“Trouble” – The New Respect

Ronan has been gone for two days. And for two days, I’ve been locked in this damn room!

I pace the room like a caged animal, crawling out of my skin. I have to talk to Gabriel, and that’s not happening while Ronan is here. I debated using the burner phone I've hidden in the toilet tank, but I still can't be sure it's not actually Ronan. I need to get out and get to another phone. Now. While he's not here. He said himself his men have orders not to kill me. Funny, I can get past the ones with the guns, yet the unarmed man in the suit stops me in my tracks.

There’s a knock on the door. The lock clicks, and I watch as one of Ronan's men brings a tray into the room. He flashes a nervous glance in my direction, and I sit on the edge of the bed. Smiling, I cross one leg over the other, and my dress rides up my thigh. His eyes drop to my legs before he quickly looks away. I've been here long enough to learn all the men that come in and out of here. This one is young, inexperienced. The weak link. You'd think after my little bonfire they'd be more careful about who they send in here.

He turns his back on me as he places the tray on the bedside table—like I said, inexperienced. I quickly stand and tiptoe over to him. My footfalls are muted by the thick carpet, so I’m surprised when he whips around, his body tense. I flick my hair over my shoulder as I reach out and trail my finger down the center of his chest. He glances at my hand working down to the waist of his slacks. His breaths come in short bursts, his eyes close—that’s a mistake. I jab him in the throat with two fingers and knee him between his legs. He buckles to the floor, gasping for breath. He's so young. I almost feel bad when I move behind him and wrap my arm around his neck. He chokes and wheezes as I grip the top of his head and violently twist. The satisfying crunch of bone is followed by silence, and he falls face down on the carpet. Yes, guilt is occasionally a factor, but so is the fact that you should beware of the company you keep. Working with men like Ronan Cole will get you killed.

I glance at that fucking camera in the corner of the room. I don’t know how much time I have, so I check him for weapons. No gun, but he does have a knife.

I grab a knee length fur coat from the closet and pull on a pair of boots. My heart hammers in my chest. The last time I got out was because I was pissed and I wanted to annoy Ronan. This is different. I don't want to start a blood bath; I just need to get out. The door creaks as I slowly open it, and I peek down the hallway. It’s empty, so I hurry out and make my way through the house, slinking along the walls and making sure to avoid the areas with cameras. The front is heavily guarded since my last escape. And while the vehicles are easy to get to, I'd be fighting off an army once I got in one. The back is the best option.

I hurry along the hallway, stopping at the elevator and pressing the down arrow before I hide behind the corner. My palm slicks with sweat as I clutch the knife in my hand. I think I’ve avoided the cameras until now, but they'll see the body in my room… There's a ping and I hear the doors slide open. I wait, listening for someone to step off, but there’s only silence. I pop around the corner and slip into the corner of the elevator. There’s a beep with each floor I pass, and when the doors open, I’m in a basement. Steel garage doors line the far wall and rows of luxury cars sit in each bay. The Russian really does have too much money.

Glancing around, I spot a key box on the wall and I go to it, managing to force open the lock with the tip of the knife. My pulse bangs in my ear as I snatch a key and press the unlock button. Headlights on a bright red Jaguar flash as a soft chirp echoes around the garage, and I hurry to it. It's not exactly inconspicuous, but at least it’s fast. I climb in, start the engine, and glance around for a garage remote. Fuck, there isn't one. There’s a sharp pinging noise followed by another. Bullets ricochet off the cars around me. I press the gas and the engine rumbles, snarling like an angry beast.

"I'm sorry," I say, and slam it into drive. The car shoots forward and I brace, closing my eyes as it collides with the garage door. The windshield cracks and bows, but it doesn’t break. The garage door hinges screech in protest as they begin to tear from the runners. I press all the way down on the accelerator, tires spinning, engine revving. As soon as the mangled doors scrape over the roof of the car, I floor it. The car drifts, skidding around the back of the house before I speed up the drive. Guns fire as I approach the guard house, but the men aren’t aiming at me. Ronan and his no kill orders. I crash through the front gate, snow flying everywhere as the metal entrance rips off its hinges.

I glance in the rearview. A string of SUVs barrel up the drive after me. I slam my foot down on the gas, and they fall behind. Shouldn't be hard to hard to outrun them. After a few sharp turns, I lose them. I drive for about an hour, and when I feel it’s safe, I pull up to a gas station. The pumps are rusted and the advertisements in the ice-covered windows are faded. I don’t bother to cut the engine before I open the door and run to the shop. The bell to the door tinkles and I stop in the doorway, looking around the messy store. My breath fogs in front of my face. No heat. Someone coughs and I turn toward the sound, stepping around the shelving. There’s an old man bundled in a thick coat, toboggan, and gloves sitting behind a counter. He looks up at me with tired eyes.

"Phone?" I ask. He frowns at me. Damn it. Spanish and English are all I know. I hold my hand to my ear in the universal phone sign, and he nods before waving me behind the counter. He points to the floor, at an old phone. I pick it up and dial Gabe's number. The phone rings several times and I swear under my breath. I only have so much time to do this before Ronan finds me, because he absolutely will find me.

Finally, Gabe picks up. "Hola."

"Gabe!"

He pauses for a second. "Where is that fucking Russian?"

"Not here, but it won't be long. I cannot believe you sold out to him." I sigh. Not important right now. "Look, I need you to listen. The land, with the lake...that's why he wants us. There's something there. He tried to buy it off Jésus. Funny that he then suddenly makes a deal with you to take Jésus out... Find it and use whatever it is he wants so badly to get us out from under that Russian fuck."

"What land? There are a million lakes in fucking Mexico!"

"Estrallado Largo."

"What the fuck does he want with a meteor site? Ai, ai, ai. He's fucking loco. I swear to god, when I get out from under him, I'm going to shove his pale dick up his asshole."

"I don't know. I didn't get a chance to ask him what his master plan to take over the world is. Fuck! Just do it."

"You find a way out."

"Gabe," I sigh. "I'm not sure I'll make it out of this one.” There’s a pause. “You should have just let him kill me, Gabriel. You've shown him a weakness, and now he'll push the advantage. Papa taught you better."

"I'm not letting the Russian fuck kill you, Camilla."

I'd tell Ronan a thousand times that I would sacrifice Gabriel for my cartel. It's what our father taught us to do, to never negotiate and show weakness. The truth is, sometimes sentiment is all we have. I love Gabriel. He’s the only person I have left, and I know all too well that this world can be very lonely.

"I have to go," I whisper. "I love you." I never say it, but I don't know when or if I'll ever get the chance again. I don’t wait for a response; I just hang up. The old man stares at me for a second and I stand up, smiling at him in thanks. I've done what I needed to do, now I just have to wait for Ronan's men to find me, which shouldn't take long. I climb back inside the battered Jaguar and head for Moscow. Might as well make a day of it.