Chapter Eighteen - Maddie
I’ve been shooting before. I’ve handled guns. I’m familiar. I met this prepper chick a few years back at one of my many martial arts classes and ended up at her family bunker out in the desert one weekend where she let me shoot all the guns I wanted at their homemade range.
So I know what gunfire sounds like. It’s louder than you can imagine. Real-life gunfire isn’t anything like what you hear in the movies. There’s just no way to replicate that when watching a film. You can’t feel the soundwaves hitting your body, or smell the gunpowder filtering up into your nose, or see the clear air change to hazy smoke before your eyes.
The preppers out at that desert bunker were a crazy bunch, no doubt. But what happens in Carlos Castillo’s compound is something right out of Narcos. And I just… stand there, paralyzed with fear.
The drone explodes and people start shouting, “Get down! Get down!” Bullets spit out of long-barreled assault rifles in short, staccato bursts. Someone grabs me by the arm and pulls me inside, where Carlos is crawling across the floor towards me, barking orders for one of his men to go outside and grab the map. At which point the guy looks outside and thinks about this order for maybe two seconds before looking back at Carlos with an expression that quite clearly says, No fuckin’ way, ese.
Carlos shoots him in the head and there’s no two-second hesitation on his part. Minion’s brains just splat a red blob on the peach-colored plaster wall behind him and yeah… game over. The gun goes off so close to my ear, it’s still ringing five minutes later.
Now I’m stuck in a closet. The doors are just those louvered things that look like shutters, so I can sorta see what’s happening in the room. Carlos is changing into some old baggy jeans and a sweat-stained t-shirt. It takes me a moment to realize he’s actually trading clothes with the gardener. And the gardener—once I get a glimpse of him through the thin slits of wood—looks like he’s about to shit his pants. Because he is now the decoy. If anyone else gets killed today, it will be him.
I don’t want him to get killed. I mean, I get it, he works for Carlos Castillo so he should’ve known what he was getting himself into. But that was my drone. And the only person who can fly my drone that badly is Tyler. And I know Tyler was just worried about me and he’s not like… gonna storm the place. He’d never do that.
Right? Right?
“Tyler,” I whisper softly, closing my eyes. The barrage of yelling and gunfire is still happening all over the compound. “Do not get yourself killed because you’re worried about me. Because if you do, I will hunt you down in heaven and kill you again myself.”
The closet doors open, startling me so I stumble backward into the hanging clothes, and Carlos is standing two inches away, glaring down at me. “What?” he barks over the compound commotion. “What did you say?”
Holy fuckin’ shit! How the hell did he hear me? “Hail Mary, full of grace,” I stammer, trying my best to remember the prayer.
Carlos squints his eyes at me and for a moment I swear to God, I think he’s gonna shoot me in the head too. But then his eyes soften and he places his hand on my cheek and says, “Don’t worry. We’re getting out of here.”
And then he leans in and kisses me. Right on the lips.
I don’t kiss him back, but he doesn’t have a chance to notice, because Logan is behind him, yelling, “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” in Spanish. And it strikes me that this all seems like a massively disproportional reaction to seeing a drone. But then I also remember that drones drop bombs on people sometimes, so…
And then Ricky is there, grabbing me roughly by the arm. I try to catch his gaze, but he refuses to look at me as he drags me behind Carlos and Logan and we make our way through the house just as all the gunfire ceases.
Things go quiet—like unearthly still—as I’m forced to follow them down hallways and through rooms until we finally make our way outside and through a courtyard to a small building where inside a little pick-up truck is waiting.
“Get in,” Logan says in Spanish. Not pointing to the cab of the truck, but to the bed.
I frown. “What?”
Carlos leans into my ear and says, “We have to hide you under the tarp until things are safe. Don’t worry, there’s a mattress to keep you comfortable.” And then he throws back the tarp to reveal an old, stained, lumpy piece of shit that looks very much like something that used to be a mattress like… fifty years ago.
Well, that’s fuckin’ wonderful. And I almost hesitate, but then I replay the whole head-splatting-against-the-plaster-wall scene and decide to do what I’m told.
I’m still wearing the stupid stringy bikini, so I do not—like absolutely do not—want to crawl into that bed, giving them all a view of my ass. But I have no choice. I do it. I climb in and crawl across the mattress, and to my horror, Carlos climbs in next to me. His arms automatically reaching around my waist, he pulls me close to his body as Ricky throws the tarp over both of us. I catch Ricky’s gaze for one second, but then the tarp covers us, and everything goes dark.
It’s eerily quiet for a few seconds. No gunfire, no shouting, no nothing. Just the sound of my own heartbeat thumping in my chest and then… “Shhh,” Carlos whispers in my ear. Just before the truck doors slam in unison and the engine starts up. “We’ll be fine. Logan won’t let them get us. He’ll die before he lets that happen.”
Will he? I mean, Carlos beat the ever-loving shit out of Logan last night. His face is swollen and purple. I don’t even think he can see out of one eye, that’s how puffy it is. So will he? Really? I just don’t believe it. There’s a part of me that wonders if Logan isn’t here to do exactly the same thing Ricky and I are doing. Not for the same reasons, of course. But family or not, underlings sometimes have grand ambitions. And Logan definitely strikes me as that type of nephew. Maybe he’s just biding his time? Waiting on Carlos to get himself killed so he can take over. And if that happens I think… I think I’m just a piece of property that Logan would inherit.
What have you started, Tyler?
Carlos pets my head, snapping me back to the reality of this current situation. And the only thing that keeps me from gagging in revulsion at that disgusting display of affection is the fact that one hand is no longer pressing on my lower belly.
The truck is on the move now. Heading God knows where. My heart begins to flutter with panic. The dirty roads around here are bumpy, so of course we hit a pothole going around a corner and my body goes flying up in the air, which gives Carlos an opportunity to pull me closer and when I stop flopping from the bumpy road, his hand slips right between my legs. The bikini is so skimpy, his fingertips actually flitter across my clit. And I do not care who the fuck he is right now. I don’t care if he’s goddamned Scarface incarnate. I break free of his grasp, throw the tarp off of me, and I’m ready to jump out of this stupid truck and run.
“Madison!” he barks. “Get back under the tarp!”
He grabs me by the arm so hard, there’s no getting away. And a moment later, I’m back under, pretty much on top of him now, and his hands are all over my ass. Caressing me, like this is supposed to make me feel better.
“Carlos Castillo,” I growl, trying to find his eyes in the hazy darkness. I’m so pissed off.
Easy there, Red, Devil says. Play it cool, bitch.
So I close my eyes for the count of one, take a deep breath, and in my calmest Scarlett voice I say, “This is not my idea of a glamorous getaway. You should have an airstrip. A private plane ready to take me to a yacht. I mean, what kind of bullshit is this? I actually think I’m getting bit by something. Does this mattress have fleas? Were there goats sleeping on this disgusting bag of filth before today? Because I’ll tell you what. You’d better not so much as scowl at me when you see all the bedbug bites I have when we get to wherever we’re going. And you better have antibiotics waiting for me too. After all I’ve been through in my life I refuse—refuse—to die of typhoid, or tetanus, or some equally third-world bullshit just because you’re afraid to fly!”
There’s like… five or six seconds of silence. Just the rumble of the engine in this old-ass truck and the wind flapping against the heavy canvas tarp as we race away to parts unknown.
Oh, shit, Angel says. Now you’ve done it.
And I might’ve. Ricky’s right. I really do have a temper problem. Because I think Carlos is holding his breath. And now I’m holding my breath and I’m pretty sure he’s gonna pull out a knife or a gun and cut my heart out or shoot me in the head.
He laughs so loud I startle. And he laughs so long, I figure he’s actually gone insane. I brace myself for the violence. For the sharp pain as he sticks a knife in my ribs. Or the crack of a gun as he blows my brains out.
But instead his long laugh devolves into a chuckle and he kisses me on the lips again. “I love your spirit. I have been right all along! You’re the perfect woman for me.”
“I… I am?” I stammer, unsure where this is going. Thoroughly disgusted at the second kiss, but too afraid to say so.
“You know what you want and go after it. I love that about you.”
OK, Devil says. Lay down the ground rules, chica. This is your only chance. Scarface respects you. Time to remind him of your deal.
“We had a deal, right?” I say, finding his eyes and staring him down. “You be patient with me, I’ll be patient with you. And that means you do not take advantage of me because we’re in this dangerous situation. You keep your hands away from my pussy, Mr. Castillo. Or I’ll… I’ll…”
“Or you’ll what?” he asks, but not angrily. Kinda… playfully. Which is revolting. “Tell me what you’ll do if I don’t respect you, Madison Clayton.”
Make it good, Angel says. God helps those who help themselves.
I want to punch her. But she’s right. Carlos expects some classic Maddie right now. So I pull myself together, take a deep breath, and say, “I’ll make you weak with want. I’ll give you just enough to make you crave more, and then withhold all the very best parts of me. I’ll be with you, but never truly with you, Carlos Castillo. I’ll be yours, but you’ll still be alone. Because we made a deal and if you break your promise to me on day two, then how could I ever trust you with my heart?”
He blinks. Three times in a sliver of sunshine filtering its way through a crack in the tarp. But says nothing.
“I couldn’t. Trust you, I mean. And relationships are built on trust, Carlos. Trust is earned, so if you want me, truly want me, then we have to do it right and build that trust together.”
Angel and Devil stand united on my right shoulder, high-fiving each other.
Nailed it, Devil says after their hands slap.
But Carlos remains silent.
Shit.
Don’t. Say. A. Word. Angel whispers. Let him come to you.
The seconds tick off and I start counting. One-one-thousand, two-one-thousand… and when I get to eight-one-thousand he says, “You… are the only woman I want. We can do it your way.”
I smile. I even force it to reach my eyes. Place a hand on his cheek and gaze lovingly into his hard gaze—a move that might’ve won me an Academy Award if I was an actress—and say, “One day, Carlos… I think we’ll look back on this moment and think this was the moment when we redefined our future. And I will kiss you on the lips as we replay it in our minds, and say, ‘This was the beginning of everything that came next.’”
I kiss him now. Force myself to do it. To make him believe. To remind myself why I’m doing it. It’s awful, but I do it.
It’s the forced cohesion of two like ends of a magnet.
Parts of a whole that are decidedly repulsive. Entirely repellent.
And what comes next, when he kisses me back, isn’t the explosive fever of love, but the inevitable combustion of two volatile chemicals.
His kiss is an agreement to be patient. Mine, nothing but the promise of payback.
Our truce is tentative. Like that moment when a match is being held over a puddle of gasoline. Right before the fingers holding it let go and it falls, like angels fall from Heaven, and Carlos and I are there together.
This is going to end badly… but revenge always has a price.
And I’m willing to pay it.