Nothing good ever happened with tarps taped to the floor—it was the one stalwart consistency in her life, though she couldn’t call it comforting. Just depressingly familiar. She took a breath and forced herself to walk to the far side of the room, away from the single bare bulb swaying overhead, away from her uncle, and away from Ethan Somerton.
And as far as she could possibly get from the man, already broken and bleeding, tied to the room’s only chair. Natalia had no love for Stephen Milner, though part of her had hoped to avoid this. Still, he’d known who he was doing business with. And whose money he’d stolen. Milner’s choices—and no one else’s—had led them here.
But now, because he’d failed to do his job, Natalia was faced with doing hers.
“Venga.” Carlos placed a hand between Ethan’s shoulder blades and shoved, propelling him farther into the dimly lit room. Ethan didn’t complain, just straightened, pulled his shoulders back, and followed Hernan inside. He’d been quiet on the ride over, but then, what was there to say? He wasn’t a stupid man; he knew what awaited him, understood what would happen to Stephen Milner, even if he didn’t yet grasp the finer points of how it would all play out. Natalia took up a spot against the far wall and forced herself to look away from Ethan.
“What’s going on?” Ethan asked Hernan. Remarkably composed given the barely recognizable man taped to a chair, he stepped lightly, the covered floor whispering rather than announcing his approach. He swept the space with a discerning, curious gaze, but there wasn’t much to see beyond bare, windowless walls and two steel-framed doors—the one Carlos had shoved Ethan through led to an alley where the three SUVs they’d arrived in idled. The other, Natalia assumed, led to an empty factory or warehouse. A Vega holding, no doubt, which she did her best to avoid.
“We’re dealing with a few loose ends,” Hernan said as the heavy steel door behind him closed with a thud. He straightened the lapels of his jacket and made his way to the center of the room, the heavy plastic shifting and cracking beneath every step. “Your predecessor,” he said, nodding to Stephen Milner. “Though I imagine he’s difficult to recognize.”
Natalia stared straight ahead but let her gaze go loose and unfocused. She didn’t need or want to see, though she couldn’t hope to avoid it forever. Just more kindling for the nightmares.
“Mr. Milner,” Hernan said, clapping a hand to Stephen’s shoulder in a gesture that was as patronizing as it was paternal, “was my accountant for more than ten years. He cleaned our money, and in exchange, I made him rich. And despite my generosity, he stole from me.” Hernan sighed and shook his head. “He’s here to answer for his crimes.”
“N-no, I . . . ,” Milner croaked through chapped, bleeding lips.
Natalia couldn’t even claim surprise at the state of the man before her. When Hernan had texted her, demanding she escort Ethan to this location, she’d known what was coming. Hernan had only one use for her, and one way or another, his demands tended to end the same way. A life gone. A piece of Natalia sold and consumed and destroyed. But also because when she’d arrived, her uncle had opened the car door and smiled at her. Offered his hand as she’d stepped outside. It was a courtesy he always offered Ana Maria but rarely something he bestowed on Natalia. That gesture alone would have told her he was in a good mood. That he was happy to see her, which happened only when he was excited, poised to exact justice for a slight against him. It was, Natalia knew, when he felt most potent, most powerful.
And when he was the most predictable.
It was a goddamn cliché, really. The warehouse. The torture. The cheap theatrics Hernan believed bought obedience and cultivated fear.
“Please, I c-c-can tell you—”
“I thought we were past this, Stephen,” Hernan said, his inflection flat and smooth, as if he’d stated a fact or statistic he’d heard on the evening news. “Past the denials and the excuses. I was told you were ready. Was I misinformed?”
“Please . . . ,” Milner mumbled, his tongue thick with dehydration. He’d been here awhile, Natalia realized—hours, certainly; days, maybe. “I know th-th-hinges.”
Beneath the bruising and the blood, the heavy, slurred speech, and the way his head drooped and rolled as if it had grown too heavy for his shoulders, it was hard to tell just how long Milner had been at her uncle’s mercy.
It hardly mattered. He was down to minutes. Natalia knew it. Hernan knew it. And judging by the constant stream of pleas and lies that fell, half-voiced and pitiful, from Milner’s broken mouth, he knew it, too.
“M-m-mercy,” Milner pushed out between cracked and bleeding lips. “Please.”
A shiver stole down Natalia’s spine. She locked her muscles, kept her arms crossed, did her best to check out of the next several minutes.
“All in good time,” Hernan agreed, squeezing Milner’s shoulder. “But not yet. Not for you.”
Milner settled even as Ethan shifted from foot to foot, the near-silent whisper of plastic beneath his feet reminding Natalia that he was here. That Hernan had brought him to bear witness to what happened to those who cheated him. If Hernan intended to shock him, he’d get his wish. Just not in the way he imagined.
She pulled her gaze away from Ethan’s and back to her uncle and Stephen Milner’s final moments.
“You want his job?” Hernan asked, turning his attention to Ethan and stepping away from Milner.
“I do,” Ethan replied. Calm and collected, he let Hernan approach him in an arc, circling in close like a shark. Ethan didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Barely seemed to track Hernan as he passed behind him.
Natalia knew better. When it came to her uncle, Ethan didn’t need to watch him. Hernan’s heavy breath, his footsteps—loud and a touch uneven under the weight of a man who drank too much and exercised too little—gave away his progress.
“I made that sack of shit rich, but he took what didn’t belong to him. Now you’d have me believe you’re different.”
“N-no, p-p-please! I—”
Hernan nodded, his gesture clipped and efficient. In unison, two men Natalia knew on sight, but not by name, moved, one grasping Milner’s right hand and prying his index finger from his fist, the other stepping forward with a pair of industrial kitchen scissors used to cut through chicken bones.
Milner’s scream bounced off the cinder-block walls, echoing in the dying wail of a tortured animal as his index finger dropped to the plastic-covered floor, joining three others. The steady tap tap tap of blood against the ground matched the angry beat of her heart.
“I’d thought the money enough to buy his loyalty,” Hernan continued. “It certainly bought him luxury. A life he’d never have achieved on his own. But then, there’s a fine line between self-interest and greed. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“People are predictable.” Ethan shrugged. “Men like him,” he added, inclining his head toward Milner, “especially so.”
“And what do you know of ‘men like him’?” Hernan’s forehead creased until heavy brows cast shadows over dark eyes.
“I know that they’re soft and that they’ve never had to fight for anything. A man like that takes risks without the education of consequences. It makes him lazy. And stupid.” Ethan shifted his stony stare from Milner to Hernan and said, “And, if you’re paying attention, predictable.”
“You think I should have known?” Hernan asked, the challenge slipping from his tongue like the rattle of a snake’s tail.
Tread carefully, Natalia thought. Her uncle had an explosive temper and a constant need to prove his control, his power. He didn’t respect those he considered weak—one of the reasons Milner had stolen so much for so long. Her uncle had assumed he needn’t watch Stephen, didn’t need to worry that the soft corporate lackey with eyes for fast cars, fine things, and fresh-faced company would have the balls to rip him off.
If there was anything Natalia could grant her uncle, it was that he didn’t make the same mistakes twice.
Still, if Ethan’s goal was to work his way into Hernan’s good graces, he would gain nothing by playing a simpering, greedy coward—something Natalia suspected Ethan knew already and was exploiting. Instead, Ethan would have to convince Hernan he was formidable—but uninterested in more than he was being offered. A delicate balancing act, and not one a man could pull off without careful planning.
Ethan, she knew, had come prepared.
“The signs were there,” Ethan said with a shrug, as if he didn’t hear the near-constant whine from Milner’s throat.
Shivers racked Milner’s immobilized body—though whether it was from the trauma or withdrawal from the cocaine addiction he’d nursed for more than a decade, Natalia couldn’t be sure. At this point, it hardly mattered.
“Were they?” Hernan asked.
“If you chose to look.” Ethan stepped forward, moving closer to Milner, walking on blood and vomit as if he didn’t notice or care.
“At a glance, everything about Stephen Milner looks average and boring, from his imported silver sedan to his twenty-third-floor condo off DuPont Circle. He’s habitual, settled into his routine.” Ethan glanced from Milner to Hernan. “I didn’t have to look very hard to find his weaknesses. Or figure out how he spent his money.”
“Explain,” Hernan demanded.
“He hid the coke habit well enough—a recreational if consistent user. It didn’t impair his ability to do his job, but it wasn’t something he could kick, either. Not with the sort of access he had to high-end product.”
“My product, you mean.”
“It shouldn’t surprise you. Nothing more predictable than an addict with access.”
“But it wasn’t just the drugs,” Hernan said. “It wasn’t just my merchandise disappearing up his nose.”
“Of course not. His addiction’s not that simple. Truth is, there’s nothing remarkable about a man like Stephen Milner. He’s just like every other overindulged, middle-aged American out there. Mommy and Daddy told him he was special. That he could be anything, do anything, have anything. And he was dumb enough to believe it.” Ethan sighed and settled into a relaxed position, his arms crossed beneath his chest. “A man like Milner always expected to be successful. Thought it his due. From the moment you started lining his pockets with money, he started wondering what else he could buy. Who else he could outpace. For a man like that, the addiction isn’t about drugs or money or sex—it’s about what makes him feel powerful. Big. Important. And that’s never about what he can afford, it’s about what’s just beyond his reach.”
“N-no, I—” Another scream, another finger, and Milner fell quiet but for a few mewling cries.
“New car every eighteen months—always an upgrade, always half the lease term. He’s moved how many times in the last ten years? Six? Seven? Always to a bigger place with a better view. But it was never enough. He was never satisfied. Not with the call girls. Not with coke or the expensive cases of imported wine.”
Ethan pinned Hernan with a steady stare.
“You thought you bought his loyalty,” Ethan continued, “but he’d already sold his soul to greed. It would never have been enough. He’d always want more. Eventually, he felt bold enough to take it. I don’t know if he became complacent, overconfident, or both, but somewhere down the line, Milner began skimming from cartel transactions to feed his habits. When he got away with that, ego reigned where caution should have.”
Ethan stepped away from Milner, turning more fully to address Hernan, who looked both furious and intrigued. Competence and arrogance: it wasn’t a combination her uncle was used to. The men in his employ tended to fall into two categories: sycophant or sociopath in need of an outlet.
He kept both busy.
“How much of your coke went up his nose?” Ethan asked. “Do you even know?”
“I do now,” Hernan said. “Once you provided a detailed overview of the money he’d taken and the places he’d spent it, he became very willing to answer questions.”
Ethan rolled his neck, the pop-click-crack of vertebrae loud in the small room. “He was a long-standing client of a well-known madam. But when the call girls lost their shine, what then? Where did he turn to find the bigger rush, the better thrill? The thing about an illicit rush is that the more you indulge, the less forbidden it becomes. So when call girls became little more than expensive girlfriends, he turned to some of your other business ventures to quench his thirst, didn’t he?”
That, more than anything, was why Natalia couldn’t drum up any sympathy for Stephen Milner. He’d made his bed. On more than one occasion taken some terrified underage boy or girl to it. As often as possible, Natalia interceded, placed a call, tipped off the authorities. But it wasn’t enough. It never would be. So, like with all other aspects of her life, she settled for what she could secure even as she longed for more.
“And who’s to say I won’t have the same problem with you?” Hernan asked, though anger had fled his expression.
Ethan shrugged. “You’re not a man who repeats his mistakes.”
“And yet, it would seem you missed something.”
Hernan stroked his chin and considered Ethan with a quiet, shuttered expression Natalia didn’t care for. It wasn’t like her uncle to hold back, to play things close to the vest. She relied too much on his impatience and transparency. If that were to change . . .
Ethan’s facade slipped, and surprise, however brief, stole across his face. Ethan had done his homework, that much was clear based on how well he’d played her uncle. He’d presented himself as a careful blend of ego and proficiency—confidence that bordered on arrogance but was held in check by a strict work ethic. Ethan Sullivan was the culmination of all of Ethan’s strengths and none of his weaknesses. The man in the room with her right now didn’t care about the greater good, didn’t keep his promises because personal ethics demanded it of him. No, the man standing on the opposite side of a soon-to-be-dead man was unforgiving and lethal. He would understand Natalia, respect her choices.
But then, the man before her was a lie.
The man who’d taken her to bed, the one who’d promised to save her sister, the one who’d bled for a seventeen-year-old girl he’d never known—he was real.
And he was far too good for Natalia. And soon enough, he’d know it.
“Did I?” Ethan asked, a biting smile curving one side of his mouth. “Scant days, with limited access to accounts, I suppose it’s possible.”
“You have something to tell me?” Hernan stepped before Milner and stared down as the man worked to bring his chin up. Harsh yellow light spilled across his face, adding depth and color to a man so pummeled that identification, were his body dumped on the coroner’s steps, would be unlikely. “I’m ready to hear it.”
Milner heaved in a breath, then let it go on a wet, heavy exhale. “I c-c-can tell you.” He nodded as if to himself and licked at his swollen lips. “Valuable information. I—” He wheezed and coughed, his head dipping as blood loss and shock worked against him. “More missing. Money.”
“My money?” Hernan asked, the edge of his voice turning sharp. “Who?”
“D-d-don—” When his words failed, Milner just shook his head. But it was enough. He didn’t need to say anything more; even Natalia could piece it all together. Assuming he wasn’t lying, Stephen Milner had not been the only person stealing from Hernan Vega. She marveled that so many could be so stupid.
“M-m-millions.”
“But you don’t know who? Are you sure?” Hernan asked, then nodded and stepped back so one of the men could remove Milner’s pinkie. “Let’s try to jog your memory.”
The wail came out as little more than a raspy plea. Natalia forced herself to remain still and detached. It would be over soon. And quickly. It was the best Milner could hope for and the only thing she could offer him.
“How much money is missing, Stephen?” Hernan demanded.
“Not sure . . . millions,” he replied, his teeth chattering, cold and shock and pain shutting down his systems.
Hernan turned back to Ethan, rage riding his jaw and shoulders, countering the evening’s alcohol that had so far kept Hernan relaxed, buzzed, and as even-keeled as he was capable of.
“Seems you missed something after all, Mr. Sullivan.”
Natalia watched as the muscles at Ethan’s jaw flexed and popped. He stared at Milner as if weighing the truth of his words. For the first time since he’d entered the room, he looked unsure. Caution rode him, from the steady stare to the tense jaw to the set shoulders. But he wasn’t surprised, Natalia realized. Not by the revelation, at least. What did he know?
And what hadn’t he told her?
Had he known about the millions Hernan had not? And if so, how was that possible? Hernan had given him only Stephen’s financials, and if Stephen hadn’t stolen the money, then Ethan would have had no transaction to follow.
Had his team already discovered something with the program Natalia had installed? She doubted it. There hadn’t been nearly enough time—Ethan had said that it would take days to copy and sort through all the information. And anyway, she’d been with Ethan all afternoon and well into the evening. She’d know if he’d talked to his team.
It was with a stunning sense of betrayal that Natalia realized Ethan had lied to her, by omission, at least. It hurt, given the level of trust he’d demanded from her. But worse, she was surprised. She swallowed down the inconvenient emotion. She’d trusted him, and while she didn’t believe that trust was entirely misplaced, the depth to which she’d placed her faith in him was beyond naive.
“Anything to say?” Hernan asked Ethan, stepping back and away from Milner. “This morning, when you provided your review of Milner’s accounts, you assured me that you’d caught everything. A lie? Or are you just stupid?”
Ethan bristled, his striking eyes going straight for Hernan. “You demanded an accounting of Milner’s actions, and I supplied it. If someone else has stolen from you, I’ll track down the transactions and identify them, too. But I can’t find transactions on accounts you’ve locked me out of.”
For a long moment, Hernan and Ethan stared at each other, neither blinking nor moving or speaking. A challenge thrown and a challenge accepted. How her uncle would respond, Natalia couldn’t be sure.
“I-I can find it,” Milner offered, picking up his head to stare at Hernan and Ethan, desperation lending him strength. “S-s-spare me. I’ll—”
Hernan struck out, the back of his closed fist snapping Milner’s head to the side. “You dare to barter for your life?” he thundered. “And with my own money!”
“I’ve taken the fingers that touched what was mine. I should—”
“No! Please.” Milner’s chest heaved under the weight of each terrified breath. “There’s more.”
“More money?”
Milner’s head jerked from side to side, loose and heavy, but a clear no. “T-timing. Transaction . . . a week before the hit.”
Shock and fear stole the air from Natalia’s lungs. Surely not. A coincidence, it had to be. Except, age and experience and criminal enterprise had taught Natalia there was no such thing.
And judging by the way her uncle went still and silent, barely breathing, his face devoid of all expression, he had leaped to the most dangerous conclusion and embraced it.
Someone had tried to assassinate her uncle at his compound in Colombia, and now, if Milner’s implication was to be believed, it had been bought and paid for with Hernan’s own money.
It made sense, but fuck.
No one outside the cartel had known the coordinates of Hernan’s compound, and the sad truth was, Hernan had no shortage of enemies. People he’d slighted or insulted. Men he owed money to.
“With my own money,” Hernan mumbled. “Cobardes.” Slowly, he turned back to Milner, his voice calm but his hands bunched into fists. He was growing desperate. Cornered. If it were an internal power grab, what were the odds it wouldn’t be a clean sweep? That she and Ana Maria weren’t considered dangerous due to association or proximity?
“Is that all?” Hernan asked, his tone turning silken. “Stephen?”
“Y-y-yes.”
“Finish,” Hernan snapped, and turned away.
Gaze trained on the far door, Natalia felt her chest rise and fall in steady measures. She didn’t flinch when Stephen lost his thumb. Didn’t react when his scream broke, his voice all but abandoning him. Just stood there, waiting, her gaze focused on the far door, on the world outside this tiny room, on better things—her sister’s smile, Ethan’s kiss, the way he looked at her like she was something special, something he wanted to understand and embrace and protect—as Stephen lost what remained of his fingers.
“You say you’re better than him,” Hernan said to Ethan as Milner’s head lolled forward, as if barely attached to his shoulders. “What is that going to cost me?”
Natalia allowed herself to focus beyond the agony and the stench of blood. To consider the problem looming instead of the one coming to an end.
“What you paid him,” Ethan said, his gaze passing briefly over Natalia, “plus twenty percent.”
“And why shouldn’t I simply kill you? Who’s to say I can’t find someone better?”
“It isn’t easy to find a man who’s comfortable with your line of work—and clearly, I’m not squeamish when it comes to your business dealings.”
“And why is that, Mr. Sullivan? Why should I trust you, when I clearly should not have trusted him?”
“You shouldn’t, and you don’t,” Ethan countered, as if he were simply bartering over a boardroom table. “But you need me, and right now, that’s enough.” Ethan took a step closer to Hernan, holding up against the scrutiny, rallying under the open threat.
It was the right play. At this point, he’d pushed too hard, dared too greatly. If he crumpled, Hernan would go in for the kill.
“You thought to buy loyalty; it didn’t work,” Ethan said.
“And now?”
“Now you’ll know that every time I handle cartel funds, every time I move money or shift accounts, he will be the first thought through my mind. You hope fear will succeed where money failed.”
“Strange that you don’t seem more concerned about Mr. Milner’s condition.” Hernan studied him as if he didn’t quite know what to make of Ethan’s steady calm.
“I’m a practical man. I knew who I was dealing with long before I accepted your interview. I’m only surprised he’s still alive.”
“And if I put a gun in your hand, told you to rectify that?”
“I’d remind you what you pay me for—and what you don’t.” He didn’t hesitate, didn’t even consider it.
Natalia wondered what he’d do if Hernan ordered it anyway. If, when push came to shove, he’d kill to maintain his cover. Maybe. Milner was dead either way. And Ethan had killed people, he’d told her as much. But still, it was one thing to kill a man who had a gun to your head—or the head of someone you loved—it was instinctive, reactive. Live or die. But it was quite another to make a decision, to have time to consider it, to weigh one life against another. That was cold calculation . . . and far harder to justify.
“Everything at a price,” Hernan said.
“Yes. Though we both know you don’t need me to kill him.” Ethan’s gaze wandered to Milner, as the scent of blood and sweat and urine hung in the air. “You’ve got what you wanted.”
“And what was that?”
“A man guaranteed to act in his own best interest,” Ethan said simply. “I brawled my way through school,” he continued. “Paid my way through college in drugs and fights and bets. A man like Milner could never appreciate the dangers of his position.” Ethan met Hernan’s stare head-on. “I can.”
Yes, Natalia agreed, he could. But it wasn’t because he came from the same broken, eat-what-you-kill background as Hernan did. He was too self-aware. Too collected. Hernan, at the end of the day, was a scavenger. A man who stole what he believed he could keep. Wild. Reckless. Ruthless. But he wasn’t self-possessed enough for the long game.
He wasn’t relentless enough to pursue a greater goal or bigger picture.
But Ethan was. She just hoped he hadn’t lied to her about what that endgame was.
“Find my money and identify who took it, Mr. Sullivan, and the job is yours.” Hernan stepped in close, the breadth of his chest and shoulders pressing Ethan to give, to step back. He didn’t. “One week from today, you deliver the thief. They die . . . or you do. Do we understand each other?”
Ethan didn’t say anything, just dipped his head in acknowledgment, as if Hernan Vega hadn’t just promised to kill him should he fail. As if he hadn’t just seen how such a death would be meted out.
Satisfied, Hernan turned back to Milner. “And you?” he asked. “Are you ready to give me what I want? Or should I have the men fetch some ketchup?”
“P-p-please,” Milner begged, licking his cracked and bloodied lip with a swollen tongue. “N-n-no more. P-please,” he whispered.
“Beg me. Beg me to end your pathetic life.”
Milner wheezed, his lidless eye dilated and unfocused. “M-m—”
“You’ll have to do better than that,” Hernan said, “or perhaps I’ll take your toes—”
Milner squealed and cried, rocking back in his bonds as Hernan crushed the tip of Milner’s bare toe beneath his shoe.
“Try again.”
“M-m-mercy,” Milner pleaded through a broken voice. “P-p-please! Mercy.”
“Granted,” Vega said, turning and walking out the door. Natalia pushed away from the wall and slipped out the blade Carlos had handed her before she’d entered. Resolved, she crossed the room in three long strides. She didn’t look at Ethan. Couldn’t stand to see his expression, be it horror or sadness or just the vacant stare of a man who no longer considered her as anything more than an asset.
For just a little while longer, she wanted to hold on to the look Ethan had cast her at the party as she’d walked away. To the way his eyes had softened as he’d touched her. To the way he’d so clearly wanted to protect her from old wounds. The man who’d held her, coaxed her to pleasured heights she’d never known, cared about her. Wanted good, wonderful things for her.
It had been a long time since anyone had wanted something for her just because they thought she deserved it. She wasn’t ready to lose Ethan’s interest, his conviction that she deserved better, that she was worth saving.
As always, she pulled to mind the image of Ana Maria, crowing over her college acceptance, the dean’s list, the keys to the almost ancient Prius that to Ana Maria meant freedom and to Natalia meant safety. It was the only reminder Natalia needed. The only source of strength she could afford.
She didn’t hesitate. And she didn’t miss.
Stephen Milner slumped against his bonds, dead before Natalia had removed the blade from between his ribs.
She glanced up, forced herself to meet Ethan’s gaze—shuttered and sealed, the playfulness his handsome face had once held, gone. She doubted she’d ever see it again.
And hated that she’d miss it.
Resolved to everything her life was and everything it could never be, Natalia turned and walked away from a man she never should have allowed herself to have.
Mercy comes for us all.