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Down in the basement, I assemble my armor. My head is swimming, and it’s a new feeling for me.

“They need her, Master Parish,” Norman says from behind me. “While she’s bait for you, they have no reason to kill her.”

“Kill her, no. But everything up to that, yes. I don’t even know where they’d have her.”

“You need to remain calm,” he says. “You have no plan.”

I press the heels of my hands against my forehead. My only plan is a marathon killing spree. I force myself to take a lungful of air. When I exhale, Norman and I sit down to decide where to start.

* * *

Voices in the background call for me to stop, but I throw the door open so hard it bounces against the wall. Police Chief Strong looks up from the paperwork on his desk and leans back in his chair.

“Sir, should I cuff him?”

“No,” Strong tells the officer in the doorway. “Give us a minute.”

The man closes the door behind him. Three large strides and I’m looming over the chief’s desk. “I need all your intel on the Riviera Cartel.”

“You blew our cover on that case, Hero. FBI took everything.”

“Bullshit. I’ve already checked their usual positions, but I need more.”

He shakes his head. “Even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you. You’ve got to let them handle the Cartel. Riviera’s gotten even more aggressive since you offed their boss, and they want blood.”

“They have something of mine, and I won’t stop until I get it back.”

“You think you can walk in this station and walk right back out? I can’t let you do that.”

“The fuck you can’t. I don’t have time for this shit.” Before I turn to leave, I rest my knuckles on his desk. “If I find out you’re lying to me, I will destroy your life. Starting with this station and ending with your family.”

His face contorts. “You’re threatening my family?”

“That is no threat. It’s a goddamn guarantee.”

He blinks at me. “Who are you? Do you hear yourself? You’re supposed to be the good guy.”

“I never agreed to be the good guy. My job is to protect, and that’s what I’m doing.”

“It doesn’t matter anyway. We’ve got to book you, Hero. Mask off and everything.”

I slam a fist on his desk and point at him. “You don’t have to do shit. You know what I do for this city.”

“What you do is make a mockery of this force.”

“That what this is about? You’re embarrassed because you can’t keep up?”

“You know it isn’t. You do good, but you don’t deal with the wreckage. People trying to impersonate you and getting themselves killed. Unsolved murders that I foot the bill for. Less confidence in the city’s police force, which means a rise in petty crime. And in the case of the Cartel, you got the FBI so close we got no more wiggle room.” He jumps up from his desk as I back away. “I mean it. This is the end.”

Only Cataline is on my mind, and his orders are meaningless barking in the background as I exit the office. Two men grab my arms, but I shrug them off. Outside on the station steps, people have congregated.

“Stop,” Chief Strong shouts from behind me. “You’re under arrest, Hero.”

The crowd’s collective gasp grates in my ears. From the top step, I scan over their wide eyes and covered mouths. Somewhere I register that the officers are securing my arms behind me, but I’m glued to the spot. There’s an undercurrent of excitement as the crowd grows. A voice yells, “You can’t do this!”

Everyone erupts in angry chants. I hear them all, no matter how noisy it gets. Saved my son from drowning, nothing without him, should be thanking him for his service . . . .

I’ve never stopped to look at those I’ve helped. To me, they’re just the benefactors of a predator who feeds his darkness with scum. Seconds pass before a symphony of clicking shutters begins, and the news van of a competing media company drives up.

Suddenly I’m in handcuffs, men pulling me backward. I yank my wrists apart, and metal snaps. The force of it sends one officer flying into a far-away column. Norman’s in the back of the crowd by the car, lines deepening in his face.

“I don’t know what the hell this is,” the chief says, “but you need to come with us right away. If you run, we’ll have no choice but to fire.”

I bullet down the steps with handcuffs dangling from my wrists, and the crowd parts automatically. A gun’s hammer cocks behind me, but the shot doesn’t come until I’ve cleared the mob. It lands in my upper thigh, merely an annoyance.

I outrun the policemen easily. I don’t need to look back to know I’m leaving fearful faces behind. I block them from my mind, along with the song of sirens behind me.

My driver has the car idling where we planned earlier, an alley not far from the station. He takes off as soon as I slide into the backseat next to Norman.

“What could I do?” I ask when Norman looks at me.

“You had no choice,” he says. “It’ll be fine. Others have witnessed your strength before.”

“Not like this. Nobody’s watched me take a bullet and live to tell about it.”

“Except the Cartel member in the warehouse.”

“He’s good as dead. Who’s going to believe that was merely adrenaline? I can only use that excuse so many times.”

“We’ll deal with the backlash after we have Cataline.”

I nod with a tight jaw and look out the window.

“And maybe then, it’s time to consider ending this.”

“Ending what?”

“All of this, sir.”

I look out the window, not even willing to entertain the thought.

“Master Parish?”

“What?”

“I asked where you’d like to go now.”

“I don’t fucking know.”

“Best we go back to the mansion and wait, sir. They’ll be in contact when they’re ready for us.”

“How am I supposed to do that? I can’t just sit by knowing they have her.”

He shakes his head. “What choice do you have?”

45

Cataline

My only form of escape eludes me. No matter that I close my eyes and will myself to calm, I can’t sleep. I don’t know how much time has passed before Guy returns, but when I hear the door, my eyes fly open.

Though the low sun lights the room, he flips on a dying bulb. He’s still bare chested, and I furtively admire the colorful tattoos spanning his shoulders and arms. Behind him, the boy from earlier enters with a tray of things.

Buenas, querida,” Guy says, walking until his shins almost touch my kneecaps. “You look nice in that position, but you can stand.”

“Spanish?” I ask.

“I picked it up when I was younger. I do it without thinking, since I spend so much time in Mexico.”

My gaze wanders over the script and images that paint the skin so close to my face. On his forearm is the tattoo Frida noticed: a small, oxblood rose with “Riv” curling through the center.

“Like them?” he asks.

My eyes jump back to his. “No.”

“Shame.” He licks his lips while running one finger down my throat and hooking it under the neckline of my sweater. He drags it across my collarbone, and goose bumps pebble over my skin. “I’d love to mark you with something.”

Even though I’m cornered, I try to step back. “Can I eat?”

He glances over his shoulder and nods. The boy passes him handcuffs and leaves the room. Guy drops and dangles them in front of my face. “Arms above your head.”

“Why?” I ask quickly. “I can’t go anywhere.”

He waits silently until I give in and extend my fingertips toward the sky. He’s tall enough that he can easily lock a cuff around each of my wrists. “You think Calvin overreacted by hiding you these past few months,” he says as he works, “but he understands that when we want something, we can be ruthless.”

“You saved me from those men, though.”

 “I saved you,” he says, pulling up on the shackles so I’m forced onto my toes, “for myself. Because you have something I need.” When he drops his hands, mine remain. I tug and look up to see they’ve been hooked over a rusty nail protruding from the wall. My feet are arched and my midriff peeks from under my sweater, but he says, “Perfection.”