Chapter 2
DEAN
The plane jolted as its wheels kissed the tarmac, the screech of rubber loud in the cabin’s silence.
Mexico.
He recognized this place with his eyes closed. The air was familiar, even the heat and the way it penetrated the windows screamed that he was home. No, not home…where he was born.
Not in a million years did he ever think he would willingly, while still breathing, step foot on this part of the earth again. There were too many bad memories that had become nightmares.
The children had luckily slept for the plane ride, but Yasmine had been as awake and alert as Dean was. They didn’t say a word, but her eyes mirrored the same worry and restless calculations that ran through his head. They needed to wait until everyone’s guard was down, then run.
But run where?
The only place that Dean thought of that would be safe was Morry’s. She was not only the closest, but he trusted her with his life.
Dean’s hands fisted as he pulled against the restraints biting into his wrists.
He’d spent the entire flight caged in silence with tape over his mouth.
At least his father had let the boys sit with Yasmine.
His sons were pressed to Yasmine’s side, but stayed stoic and didn’t cry before they finally fell asleep.
She stroked their hair with trembling fingers, whispering soft reassurances.
But it wasn’t the twins that gutted him. It was the empty space in her lap.
Isabella.
His father sat as proud as punch at the front of the plane with Isabella in his arms. Luckily, she’d fallen asleep. Every now and then, he would look back and smirk, just to make his point. All of them were his prisoners and there was nothing that they could do now.
Fucker.
Dean’s bones ached with the rage that flowed through his body. The years of hate once more bubbling to the surface like a volcano ready to explode.
The wheels thudded, the plane slowed, and the cabin swayed as it taxied down the private runway. Heat shimmered against the windows, a stark contrast to the cooler air they’d left behind. Palm trees bent in the distance, their fronds swaying like skeletal hands.
Dean’s throat tightened. Memories flooded, unbidden. The stink of blood on stone, the iron tang of chains, the sound of his father’s voice barking orders while people screamed. His boyhood had been broken here, in this land, inside the walls of his father’s empire.
And now his children were being dragged into the same hell.
The guards stood at once, guns raised.
“Up,” one barked.
Dean rose slowly as Yasmine’s green eyes met his. Even through the fear, he could clearly understand what she was trying to convey.
Don’t break.
Waking the boys Yasmine ushered them toward the door.
He was shoved down the narrow aisle, the plane’s steps unfolding onto blistering asphalt.
Heat slammed into him, carrying the grit of dust, jet fuel, and the bright, musky scent of cempasúchil on the wind. Beyond the perimeter fence, black SUVs waited, lined like a funeral procession.
That’s what it felt like being back here…like it was only a matter of time before he would meet his maker or maybe burn in hell.
His father…or the monster leaned against the hood of the lead vehicle. He was feared across the country and for good reason. He didn’t just control his area. No, he lived to squash and seize more land, and he’d do it in the most despicable ways. Murder, rape, kidnapping. He had no limits.
There were only two families that were strong enough to stand up to him. Maeve’s family was one of them, and as long as she remained hidden and safe, he would never have that chip to play.
Isabella was still sound asleep in his father’s arms, her small fists clutching the man’s suit jacket, as he patted her back like she was his own.
Dean’s vision went white, there in the back of his mind helicopter blades beat the air. He stopped and shook his head, demanding his mind to stay with it. Years, it had been years since he’d had a PTSD flashback. Of course, his father would bring out the worst.
He tripped then surged forward as he tried to stop himself from falling. The guards took it as a threat and jabbed a gun into his ribs, forcing him back. He ground his teeth but didn’t explain. The visions and reliving of his past would be seen as a weakness, and something to exploit.
“Easy, hijo,” his father called out, that smug smile fixed. “I would hate for a bullet to find the wrong target before we even leave the runway.”
Yasmine’s hand closed around Dean’s arm. “You okay?” she asked, voice concerned. Dean nodded.
They were herded into the middle SUV, Dean shoved into the far seat, Yasmine and the twins squeezed in beside him. The door slammed, locking them in with two guards. Outside, the convoy engines roared to life.
Dean’s gaze never left the lead vehicle as it rolled ahead.
Through the tinted glass, he caught glimpses of his father…
the man who’d destroyed his childhood. His chest ached with every mile that widened the distance between them and the runway.
The old, dark fear and rage gripped the back of his throat the closer they got to the compound.
The drive blurred into a nightmare.
The further they went, the more the world around them changed.
The airport gave way to sprawling roads, then to narrow dirt lanes carved between villages.
Market stalls lined the roadside, faces turned toward the black convoy with a mixture of fear and resignation.
Children paused their games, mothers pulling them close.
Everyone knew who was inside of the SUVs.
Dean stared out the window, jaw locked. He recognized these roads, had run down them pretending to be free many times. The cracked sign posts. The hills that rose like jagged teeth in the distance. Every turn dragged him deeper into the land he’d bled to escape. Very little had changed.
He glanced at his sons, their small bodies glued to Yasmine. One twin leaned against her belly, the other against her arm. Both were silent, their eyes too old for their years.
They shouldn’t have been there. They should have been at home, arguing about swings, eating popsicles and drinking juice. They were supposed to be safe.
Minutes bled away until the convoy slowed. Ahead loomed high walls of sun-bleached stone crowned with razor wire. Guard towers could be seen around the property, men armed with long-range guns, at the ready for anyone who tried to run. Massive iron gates yawned open, swallowing the SUVs whole.
The compound…his hell.
Dean’s stomach knotted. He remembered this place. Every crack in the walls, every echoing hallway. The prison that had forged him into a killer. A killer honed by the army to serve their purpose.
And now he was back. His family trapped with him, and all he wanted to do was scream at the sky and ask why.
The SUVs rolled across the courtyard, dust kicking up under the tires before finally rolling to a stop. Guards lined the edge of the mansion, armed, but impassive. Dean’s father stepped out first, cradling Isabella as if she were some treasured heir.
The vehicle’s doors opened at once and Dean was yanked into the blistering sun, wrists still bound, guards flanking him. Yasmine was pulled beside him, the twins clinging desperately until rough hands tore them away.
“No!” Yasmine cried, fighting, her hair flying around her face. “Don’t touch them!”
Dean lunged forward, but another rifle butt cracked across his shoulders. He staggered, teeth clenched, fury boiling so hot he tasted blood.
“Enough,” his father’s voice cut through the chaos, smooth, commanding. He strode across the courtyard, Isabella balanced in one arm, casual as if this were some family reunion. “They are mine now. My blood. My legacy. Not yours. At least not until you prove yourself worthy to lead this family.”
Dean lifted his head, hatred burning in his stare. “Give Yasmine back our children.”
His father chuckled. “All in good time. First, you’ll see your accommodations and you will learn the rules, then we’ll have a meal together.
Afterwards…I will return them to you.” He bounced Isabella lightly, making her whimper.
“For now, they will remain with me. A guarantee of your…cooperation and a reminder of the power I hold.”
Dean’s chest constricted, breath shattering in his lungs. Every instinct screamed to kill, to tear this place down one stone at a time until Isabella was safe in his arms.
But the twins were crying, Yasmine struggled, rifles pressed to every angle of their bodies.
He had no choice, and his father knew it. He’d planned it this way, and Dean’s complacency had made it all too easy.
His father gestured, and the guards shoved them toward the interior. Stone corridors swallowed them, lined with faded murals, and the stench of mildew. Dean’s boots echoed against the floor, each step dragging him deeper into hell.
They were led to a set of heavy wooden doors that swung open into a sprawling suite, it was lavish even by cartel standards.
A king bed, smaller beds for the twins, and even a crib tucked into the corner.
He’d been planning this for awhile, which meant he knew about the kids and Dean’s routine.
Father had been watching from the shadows and Dean had never seen it.
Curtains fluttered in the hot breeze from the barred windows.
He turned in a circle and froze. There on the dresser was a photo of him and Maeve before they ran.
She was just a little girl, and he was holding her hand.
She smiled for the camera, he had no expression at all, but that didn’t stop the memories of that day.
How he’d been told that as soon as Maeve turned thirteen, he was to wed her and get her pregnant.
That was never going to happen. That was when he’d made the decision to run and take her with him.
Rage rippled through him, almost blinding.
“Get cleaned up and dressed, you’ll be summoned for dinner in an hour,” the guard said before closing the doors. The lock clicked home and the silence felt heavy on him and Yasmine.
“Here let me help you.” Yasmine walked over to the desk and opened the drawers, finding a pair of scissors. “Not sure he should keep these in here,” she grumbled, walking back. “I’d definitely use them on him.”
Dean smirked and turned around. He pressed his forehead to the cool wood as Yasmine cut the zip ties.
He sucked in a deep breath as the blood rushed back into his limbs, the tingling pain hurting all the way up his arms. Gripping the silver tape over his mouth, he ripped it off and slammed his fist against the closed door.
“I know this is a really…horrible situation,” Yasmine said, laying her hand on his back. “But we need to keep our cool. Keeping the kids safe and finding a way out of here is all that matters.”
Dean’s chest heaved. He turned back, meeting her gaze.
Her eyes were steel through the fear. “We’ll get her back,” she stated, voice raw. “We’ll get all of them back. We just…we just need to survive this. Do what he wants until his guard is down.”
Dean wrapped his arms around Yasmine, pulling her into him until her chest lay over his heart.
“We survive,” he rasped, his voice cracking. “We survive, and then I kill him. I’ll make him pay. I promise you.”
Outside the window, faint laughter drifted through the courtyard. His father’s laughter, followed by a soft cry of a baby girl. The first chance Dean got he was going to do what he should’ve done at eighteen and rip his father’s beating heart from his chest.
There would be no more running from this moment on.