Chapter 38
THIRTY-EIGHT
VALENTINA
“Be careful with him,” I hiss, feeling equal parts panic and frustration. McCrae grumbles, blowing a piece of hair off his sweat-slicked forehead as he looks over his shoulder at me.
“Do you want to hold him?”
I scowl, looking at the dirt covering the boys clothes. “No way.”
He rolls his eyes at me, and I cross my arms.
I pay McCrae to do my dirty work.
The him in question growls beneath McCrae, his feet flailing in an attempt to throw him off.
I hold my breath as McCrae lets him flail.
If he was a hundred pounds heavier, and a lot more intentional with his energy exertion, he might actually stand a chance—as it is, he reminds me of the boy he so obviously is.
“Just hold still,” McCrae bites out while wrapping a belt around his wrists to keep them tied up.
“Fuck you,” the boy snarls, his cheek pressed against the cool basement floor. It’s relatively clean down here, but I don’t particularly want him getting some mysterious disease because he spent hours licking the concrete.
As if having a similar thought, McCrae yanks him up by his fresh restraints, pulling his snarling face close to his own. He twists in McCrae’s grip, attempting to— “Did you really just try to bite me, you little fuck?”
I almost laugh. Almost. Something tells me McCrae wouldn’t find humor in that, though.
“Got him? We need to get him out back before the brother’s leave or something.
” Unease curls in my stomach. They’re likely looking for him right now, and if it comes to a fight, I’ll be of no help to McCrae.
The brothers have become quite a nuisance at the casino—stealing every chance they get, like they don’t think I notice.
I’m too fucking smart for that.
Still, if they’re desperate, who knows what they’re capable of?
“They won’t leave without the baby,” McCrae reassures me, and the kid yanks on his restraints, his eyes flashing as he bites again on the shirt wrapped between his teeth.
“Some people know a lost cause when they see one, McCrae. Not all people are dogs with a rotten bone like you.”
He glares at me over his shoulder. It’s clear he regrets telling me about his brother, but I don’t have time to worry about that right now. We need to get this kid out of here.
McCrae stands, pulling the writhing twat with him, when his phone rings, the vibration loud in the silent basement. “Grab that, will you?”
I reach into his pocket, withdrawing it, but I stop, staring at the name.
“Who is it?” he grumbles, the kid throwing his head around as McCrae fights to keep control of him.
“Mateo. He’s called twice.” That can’t be good.
“Answer it and hold it up to my ear for me.”
I watch the kid for a second, afraid if I get too close, I’ll somehow mess this up—ruining things is my specialty, after all, but he goes lax in McCrae’s arms long enough that I relax a fraction. I dial Mateo back, putting him on speaker.
“Boss?” McCrae huffs.
“Gus was in a bad barn fire. He and Stetson were rushed to the hospital with what sounded like severe burns—I don’t know more than that. Sounds like they were attacked, or did the attacking, I’m honestly not sure. Might want to head to the hospital.”
My heart drops in time with the blood draining from McCrae’s face. He goes instantly white, his voice shaking. “Wait, what?”
“McCrae, do something for someone else in your miserable life. I know you don’t get along with your brother, or approve of his life, but if he dies, the last conversation you had with him will be the last memory you have. Do you really want that?”
I bite my tongue to keep from screaming at Mateo. If only he knew McCrae—if only he knew how big his heart really was, he wouldn’t be saying these horrible things. But Mateo doesn’t give anyone the time of day—he’s too important.
“No.” McCrae tips his chin at me to hang up, and I do so without waiting to hear more. McCrae stands frozen a moment, and fear begins to creep up my spine at the vacant look in his eyes. Is he having a heart attack? What does a heart attack look like? Isn’t forty young for heart attacks?
All of a sudden, the kid rips from McCrae’s grip, bolting toward me. Petrified, I remain rooted to my spot like a statue, my feet no longer working.
McCrae grumbles before reaching out, grabbing the kid’s arm and yanking him back. But instead of falling toward him, the boy slips, falling to the floor. Everything feels like it’s moving in slow motion. One moment, the boy’s face is full of triumph as he races toward me; the next, he’s falling.
A sickening crunch fills the space a second before deathly silence. I’d know the sound anywhere.
“Oh God, he’s bleeding.” My voice trembles as I watch the pool grow around his head, unable to move, as if I’m in some kind of horror movie. McCrae shakes his head, staring at the boy, but his gaze is far away.
“He just slipped. People slip all the time.” He turns, patting his pockets like he’s looking for something. Terror consumes me as the pool continues to crawl toward my anchored feet. “I don’t have time for this, V. I need to get to Moztecha.”
“McCrae—” My voice is a shattered whisper.
“Let’s go, fucker. Time to get you back to your brothers so you can be their problem, and I can go deal with my own.” He tries pulling him up, but he’s like a bag of rocks—the boys head lulls to the side, his eyes open, staring at the ceiling.
“Fuck me.” The words wheeze from McCrae’s throat, and I gasp around a sob.
His face is white, a gash across his forehead smeared in dark crimson. The blood continues to pump out of the wound, running down the sides of his face and into his ears. But it’s his eyes, wide open and staring, that’ll haunt me forever.
“He’s dead.” I gag, but McCrae just continues to stare at him.
To my horror, McCrae drops to his knees, falling directly into a pool of quickly spreading blood as he lifts the boy’s face off the ground.
He can’t die—he’s too young, too full of fight, to die.
“I need to get help.” I gasp, moving toward the stairs.
“You can’t.” His voice is sad, hard. I freeze but don’t turn around to look at him.
“What are you talking about?”
“No one will believe us that it was an accident. We were holding him fucking hostage, for fuck’s sake. And I can’t go to jail, not right now—not when Gus is in the hospital—” His words teeter off.
It’s not a good excuse. We should be punished for what we’ve done, accident or not. But the thought of being alone—of losing McCrae? It’s more than I can bear.
“You can’t go to jail,” I parrot, steeling my spine as I reluctantly turn around, taking in the sight befitting a horror film.
“I have to clean this up, and you need to go find a computer and figure out his brother’s phone number or something. We can’t give the brothers his body—that’ll be giving them too much evidence—but I can’t not give them something…”
I nod vigorously in understanding. If this was Mateo—bile crawls up my throat at the thought; I won’t think like that—I can’t.
“I’ll be right back.”
We stare in strangled silence at the giant rock, its edge cutting from the ground like a knife. The sky’s turned to grey above us, the thick smell of rain in the air.
“You sure we have to leave anything?” I ask, not for the first time.
“Yes.”
Even though I know it’s the right thing to do, I can’t help but worry we’re setting ourselves up. We know nothing about these men besides that they’ve made a habit of stealing from us. Will they seek revenge for their missing brother?
I know I would if it were Mateo.
Maybe they’re different—maybe they’re better than I am.
“Okay, well, I sent the message off the burner like you asked. You sure the cremator will keep quiet?”
McCrae exhales loudly, clearly at his wits’ end with my nerves.
After cleaning up the basement—McCrae and the boy included—we dropped him off at a cremator who does jobs on the side, for a price. Then, we drove out here to bum-fuck nowhere and buried his wallet, keys, and an old picture that was folded in his pocket near Rock Saninto for his brothers to find.
It feels like a trap, one we’re setting for ourselves. There’s no turning back now, though—no matter how badly I want to.
I wrap a hand around McCrae’s bicep, and he slowly faces me. There’s a hard edge to his face, a reservation I’ve never once experienced.
I feel like this is the beginning of the end for us.
No matter what happens, this has set in motion a plan to drive us apart.
Some cosmic force, karma and all that shit; it’ll no longer tolerate the devil and the demon in cahoots.
We’re two outlaws too many, an imbalance of good and evil in the world.
It makes no sense—we now hold more secrets of each other’s than anyone else—but I feel their weight starting to shred our bond apart.
I cling to him, and his eyes soften a fraction.
“We should go,” he says gruffly, and I just nod.
“What will you do with the ashes?” I whisper, sliding into the driver's seat of my car.
McCrae gets this far off look on his face before he finally says, “I’ll take him to the beach, somewhere special we used to go.”