“What should I do then? Nothing? Just sit here and wait for him to die?”
The word stuck in his throat as he remembered Bowie when he’d first met him, bruised and battered. Now, his brain was picturing him cold and pale in Javier’s arms and it felt like his heart was being ripped out.
Angelo shook his head. “Be reasonable. Think. If they just wanted him dead, they wouldn’t have taken him off the property. They want you.You. Not him.”
“What if you’re wrong?”
“When have I ever been wrong?”
Javier stopped short. His uncle was a lot of things. A criminal. A businessman. A husband, father, and to some, a son of a bitch. But Angelo was right, his instincts were always dead on. It did nothing to quell the fear coursing through him, but it did stop his forward momentum.
“What am I going to do?”
Angelo gave a relieved sigh. “Sit. I’m going to make some phone calls and figure out where the fuck Hurley is.”
“I’m right here,” Hurley said in Spanish, coming from the library, his hand pressed to the side of his bloodied head. “That asshole told me Angelo needed to see me and then clocked me over the head with something heavy like the cowardly weasel he is.”
“Why would I have called you into the library?” Angelo asked. “I’m never in there.”
“I didn’t have any reason to think he was lying,” Hurley reminded him.
Sylvia pulled Hurley back into the kitchen, wetting a dish towel and pressing it against the wound on his temple. “Hold pressure.”
Hurley did as she asked, grimacing. “He took the kid, didn’t he?”
“Yes,” Sylvia replied. “But we don’t know why.”
“They probably bought him off. Or maybe they threatened him?” Hurley offered, not sounding like he really believed the latter.
“None of this fucking matters. What matters is finding Bowie.”
“Papa, a man said to give this to you.”
Angelo frowned at Miguel, who was holding an envelope. “What do you mean? What man? When?”
“A man flagged me down just before the gates. I was with Hector.”
“Where was Tito?” Angelo asked. Tito was Miguel’s personal guerrero.
Miguel’s eyes slid away. “We ditched him at the movies.”
Javier didn’t care about any of that. He snatched the envelope from the boy, ripping it open and stopping short. Blood smeared the page, still wet enough to smell it. Underneath was a message.
We have him. Come alone. One hour. Don’t play with us or we will kill him.
Javier smeared his finger through Bowie’s blood. Christ. He must be so fucking scared. Where had they gotten his blood? How badly was he hurt? If they’d cut off a finger or an ear, they would have sent it along, but this was just…blood, so wet it bled through the page. But not the envelope. That was strange.
“Hurley, send somebody to see if they’re still around? Have them take my idiot son with them.” To Miguel, he said, “We’ll have a talk about your punishment later.”
Javier didn’t wait to hear the rest of the conversation. He stormed upstairs to Angelo’s office, punching the code on the enormous gun safe hidden behind his bookcase, pulling weapons and setting them on the table. Angelo and Sylvia were right behind him. He didn’t care. They weren’t going to stop him. An army wasn’t going to stop him.
Javier grabbed a Glock from the safe. “Is this clean,tío?”
Angelo grabbed a different gun. A Ruger. “No, but this one is.”
Sylvia shook her head. “Don’t encourage him, Angelo. We don’t even know who did this.”
He didn’t need any further encouragement. It didn’t matter who had done this. They would die screaming just like anybody else who hurt Bowie. Like Manuel. He’d betrayed Sylvia and this family. It seemed impossible. He’d been with them for years. Histíaviewed him as family. His wife and children had come to every family party, had spent countless holidays with them. Manuel’s kids played with her cousins. Sylvia had even paid for one of his children to go to college in the US.
