Manipulate (Deliver 6)

Why was he jealous? Because Van Quiso could give Ricky what he couldn’t? His reaction was unreasonable.

“So you’ll go to him again?” he asked quietly. “Make it a regular thing?”

“No. I don’t regret it, but it’s not what I need.”

He didn’t expect that and couldn’t stop the relief from sighing past his lips. “What do you need?”

“Still trying to figure that out. What about you?”

He grunted. “You know my situation. I can’t live like this forever.”

Ricky was the only one who knew he hadn’t had sex since his captivity with Van. No matter how many times Ricky pressed for an explanation, Martin refused to burden his friend with the horrors of his past.

“You’ve been celibate for five years.” Ricky gave him a sober smile. “What’s another five or ten years?”

“Wow. No jokes about you curing my problem?”

“The offer’s always there.” The words scraped from Ricky’s voice. “Wanna talk about it?”

“Nah. Nothing’s changed.”

Amnesia would cure him. Until then, the thought of sex would continue to turn his stomach with haunting memories.

“What are we going to do?” he asked rhetorically, not expecting an answer.

“We’re going to focus on ridding the world of predators.” Ricky rose to his feet, his eyes on the door and head tilted as if straining to hear Camila’s muffled voice. “Is she still arguing with Tate about his search for her sister?”

“They moved on to arguing about the trafficking ring.” He stood and headed in that direction. “Let’s go see if they’ve made progress.”

Ricky followed him out, down the hall, and into Tate’s bedroom.

“Hola.” Camila paced around piles of dirty laundry on the floor, her black hair swinging around her arms where they folded across her chest.

“Hey.” Ricky sprawled beside Tate on the bed and propped his head on his hand. “What’s on the agenda for tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” Camila said, “we start trailing Larry McGregor.”

“The mailman.” Stepping to the desk, Martin traced a finger along the link chart they’d built on a bulletin board that took up the entire wall.

The chart showed people, locations, jobs, crimes, cars, and so on, each one connected by crisscrossing lengths of colored string. Different colors represented different links—family, friend, colleague—between the suspects.

“We’re pretty sure the mailman moonlights as a slave trader for this piece of shit.” Camila tapped a picture of an average-looking, middle-aged white man. “And he’s not even a big player in the operation.”

He trailed his gaze along the strings, following each connection until he landed on the man in charge of it all. “All roads lead to Hector La Rocha.”

“The notorious leader of La Rocha Cartel,” Camila breathed behind him. “God, Martin. He’s responsible for thousands of missing women and children. All abducted and sold into slavery.”

“If he’s our ultimate target—”

“We can’t focus on him right now.” She waved a hand over the bulletin board. “We need to pick off the little guys, learn what we can from them—”

“Or we can just cut off the head of the beast and bring down the whole thing.” Martin flexed his hands and shifted to face the group, expecting the same murderous spirit.

Instead, Tate heaved a sigh and tossed his phone on the bed. “There’s seven of us. What are we going to do? Run into the cartel’s city with our little guns and kill his army of thousands?”

“I’ll go in.” He rubbed his head, thinking through the risks. “Undercover, I can gather intel and scope out the operation.”

“And she’ll be right there with you.” Tate jabbed a finger in Camila’s direction. “I can’t stop you from risking your life, but I won’t let her—”

“You’re not my boss, chingado.” She thrust up her chin, her dark eyes glinting with attitude. “If I want to go—”

“The answer is no.” Tate shot her an unwavering glare before setting his gaze on Martin. “We’ll work our way up to Hector La Rocha. Right now, we don’t even know how to locate him.”

Martin shifted back to the link chart, his stomach sinking at the thought of how many children would be lost before they finished this. “It’ll take years.”

“I know that look in your eye.” Ricky appeared at his side, arms crossed, and his gaze on Hector La Rocha’s picture. “You’ll get him. But you won’t be doing it without me.”

“Deal.”Jaulaso Prison

Two years agoFor the next three days, Tula kept her head down and her presence aloof. She trusted no one, evaded everyone, and felt… Her feelings didn’t matter, as long as they stayed buried deep beneath her bones.

She dedicated every breath to surviving, proving her innocence, and escaping this nightmare.

The phone became her lifeline, and she used it to make some difficult calls to her landlord, her boss, and countless lawyers.

The principal at her school promised her job would be waiting when classes resumed, if she proved her innocence and returned to Phoenix in time. She found an attorney willing to take her case, but she couldn’t afford his fees and her monthly bills.