us both tumbling to the carpeted floor. Duane and the bodyguards posted outside my suite door were on us in seconds, trying to pry me away from the bastard beneath me.
“Get the hell off!” I growled, wrenching myself free with an effort that strained my muscles. I stood over Paulie, towering like an avenging angel of wrath. “I know what you did to her as teenagers, you fucking prick. Calling her Puff? Just to fit in with the popular crowd and get your cock wet?”
His eyes widened in shock, or maybe it was guilt—I didn’t care which. “Yeah, you think she just forgot about that? She was a teenage girl. You got in her head. And now, because of your petty bullshit, she’s fighting an eating disorder. And you have the gall to taunt her in my club before I fucking knew? I should’ve hit you sooner, but I didn’t realize how fucking bad it still was for her.”
Paulie lay there, propped on his elbows, staring at me with a mix of anger and something like regret. But regret wasn’t enough. Not for Sophie. Not for what he just put both me and her through.
“Make another snide comment about her, and I swear to fucking God, P, I’ll make you bleed for every word.” I leaned in close, letting him see the promise of violence in my eyes. “Do not fucking cross me, or her.”
Without waiting for an answer, I stepped over him. The bodyguards hauled him to his feet, and we all moved toward the elevator, a tense silence following us.
I should’ve had my guys stick to her like glue. In New York, I would’ve. But this wasn’t New York. This was Vegas. And she’d just crumpled in my arms like a marionette with its strings cut. Normally, I’d want my guys to hang back and give Sophie the protection she needed. But after that fucking incident, she wasn't going anywhere—not today. So, for now, I gave her the space she clearly needed.
We all piled into the elevator, the doors closing with a soft ding that was incongruously polite.
My chest hurt. I told Sophie how I felt—maybe not the most optimal timing—and she shut me out. She looked ashamed. Embarrassed. And maybe she should be. What she did to herself was dangerous, and thank God she was in a safe place when it happened.
I loved her, and I told her as much. She wasn’t ready to hear it, given how she retreated into herself when I said it, and it pissed me off, but I’d prove it to her.
“Sorry about the punch, P,” I muttered, though I wasn’t sure if I meant it. The numbers above the door ticked downward as we slipped back into the fortified basement where I had tortured that kid.
A copper tang of blood and sweat hung in the air. The chill of the concrete floors seeped through my dress shoes as we stepped into a small room with a one-way mirror spanning the wall before us, allowing us to see the torture room. It was a voyeuristic barrier to whatever lay behind the wall.
And in this case? The man beyond the glass was a wreck, limbs twitching uncontrollably, eyes darting around the room like a trapped animal. His fear radiated through the glass and snared my attention, reeling me in. Something about him sparked a sliver of recognition, but I couldn’t place it.
“Christ,” I muttered. “Who the fuck is this?” My voice came out sharper than I intended. I was still on edge after everything with Sophie.
Paulie’s lips twitched upward in a grim semblance of a smile. He’d wiped the blood away from his mouth, but that side of his face would surely bruise. “This is Rico Torres,” he said. “He’s been under our thumb for years, doing the dirty work.”
“Rico fucking Torres?” I snorted, recognizing the name. He was a street rat who had apparently turned informant. Perfect for dirty jobs no one wanted to touch.
“Exactly.” Paulie shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket, the material straining over his broad shoulders. “Thought you’d appreciate the introduction.”
I arched a brow. “Don’t know what I’d be appreciating at this point, since I have no fucking clue why I’m here.”
Duane leaned against the wall, his arms folded as if he were watching a tennis match. Always calm and collected. “Mav, when you put me on Sophie’s tail, things weren’t adding up. Chavez was spinning fairy tales about Eddie branching into human trafficking. It was bullshit. The guy had honor—was practically a saint compared to the rest of us. We all grew up knowing Eddie.”
“Saints don’t last long in our world,” I mumbled. Eddie had been different. Everyone knew it. There were lines you didn’t cross, and Eddie wouldn’t have crossed them. I’d always known it, but wanted to deny that my own flesh and blood were capable of something so horrific.
“Rico went deep cover for us,” Duane continued, his tone laced with something dark. “I kept it on the DL. He only reported to me and P. He played up your old man and your brothers.”
“And?” I pressed.
“He got so close, he could tell you which brand of cologne they splash on their shitty necks. Axel’s deep in meth, spreads it like wildfire. Kendrick’s got his fingers sticky with heroine, and Leo? He’s tripping balls into psychedelics.”
I’d probably laugh if I wasn’t about to throttle them both for not spitting it out already.
“Your dad?” Paulie chimed in, his voice dropping an octave. “He’s the puppet master, watching from above, pulling strings. You know this. It’s why you’re still a slave dealing cocaine even though you want out.”
I leaned closer to the mirror, the glass cool against my palms as I took deep breaths to calm my racing heart. I was going to have a fucking heart attack before thirty at this point.
“Rico here,” Paulie gestured toward the mirror, “has been our ears. Recording their talks, trailing their dirty cash. Trying to get intel where you were unsuccessful, in a way that wouldn’t seem like snooping.” Yep, that was my issue. I had to do it all slowly, prying without making it obvious. “But guess what they let slip to him? Their big, juicy secret moneymaker. Any wild guesses?”
I shut my eyes. I knew this was coming, but I wanted to believe they were better than this. That maybe there was some shred of their DNA that wasn’t this corrupted and horrible.
“Drugs, guns… women,” I admitted in defeat, already knowing the answer.
“Some kids, too. Rico has it all recorded,” Duane said quietly, as if realizing I needed a moment to digest this.
“Fuck,” I breathed out, a poisonous cocktail of rage and hatred swirling within me. “ Fuck. ” If these two weren’t here, I’d be spiraling.
“Turns out the family business has more branches than we thought,” Paulie murmured.
Duane nodded, his usually mischievous eyes clouded with anger. This is what I loved about them. They stood with me on all the right things. “They run an online bidding site that allows people to buy them. Then they get transported.”
I dropped my hands from the mirror and cracked my neck.
“It’s fucking dark, man. They’re raped and beat and God knows what else after they’re purchased. But they’re kept all over the country. Your old man has his claws deep in an international trafficking ring.”
“Son of a bitch,” I swore, my blood running hot then cold. A violent shudder ripped through me, the kind of visceral reaction you can’t control when your whole world tilts on its axis. I wanted to throw something, to fucking rage, but I needed to keep my cool.
“Rico confirmed on video that your dad put the hit out on Eddie because Eddie refused to partake. He even stole evidence of a conversation between Rick and Eddie. It was… heated. Eddie was adamant, saying he respected women and children and would never stoop to that level. Said there was enough money in the cartel without getting into that filth.”
I could almost hear Eddie’s voice. I’d only met the man a handful of times, but he was the kind of man who left a lasting impression. A good man, despite the line of work he’d found himself in.
“He worried too much for the safety of his three daughters and his wife,” Paulie continued. “Eddie knew this was the kind of thing that kept expanding until it became dangerous for all who were involved. But of course, Rick didn’t like that answer.”
Black dots danced in my vision. The sour taste of bile stung the back of my tongue, and I swallowed hard, fighting to keep my last meal where it belonged.
Duane sighed, a sound heavy with regret, and dropped the final bombshell. “There’s more.” I glowered at him, not sure I could handle more . The truth had always been there, clinging to the shadows. I’d refused to fully accept it. “Chavez is still involved, Mav. In between runs, he’s transporting women. Even during our runs. He blurs the lines. He proved his loyalty to your dad when he took Eddie’s life ten years ago, but Rico has led us to believe that Chavez might be playing both you and good ol' Rick for personal gain.”
I slammed a fist against the wall. The pain was a welcome distraction. “Transporting women and children ,” I spat. “He’s out there treating them like chattel while we run interference? Fucking coward.”
“Man’s got no spine, using those women to save his own skin,” Paulie muttered.
I rolled my shoulders, trying to get a handle on my anger. “I’ll make sure Chavez pays for every damn thing he’s done. Sophie’s been waiting a long time to take matters into her own hands, and I’m sure he’ll be wishing it was me taking his life instead. Then, we’ll focus on taking down my dad’s operation.” Except, he was no longer Dad to me.
“Great. Start by extracting everything you can from Rico. He flew here on his own dime, needing protection in the event it gets back to the rest of your family what he’s done.”
Rico was a mess, his face lined with terror as though he’d been dragged backward through hell to get here. Maybe he had, given how he jumped at the sound of the door opening. I pulled a chair up to sit across from him.
“Start talking. Everything you know, I need to hear it now.”
He swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing, and then the words poured out of him, a litany of sins so vile they finalized my hatred for the people I shared blood relations with. Each confession was another nail in their coffins, each detail a mental note engraved in stone. I pressed for the information I needed to implicate the man Sophie had risked her life hunting down. The man that, ironically, brought her to me.
“Chavez.” His name left my lips like a curse, and I could almost taste the vengeance on my tongue. Rico nodded.
“Every shipment, every sale, he’s mixed in it all,” Rico said, desperation cracking his voice. “Your father trusts him implicitly.”
“Was,” I corrected icily. “Chavez was involved. Because after I’m done with him, there won’t be a hole deep enough for him to crawl into.”
Now all I had to do was capture that damn cockroach of a man and bring Sophie in for her sweet, sweet revenge.
***
On my way back up to the suite, Paulie turned to me, an apologetic look on his face.
“I should apologize for taunting Sophie. I had no idea the lingering effects something from our childhood would have on her.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Is that your version of an apology?”
“Sorry, man. It’s not a situation I find myself in often.”
I snorted in disbelief. “You should be apologizing to her.” I shouldered past him to step onto the elevator, but paused. “But thanks. What you and D have found means a lot to me.” It was all I said before the doors closed between us, the elevator taking me back up to Sophie. I sagged against the metal wall. I was tired—exhausted, actually. All I wanted was to curl up in bed with my woman and forget about all the noise.
The taste of revenge was thick on my tongue as I stepped back into the suite, but I paused as the door shut when an eerie silence greeted me.
“Sophie?” No response.
My heart pounded as I searched each room only to come up empty. As if this day could get any fucking worse.
“Sophie!” I called, louder this time. Still nothing. The empty suite seemed to mock me, the scent of her perfume no longer in the air.
“Fuuuuuck.” The word dragged out of me as I picked up the decorative glass bowl sitting on the coffee table in the living room and threw it. It shattered, skittering pieces across the marble floors.
I crunched through the glass to the bedroom, taking note that her bags were gone. Back in the kitchen, I realized my credit card was missing, too. Good. At least I knew she wasn’t just walking away from it all. But of fucking course, I had to pull the bodyguards off our room, allowing her to slip away unnoticed. Now, where did she go? Another hotel?
I dug my phone out of my pocket, hoping maybe I’d missed a call or text from her, but nothing. Panic and frustration burned bright and hot in my chest. I opened my credit card app, thinking maybe she had bought something traceable. Sure enough, a large airline purchase sat pending.
She was going home? She was so upset that she couldn’t even fucking wait to finish our conversation? I told her I loved her and she went home? She had a medical emergency today and she felt the most appropriate response to it all was to go home ?
My lungs constricted, my pulse fucking rioting. I felt it crawling up my throat—the panic, the fury, the unbearable need to do something . My hands curled into fists, aching to hit something, to rip apart the thing keeping her from me.
Because this wasn’t just space. It was distance. It was her pulling away. It was something I couldn’t fucking stand.
But then I exhaled, tilting my head to the ceiling. Forced my fists to loosen. This was us. The games, the push and pull, the inevitable collision. We didn’t exist in softness—we burned, we wrecked, we tore each other apart just to put the pieces back together. She wanted space? Fine. I’d let her think she had it.
Until I decided otherwise.
Which would be as soon as Chavez was in my grasp.