Devastate (Deliver 4)

“That’s Lucia.” Tate blinked, forcing himself to look away. “But the anonymous woman in the video—”

“Has the same scar.” Cole re-centered the image, moving the focus from Lucia’s face to the faded wound beneath the cropped shirt.

Identical scar. Same toned stomach and body shape. The evidence was there, undeniable. Lucia had aimed that gun and shot an innocent without flinching.

Ice filled his veins. He wasn’t naive, and as much as he hated it, he could accept the fact she was a coldblooded criminal. The question was, what the fuck would he do about it?

“Can you still copy her phone?” he asked. “Wait. Do you have the number? I could call her.”

What would he say to her? Hey, you don’t know me, but Camila escaped her kidnapper. She’s alive and misses you. How about you come home, and we’ll pretend you never tortured innocent people?

“The phone was destroyed the day after the video was taken,” Cole said. “As of yesterday, she still hadn’t replaced it.

“The man she works for, this Badell guy… He must be blackmailing her. I mean, she’s not working for money if she lives in a slum.”

“They all live in the slum, outside of the law. It’s their kingdom, where they make their own rules. She eats dinner with Badell every night. Goes in and out of his compound freely. She is watched and never leaves the city. I’ve seen his guards trailing her, but he puts guards on all his high-ranked officials.”

She’s a high-ranked official? For a street gang? Camila would be heartbroken if she knew this.

“What about the police?” Tate rose from the couch and paced through the room. “We could turn over the video and any evidence you have against him and shut down his entire operation.”

“You’re not getting it.” Cole propped his elbows on his knees, pulling in a deep breath. “This is Caracas. The police are poorly trained, under-equipped, and aren’t paid shit. They tip off the gangs when something isn’t right, and the crime lords thank them for that service by giving them a cut of the profits.”

Of fucking course. He dropped his head back and heaved a frustrated breath to the ceiling. He needed answers, and the only way he’d get them was to pay Lucia Dias a visit.

“Tate.” Liv’s melodic voice wove around him as she stood from Josh’s lap and approached. “You need to call Camila.”

“And say what? She breathes and bleeds a passionate crusade against people like Tiago Badell. If she saw that video of her sister, it would hurt her irreparably. She thinks Lucia is dead and… Fuck, Liv, that’s better than the truth, don’t you think? I can’t tell her. Not until I talk to Lucia.”

“If you go to Caracas,” Cole said, “you’ll be kidnapped and killed inside of a week. You’re untrained and unprepared. At a minimum, you need someone with you, preferably a security guard. Someone to watch your back.”

“I’m not a security guard, but I’m good with a gun.” Liv touched Tate’s jaw, drawing his gaze to hers. “I’ll go with you.”

“The hell you will!” Josh leapt from the chair, eyes blazing.

“Josh,” she snapped. “I’ll do whatever—”

“No. End of discussion.”

Josh glared at her, and she glared right back. Tension shivered between them, a silent battle of wills. Tate was certain Liv would win, but it wasn’t up to her.

“Josh is right,” he said. “You’re not going. No—” He held up a hand when she tried to interrupt. “I’m not budging on this.”

She sniffed, turned on her heel, and strode down the hallway, shutting the bedroom door behind her.

“Shit, man.” Tate scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean to cause problems. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’ll enjoy the punishment later tonight.” Josh’s eyes gleamed, his smile twitching with mischief. Then he sobered, nodding at Cole. “Why can’t he do it? He knows where Lucia lives and seems to have the training to move around the city without getting killed.”

“Yeah, well…” Tate blew out a breath. “I can’t afford him.”

“Even if I were to help you pro bono—which I won’t.” Cole gave him a hard look. “I don’t extract people unless they’re willing.”

“I just want to talk to her.” Tate studied him for a moment, an idea forming. “If I approached her, would she shoot me on the spot?”

“Her guards would.” Cole shook his head. “You can’t just walk in there, Tate. The gangs decide who enters the neighborhood.”

“But you can. You rented an apartment across the street from hers. How’d you do it?”

“I know which palms to grease.”

“Then get me in. I’ll pay you to set me up in that apartment and tell me everything you know about Tiago Badell. I’ll do the rest. Just name the price.”

“It’s a suicide mission. The price is your life.”

“Train me.” Tate paced through the room, fueled with determination. “Teach me whatever I need to know to make contact with her.” He paused in front of Cole, hands flexing at his sides. “You know my account balance. Take it all.”

Cole considered him for a nerve-wracking minute before lowering his head in his hands and exhaling. “Okay.”

Hope surged. “Okay?”

“You’re a stubborn asshole.” Cole lifted his eyes. “If I don’t help you, you’ll go anyway, and I’ll have your moronic death weighing on my conscience.”

“Good man.” Tate clapped him on the back and lowered onto the couch beside him. “For the record, I think she picked the wrong guy.” He motioned toward the tattoo on Cole’s arm.

Cole looked down, his eyes stark and unblinking as he traced the inked silhouette of the woman, his finger gliding with reverence and longing. He seemed to forget himself in that private moment, his gaze turning inward and the hard lines of his jaw softening.

Then, like a flip of a switch, he curled his hand into a fist and snapped his spine straight. “Do you think this thing with Lucia will give you what you need to finish your tattoo?”

Startled, Tate glanced at his own ink. How did Cole know it wasn’t finished?

Roses of various sizes and blooms sleeved his arm in shades of black and gray. His mother’s name had been Rose, but each flower on his skin represented the women who had helped raise him at The Velvet Den. They might’ve been whores, but they were also his friends. His only family.

The cluster of roses stretched above his elbow and faded away. The artwork was supposed to blur into another image across his bicep—the profile of a woman. He always imagined Camila’s face would complete the design, but she didn’t belong to him.

As he stared at the blank space on his bicep, he knew Josh and Kate were watching him, waiting for him to answer Cole’s question. Will I have what I need to finish it? Will I have someone to call my own? He wanted Camila, and that dream was unattainable.

“No. The tattoo is finished.”

Cole rubbed the stubble on his cheek, studying Tate with those perceptive eyes. Then he looked back at the laptop and sighed. “The apartment in Caracas is paid through the end of the month. I’ll extend the lease for another month, get you into the neighborhood, train you on basic self-defense, and walk you through Lucia’s patterns. After that, you’re on your own.”

“Thank you.”

“I don’t like this.” Josh lowered into the chair, perching on the edge. “Can you hire a security guard to go with you?”

“Maybe.” Tate didn’t know how much money he’d have left after he paid Cole for the help, but he’d figure it out. He turned to Cole. “Do you have more photos of her?”

“Hundreds.”

For the nex

t hour, Tate scoured the images on Cole’s laptop, memorizing every expression, gesture, and article of clothing that belonged to Lucia Dias. Cole showed him blueprints of Badell’s compound, but other than the windowless concrete room in the video, there were no pictures of the interior. Cole hadn’t tried to breach the iron gates because that level of intel hadn’t been included in the finder fee.

As they ironed out an action plan, they decided to leave in a week. That would give Cole time to train Tate on basic weaponry and self-defense.

Liv eventually emerged from the bedroom, and about five minutes later, someone knocked on the door.

Tate pulled his attention from the laptop as Josh greeted whoever was on the porch.

“Hey.” Confusion threaded through Josh’s voice. “I didn’t expect you guys tonight.”

“I called him.” Liv approached the door, opening it wider to reveal Van Quiso and his wife, Amber.

Kate, who had her nose in her phone for the last hour, shot from the couch. Shoulders hunching, she fumbled with her purse on the coffee table. “I need to…” She made a beeline to the door. “I’m gonna go.”

“Kate.” Josh moved to chase her.

“Let her go.” Tate cast a glare at Van. “She needs time.”

“She’s had four years.” With a grip on Amber’s hand, Van approached the couch with a casual gait, his gaze clapping onto Tate. “I don’t think time is what she needs.”

Probably not, but Van’s dark baleful presence wasn’t a cure for any of them.

Tate sent off a text to his roommates, letting them know Kate left Liv’s house. They would find her if she didn’t head home.

Cole stood from the couch and extended a hand to Van. “It’s good to finally meet you in person.”

“Same.” Van shook his hand and introduced his wife.

Tate could guess why Liv called Van here, but before he asked, he had another question.

“How do you know each other?” He gestured between Van and Cole.