Rodriguez looked the part of the Miami nightclub owner—almost. Still decked in his designer threads, still flashing the expensive gold watch, but once again, she saw something different in him now. Something akin to panic. The gleam in his eyes held an almost manic quality, and his swagger was jerky. Had something happened to increase the pressure? The shadows beneath his eyes, and the new creases around his mouth made him look much older than forty. He looked like a man unraveling.
Rodriguez barked something in Spanish to the suited men behind him. Drew caught a few words—la reunión, presión, el plazo—the meeting, pressure, the deadline. He was talking about the sit-down with the cartel. The meeting that clearly hadn’t gone his way. No wonder the pressure was increased. He was definitely fraying at the edges.
One of the cartel men answered coolly, something clipped and low. Rodriguez’s nostrils flared, but he didn’t argue. Just nodded tightly before waving a dismissive hand and stepping toward her.
Drew stayed seated, wrists bound again, but her spine straightened. If he thought she’d cower, he was going to be disappointed.
Rodriguez’s eyes raked over her like a slow, disdainful inspection. “You are not what I wanted,” he said in English this time. “But maybe… you will still be useful.”
Drew didn’t respond. She just stared at him, jaw tight.
He leaned down, so close she could smell the cigar smoke clinging to his skin. “You better hope your friend Tessa decides you’re worth saving. If not…” His smile was thin and snaky as he touched one fingertip to her upper chest. “I will take my payment a different way.”
Drew’s stomach turned, but she didn’t flinch. She wouldn’t give him that.
He straightened, then spun toward his men. “Do we have any idea where theputais since you lost her again?” he snapped.
They were looking for Tessa. Thank God they still hadn’t found her. That meant maybe Drew still had a chance. Maybe her brother and sister were looking for her. She could only hope Tessa and Stone had gotten word out. Her mind briefly skipped to Cross, but she shut that thought down as fear and pain radiated in her chest. She couldn’t fall apart now. There would be time later for that. Time to process the loss of Cross once again.
One of the goons—the short, jittery guy—spoke up, a rush of words. Something about resistance. Gunfire. Losing them in the dark.
Rodriguez’s face darkened. In a blink, he pulled a pistol from beneath his jacket and shot the man in the temple. The sound exploded through the room, muffled only slightly by the thrum of bass below. Blood sprayed the wall.
Drew jerked back in her seat, heart pounding, but no one else even moved. That was the second time Rodriguez killed one of his own. Oh yeah, he was unraveling. She just needed to hold on a little longer until an opportunity came to escape. She did not want to be here when Rodriguez finally blew.
Cool as ever, Rodriguez wiped the barrel clean with a silk handkerchief before tossing the scrap of fabric on the dead man’s body. “Incompetence is not tolerated.”
He turned back toward her and studied her face. “Do you know what your biggest mistake was?”
Drew raised her chin. “Getting on the plane?”
“No,” he murmured, walking behind her now. “Thinking you could help your little friend and get away with it. He’s dead, and you’re next.” His voice turned venomous.
She said nothing. She wouldn’t play his game.
Rodriguez circled back around to face her. “Maybe I kill you tonight. Maybe I don’t. But if I do, I’ll have some fun first. Your fuckingputafriend Tessa took from me. It’s only fair I take something back.”
“Why not just kill me now?” Drew asked, glaring up at him. “Why wait?”
Rodriguez’s smile faltered. “Right now you are leverage.”
Then he motioned to one of his men. “Clean that up,” he said, gesturing to the corpse on the floor. He turned toward the desk where Dunlop stood, still dutifully polishing the glass like some underpaid janitor. Rodriguez froze.
His gaze narrowed. “You. I forgot about you.”
Dunlop stiffened, the rag in his hand stilling.
Rodriguez stepped closer. “Help them,” he gestured toward the body that two of the men were picking up. “And keep your fucking mouth shut.”
Dunlop just nodded. He was pale, and his hands were shaking. Drew guessed he couldn’t have made a sound if he wanted to.
“Make sure there are no more fuck ups,” Rodriguez growled. Who he was talking to was up for debate. No one said a word.
Finally, one of the cartel enforcers spoke in rapid Spanish, which Drew had trouble following. Rodriguez’s lips thinned ina stark line as color fled his face. But he nodded, as if he understood.
The cartel enforcers left the dank office, with Rodrigues following silently behind. The bass from the club rose again like a heartbeat that never stopped, dimming only once the door slammed shut.
Dunlop moved back to the desk, eyes wide, hands shaking.
