Truth About Tequila: Believe in Me (Surviving Absolution #4) Read online

  Fighting through the swimming in her mind and her belly, she forces her eyes open. Her blurry gaze rests on her thighs, the purple fabric of her dress fluttering above her trembling legs. She slowly lifts her bent head, grimacing against the pain shooting up her spine. The shivers morph into a hard shudder from Richard slumped against the beige leather seat across from her.

  Bound and gagged, her ex-husband’s wide-eyed gaze meets hers. Fear darkens his expression, matching the terror racing through her. She jerks forward, but only budges a few centimeters before restraints dig into her chest and ankles. Fuck!

  “I’m so…” The words stall in her throat. Too raw for more than a whisper. “I’m so sorry. I swear I’ll get you out of this.”

  He nods. Which is actually the only fucking thing he can do. Whether he believes her promise or not.

  This is her fault. Well, the bullshit from being in her criminal world. He should never have been pulled into their fight, and she’ll do whatever it takes to ensure he survives.

  She twists, her skin sticking to the dulled metal chair, and scans their prison. Poker tables fill the huge warehouse. Dust thick enough to write her name covers the black lacquered tops, with the matching high-boy chairs bunched in one corner like cattle. Remnants from the invite-only games that feed on arrogance and addiction. Enough to fuel the players who think they might actually win, leaving them to scramble to pay off their debts. Destroying their lives when the 200% interest rates can’t be repaid with their houses, cars, or kids’ college funds.

  She ignores the guilt and the equipment, zeroing in on the two men standing by the thick, wooden door. Cracked enough to let jagged lines of light squiggle across the equally broken concrete floor.

  Both guards seem relaxed, limber and loose in their suits, barely concealing the guns tucked under their coats. Confident. Patient. Professional. This isn't random or improvised. No, it's much, much worse.

  She strains against the bindings, lifting her chin to muster all her strength. Which isn’t much, but she’s got to do something. “Hey! Where are we?”

  Neither man responds. Fuckers. Maybe from the hoarseness stealing her voice, the question too faint to carry across the vast space. More likely ignoring her. Paid to baby-sit. Not argue with the hostages.

  "Who do you work for?"

  Nothing. No flinch. No glance. No anything to help her figure out what's going on. Damn it. She struggles against the grogginess, trying to remember the fragments flickering at the edge of her memory. Attempting to figure out how the hell she got here. Or why Richard's a pawn in some kind of revenge. Her stomach churns at his labored breathing. His nostrils flare, trying to suck in air despite the greasy rag stuffed in his mouth.

  Think. Think. Think.

  Running at the launch.

  Losing Holly in the confusion.

  Screaming into her phone at...

  Max!

  Her heart slams against her rib cage. He and all the other people she loves left behind in…what? Why were they under attack? Why would Nick’s enemies crash an art show with so many witnesses? It doesn’t make any fucking sense.

  Fear rolls through her belly again. Shae. Please, please, please let her and the baby be okay. With Max there, she will be.

  If he’s okay.

  Damn. Not going there. They’ve been through too much shit for him to be anything other than all right.

  Sweat beads her icy skin from the door opening. Both men step away to allow their captor to enter. Her body leans forward of its own volition, straining to see the motherfucker who’s arrogant enough to fuck with Nick and Max. And actually think he’ll survive.

  Heat radiates out from her core. Not him.

  Her.

  What the fuck? A blond version of herself steps inside, a smug smirk glowing on her face. The petite woman commands the room as well as the men with a single snap of her fingers. Both guys hustling to close the door behind her.

  She takes her time waltzing over to them, stroking her spiky hair before twirling the huge diamond in her right ear. A tell. Just like Max always reminds her – no matter how cocky a person is, everyone signals their guilt. Or, please God, let it be hesitation. That this lady knows she’s fucked and will never be able to pull this off. Igniting her hope that her abductor's doubt could set Richard free.

  “How’re you feeling?” Feigning sympathy the woman tilts her head, pursing her thin lips together. Condescension filling her husky voice. “Did you have a nice little nap?”

  So that’s how it’s going to be. “Fuck you.”

  An appreciative laugh bursts from her mouth as the woman nods. “You’re tough. No wonder he’s fucking you.”

  Fuck! This can’t be about him, and she can’t be his ex-girlfriend.

  No one but Katrina would care that she’s sleeping with Max.

  Bile races up her throat. Gina swallows it down and shrugs. Pretending a nonchalance she doesn't feel. Refusing to succumb to the panic swelling in her veins. “Who?”

  Katrina leans closer, studying her face. As if trying to determine if she's really that stupid. “Don’t play dumb with me, bitch. You think you’re better than me? That he actually loves you?” A snarl twists her lips, disgust marring her elegant features. “He’s left me before. But, he always comes back.”

  Not this time. “If you had something worth staying for, he’d never leave you in the first place.”

  Pain shoots up her cheek from the punch to the jaw. God damn fucking shit. That hurts. And she can't even massage the tender muscles. Evil bitch. Gina stares at the crumbling concrete blocks, unwilling to give Katrina what she wants. No tears. No fear. No surrender.

  Katrina squats in front of her, forcing their gazes to meet. Blocking her view of everything except the pure viciousness flaming in the mercenary's expression. "I'm going to enjoy fucking you up. A little reminder to him that I don't appreciate being left behind to clean up his shit. "

  Ignoring the throbbing in her mouth, she shakes her head. "I don't know what you're talking about."

  An obvious lie. But it's the only thing she can think of to stall. To try and figure out how to outmaneuver her and whatever she's planning.

  Excitement flashes in Katrina's eyes, another eager smile lighting up her face. Confirming she knows the truth and thrives on the anticipation of the torture she plans to dole out. Katrina taps her temple. "Let's see...he left me stranded with a bunch of fucking idiots to chase after you and that other stupid bitch he takes care of. Fucking pop music princess. Probably can't even really sing." The sadistic grin fades as her eyes harden. "Do you know what I had to do to get out of that fucking Greek prison?"

  A rhetorical question she doesn't even want to think about the answer. All she needs to focus on is saving Richard and finding Max. Nothing else matters. "What is it that you want exactly?"

  "Him." Katrina leans closer. The same jasmine perfume from their Caribbean bungalow wafts over her. "And you're in my way."

  Agony rips through her torso from the chair slamming sideways to the ground, her bare shoulder scraping across the rough surface. A muffled cry radiates from Richard's direction, voicing his frustration at their weakness.

  “Damn it, Katrina. I told you no violence.”

  Chills engulf her at the familiar voice. Menacing instead of soothing. The man she never expected to be anything but her hero. Regardless of how much she disappointed or confused him. He was supposed to love and protect her no matter what.

  Katrina spins to face him, the smirk on her lips contrasting with the frown on his. “You were right. Your daughter is stubborn and mouthy. She needs to understand who the boss is.”

  “Which is me.”

  A stand-off Gina can't comprehend. Her father should never be working with Katrina, let alone arguing with her. “Better keep up your end of the deal, or you’ll end up like the last bastard who tried to fuck me over.”

  “You mean like this?”

  Gunshots scream across the open space, and Katrin
a stumbles backward. Richard grunts, driving his chest against the straps. Trying to break free from the nightmare playing out in front of them.

  After a few seconds, the shock wears off and the woman drops to her knees, her fingers clawing at her blood-drenched shirt. Only a few feet separate their bodies, scarlet rivulets flowing toward Gina as they both lie helpless on the hard stone. The same terror in her heart reflecting in Katrina's ashen face. Before hollowness sets in, and the woman's eyes drift shut.

  Tears burn her cheeks. The agony in her pulsing core no match for the vise gripping her heart. Always able to ignore the fact in the past that her father is a killer. Push the truth out of her mind and focus on his gentleness with her mother. Running soccer drills with her brothers. Being the first to stand in the ovation for her graduation. But, now, to watch him murder another woman. See his cold-hearted demeanor. The casualness of his behavior without thought or regard. For either of them.

  "Are you okay?"

  Huge hands grasp the rails needling her back, and she flinches from the compression of her stomach muscles as he sits her upright. Nausea tornadoes in her belly. A carousel of pain, fear, and doubt bobbing up and down in her chest. "No."

  His long finger strokes her cheek. The tender gesture fails to match the flatness of his expression. No shame burning in his eyes. No fury or indignation that his daughter was just assaulted. No hurry to rescue her from the ropes binding her to this prison.

  "I'm sorry. I know she was unarmed, but I needed to get rid of her." He glances at Katrina's mangled corpse, sprawled across a river of crimson. "Or she would have gone after you herself."

  "Why? What the hell is going on?"

  "She thought she was making a trade...you for Max. But that was never going to work."

  He shakes his head at Katrina’s apparent stupidity. The woman too narcissistic to understand she too could be the victim of a double cross.

  Dread crawls up Gina’s throat. Driving the panic sparking in her mind. "Where is he?"

  He just fucking stands there. His unaffected gaze never wavering from hers. Unwilling to provide an answer regarding the safety of man he knows she loves. And, now knows how much he hates.

  "Where the fuck is Max?"

  Richard gurgles again, futilely twisting in his restrains from her anguish. Even her ex-husband terrified by her dad’s callousness. Yet he can’t help her. No one can. Not from the monster her father has become. Not from the absolute terror engulfing her.

  “Damn it! Fucking tell me!”

  “I’m sorry mija preciosa.” Enrique tsks from her screeched demand, his irritation reflecting the inconvenient truth he doesn’t deny. Or even pretend to regret. “But Max is dead.”

  2

  Chapter TWO

  No. Not true. Not fucking possible. Gina steels her gaze, meeting her father’s defiant stare. Almost challenging her to break. Which she will never fucking do. Not by him. Not again. “That’s a lie.”

  “Max is dead.” He taps the chest pocket of his suit, the outline of his cell pressing against the dark gray fabric. “I received confirmation right before I walked in."

  Argue. Just keep talking and don't let the fear swallow her. Don't let the thought of the only man she's ever loved be stolen from her. She balls her shaking fingers, welcoming the sharp pinch of her nails digging into her palms. “You could never take him out that easy. Nick and Andy wouldn’t—.”

  “Well, I think Nick may be a little distracted. You know with his baby on the way...albeit a tad sooner than expected.”

  Son of a fucking bitch. A shudder rocks her trembling body. The ropes chafe against her already raw skin, and she stiffens, trying to hold her shoulders and racing heart still. “What did you do?”

  “I didn't do anything.” His eyes roll as the corner of his mouth curls in distaste. “But, what do you call it? Your star-struck assistant was more than happy to deliver sparkling water with an orange slice to the one and only pop princess Shae Armstrong. Stupid girl never even questioned my guy. You’d think a college student would know better than to accept a drink from a stranger. Even one dressed like a caterer.”

  She swallows hard, trying to keep from screaming at the memory of Spencer attempting to kill Nick by lacing his whiskey. Now her father's no better than that punk ass. “You poisoned Shae?”

  “Of course not." The lines in his forehead deepen and his chin jerks upward. As if she offended him with her accusation. "I just gave her a little something to speed her delivery.”

  Motherfucker. “What's wrong with you? Why are you doing this?"

  He leans closer, angry breaths blowing on her face. "Because I'm ashamed my daughter is such a puta."

  Whore.

  Heat engulfs her body. Flames from the hell she'd finally released herself from return at his cruel assessment. She knew he probably thought she was a slut. Shit, she'd described herself that way. Because it's what she was. Lost in a storm of grief and guilt unaware the lightening she struck burned everyone she loves just as much as herself. But to hear him say it. To confirm he thinks so low of her hurts more than she ever thought possible.

  "Shae has never done anything to you. How could you do that to her?"

  He dismisses her question with a flick of his hand. "Babies come early all the time. They'll be fine."

  If she was free, she'd slap him. Hard. Remind him of what she ‒ they ‒ went through with Lily. To smack the smugness off his face for being so nonchalant about a baby's health.

  "So what now? You've killed..." She can't say his name. Because that makes it real, and she can't handle that right now. Just keep talking. Keep arguing and push through to the truth. "You've distracted Nick and jeopardized Shae's pregnancy. What's next? Kill me too?"

  "No, I'm going to protect you."

  She glances at Katrina's body, sprawled in a swelling pool of blood. "It's a little too late for that."

  "Not from her. From Nick."

  Her head flies up, meeting his hard expression. "What are you talking about? Nick would never hurt me."

  "Well, your caterer and your assistant drugged his pregnant wife. You think he's going to believe they did that on their own?"

  "He won't believe you. He knows I love Shae."

  "Just like your fuck buddy did?"

  The entire night’s been fucking surreal. Realization sinking in that she really doesn't know her father at all. But, of everything he’s done and said tonight, nothing’s shocked her more. No one knows. No one. Not a single fucking person. Maybe Carrie suspects, but if she does, she’s never uttered a word. For as ditzy blond as she pretends to play, even she knows the devastation the truth would cause. Carrie would never do that to her best friend.

  "What are you talking about?"

  "I heard you, mija dulce. When you had your secret rendezvous while your husband wondered where the fuck you were.” A shudder rolls through her father’s broad chest. “You spread your legs like a fucking slut for a man who loves another woman."

  A yelp of disbelief sneaks past the gag filling Richard’s mouth. He can’t say a word but he doesn’t have to. The disappointment sags his pale face. Unable to hide his pain. Or disgust.

  Shame burns her cheeks. “That’s not true. He was confused. And lonely. But now he knows for sure. He loves me. Wants me…”

  So fucking lame. Even to herself it's embarrassing how sad and pathetic she sounds. She’d roll her eyes too if she was her father. Shake her head if she was Richard. Maybe Max was just using her. And everyone knew it all along. Except for her. "You were eavesdropping on me?"

  "You left me no choice. You abandoned your husband. Killed your daughter. Starting fucking the goddamn help. What were you thinking mija? You couldn’t..."

  Killed. His mouth moves but she can’t hear him anymore. Can’t make out the words. Not over the roar in her own head. The pounding in her chest. Darkness overcoming her mind and her heart.

  "I didn't kill Lily."

  His snarl answers her breathless wh
isper. "That was your punishment. If you'd been a good daughter, a faithful wife, a caring mother, none of this would have happened. Your baby’s dead because of you."

  He's right. No matter how much Max tried to convince her otherwise. Everything is her fault. Lily. Richard. Shae. Max. All destroyed because of her. She shakes her head, tears sliding off her chin, piercing her shivering legs like ice. "I'm sorry."

  "I know.” He squats down in front of her. Finally a look of remorse softens his expression, and he swipes the watery trails streaming down her cheeks. “Come home with me. Your mother misses you. You can spend time with her and find a way to put all of this behind you.”

  A huge smile lights up his face at her nod. Celebrating her agreement. This time without argument or petulance. The first time she’s pleased him since she left Richard. Too bad she’s too fucking broken to care.

  Pain.

  The only awareness making it through the haze.

  His body hurts worse than motherfucking boot camp.

  “Please… don’t make me...this.”

  Shae’s soft voice floats somewhere far away. Just like in his nightmares ‒ so close yet he can’t quite reach her. Unable to make out all the words, but fear drips from her anguished plea like the slick beads of pooling candle wax. Burning as hot and bright as his fury. Slamming his heart against his rib cage. Even stronger than the pounding in his head. Which feels like a fucking jackhammer to his brain.

  “Decide. Or I'll decide for you.”

  Anger burns through his pulsing body from the harsh voice demanding an answer she can’t provide. That same familiar accent as before which he can’t place. What the fuck?

  Burying his rage, he fights against every instinct to keep his eyes closed. To let his long-ago hostage training kick in. Rather than bust up off this cold floor and kill the motherfucker torturing her. Because as much as he hates being weak, he can’t make things worse.