Chapter Sixteen

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Emily had been given a chic black pantsuit with a satin lapel and a white blouse to wear. The shoes were your average black flats.

Honestly, she looked more like the servants, but that was fine by her. She had no idea what this dinner party was about or who any of these people were. First off, they all spoke Spanish, so it wasn't like she could eavesdrop. All she knew was that they came from money—nice suits, sparkly cocktail dresses, expensive watches and jewelry. While they mingled and sipped, she sat in the corner with one of Elonzo's armed guards hovering over her.

Where is he, anyway? Probably out chopping heads or handpicking the next batch of children to be trafficked across the border. Disgusting pig.

Her eyes gravitated toward a short bald man with four bodyguards. The moment he entered the small banquet room with gold-leaf trim and expensive-looking abstract art, everyone lined up to shake his hand.

"Who's that?" Emily asked the guard standing next to her, unsure if he spoke English.

"The governor."

Here? At a narco's house? She thought he looked familiar, like she'd seen him on the news once, but for which Mexican state? It wasn't like she knew exactly where they were. "Of Sonora?"

He frowned. "New Mexico."

Oh. Oh crap. "Are we in New Mexico right now?"

The guard nodded.

So they weren't in Mexico-Mexico, and the Heroin King lived in the States. Why was she not surprised?

Charge had always alluded to the fact that the cartels, including the recently ousted Colombian, had powerful backers here in the US. He'd hinted that they sanctioned the use of groups like suite forty-five, as did the local leaders. And with the powerful connections Charge had, there'd been no question in her mind that he knew people inside the FBI, CIA, Homeland, or whichever department. Only a person with government connections could pull off killing "the Meat Grinder," aka Elonzo's son, in Juarez and then zipping back to the US in the commuter lane without showing paperwork—a hit job she'd been on as part of her training. It hadn't gone so smoothly for her, but it had ended in borrowing that SUV and making off with Elonzo's drug money.

Still don't buy that he doesn't want it back .

Either way, now she knew Elonzo had his own powerful allies, which made sense. He'd hired the Warren Group to push out suite forty-five, and that couldn't have happened without someone giving the green light.

So what does Elonzo want with me? Again, all she could come up with was they planned to use her as a bargaining chip or pump her for information on suite forty-five.

Neither was good. Oh, had she mentioned that the time she'd been taken by the cartel and tortured, it had been Elonzo's people? The men paid with their lives, but they had not gone easy on her.

While the guests paid attention to the governor, Emily noticed a man with long brown hair and a beard wander in. He was tall, muscular, and…

Gray eyes.

Charge? She couldn't be sure because the guests were blocking her view. It can't be him. He'd never show his face here. Or would he?

She tried to get to her feet for a better look, but the guard pushed her back into her seat. "The boss said you need to wait here until he comes to get you."

"I have to use the bathroom," she whispered. "Whatever they gave me earlier is making me feel sick. Please?"

He drew a breath. "Fine. This way. But like the boss said, don't do anything to embarrass him. Understand?"

She understood that the people in this room might be dressed respectably, but that was as far as it went. They had to know exactly who Elonzo was, which meant they were corrupt and wouldn't give one shit if she stood up on a table and yelled, "Help! I'm being held prisoner."

Then there was the fact that she was now a wanted fugitive. No, she hadn't seen the news, but she could only guess that her picture was plastered on every news site. On top of that, Elonzo had told her that these people wanted to meet her, so her identity couldn't be a secret. In short, they'd be no help in saving her. But if Charge was here, maybe, just maybe he was here to get her out?

Yes, she'd decided to cut ties, and maybe she was ready to die, but not here. Not by the hands of Elonzo.

Her mind spun with all the things he'd said about "Sampson" trying to keep her locked up and away from Elonzo. But why? She didn't know, but even after all of Charge's lies, she still trusted him over the Heroin King.

"The restroom is this way." Elonzo's guard jerked his head toward the right of the room. She got up, and he followed her out into the hall, where he pointed to a door. When she tried it, it was locked.

"I can't wait," she said. "Is there another I can use?" Maybe one closer to the other side of that banquet room where she might have just spotted Charge?

He hesitated.

"I don't want to throw up on my nice outfit." She cupped her hand over her mouth.

He pointed to another door down the long hall running parallel to the banquet room. She rushed toward it, faking gagging sounds while she walked past the second bathroom, trying to get a peek inside the party from a different angle.

She glanced through another doorway, but three people stood in the way.

"It's here," said the guard. "You passed it."

"Oh. Sorry." The next door was locked, too.

She looked at the man with pleading eyes, hoping for another shot, but instead of telling her to wait, he told her they'd have to go upstairs.

"But I am warning you," he said, "one wrong twitch, and I have instructions to take you back down to the basement. The boss doesn't like being disobeyed."

She didn't want to go upstairs. She wanted to find Charge—if that was even him.

"I'll behave," she lied.

The man took her around the corner and led her up a grand staircase. Two hallways later, they arrived at the third bathroom. She rushed into the lavish mirrored space with bright white marble flooring, pretending to throw up in the toilet while simultaneously flushing to hide the fact that she wasn't.

When she looked up, the guard had closed the door. She went to it and pressed her ear to the smooth wood. She couldn't hear anyone outside, but the guy couldn't be far.

Slowly, she cracked open the door.

The man was five steps away, talking to someone on his phone with his back to her. She slid off her flats, took them in her hands, and tiptoed out, closing the door behind her. She rushed down the hall in the opposite direction.

She needed to find her way back to the party and see if the bearded man was Charge.

Heart pounding and sweat beading on her forehead, she turned the corner and skidded to a halt. Elonzo's booming voice was coming from one of the nearby rooms.

She shut her eyes, attempting to calm her breathing. Okay. Okay. She'd have to tiptoe past the room and pray Elonzo didn't hear or see her.

Slowly, she crept closer to the first open door. No one was inside, and the lights were off. One down. She made her way toward the second door.

"Yes, my angel. You are the best little girl in the world," Elonzo said with a chuckle.

"What about me, Daddy?" said a little girl.

"You are also the best, so I guess it is a tie," he said.

He was talking to his daughters.

"Now, Daddy has important people waiting downstairs, so you two need to get to sleep. Ring for Clara if you need anything."

Emily heard him kiss one of the girls with a big, "Mmmuah!"

Go, dumbass. Go! Emily tiptoed past his daughters' room and headed down the hallway, reaching a corner. She turned and spotted an armed man in the hallway. He was too occupied on his phone to notice her.

Shit. She took off back around the corner toward Elonzo's daughters' room. She slipped past it, praying for a miracle, and then ducked inside the empty room next door, hiding behind a small couch. It looked like the girls' playroom.

Emily smooshed her hand over her mouth to stifle her loud, panicked breaths. Any moment now, the guard would be knocking on that bathroom door. She had to get back there, if that was even possible.

"Taking yourself on a tour?" said a deep voice.

Emily winced. Elonzo had seen her.

"You can come out. I won't hurt you." He flipped on the lights.

Yeah. Right. He'd likely just save the punishment until after the guests left.

She stood upright, knowing she had to face him, but what could she say? She wasn't about to tell him that the man who was paid to kill him might be at his party.

"You know, Emily, I understand why you would try to run." Elonzo gestured toward the couch. He wore an elegant black suit and a navy-blue shirt with a matching silk tie. His longish black hair was neatly combed back and tucked behind his ears without so much as a hint of product. He looked so civilized, so handsome. She guessed it made it easier to masquerade in public as a human being.

"Please take a seat," he said.

"But…the governor is waiting downstairs, and I'm sure you'd like to—"

"Sit. Please."

She nodded and obeyed. He took a small green child's chair from the crafting table behind him and sat in front of her. It was a sly move, making him seem less threatening, and meant to disarm her, no doubt.

"Your-your children sound sweet. Daddy's girls. I bet you love them a lot."

He nodded. "More than they could possibly understand. They are all I have left of their mother."

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that." She wasn't sure if she meant it, though. If they'd been sitting in a normal person's house, and he was a normal person, she would definitely mean it. But the Heroin King was not a normal person.

"Thank you, but I have no one but myself to blame." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs, lacing his fingers together. "You see, Emily, I wasn't always this man. A man with so much blood on his hands. Like you, I fell into the role. Like you, I fought the path forced on me."

Was he trying to garner sympathy? Because it wouldn't work. "Forced, huh?"

He nodded. "When I was twenty-nine, I thought I could make a difference in my community. I saw the corruption, the violence on the streets, and the rich living above it all. I thought," he held an index finger in the air, "if we could get an honest person into office, we could change all that."

"I'm assuming you were met with resistance?"

"A violent, rude awakening. I learned quickly that once you become part of the game, the only escape is death. But first, they will take pieces of you—one slice at a time. The first cut is free. The second cut will take your arm, then your leg. They will keep cutting until there is nothing left."

She winced. "But you're still here and apparently intact."

"Am I? Because the man I used to be is not. That idealist died when my pregnant wife was shot because I tried to push back against the cartels. My daughters almost died too—born two months early—but their mother was lost. And it was on that day that I realized there would be no justice for my Julia unless I delivered it. But I could only do that by being more powerful than the rest. This is an all-or-nothing game, Emily. I did not make the rules. I did not want to play it. But here I am."

He'd forgotten to mention that the game entailed kidnapping innocent women and children to be sold as sex slaves in the US. He forgot the hundreds of thousands of people being poisoned and dying after taking one small pill at a party—something no young person, or old, should have to pay for with their lives.

"So now you make the rules," she said.

"That is an illusion. I influence some, but most everything I do is to protect what I love. If that means I must align with certain powerful individuals or do favors for them, then that is what I do. If I have to pay off officials with tens of millions of dollars to keep what I cherish, then I make those millions the only way I'm allowed to."

"Illegally."

He nodded.

She wasn't about to get into a philosophical debate with the man, considering he was easily triggered and she didn't know the list of items that set him off. "So you became the Heroin King."

"Emily," he said sharply, "if it wasn't me, it would be someone else. And that is a fact."

He wasn't completely wrong. "Why are you telling me all this?"

"Because, like me, you decided to play. You are now part of the game whether you like it or not."

"So I play to win, or I die." Got it. Thanks for the life lesson on how to be an evil asshole.

"Or, like me, you must do both."

He was speaking metaphorically, of course. "I can't argue with what you've said. I mean, the part about your old self dying just to survive, but—"

"Wrong game, Emily. This is not about survival. It is about winning as many hands as you can. Each win buys you another round. Another chance. Another day, month, or year. But ultimately, your time will run out." He shrugged. "Such is life."

She nodded, still unsure why he was telling her all this. "Okay."

"Emily, I invited you here—"

" Forced me here."

" Rescued you from prison because I wanted to give you a chance to decide before the final cut is made. And I am not speaking of your old self. Your life hangs by a very small thread."

But, according to him, there was no price on her head. "Why do you care what happens to me?"

"I will get into that another time. After our week is over. Just know that I could have had you killed in prison or even this morning. I know you were there the night your team executed my son. I know that they left you behind, and that is why you stole the SUV containing my money. I know you killed Dearheart to save the assassin who is now searching for me. There is no reason to let you live. Not when doing so makes me look weak and killing you would matter to no one." He paused. "Except me."

She wanted to ask why, but she knew he wouldn't tell her. Not until the week was over.

He continued, "But take tonight as another gesture of goodwill." He stood. "Please do not disobey me or my men again. It is for your own protection."

She frowned. "Protection?"

"Do you truly believe Sampson would let me keep one of his prized assassins? By now, he's placed a price on your head." He turned to leave. "Just the head, in case you were wondering. Now come, I must introduce you to the governor."