Devastate (Deliver 4)

No wonder Cole’s fees were so outrageous. He didn’t just know what he was doing. He had the gear to stay alive. Tate couldn’t imagine what this arsenal cost on the black market or wherever he’d acquired it. And he’d left it all behind after his last trip?

“You have to build a new stockpile of weapons on every job?” Tate asked.

“Yeah.” Cole motioned at the duffel bag. “This was included in your finder fee. Now you’re going to learn how to use it.”

Over the next hour, Cole instructed Van and Tate on the nuances of each firearm and how to conceal the pieces beneath their clothing. They couldn’t hit the streets looking like avatars in a first-person shooter game. Discretion was paramount.

During the instruction, rain began to pelt the glass. By the time Tate made his way to the window, a tropical downpour was fully underway. The deluge of water fell from broken spouts and overfilled dumpsters, rushing a river of sewage through the alley.

Where was Lucia? Surely, she wasn’t walking the steep, winding streets in this storm? After eleven years in this shanty town, she was probably used to it. But he didn’t like it. Every instinct begged him to go out there, hunt her down, and drag her back to the States.

Instead, he stayed at the window, watching, waiting, and finally, she appeared.

“She’s back,” he said, drawing Cole and Van to his side.

Despite the torrential rain, her steps were unhurried, measured, as she navigated streams of rainwater. Her clothes stuck to her thin sodden body, her hair clinging to her face, and in her arms…

“What is she carrying?” He gave the binoculars to Cole, who shook his head and handed them back.

She strode toward her apartment, but before she got there, she stopped and knocked on the door next to hers.

“That’s the apartment that was robbed earlier,” Van said.

The woman poked her head out. Then she swung the door open and grabbed whatever Lucia was holding.

Amid the blur of motion, Tate spotted a furry head. “Holy shit, she has the dog. How did she—?”

“Badell owns this neighborhood,” Cole said. “She must’ve tracked down the officers and demanded Badell’s cut of the loot.”

“She could’ve taken the laptop or demanded money, right?” His chest filled with hope. “But she took the dog. That’s—”

“Don’t read too much into it. The most corrupt explanation is usually the right one. Lucia knows what the woman values most, and now she’s in Lucia’s debt.”

“Christ, you’re jaded.”

“I’m realistic.” Cole paced to the couch and packed away the weapons. “Lucia will stay in her apartment for the rest of the night. At dawn, she heads back to the compound.”

“Every morning?”

“Without fail,” Cole said behind him.

Tate remained at the window as she left the woman without saying a word and vanished inside her own apartment.

What’s going on in your head, Lucia? Why are you here?

“You know why I abducted Camila.” Van stepped beside him and stared out into the rain. “Why she was even on my radar.”

“Yeah.”

Van’s father, Mr. E, had given him Camila’s information and ordered him to take her. Her disappearance had been part of a revenge plan led by Matias’ own brother.

“Two months after I took Camila,” Van said, “Lucia disappeared. It’s related, isn’t it? To Matias’ cartel?”

“Yes, and Matias killed every person involved in the sisters’ kidnappings.”

Except Van. He had Tate to thank for that. Since Camila had made peace with her former captor, Tate had talked Matias out of retaliating.

“When Lucia was captured, Camila was presumed dead.” Tate trained the binoculars on Lucia’s apartment door, and an ache pinched his chest. “When Badell brought her here, he would’ve tried to collect a ransom from her parents, who were already dead.” He met Van’s eyes. “She believes she’s alone.”

He wanted so badly to storm into her apartment and tell her Camila was alive. But he couldn’t. Not while she was being watched.

“I’m trying to be patient,” he said, turning toward Cole, “but I need to know the plan.”

“There’s somewhere she goes twice a month.” Cole lowered onto the couch. “Her guards don’t follow her in.”

“Twice a month?” His pulse raced. “When? Is it always the same days of the month?”

“Yes. Ten days from today, she’ll be there.”

Ten days? That’s an eternity.

Tate paced the length of the room, agitated. “You’re leaving in seven days.”

“I have another job.” Cole narrowed his eyes. “And I don’t want to be a part of whatever you decide to do after you confront her.”

“I’m not going to kidnap her.”

Cole glanced between him and Van, eyebrows arched. “If you say so.”

“Whatever. You already told us we’d be on our own.” He continued to pace. “Where does she go twice a month?”

“A sex club. That’s where you’ll make contact with her.”

“What?” Tate slammed to a stop.

“Don’t look so offended. You should feel right at home there.”

True, but… “What are you suggesting I do?”

“You’ll go in there, and if she’s willing, you’ll fuck her until she loses all logic and paranoia. Then you’ll put your mouth at her ear and say—”

“Thanks for the good time… Oh, and by the way, your sister’s alive?”

“Exactly.”

Tate closed his eyes and breathed, “That’s a terrible idea.”

CHAPTER 6

It was the worst idea ever. But as Tate walked to the X ten days later, he was all in. Shoulders back, weapons concealed, bullet-resistant shirt straining across his chest, he was battle ready.

Except the shirt wouldn’t protect his head. Or his dick.

Christ. There it was. The X.

The sex club didn’t have a name, but a huge black X marked the otherwise nondescript door—the only indication he’d arrived at the right place.

The temptation to glance back and scan the shadows for Van prickled his scalp, but he knew Van had followed him as planned, staying far enough back to not raise suspicion.

Cole left Caracas three days ago with the promise that he was only a phone call away. But who knew what part of the world he’d traveled to or how long it would take him to return?

Deep breath. Follow the plan. Don’t look sketchy.

Hell, every person he’d passed on the short walk here looked sketchy as fuck. Thankfully, no one approached him. Yet. The locals were probably taking their time scoping him out and gathering their buddies so they could gang rush him.

He slid his hands into his pockets and approached the door all casual like. Nothing to see here. Just going to a sex club to get laid.

To fuck Camila’s sister.

That was going to be hard to explain to Camila, but first things first. He needed to get inside, and once he walked through that door, he would truly be on his own.

Van was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a cheater. His refusal to step foot in the sex club was as inconvenient as it was admirable. He was here to help Tate, but his wife was and always would be his number one priority. Tate respected that.

He knocked on the black X and removed a wad of bolivars from his pocket.

The door swung open, revealing a rangy Hispanic man with a cigarette protruding from the toothy gap in a scraggly beard. “Sí?”

Tate put the bills in the man’s hand.

“Sin armas.” The man motioned at Tate’s waistband, where his untucked shirt concealed a handgun.

Cole had warned him about the no weapons policy. There was also a no clothing policy, but the disrobing would take place inside.

He handed over the gun and pushed through the doorway until bony fingers circled his arm, stopping him.

“Sin armas.” The bearded man p

ointed his cigarette at Tate’s boot.

Fuck. He relinquished the knife from under his pant leg, certain he’d never see either of those weapons again.

Then he was free to go in.