Page 26 of Wild Devil

“She is next in line to inherit, but it looks like there are exceptions built in. Either she inherits when she’s twenty-five, or if she gets married and has a child before then.”

I blink at him. Hell, he might as well have punched me in the chest. Marriage. A child. “For all we know Heywood could have her married to his fucking puppet by now.” I take off toward the entrance. What the hell I’ll do? Who knows.

All that matters is getting her far from those monsters.

“Wait,” Ben calls out. “You got any idea why Silas would keep this shit hidden like some kind of fucked-up security blanket? Or why he’s been keeping tabs on the cartel in addition to Heywood’s financials?”

It’s a good damn question. Gritting my teeth, I stop short and force myself to meet Ben’s questioning stare. I know what he’s getting at. In spite of his apparent confusion, he hasn’t asked any of the cartel holdouts for assistance. It is no secret that he disapproves of their presence. He’d rather we do things the old way, as my father did—go it alone under the glory of the Saints, armed with hopes and dreams.

In the long run, we’ll all be better off if he gets it through his skull sooner rather than later—I’m not him.

“Why don’t we ask the experts,” I suggest, heading toward the back of the warehouse.

There, I find three of the five cartel holdouts seated, surrounded by cigar smoke. In the background, faint sounds of Latin pop play, providing an ironically jaunty backdrop to the tension thickening the air. They’ve been mostly quiet since setting up last night.

One of them, Marco, smirks when he sees me approach.

“It’s about damn time you’ve come to make introductions,” he says, cracking his knuckles before extending his hand for me to shake. “Otherwise, I might take our welcome as a sign that we aren’t wanted around here.”

“No disrespect intended,” I say coldly. “I’m sure you’ve been listening to what we’ve been talking about over there. Any idea why those incidents would catch Heywood’s eye?”

Or Silas’, for that matter.

Marco laughs. “I’m no fucking psychic.”

He reaches for his pocket, and I can’t form a fist fast enough.

“Easy,” he says with another forced laugh. “You always walk around your so-called base so amped up?”

“Yeah, well, I’m not fucking stupid. What’s in the pocket?”

“It’s this.” He pulls something from his pocket, but it’s not a gun. Instead, it’s a card that he places on the edge of the table, forcing me to inch closer to read it. Stamped over the front in red print are the letters E.D. and what looks like a skull dribbling blood-red ink down the front of the black cardstock. “Have you heard of El Diablo?”

I raise an eyebrow. “No. Should I have?”

He shrugs. “Only if you like learning about crazy fuckers on the outskirts of the cartel. A man that even we don’t work with. He deals in heroin, but it’s brutal stuff. Deadly. That’s not why he has the reputation that he does, though.”

I relax a fraction, still keeping all three men in sight. For now, they keep their hands on the table, in clear view.

“Fine, I’ll bite. How does this El Diablo get his reputation?”

“Diablo means devil,” Marco explains. “According to some, this bastard is him, in the flesh. Or worships him at least.”

I have to laugh. Between this shit and Heywood, I’ve had enough of religion to last a lifetime. “I don’t care if he worships a fucking unicorn,” I snap. “What does he have to do with Heywood?”

“You wanted me to look into that drug that’s been flooding the market. While it’s been shipped here using cartel networks, we don’t deal in it. To get that stuff directly your Heywood had to literally make a deal with the devil. There are only a few things that El Diablo will accept as collateral. Money isn’t one of them.”

“Then what is?”

“Stop standing there like a dumbass, and we can discuss this like men.”

“Fine.” I approach the table and pull up the only empty chair. As I sit, I keep my stance open, ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice. For now, the men don’t seem eager to move. “Keep talking.”

“El Diablo deals in bodies. Men. Women. Children. Doesn’t matter the type, only that they’re alive.”

“For the sex trade?” I ask, sick at the idea.

Marco shakes his head. “Men who deal in that side of the trade don’t take druggies or the old or sick. El Diablo will take anyone and everyone, as long as they won’t be missed. Rarely are his victims seen again.”

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