Sweet Collateral

“I’ll keep you informed.” He hangs up, and I toss the phone on the bedside table again.

This has to work, for all our sakes. I need Anna, he needs Una, and that kid needs his mother. Everything is riding on this one tiny olive branch the Russian has extended. It’s not enough, but it’s all we have.

41

Rafael

It’s taken that bastard two weeks to arrange a meeting. I pull the car onto the top level of the parking deck. My guess is he has the place covered by snipers, but there’s not an awful lot I can do about that. If he kills me, he won’t have access to my port, and if I kill him, I won’t get Anna back. It’s a tentative understanding, and I don’t trust the Russian for shit. I turn the lights off and wait. Snow swirls across the open space in manic flurries, disappearing into the darkness of the night sky just as quickly as it appears. After a few minutes, a black SUV pulls up the ramp, circling around behind our car and coming to a halt right in front of us.

I get out of the car, and so do the two guys I brought with me. Samuel stayed behind for this one. I can’t risk the possibility of this being a trap and them taking both of us out. He’s too important to the survival of the cartel, and despite how it may seem, I do still give a shit what happens to it.

The car doors open and a figure emerges in front of the headlights. His dark hair is graying, his eyes such a chilling shade of pale blue that he looks like the villain in every movie. An expensive wool coat hangs open over a three-piece suit. He’s both a cliché and nothing like what I expected. Two others move in on either side of him, and my eyes lock with the startling lilac irises of Una Ivanov. I force my expression to remain impassive, but I’ll admit, I’m shocked to see her here. She stares at me for a moment longer before I tear my gaze away and focus on Nicholai.

I’ve already laid out what I am and am not prepared to give him. Truthfully, there’s not a lot I wouldn’t give for Anna, but therein lies the problem. Show an enemy your weak spot, and he will exploit it. Though I’m not sure there’s any point in trying to hide it at this point. After all, I’m here, willing to barter things I never would have previously. For her life. “I offer you reasonable terms, but I want proof of life.”

Nicholai throws his head back on a laugh. “You are demanding for a nobody.”

Here, I am a nobody, and he thinks himself untouchable, surrounded by his army, but in Mexico…he would be eaten alive. That’s the only small condolence I have in allowing him any foothold in my country. “Here.” He reaches into his pocket and throws something to me. I catch it, frowning down at it. It’s plastic Ziploc bag, and in it, is a finger.

“Is this a joke?”

“Of course not. See, it is fresh. Just cut this morning.” Nicholai spreads his hands to the side.

“This is not proof of life.” My heart hammers in my chest so hard it’s all I can feel, all I can hear. “This could belong to anyone.” Not to mention that whoever owns it could now be dead.

“If you look closely you’ll see the faded tattoo of a slave number.” He shrugs. “We used to tattoo their fingers until we realized it would fade. Then we did the wrists.” Bile rises in my throat as I notice the blur of faded ink, the same blur I’ve noticed on Anna’s little finger before. Stepping closer to me, Nicholai grins and places a hand to his chest. “On my honor, it is hers. Una cut it off herself.” My gaze swings to Una, and I grit my teeth as red-hot rage rips over my skin. She cut off her own sister’s finger. What kind of animal is she?

“You did this?”

There’s nothing in her cold gaze, not even a flicker of emotion. “You wanted proof of life. Now you have it. Her finger for her freedom seems like a good trade to me.” I glance from Una to Nicholai and back again, trying to comprehend what’s happening. I trusted that Una would protect her sister to a degree, but now…

“She loves you,” I growl.

“Love is weakness, Rafael. After all, look at you here, brokering non-advantageous deals, all for my sweet little sister.”

I dismiss her with a snarl of my lip. She’s a disgrace. Even by my standards, that’s low. The cartel might not have many ethics, but we’d never mutilate our family. “Do we have a deal?” I ask the Russian.