Beautiful Broken Promises, Page 3

  The shuffling of feet began as people started finding their seats. A topless brunette walked down the front aisle, holding a tray. She stopped in front of Flores to hand him a glass with golden liquid sloshing around inside. I could go for that right about now. She tried to stick around and flirt, but I watched Flores slip something into her waistband and shoo her off.

  Barrera eyed me as he slithered through the ropes and into the ring. I continued bouncing on my toes, trying not to lose my adrenaline high. I watched his movements and attempted to spot any weak areas, particularly any injuries he could be concealing. He stood up straight and began to bounce as well. He moved from side to side and then began spinning in a full circle, around and around–too busy paying attention to the crowd. The fucker was going to get dizzy, but that could work in my favor.

  The commencements of these fights were simple. There was no Mexican version of Michael Buffer shouting, ‘Let’s get ready to rumble!’ in Spanish. There wasn’t a referee explaining that he wants a “good, clean fight” or asking us to touch-bump to begin. There was just a little old man named Santiago, who looked at each of us, probably to make sure we were in the ring. Then he nodded his head while drumming a bell. Go time.

  Shouts immediately could be heard from all corners of the warehouse, echoing loudly off the aluminum walls. The crowd yelled in English and Spanish, and I even thought I heard some Portuguese out there. I couldn’t tell who they were yelling for, although I could vaguely understand they were all calling out different punches to throw or defenses to put up.

  But it wasn’t the screaming that pulled Barrera’s attention away from me, it was the deafening noise that came from outside. I lunged at his distraction. My torso shifted and I swung my right fist upward in a rising arc, connecting with a clean hit to his jaw. Spit flew from his mouth and I watched the drops land on the mat below our feet. His knees gave and Barrera fell directly to the ground. He wasn’t out so I kept bouncing, ready to give him another when he was fully upright.

  “Reyes!” I heard Mateo shout up at me. It took a long second before I remembered that Reyes was our agreed-upon last name for me in the ring. I didn’t think anyone was actually going to believe I was Hispanic, but it was better that they didn’t discover my real last name. “Rey-es!” he enunciated, louder this time.

  I snapped out of my tunnel vision and took in the scene around me. People were scattering quickly to all corners of the building. My stomach dropped and I immediately ran to the ropes to search for Flores, only to find that he was no longer in the front row.

  “Mierda! This could be a raid. We gotta get out here,” Mateo shouted up to me. “I’m not spending the night en la cárcel while we wait for Charlie to bail our asses out. My car, ahora!” When Mateo was stressed, he began to speak Spanglish, switching back and forth between the two languages. He probably didn’t even know he did it.

  But despite his warning and demand, I didn’t come all the way out to this nasty hellhole after not seeing or hearing anything from Flores for over a year to lose my chance again. I just couldn’t go another year. It had to end and it needed to be tonight.

  I spotted Flores’ security detail huddled together at the back west corner of the wide-open space. They frowned at one another while tapping their earpieces frantically. If their frequency was catching interference, then it was highly likely that we were in the middle of a police raid.

  Without a second thought, I launched my legs over the top rope of the ring and jumped to the floor.

  “LANE, DON’T!” Mateo shouted in anger from behind me. So much for not using my real name.

  I feverishly began ripping the wraps from my hand, knowing I would need the full use of my fingers. The first wrap was hard to get loose, but I continued to remove it while I pushed my way through the shoving bodies. Once my right hand was fully freed, I began working on the left, but the majority of my attention was focused on finding Flores. More loud pops and bangs continued to filter into the warehouse. Women were screaming and the crowd became more frenzied by the moment.

  When I reached his entourage, his balding, ugly ass was nowhere to be found. I pushed right through the middle of them and jumped on my toes to peer over their heads. Nothing. My instincts told me to search the open space again, and just before he cleared the doorway, I spotted the tail end of his navy suit jacket dodging around the corner. Hell, if he wanted to separate himself from his own protection and take off solo, that only made my job easier.

  With singular focus, I sprinted forward. People fell and stumbled around me, but there was no time for apologies. I wasn’t sorry anyway.

  It didn’t take long for me to catch up with him. He was a smart son of a bitch and had been able to elude me for years, but now that I had the opportunity to get my hands on him, there was no denying that he was the weaker opponent. Especially since I still had the fight from earlier coursing through my veins.

  I reached forward to grab the collar of his jacket. My right hand was free, but I had a long stream of the wrap from my left hand trailing down to the floor. I didn’t have time to mess with it before I dragged him backward and flung him onto the ground. He grunted, but other than that, I didn’t hear another peep from him.

  “Where is she?” I growled, crouching down over his frail body and holding his throat in a tight clench.

  “No hablo inglés,” he gasped. His tiny smirk lit a fire within me and I squeezed harder.

  “You’re gonna have to do better than that, Flores.” I wanted him to understand that I knew exactly who he was, but there wasn’t time for this bullshit. “Where is she?” I roared.

  “Who the fuck are you talking about, asshole?” he bit out in a raspy voice. His English was good and only carried a hint of his accent.

  It hit me then that he had no idea who I was. I couldn’t help but throw my head back and laugh in extreme frustration. I could understand that he never recognized me in the ring, but up close and personal like this? He should have fucking known.

  “Amateur! You’re a fucking amateur,” I yelled. “Don’t you know to keep your friends close and your enemies closer? Shouldn’t you be keeping an eye out for the people whose lives you destroy?”

  “That’s not my job. I pay people to do that shit for me!”

  Just then his eyes lit up as he looked over my shoulder, and I quickly spun to the left. Not fast enough though because instantly I felt a piercing, cold pain slice into my shoulder blade. As the moron behind me pulled his knife out swiftly, the sharp, biting pain began to take over the entire right side of my body.

  I stumbled against the partition and watched as the guy’s body was suddenly slammed into the wall. Mateo landed hard on top of Flores’ not-so-little minion and with one quick jab, it was lights out for the lackey. Flores began to laugh wickedly behind me, and I scrambled to grab a hold of his shirt before he could even think about escaping.

  The moment I got a hand on him, the Mexican Federal Police, dressed in all-black riot gear, surrounded us. I clutched Flores but my right hand couldn’t grasp anymore—it felt like there were needles shooting up my arm. I reached with my left hand and held on to his throat with everything I had left in me.

  “Where. Is. She?” I bit out.

  “Señor Flores,” one of the officers called through his face shield. He grabbed Flores by the arms and pinned them behind his back roughly. I saw a brief look of horror cross Flores’ face as he realized the complexity of his situation, but when he turned toward me again, his pure evil smirk was firmly back in place on his ugly mug.

  There was a loud ringing in my ears and the thought crossed my mind that if I had been stabbed, I should probably be feeling more pain than I was right now. Classic symptom of shock. I pushed through because there was no telling if or when I would ever see Flores again. They would hide him away in a Mexican prison, or he would pay his way out and I might never find him.

  I stood eye-to-eye with him and pulled the last hope I had out of my pocket. With my l
eft hand shaking, I held the picture up to his face. The officer continued to wrestle Flores backward but I pressed on. I felt a coldness begin to creep over my skin, and I couldn’t seem to catch a long enough breath.

  “Where is she?” I tried to shout over the high-pitch drumming in my temples. He satisfied me for a moment by actually glancing at the old, worn photograph in my quaking palm. His lips turned up and my stomach dropped to my feet.

  The officer finally tugged Flores to an open doorway and right before he was jerked outside, Flores uttered, “Check the bottom of the Sea of Cortez.”

  My vision darkened as if a camera shutter had snapped shut, and the last thing I heard was a string of curse words flying out of Mateo’s mouth.

  - THREE -

  After hitting the cold, concrete floor of the grimy warehouse, all I could remember were flashes of moments that happened afterward.

  Mateo dragging me out to his car.

  A bumpy drive that lasted an ungodly amount of time.

  Pain. So much pain.

  Stopping to re-wrap my shoulder.

  Crossing the border without looking suspicious.

  Hospitals.

  Mateo trying to explain why I had a stab wound to the doctors.

  My eyes were groggy and my head felt fuzzy. I tried to put all of the pieces together and remember how I got here, even if I didn’t know where here was exactly. The warm sun filtered in through the sheer curtains in what looked like a hotel room and I guessed it was late morning, but hell if I knew. I pushed to sit up and pain shot from my right shoulder blade up into my neck, radiating down through my toes.

  “Agggh!”

  Beads of sweat broke out across my forehead, and the intensity of the pain caused me to suck air in and out raggedly. I pushed up with my left hand so I could throw my legs over the side of the bed. I had to get up before my bladder screamed any louder. My right arm was in a sling that I didn’t remember putting on. The bedroom door swung open and Mateo walked in carrying a tray.

  “Good morning, sunshine. They gave your ass so many drugs, I was wondering if they’d gone ahead and finished you off themselves,” he said with a little bit too much pep in his voice.

  “I need more,” I rasped out. My throat felt like it had been rubbed raw with sandpaper. “Fuck... my throat.” I tried to swallow, but it felt as if I had swallowed a handful of gravel.

  “Dude, I’ll bet it hurts. You were snoring so damn loud, it sounded like there was a chainsaw in the next room.” He placed a tray of water, orange juice, and fruit in front of me. “You can have more meds after you call Charlie. He’s been blowing up your phone.”

  I finally shoved off the bed and stumbled toward the bathroom. My feet caught on the bottom of my pants, and I looked down to see pajamas I know I didn’t own.

  “Did you dress me, Teo?”

  “I don’t wanna talk about it,” he grumbled out. I laughed through my aching throat and closed the bathroom door behind me.

  When I flipped the light on, I was startled to see my ghostly reflection in the mirror. Besides the pajama pants, I didn’t have anything else on except the sling on my right arm. My skin was flushed and pale. I had bruises on my inner arm where I assumed an IV must have been inserted. I leaned over the edge of the counter to get a closer glance at the gauze taped around my shoulder.

  The second I leaned forward, the memories of the previous night hit me like a bat to the face. Getting only one hit in the fight against Barrera. Chasing Flores down. Being blindsided with a knife to the back. Police arresting Flores right after he told me...

  She was dead.

  The weight of his words sliced through me sharper than a thousand knives to the back. My knees buckled and I hit the tile floor with a loud thud. I slid my legs out in front of me and let my head hang forward. I didn’t care about my screaming shoulder or the fact that I still hadn’t pissed in God-knows-how-long. Those were nothing compared to this black, soul-crushing pain. I was too late… too fucking late.

  How long had I been chasing a ghost? Days? Weeks? Years? All this time I thought I would just know if she were gone, as if a piece of my soul went with her. But I’d felt nothing at all. Instead, I had to hear my worst fear from the repulsive mouth of Flores himself.

  The door slammed open and a wide-eyed Mateo searched the large bathroom for me. His eyes finally fell toward me on the floor, and I saw the discomfort and pain in his eyes. I tried to straighten up and realized my face was wet. Tears. With the back of my hand, I quickly wiped them all away. I pulled my knees up and wrapped my left arm around them.

  “I’m good,” I quietly breathed out.

  “Call Charlie.” He held out my blinking phone. I took it from his hands and lay it on the ground next to me. It was fucking humiliating to have one of the best boxers I’ve ever known look down at me on the floor with pity in his eyes. I couldn’t hold eye contact with him for too long. “I’m sorry, man. I wish there was more I could have done. I should’ve tried to dig deeper into him,” he whispered.

  “Don’t,” I said into my knees. “Don’t put any blame on yourself, Teo. I’ll never be able to repay you for all your help.”

  He nodded his head, and I was thankful we weren’t going to sit and discuss that right now. “Seriously though, if he calls my phone one more time, all of the phones are going out the fucking window.”

  “How long was I out?” I asked before he turned to leave.

  “It’s only been a few hours since we got back from the hospital. Doc said the blade didn’t hit anything crucial, but you need to check back with him in a few days. You’ll also need to rehab that shoulder.”

  “Well, that won’t work. I’m getting out of here.”

  “Yeah, I told him that you would. Take the meds. Get it checked.” With that, he turned on his heel and headed back out to the living area.

  ~~~~~~~

  I quickly learned how annoying it was to have to hold my arm against my chest. While taking a shower, I had to bend like a contortionist to avoid the water hitting my bandage. It was worth it though to get all that grime off of me from last night. My shoulder was beyond jacked, but I knew that if I took any more pain meds, I risked being laid out on my ass for another day. I would just have to wait until I got back home.

  Where the hell was home, anyway? New York wasn’t home anymore. California was never home. Texas was full of my friends and their happy little families, but I didn’t know how long I would be able to stick around with this new, empty hole inside of me that made me want to push everyone away. I’d become good at that.

  Mateo finished shoving my belongings into my bag for me while I finally scrolled through my phone. I had missed calls from just about everyone in my contact list. There were also numerous texts from Audrey. Even my mom had called, which was weird. I hadn’t kept in close contact with my parents over the past few years because it had just become too painful. As much as I knew she wanted to, my poor mom tried to not call me unless she had something important to discuss.

  I typed out a quick message to Jace, letting him pass the word on to Audrey that I was heading back. Within a few minutes, I had a reply.

  Jace: We’ll leave the lights on for you.

  Me: I’m staying at a hotel. My place is almost done anyway.

  Jace: Did it go that bad?

  Me: I should be at work on Monday. Plenty of time before Nolan’s arrival.

  It was shitty of me to leave him hanging like that, especially after everything he’s done for me. But there was no way in hell I was talking about this until I was ready, and I damn sure wasn’t going to discuss it over a text message. At any rate, I would have plenty of questions to answer when I walked into work, what with the sling and stab wound and all.

  Mateo pulled the zipper closed on my bag and patted it, indicating it was packed and ready. I didn’t have a flight scheduled home yet. I figured I’d buy one when I arrived at the airport, and if I had to sit around and wait—well, who the fuck cared anyway. Mateo
gestured that he was taking the bag down and I nodded in understanding.

  The shrill ring of my phone broke up the quiet of the room and I looked down to see Charlie’s name pop up on the bright screen. I might as well get this over with. Plus, he had helped me the most out of anyone, going above and beyond the call of duty.

  Charlie and I had been partners when I used to be a cop in New York. We saw each other more than we saw our own families. I would have taken a bullet for him and he would have done the same for me. He kept his ear to the ground for me and always let me know if he got a lead on Flores, even though it wasn’t his case. All while I quit the force, moved down to San Diego, and tried to find him myself.

  “Yeah,” I mumbled into the phone.

  “Shit, Lane,” Charlie’s gruff voice whispered into the line. “I thought you were fucking dead.”

  “I thought I was too.”

  “What the hell happened? Scratch that, you can tell me in a bit—”

  I interrupted his speech and said, “I need you to get Flores extradited to the US. He needs to burn. He’ll just pay his way out down there.”

  “You know I don’t have any power to do something like that—”

  “Talk to Chief,” I interrupted again.

  “I tried, man. But seriously, enough with Flores...” he whispered again.

  “ENOUGH WITH HIM?” I boomed into the phone “He fucking killed her, Char. He killed her and he had the goddamn balls to laugh in my face about it. If you guys can’t do anything, I’ll go down and end him myself.”

  “Chill out for one damn second, you’ve got bigger fish to fry!” he whisper-shouted into the phone.

  “Why the hell are you whispering to me?” I hollered back.

  “I have her, Lane. I’ve been trying to get a hold of you to tell you. I have her.”

  He may as well have been speaking a different language. I had to replay the words in my head ten times before I could wrap my mind around what he could possibly be saying.

  “You...”