Emiliano
I SHOULD’VE KNOWN
With nothing at the main house to give me any idea of where Taina and Paloma could be, I speed to my apartment and change into sweats and a T-shirt.
With murder on my mind, I also grab another one of my handguns and my leather sleeve of freshly sharpened blades.
If someone is going to die, I want it to be painful.
I’d prefer not to show Taina that side of me, but a message must be sent: You do not fuck with a Pineros or anyone they love.
There’ve been no updates on the warehouse, and neither Papo nor Berto have reached out. They came at us from too many angles for us be able to quickly retaliate.
The warehouse shoot out was seemingly just a distraction for their intended targets. In my desire to keep Taina from harm, I merely expedited it. And whoever took her, knew things. Knew our alarm system and codes, knew how Ignacio operates, knew what security would look like at this event.
The strangest part is…no one patrolling outside Mami’s house noticed anything suspicious.
I reach for my phone, my brain so close to cracking the code that I swear I almost have it.
While I want to call Ignacio, Fernando would likely be the next best person to speak to.
He answers the phone with, “Yes, Boss?”
“Ask the soldados patrolling if there were any familiar faces hanging around the property that weren’t inside with us. Anyone they knew that only hung around for a short amount of time before leaving.” I don’t know if my rapid-fire words make any sense to him, but I certainly hope so.
“I’ll call back after I speak to them,” he informs me, not bothering to say goodbye before he hangs up.
My phone rings, and I immediately answer, barely registering Berto’s name across the screen.
“Did you find her?” I rush the question out.
“No,” he answers, and I hear shuffling and grunting in the background. “But I might have a pretty good idea of who has her. I just got an email you’re gonna want to check out.”
My laptop notifies me as an email comes through, and I see by the subject line that Berto forwarded it to me. The original sender has the hardware store’s website listed as the domain.
While I’m happy to see that the footage came in, I’m not sure how it’s going to help us find Taina. Or Paloma.
With my fingertips, I maneuver the arrow on the screen and tap the play button. The gritty white-and-black video has my eyes straining at first, and then it zeroes in on her.
There’s Taina, slightly hunched over, as if she’s trying to hide from someone.
Whoever sent the video panned toward where she’s looking, and I can’t quite make them out.
When the video zooms out again, I see her rush toward the registers and duck inside one, bringing her knees to her chest and holding herself.
Watching her like this makes me want to tear someone apart with my bare hands. Even in this grainy video with its shitty quality, I can see her fear as she says something to the woman working the register .
And when I see who stands there, my blood turns cold.
“What…”
“I should’ve known.” Berto’s words eat at me, because how could I not have? In the background, a gunshot goes off. And it’s like the sound wakes me up, getting my feet moving to get the fuck out of here. I pick up the bag I tucked the gun and knives into.
There’s a knock at my door, and I immediately whip out my gun, preparing to end whoever is on the other side. No one knows I’m here. And since the concierge didn’t call, I have even more reason to have this thing aimed at the door.
“Hold on,” I whisper to Berto. “Someone’s here.”
“On our way.” The line disconnects as I walk as quietly toward the door as I can.
“Your big ass couldn’t tiptoe to save your life. Open up, pinche cabrón .”
I release the breath I was holding, drop my bag, and unlock the door.
When Ignacio walks in, I pull him in for a hug, holding on to him in a way I haven’t done since Papi died. I lean back and kiss him on the cheek, my very foundation crumbling and reshaping itself.
“What the fuck, man,” he grumbles, shoving me away.
He’s still in his bulletproof vest, now covered in sweat and grime.
There’s blood splattered on the arm of his white dress shirt, and he probably scared anyone he may’ve seen on the way up here.
“Any idea where they are?” He leans forward as he asks, with a vested interest that’s so foreign to me.
It would sound an internal alarm if I didn’t already have an idea of what’s going on…
“I might,” I tell him, turning the laptop toward him and pressing play so he can watch. As he stands in front of my computer, I pick up my bag, reaching for my gun.
Time to do something I never thought I’d ever have to do.