“You’ve been remarkably persuasive,” I say coldly, hating that grin on his face.
Juan straightens his jacket, brushing something off his sleeve. “I hate seeing sisters argue,” he says, attempting to look regretful.
“What do you really want?”
“What I want,” he says, moving toward me slowly, step by step as I hold my ground, “is for you to sit down and behave like a lady. I assume we have some time before your brother and husband arrive. So I suggest you make yourself comfortable.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
In which Lachlan comes to the rescue.
Lachlan…
“I’m going to fecking kill him.”
“Lachlan, maybe we should just-” Zed is six hours closer to Cartagena than I am, and during this Facetime, our visions of how this should go down do not align.
“No. Now that we know where that smirking prick is, I’m storming his stucco fuck palace and I’m shooting him in the face.”
“We still have to figure out what the hell Juan is up to,” he says, “now that he has both Aria and Elana, he’s got more bargaining power than we do.”
“I’m intending to have a very serious conversation with my wife about her rash, impulsive decisions,” I growl.
There’s a snort of laughter that Zed quickly smothers.
“What?”
“Sorry,” he says, trying to wipe the smile off his face. “Just- hearingyoutalk about rash, impulsive decisions.”
“What does that mean?” I irritably swallow the rest of the scotch in my glass.
“I overheard Marcus and Aria talking. You decided to marry her in what, fifteen minutes? And then you held her best friend at gunpoint to make her say yes?” He gives up, laughing. “At first,I wanted to kill you, but Aria has been… happy? You make her happy. I still don’t get it, but she needs someone like you. And you’re overprotective as hell, so I know she’ll be safe with you.”
“Not if she keeps flyin’ off to confront psychopathic Columbians without me,” I snarl.
“Have you been able to reach her yet?”
“No, which tells me he took her phone. Monroe was able to text me the code for ‘no violence.’ Yet, anyway,” I say, pacing the narrow aisle of my Bombardier Global 8000. It’s the fastest business jet in the world, and we’ll make the twenty-hour trip from Siberia to Columbia in fifteen hours instead. The storm slowed down sooner than expected, though Captain Steve may request a transfer to one of my other brothers after the white-knuckle liftoff.
“Okay,” Zed sighs, “what’s the plan?”
“I’m calling that son of a bitch and setting up a meeting,” I say grimly. “How he responds means the difference between a quick bullet in the head or a week of torture until he begs for death.”
“Inspiring,” he says dryly, “maybe don’t lead with that, ay?”
***
It takes another glass of Macallan to calm down enough to call Alonso.
“Well, this is a pleasure. Hello, MacTavish. Your lovely wife and I are just having lunch. Can we talk later?”
I can fecking hear his smarmy grin through the phone. “You’re playing a dangerous game. You ready for the consequences?”
“I have your Aria and my sweet, sweet fiancée,” Juan chuckles, “calm yourself.”
“I’m very calm. Tell me what you want.”
“Face to face. Like men,” Juan says, “you know where I am, I’m sure.”
