it’s because of Cam. I’ll make arrangements and get on the first flight.”
“Thanks, man.” I rub a hand down my tired face and hang up.
And I exit the house, still fully on edge. Her absence from my life is hitting me harder than I ever could’ve imagined.
***
I head farther up north toward the warehouse with a song on the radio filling the space, drowning out my thoughts. The warehouse is an abandoned space the Syndicate uses for interrogations and storage of our drug supply. Sand dusts up behind the rear as I drive up to the old, one-story brick building and switch off the radio. Damian confirmed he has Fat Sal’s first soldier in custody and that he’s almost here. I stub my cigarette and push the button to close my window.
His beamer comes into view in my rearview mirror, and he parks behind me. I wait for him to exit his vehicle and expose his captive: a man of medium build with a ponytail and wearing a sweat suit. His hands are tied at the wrists, and he’s screaming.
I get out as Damian slams him against the side of his car.
After shrugging out of my suit jacket, I throw it on the back seat and adjust my gun at the small of my back.
“Do you even fucking know who I am?” the man spits.
Damian smiles and presses his arm against his throat. “I don’t care. My organization dominates yours.”
He splutters something unidentifiable.
“Who is he?” I ask Damian when I’ve made my way closer.
“Christopher,” Damian answers.
“What the fuck is this about?” Christopher looks to me while struggling against Damian.
“Stop fighting him,” I order. “Loosen your hold, Damian.”
Damian conforms.
“I know who you are, Christopher. You’re one of Fat Sal’s first soldiers. And that’s exactly why I need you.”
He calms through his harsh breathing.
“I’m looking for information that leads to the whereabouts of Camilla Guillermo.”
His eyes narrow in mistrust.
Before he starts lying, I warn, “We know she worked at the Club 7. I need to know more about her past.”
“I don’t know anything about her.”
“How well do you know her?” I take one step forward.
“She worked in the fight club.”
I tilt my head to the side. “Christopher, you’re not helpful. I wouldn’t have taken you if I didn’t already know she worked in that depraved fight and sex club. What more do you know of her? Did she have friends? With whom did she associate?”
After a long pause, he answers, “No one.”
I throw my head back and groan. “You just missed your chance when I asked nicely.” I wave my hand toward the warehouse entrance.
From the corner of my eye, I see him head-butting Damian, who stammers back.
“Fuck!” Damian cries and covers his nose, blood streaming down his fingers.
Christopher sees his chance and storms off, tumbling into the sand with his hands tied behind his back.
I jump onto his back, and we both grunt as we hit the ground and sand blows into my nose and mouth. Pushing a knee into his lower back, I keep him incapacitated.
Christopher attempts to buck me off him, so I stuff his face into the sand. “Hold still or I’ll shoot you.” I spit sand from my mouth, and it lands next to his ear. “Damian,” I shout.
The idiot is still clutching his nose.
“He fucking broke it!”
Serves you well!
“Get over here!”
I push my knee harder into my captive’s back, making him howl in the sand. Then I jerk his head back. “What do you know about Camilla?”
Patience left my body a couple of months ago. I’m ready to kill a first soldier to find her. My pent-up rage searches for release, and having Damian in my proximity when I’ve been filled with memories of Cam all day, worsens my state. “Talk.”
“What exactly do you want to know? Arghh!” he cries when I yank his hair.
Granted, my question was a bit vague. “Has she been seen at or been in contact with anyone at the fight club?”
“No!”
“So you haven’t seen her since she
“Thanks, man.” I rub a hand down my tired face and hang up.
And I exit the house, still fully on edge. Her absence from my life is hitting me harder than I ever could’ve imagined.
***
I head farther up north toward the warehouse with a song on the radio filling the space, drowning out my thoughts. The warehouse is an abandoned space the Syndicate uses for interrogations and storage of our drug supply. Sand dusts up behind the rear as I drive up to the old, one-story brick building and switch off the radio. Damian confirmed he has Fat Sal’s first soldier in custody and that he’s almost here. I stub my cigarette and push the button to close my window.
His beamer comes into view in my rearview mirror, and he parks behind me. I wait for him to exit his vehicle and expose his captive: a man of medium build with a ponytail and wearing a sweat suit. His hands are tied at the wrists, and he’s screaming.
I get out as Damian slams him against the side of his car.
After shrugging out of my suit jacket, I throw it on the back seat and adjust my gun at the small of my back.
“Do you even fucking know who I am?” the man spits.
Damian smiles and presses his arm against his throat. “I don’t care. My organization dominates yours.”
He splutters something unidentifiable.
“Who is he?” I ask Damian when I’ve made my way closer.
“Christopher,” Damian answers.
“What the fuck is this about?” Christopher looks to me while struggling against Damian.
“Stop fighting him,” I order. “Loosen your hold, Damian.”
Damian conforms.
“I know who you are, Christopher. You’re one of Fat Sal’s first soldiers. And that’s exactly why I need you.”
He calms through his harsh breathing.
“I’m looking for information that leads to the whereabouts of Camilla Guillermo.”
His eyes narrow in mistrust.
Before he starts lying, I warn, “We know she worked at the Club 7. I need to know more about her past.”
“I don’t know anything about her.”
“How well do you know her?” I take one step forward.
“She worked in the fight club.”
I tilt my head to the side. “Christopher, you’re not helpful. I wouldn’t have taken you if I didn’t already know she worked in that depraved fight and sex club. What more do you know of her? Did she have friends? With whom did she associate?”
After a long pause, he answers, “No one.”
I throw my head back and groan. “You just missed your chance when I asked nicely.” I wave my hand toward the warehouse entrance.
From the corner of my eye, I see him head-butting Damian, who stammers back.
“Fuck!” Damian cries and covers his nose, blood streaming down his fingers.
Christopher sees his chance and storms off, tumbling into the sand with his hands tied behind his back.
I jump onto his back, and we both grunt as we hit the ground and sand blows into my nose and mouth. Pushing a knee into his lower back, I keep him incapacitated.
Christopher attempts to buck me off him, so I stuff his face into the sand. “Hold still or I’ll shoot you.” I spit sand from my mouth, and it lands next to his ear. “Damian,” I shout.
The idiot is still clutching his nose.
“He fucking broke it!”
Serves you well!
“Get over here!”
I push my knee harder into my captive’s back, making him howl in the sand. Then I jerk his head back. “What do you know about Camilla?”
Patience left my body a couple of months ago. I’m ready to kill a first soldier to find her. My pent-up rage searches for release, and having Damian in my proximity when I’ve been filled with memories of Cam all day, worsens my state. “Talk.”
“What exactly do you want to know? Arghh!” he cries when I yank his hair.
Granted, my question was a bit vague. “Has she been seen at or been in contact with anyone at the fight club?”
“No!”
“So you haven’t seen her since she
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