Chapter 49 – remi #2
Racking my Glock, I grab three extra magazines, tucking one into each boot and the third down the front of my top.
Mamá keeps her distance and flashes her headlights. I raise a hand to let her know I’m okay, then head toward Rafe. Glass crunches under my boots with each step, and I find myself hoping he’s still conscious.
What fun would this be otherwise?
As if in answer to my thoughts, a bloodied hand pushes through the shattered driver’s-side window. I keep my gun trained on him, prepared for anything, but it quickly becomes clear that this bastard is too broken to pose much of a threat.
Part of me is almost disappointed. I came here ready for a fight, and putting a bullet in him while he can barely crawl feels too easy. Then again, I’ll take my wins where I can get them.
I stop a few feet from the wreckage, tilting my head.
“Beautiful night for a drive, isn’t it?”
“B-Bitch…” he stammers, then spits blood onto the asphalt.
The sight of him dragging his ruined body across the ground sends a wave of déjà vu through me.
The last time I watched a man crawl from a wreck like this, I was behind the wheel of his car with Papá beside me, and his friend had already met the same fate.
How poetic.
I crouch in front of Rafe and tap my gun’s barrel against his forehead. I should get this over with, shoot him, and be done with it instead of standing here, inviting a villain monologue. But we were friends once, or at least I thought we were, and I need to know what changed.
I guess I should’ve learned that lesson from Casper, Val’s traitor.
“What happened between us, Rafe?” I ask. “I thought we were cool. Did I piss in your Cheerios or something?”
He drags himself into a sitting position, and I step back several steps, staying just beyond his reach. It’s not that I think he can hurt me, but I’ve already made the mistake of underestimating a desperate man once tonight.
“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” he says before spitting another mouthful of blood.
“I liked you, Remi. A lot. I respected your skill and everything you brought to this track.” His face twists with anger.
“But then you got too good. People started showing up to watch you. Racers wanted to run against you instead of me. Money started moving in directions I couldn’t control, and every time you showed up, this place became a little less mine. ”
I stare at him. “So this is about your fucking ego?”
“It’s about respect,” he spits. “I built something here, and you walked in like you owned it.”
“You tried to have me killed because people like me more than they like you?” I shake my head. “That might be the most pathetic shit I’ve ever heard.”
His eyes narrow, but instead of firing back, his attention drops to the gun in my hand. He studies me for a moment before looking back at my face. “Yeah,” he says slowly. “My guy came to see you today, didn’t he?”
I don’t answer.
“Is he dead?”
“Very.”
Instead of looking upset, Rafe nods as if I’ve just confirmed what he already suspected.
“I fucking knew it. The rumor is true.”
My expression sours. “What rumor?”
He laughs, then winces from the pain. “The massacre here years ago. Casper. Balterra. People disappearing.” Lifting his bloodied face, he meets my gaze. “You and Valentina. You’re one of them.”
I arch an eyebrow. “One of who?” I ask. “Please. Enlighten me.”
“The Six.”
Hearing those words come out of his mouth changes everything. Civilians don’t know The Six exists. They’re not supposed to. So how the fuck does he know?
I level my gun on him again. “Where’d you hear that?”
He runs his tongue over his bloodstained teeth, then gives me a humorless smile. “So it is true? Fuck.”
I realize my mistake a second too late. My reaction gave him the answer he was searching for. “Talk.”
“I’m not telling you nothin’. Either way, you’re still gonna kill me.”
“True,” I say with a shrug.
He shakes his head in disbelief. “This is some real-life John Wick shit.”
Despite the situation and the very real possibility that someone out there knows who my family is, what they were, and is running their mouth about it, I can’t help but grin.
Before I can decide how far I’m willing to push him for information, the roar of approaching engines cuts through the night.
Rafe’s expression changes.
“I’ve been running this track for two years, and I ran one in Miami for five before that. I can spot a bullshit bait bid from a mile away.” He coughs, blood spilling down his chin. “Two steps ahead, Remi.”
Headlights appear in the distance, one after another, and the mistake I made becomes painfully clear. My body tenses as I count them. I underestimated him. Rafe knew the bid was a trap, yet he came anyway because he had a plan of his own.
“My only regret,” he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “is that I never got a taste of that sweet—”
I put a bullet through his face before he can finish. “Taste that.” Pivoting, I sprint toward my car. “Mamá!” I yell. “Ambush!”
Tires screech behind me as a small fleet of cars tears across the bridge. A second later, gunfire erupts, and I brace for bullets that never reach me.
The Hellcat swings sideways across the road, blocking both lanes.
Amalia Montesinos leans out the driver’s-side window, a rifle in her hands and a smile on her face as she unleashes a barrage of automatic fire at the approaching cars.
For a moment, all I can do is stare.
Holy shit.
That’s my mother.