13. Ghost
GHOST
I shift, trying to ease the ache in my body. I’m tied up in the corner of the hangar. They didn’t make the same mistake this time and have ensured I’m properly bound by using more than just a couple of cable ties, which are too easy for someone with my training to break.
From what I can tell, Hector believes his son is still alive.
For now.
I know this won’t last. At some point, the truth is going to be unveiled, and the minute it is, I’ll end up with a bullet in my head.
My brain thumps inside my skull and behind my eyes.
I wish the pain would stop so I could think clearly.
All I’m focused on is looking for a way to escape.
If the exchange doesn’t happen, I’m a dead man.
But if it is allowed to go ahead, then I’ll end up dead, too, and most likely so will at least some of my club.
Hector will quickly realize we don’t have Ledger, and he isn’t going to allow the murder of his son to go unpunished, no matter how terrible of a person Ledger was.
There’s only one answer that’s clear to me.
Hector also needs to end up dead.
It’s the only way to save Camile and her family, too.
I wish I understood a little more about how cartels worked, and the organization within them.
Are there men back in Mexico who are just waiting to take the reins if something were to happen to Hector?
Does he have other family members who would slide into his place?
Or if we cut off the head of the snake, would the body also die?
Footsteps approach, and I lift my head, looking through my one good eye at the older man approaching.
“Your club does not seem to be in any hurry to get you back,” Hector observes, his face curled into that permanent smirk caused by his scar.
“Yeah, well, I can be a pain in the ass. I don’t blame them.”
“I hope they’re not planning on doing something stupid.”
“We’re an MC. We’re not exactly known for our brains.” I shrug and give a soft laugh. Trying to make yourself half likeable to the person who has taken you is another way to eke out time in captivity, and right now, buying time is the most important thing I can do.
Hector taps his lips. “Something tells me you are more intelligent than you make out.”
“Nah.” I shrug. “We’re all just muscle and mayhem.”
He purses his mouth. “Maybe some of you, but others…” He narrows his eyes.
Does he know I have a military background? If he does, he may be more suspicious of me than if he thinks I’m just a biker. If I play dumb, they’re more likely to make a mistake somewhere along the way.
I know Jack and the others aren’t dumb either. Some of the club members aren’t the brainiest, though—the Numbnuts being the most obvious examples.
God, how I wish the MC was here now to get me out of this place.
But Jack’s been shot, and I have no idea what his condition is.
If he’s fighting for his life, the last thing he’ll be worrying about is what’s going on with me.
I’m confident the rest of the MC won’t just give up on me, though.
They’ll be doing whatever it takes to get me back.
“Do you know if my club prez has pulled through?” If Hector has someone on the inside, perhaps they’ve told him how Jack is doing? I doubt he’ll tell me, but I have to ask, even though he probably hasn’t got a fucking clue.
I’m worried sick about Jack. The last thing I saw before my world went black was him getting hit in the leg. I don’t know if he sustained more injuries after.
The cartel is unlikely to have eyes at the hospital.
So, unless his insider has updated him with recent club news, he won’t know.
Still, I try, despite knowing it’s a long shot.
They’re here for Ledger, nothing more. They aren’t going to have spies all over the place.
Besides which, Hector has said that shooting Jack was a mistake, and I believe him.
In which case he wouldn’t have known Jack would end up in hospital and have anyone planted there.
Hector pauses then says, “There is no indication that he has died.”
I note that somewhat interesting response. That’s the sort of answer a politician would give to a question he doesn’t like, or a bare-faced lie, which is the more likely option. It’s also bad news for us, as him giving me such a bullshit answer shows Hector can’t be trusted even a little.
He could just decide to shoot me at any moment.
Still, at least now Camile will be looked after, and that’s what’s important.
Of course, I don’t want to die, and my heart aches at the loss of the future we might have had, but her going on to live a long and happy life is all that matters to me, even if I don’t get to be a part of it.
I’m so grateful to Rook and Ace for including me in what they have together, even if it was only one time. I wish I’d stayed afterward now, but I’d been beating myself up for giving in like I had.
What a fool I’d been. I’d been given the greatest gift, and I’d run from it. Fear got in the way of what I really wanted, and I won’t let it happen again if I survive this. I’ll find the strength to claim what I want, Camile, and more, a place in the family she’s building with Ace and Rook.
Maybe with Jack, too, if he pulls through. God, I really don’t want him to die; he’s like family to me. Despite not caring for Jack personally, I doubt Hector wants Jack to die either. If he does, he must realize there is no way he’ll be getting his son back.
Not that Hector will ever see his son again. Shooting Jack had been a mistake, but the man responsible has already paid the ultimate price for ever getting involved with us. He just doesn’t know it yet.
“You’d better hope the girl makes the right decision about disclosing the location of the safehouse, and if she tries to lie again, she’ll live to regret it.”
“Camile will make the right choice.” I bite back what I really want to say and do to him for threatening Camile. I’m doing my best to keep playing it cool.
I’ll let him make of that what he will.
She won’t give up the safehouse, not even for her mother’s life.
“It’s a good offer. I hope the people around her will make her see that.” He gives me a pointed stare as if I can influence the rest of the MC from here.
“What does the timeline look like?” I ask. “If you’re going to reach the safehouse then bring her mother back here to make the exchange, I guess I’ll get to spend a lot more time in your scintillating company?”
“You guess right, but until I know where her mother and brother are, I have no timeline. It’s why it’s crucial for all of us that she stops jerking us around. It’s not only me it affects, but her family, and your club, too. The girl needs to understand the seriousness of all of this.”
I don’t doubt Camile’s seriousness, but I don’t tell him that.
“As it seems we’ll be here some time, can I get some water and a bathroom break? Or would you prefer I piss myself?”
My mind goes back to the club and my friends there.
I hope Rook understood that I was trying to tell him how many men and planes Hector has when I’d talked about two shots in twelve hours.
I’m keen to get whatever other information I can.
I know there are two planes, but I’m unsure where we are.
Perhaps I can get more of an idea about our location if I can get to look around.
I might be able to convince Hector to let me speak to Rook again and figure out a way to pass on some info.
If Camile refuses to agree to Hector’s terms, and they go ahead with the exchange but with just Ledger for me, sooner rather than later, it means my time is swiftly running out.
The exchange can’t happen like this. I’ve got to think of some way to help the club. Not just be a passive player, waiting to see if I live or die, or if the club pulls through or not. Fuck that.
I don’t want to go quietly. I want my death to mean something, and to give those I love a chance.
“I’ll get someone to take you to use the bathroom.” Hector’s voice breaks through my morbid thoughts. “But don’t try anything stupid. It won’t end well for you.”
For the moment, Hector’s threats are empty. I don’t know how the others pulled off convincing him that his son is still alive, but so long as he believes that, he won’t cause me too much damage. He’ll be too worried about retaliation.
Hector leaves and is quickly replaced by three of his men.
They’ve learned from last time not to underestimate me, it seems. They untie my feet so I can walk, but my hands are roped behind my back.
I’m surprised they haven’t blindfolded me, but they must be convinced I don’t stand any chance of getting information about our location back to the club. They’re probably right.
I have no idea how long I was unconscious after I was shoved into the back of the car, but I doubt it was hours.
Because of the strict land-use regulations around this area, private airstrips like this are few and far between.
I wish I’d been able to figure out a way of hinting to Rook about the hangar so he could have figured out where I am for himself.
I’m walked through the hangar and shoved into a private office, which has a bathroom attached.
There are framed certificates on the walls, and paperwork out on the desk.
I wonder who this airstrip actually belongs to and what has happened to them.
I’m guessing it’s one of two things: they’ve either been paid handsomely or they’ve been killed.
I spot a name. Winsberg Airfield.
I recognize it. I was right in thinking it wasn’t too far from the compound. A couple of hours, at most.
A hand shoves me in the middle of my back, pushing me toward the bathroom door.
“Thought you needed to go?” the man who pushed me says.
“You’re going to have to untie my hands, or I’m not going to be able to take a piss,” I tell them.
“No fucking chance.” One of the other men approaches. “You can piss like a girl. Sitting down.”
He undoes my belt buckle and then my jeans, and yanks my pants down, taking my underwear with it. I have no choice but to stand there, exposed.
One of the other guys jerks back. “Fuck, he’s hung like a horse.”
I scowl at him. “Like what you see?”
It’s hard to keep any kind of self-respect when you have your jeans halfway down your legs and your ass out for everyone to see.
“Fuck off,” the man spits back and shoves me into the bathroom.
They only partially close the door behind me. I look around again, assessing the small space I’m in. There’s a window set high in the wall behind the toilet, but it’s nowhere near big enough for me to climb through, even if I didn’t have my hands bound. Is there anything I can use as a weapon?
With little choice in the matter, I sit on the toilet and take a good hard piss into the bowl.
I shake myself off, wishing I had use of my hands.
My jeans are still halfway down my thighs, but I shuffle over to the sink.
I’m thirsty as hell, and they still haven’t given me any water, so I bend low and use my jaw and nose to turn on the faucet.
I stick my mouth beneath the flow of water and gulp greedily.
“You almost done in there?” Banging comes at the door.
“Yeah, almost.”
They know I haven’t run, which is probably their only priority.
There’s a medicine cabinet above the sink with a mirrored front door.
I stare at my reflection, Dark bruises are forming, and my eye is swollen almost completely shut.
Fuck, I look a mess. I’ll enjoy hurting these bastards if I get half the chance.
There might be something in the cabinet I can use.
Carefully, I use my mouth to open the cabinet and quickly assess the shelves.
I spot something catching the light—a razor blade, some separate razor heads still packaged in plastic, and beside them, a can of shaving foam.
Whoever owns this airstrip must also use the office and bathroom to get ready some days.
I picture them standing in front of the sink, shaving.
Using my mouth again, I grab one of the individual heads and drop it into the sink.
Then I quickly turn and lean back, feeling around with my bound hands for the blade.
The water is still running, covering the sounds of my activities.
The plastic is wet, but my fingers curl around it.
I’m wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt, so I quickly work to hide the blade up my sleeve out of view.
The door slams open. “That’s long enough,” one of the men says, grabbing my arm.
I pray he’s not going to dislodge the blade. I have no idea what I’m going to do with it, or how it will help me, but it’s still something.