Defy (Brothers of Ink and Steel Book 3)(58)
“Are you dead, or are you going to wake up and pull your own weight around here?”
He groans and cusses at me.
“Good, you’re alive.”
And there it is—MASON DIRECT. I hit redial.
“Did you take care of the problem?” the heavily accented voice asks.
“I’m working on that.”
There is a pause as he figures out my voice isn’t the one he was expecting, and then, “Is Guthrie dead?”
“You mean Officer Douchebag? No, but once he wakes up, he’s going to wish he was.”
“Who are you?”
“The guy who’s going to make you wish you never f*cked with Rachel Farrington.”
He laughs, low and sinister. “Really? I don’t see how that could be. I have the woman—I kept my word and set the child free—even though Ms. Farrington obviously didn’t keep her end of the deal.” Miguel tsk-tsks. “She will have to pay for that. I can’t allow my soldiers to think that I allow such actions.”
“You’re missing the big picture, Miguel, or Mason—whichever you’d prefer—either way you won’t harm a hair on her head.”
“And why would you think that?”
“Because I actually have something you care about.”
“I care about no one.”
“I bet you care about the two hundred million dollars in cocaine you stole and hid from Cruz and then tried to pin on Drew and now Rachel.”
He falls silent.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought you’d say, so let me give you just the main points: 12,000 pounds of cocaine and a stockpile of cash and weapons. Ring a bell?”
I can hear him sucking in air violently through his teeth.
“You’ve been busy, Miguel, amassing aliases and power along with an army and a fortune so that you could overthrow Cruz’s cartel reign and be king of the hill. You’re poised and positioned to own the Gulf drug corridor. And not only do I know it all, I’m able to prove it all—and, now, here comes the part you’re really not going to like—I know where you hid it all. The only thing I can’t decide is, should I just turn it over to my fed friends in DC, report you to Cruz, or blow the entire monstrosity to hell? I think you’ll fare better if you make a deal with the feds. I mean, think about it, prison time would be a cake walk compared to surviving Cruz’s butcher blade after he finds out what you’ve really done, am I right?”
“You’re bluffing!”
“You know I’m not. The drugs are sitting in two specialty cargo containers you have tucked away in your secret storage unit under yet another alias that no one knows—Vincent Gomez.”
“How did you—?”
“I’m that good,” I insist. “And by the way, Gomez, I also know about the others who had accidents after working for Mason Industries when they uncovered your true identity.”
“I’ll kill you and the woman!” Miguel roars.
“No you won’t. I already have a timed email that will go out to my contacts, telling them exactly where it is. I’ve included copies of the evidence I’ve gathered and the locations of all the hefty bank accounts you’ve opened under other aliases—the accounts you’re living on, since the feds didn’t know about them to freeze them. And I even have direct line to Cruz.”
“You lie!”
“Try me.”
“You are nothing!” I hear the spittle crackle from his mouth he’s so furious. “I don’t even know who you are. You like to talk big—would you like to tell me your name before I extract it from your girlfriend with a switchblade?”
“Axton. Ryder Axton. And pay attention because this is the most important part of the entire conversation. There are two hundred and six bones in the human body, and I’ll snap half of yours like twigs if there is so much as a bruise on her when I come to get her. You may not know me now, but if you hurt her I’ll make it so you’ll never forget me.”
“You’re good at threats.”
“I’m better at carrying them out,” I say. “Now listen carefully; I’ll meet you in half an hour at Mason Shipyard, upper level section C. Have the girl.
Rachel
Ryder’s smooth, commanding voice laced with arsenic and threats lingers in the vehicle. Eduardo Miguel sits in the passenger seat next to his driver while I’m secured between two muscled men who, I have no doubt, are prepared to tear me to pieces. My arms are duct taped against my sides, and I’m still attempting to steady myself, despite the overwhelming terror thrumming through my heart.
“Let me speak to Farrington.”
He angles slightly, holds the cell on speaker nearer to my face and sneers. “Speak.”
I’m trembling involuntarily. “Ryder.”
“Have they hurt you?”
“No.” I try to answer bravely, but it comes out a pathetic whimper.
“I am coming for you.” It’s an oath.
Ryder disconnects the call.
“Fuck. Fuck, FUCK, FUCK!” Miguel hammers a clenched fist against the dashboard, cracking and warping the material in his rage. “Get over there immediately!” Miguel commands his driver hotly, then says to his hired men on my left, “I want a sniper on building B!” His voice rises in a frenzy of fury. “I want this guy DEAD! I want his brains and blood poured on the ground under my feet!”