Perfect Ruin (Unyielding #2)(98)

His wild eyes went from me to the direction of Deck then back to me. “The girl. Where is she?”

“What girl? Who are you referring to?” I asked.

“Riot.” Deck’s voice was closer.

Connor waved the journal. “She’s not in here. Where the f*ck is she?” His voice was rough and sweat dripped down his face. The guy looked as if he was burning up with fever.

I knew there were pages ripped out. Had he written about some girl? Deck said there were missing pages. But why would pages be ripped out?

“We’ll find her,” I said to pacify him.

He grabbed his hair with one hand, clenching his jaw as if he was in pain. “He has her. Fuck. I can’t remember.” His eyes narrowed and darkened and he looked murderous. “Catalina.”

I heard Deck inching closer. I slowly pulled a knife from my boot, but Connor must have noticed because his body tensed.

“Deck. Now.”

But it was too late.

Connor was gone.





Medellin, Colombia.



You okay?

It was a text message from London. They’d arrived in Greece two days earlier and were safe at Tristan’s place. According to London’s text message when they first arrived, it was over the top extravagant. She sent me a pic of the pool overlooking the edge of a cliff, but it wasn’t the pic I wanted. I wanted the bedroom where she’d be sleeping.

I got that later.

Yeah, baby. But I won’t be able to contact you for a bit.

Okay.

She did a cute heart and an xxx. I’d never had that and I seriously liked it.

London was stronger than she’d ever been. There was no argument about me leaving, about her leaving, about us being separated. She knew this had to happen and she was giving me what I needed.

She texted again.

Love you. Be careful.

Always, London.

That had a double meaning and I knew she’d get that. I’d always love her and I’d always be careful.

I tucked my phone in my pocket as Tyler lowered his and said, “Got info on Catalina Moreno,” Tyler said. “Moreno married her at age twenty and word is, it wasn’t by choice.”

Connor was going after Catalina. The question was why? And did he remember enough to know where she was? And who she was?

Deck snorted, shaking his head with disgust. “Family?”

Tyler sighed. “None left. She was payment. The rest of her family killed, a brother, mother and father. Father had worked for Moreno, flew one of his planes back and forth to Miami, drug trafficking route. Probably stole from him, lost a shipment, who the f*ck knows. But his family paid for whatever went down. Catalina lives because she’s beautiful and according to my contact, Moreno likes beautiful things.”

I crossed my arms while leaning against the old wooden door of the house we were holed up in while waiting for Tyler’s contact to arrive.

“Fuck.” I’d seen that shit, saw it those two years I’d searched for London. Still, no matter how many times you saw girls forced into prostitution, or marriages, you never became accustomed to it.

Tyler continued, “So Connor met her. Where? When? Shit, it could’ve been last month or ten years ago before he was taken.”

I shook my head. “He had the journal in his hand when he escaped the house. He gestured to it when he asked where she was. He had to have met her before he was taken by Vault and those pages were about her.”

“His head is also seriously f*cked,” Vic stated.

True. His memory was screwed up from the drug and we didn’t know what the hell was going on with him or even if he was still alive.

There was a light tap on the door and I pushed away, my hand on my knife. I heard the men behind me do the same. Weapons ready.

I cracked it open. A small, robust man, early forties, dark skin, and a heavily wrinkled brow as if he frowned too much, stood with his hat in his hands while he nervously shifted his feet. I grabbed his arm and hauled him inside.

Tyler had contacted an acquaintance of his who lived in Medellin, Colombia. This acquaintance had known Tyler’s father who had been a DEA agent. Tyler’s father spent a lot of time down in Colombia, talked about it to Tyler when he was growing up. It was why Tyler had joined the army.

“Moreno? The kids?” I asked.

“Si. Si.” He nodded several times.

Tyler rose to his feet, walked over and slapped the guy on the back, “Juan. Good to finally meet you. My father speaks well of you.” Tyler switched to Spanish, speaking it fluently. The man responded, although he stammered, obviously either scared of us or scared of what Moreno would do to his family if he found out Juan was being a snitch.

But if he gave us what we needed, then he and his wife and daughter would be looked after. Deck had strings, but they weren’t like mine. They were on the right side of the law and he’d organized to safely get Juan and his family out of Colombia.

Tyler translated what they were talking about. “Juan here delivers food twice a week to one of Moreno’s buildings. He says last week there were sixteen kids and twenty watchdogs with assault rifles. But yesterday Juan was told not to bring food.”

“They’re moving,” I said.

Tyler nodded. “It’s been the same routine for the last three years he has supplied them. Every Tuesday and Friday, never missed a day.”