MIKHAIL
“Are you sure about this?”Luka asks.
He’s the only man who knows what’s going on with Madisyn. Sure, a few of them realize I brought her up to my room and showed her a good time, but they don’t all know she’s a federal agent and betrayed me.
The list of men who know of her betrayal is short. I can’t have my men questioning my competence.
And Luka is the only one to know that she’s been taken by the Sanchez Cartel.
He’s driving the vehicle, and I’m riding in the passenger seat. We’re en route to the cartel’s compound. Is that where they’re keeping Madisyn, or do they have her holed up some place else?
It’s no secret the cartel has at least a dozen safe houses throughout the city. Probably more outside New York. They have an intricate network and sophisticated operation, but typically, kidnapping pretty girls doesn’t fall under their repertoire.
“No, but I can’t risk leaving her in Carlos Sanchez’s hands,” I say.
For a moment, I had considered contacting the FBI and offering myself up to save Madisyn.
It was a fleeting thought and one that was quickly squashed the moment my phone rang and I heard her voice.
She’s alive.
The cartel would have already killed her if they intended to murder her and gloat about their accomplishments. They want something that happens to be a piece of my business.
It’s not like I can’t afford to give up a stake of my operation, specifically smuggling heroin, which I assume they’re asking for but wouldn’t say over the phone.
“Do you think showing up without an army is the right move?” Luka asks.
He’s a good man and would die for me, like any good bratva soldier. I tried to let him marry my little sister, but she wanted nothing to do with him.
“I’m not afraid of Carlos or the cartel,” I say.
We drive up to the iron-clad gates of the cartel’s compound. We’re going in through the front entrance.
Luka glances at me but hides any hint of nervousness or doubt.
His phone buzzes.
“We don’t have time to deal with our men,” I say. “Let it go to voicemail.”
The cartel guard clicks the button in his booth, and ever so slowly, the gate begins to creep open. I exhale a heavy sigh.
After Luka’s phone is silent, mine begins to ring. I glance at the caller ID. It’s Dmitri.
Luka gently taps the gas pedal, and we head in through the open gates and along the wide driveway that leads up to the front door.
Carlos isn’t outside, but a half dozen of his men, armed with guns, are waiting for us.
“Not now,” I say as I answer the phone. “I’m dealing with something.”
“Well, you have something to deal with even bigger at the house,” Dmitri answers.
There’s commotion in the background, a lot of it. I can hear the paper shredder at full speed eating pages of documents.
The pit of my stomach grows sour. “The FBI is here,” Dmitri says.
He ends the call, giving me no indication of why they’re barging into my home or what evidence they have for a warrant.
I can’t deal with it now. Even if I wanted to, we’re on the cartel’s property, and they’re swarming around the vehicle with guns drawn.
“Get out!” one of their men shouts as he stands outside the door.
Luka shuts off the vehicle, and we step out. The cartel guards are rough and thorough as they search us for weapons, disarming us, before shoving us inside through the front door.
There’s no sign of Carlos or Madisyn.
Where is she?
“Where’s Madisyn?” I shout at the armed guards, particularly those who dragged me from the vehicle and shoved me up the stairs and inside. His eyes are dark, lifeless.
The cartel is notorious for their shady dealings along with trafficking drugs and guns, but kidnapping isn’t something I’m aware they’ve dealt in before. Are they moving up the ranks with trafficking people, not just goods, across the border?
“We get to ask the questions,” Carlos says as he descends the staircase, sharply dressed, but there is a smidgen of blood on his cheek.
My mouth is dry, and I ball my hands into fists at my sides.
“Where is Madisyn?” I ask again. This time, the question is directed at the leader of the cartel, not his soldiers.
He straightens his tie and stalls in front of a mirror, admiring his reflection before answering my question.
“She’s working for me.”
His answer is baffling. I can’t genuinely imagine that she wants to do his bidding. “Excuse me?”
What the hell is he talking about? Has he lost his mind, or does he have something on her? No, if that were the case, then the FBI would be combing through the cartel’s place of business and home rather than mine.
Nausea sets in at the realization that my house is being trashed and torn apart by the Feds. What are they searching for? Is it because of Aaron Moore? Did he try to set me up? I wouldn’t put it past the man. He terrorizes Madisyn, and the evidence on her face is enough to make me want to pummel the man and tear him to shreds.
Did the FBI realize that Madisyn hadn’t returned from lunch? Had they suspected that I was behind her abduction?
“You heard me,” Carlos says as he approaches. He gestures for his soldiers to step aside so that he can come and stand face-to-face with me. With his beady eyes, he glances me over, displeased with my appearance. Shaking his head, he strokes his jaw. “I don’t know what that girl sees you in. She could do so much better.”
“She is a ten,” I say, wanting to convince him that she belongs to me. I don’t want any of my secrets spilled to the cartel. And Carlos is a man who would force her, painfully so, to leak every detail that she’s ever seen or heard, no matter how trivial. “Where is she?”
He steps closer and grins. “She’s tending to one of my men.”
I throw back my fist and land a blow to his face. The sound of bones crunching offers little relief. What are they making her do?
The guard who brought me inside the cartel’s compound drags me off Carlos and slams his weapon against my head before cocking the safety off and pointing the barrel at my temple.
“Madisyn!” I shout, staring up at the staircase, assuming that she’s being kept upstairs because that’s where Carlos came from. But she could be anywhere.
He retrieves a handkerchief from his jacket and checks to see if blood drips from his nose. You can break a man’s nose without causing blood to gush.
His nose is crooked, which seemingly matches his personality. I want to pound the shit out of him, but I don’t think his men will let me continue. I’d likely be shot dead by the ass standing next to me with his gun at my head.
“She’s preoccupied with another one of my men at the moment,” Carlos says and chuckles at his remark. “Put that down.” He gestures to his man defending him, and the gun by my temple is lowered.
“How’d you know she’s mine?” Giving up anything to save Madisyn isn’t wise for the organization and my men. But I’m here, against better judgment. And mainly, I have a sneaking suspicion that something more sinister is going on behind my back.