Page 144 of Unorthodox
He’s going to die soon anyway.
Nearly two decades I’ve known him, and he betrayed me without thought.
I wonder what Jameson has to offer the cartel, to have them threaten people like Luca. Briefly, I think of Danik, the rumor he’s working with the DEA. I push the thought aside. Speculation will give me nothing.
A grainy video of what looks like a misshapen plane against a night sky has me pause my search through the channels. Rolling my eyes, I listen as the narrator gives the time and date of the footage of a supposed UFO, shot somewhere over the Appalachian Mountains.
“They’re to call me when their plane lands,” I tell Silvestre.
“Yes, boss.”
I end the call without another word, mute the TV and toss the remote control on my nightstand, trying not to wince from the pain in my shoulder. The bullet might not have done any real damage, but it fucking hurts. Every scar I get, I think the next one won’t be so bad, but apparently, pain doesn’t really work that way.
My phone rings where it rests on my thigh. I glance down at the string of numbers and grit my teeth, then answer the call, holding the phone to my ear.
“Soon, I’ll be where you are. I’ll have a separate plane take you to St. Petersburg too, as part of our…understanding.”
Soon.I should ask when “soon” is, but part of me doesn’t really want to know.
“Why did you involve Luca?” I ask instead, through gritted teeth.
There’s silence on the other end of the line as I see the bullshit I’m watching cut from the supposed UFO footage to Obama being interviewed in the White House, a smile on his face, hand under his chin as someone presumably asks him about aliens and he laughs.
His laughter is mirrored by Jameson’s through the phone. “It was worth a shot. Just like with Zeke. I don’t particularly trust you, Max Bennett—”
“You have my goddamn brother.” I can’t stop the rage bleeding into my words, and I know it gives away my weakness, but I don’t care. “Youownmy fucking brother—”
“And you have something that belongs to me.”
My blood runs cold with those words. The way he said them. There’s something sinister in his tone. Something…possessive. “How did you know?” I ask him carefully. “How did you know who I was? Who Oliver is, to me?” Questions I had from the beginning but never bothered to ask, because there’re no lengths I won’t go to in order to get Ollie back.
In the silence, I watch the alien documentary shift to a guy in a plaid shirt and untrimmed beard, beer in hand, gesturing wildly as he discusses his alien experience, a caption at the bottom of the screen reading, “Curtis,Abductee.”
“With everyproduct,” Jameson says quietly, emphasizing the word, “there’s a photo of theseller.”
My fucking photo.What he’s saying is bullshit, but somehow, he found out enough about me to get my image. I think again about the DEA rumors. How Jameson, a white fucking redneck, is able to worm his way into a Mexican cartel.
“Your brother—mypet—saw your picture.”
My fist clenches as I grip the remote in my hand tighter.
“You know he still doesn’t speak, as all good pets shouldn’t.”
I can hear my pulse pounding in my fucking ears.
“But he’s learned a few signs. He was clapping his hands, making those goddamn chirping noises that I can’tfucking stand, and just when I was about to beat them out of him, he made the sign for ‘brother’.”
I feel like I can’t breathe, my chest heavy with every word this motherfucker speaks.
“I wasn’t his original owner, Max. He’s been passed down a few times, used up quite a bit. But,” he sighs, “he’s been with me a while. He’s seen the worst of me.” He laughs, and my skin crawls as I force myself to keep staring at the TV. “I was hesitant to give him up, but you’ve got something I want. And I knew, when your baby brother made that sign before I kicked him in the ribs to shut him up, that we had ourselves a nice trade.”
I don’t speak. All I can think about is cutting this man’s head off, ear to fucking ear.
But I force my mind away from it all. Away from his taunts, away from his threats. Ollie is coming back, and I will never let anyone hurt him ever again.
Instead, I think of business.Logical. Facts.
Right now, my men probably have a plier clamped down around Luca’s incisor, extracting information before they extract all of his teeth.
