His eyes widen, and he opens his mouth – I'm sure to tell me yet another lie. He's pissing me off because every minute that he delays, Holly gets further and further away. She's in danger and this asshole doesn't seem to care.
“I'm going to say this once,” I say. “If you lie to me again, I will go straight to the police. You'll be in prison for the rest of your fucking lives. Is that what you want?”
They exchange another look and then shake their heads.
“Good,” I say. “Make the call. Now.”
Michael slowly pulls his phone out of his pocket and punches in a number. He holds the phone to his ear and waits. A moment later, I see the nervous twitch in his face.
“Mr. Trujillo –”
I snatch the phone away from him and put it on speaker, pacing around the office, never taking my eyes off Michael and his son.
“Gabriel Trujillo,” I say. “You have something I want.”
There's a pause on the line. “Who is this?”
“That’s not important right now,” I say. “You have something I want, and I have something you want.”
“And what could you possibly have that I want?” Trujillo asks, his cultured accent coloring his words.
“Money, for one,” I say. “Also, a file that personally implicates you in at least sixteen murders.”
There's another long pause on the line as my words sink in. And when he finally speaks, his voice is colder than ice.
“What do you want?”
“Your son took something precious to me,” I say. “Holly Gallagher. I want her back.”
“Impossible.”
“Well, I guess you can enjoy your stay in prison,” I say. “For the rest of your life. Oh, but don't worry, Michael and Ian Gallagher will be right there with you to keep you entertained.”
“Who the fuck are you?” he asks, his voice tight and angry.
“Like I said, that’s not important,” I say. “I'm willing to pay you what Michael owes you and turn over the dossier I've compiled on you in exchange for Holly.”
“That's my son's wife, asshole,” Trujillo says.
“Actually, she's not,” I reply. “She's my wife. And I want her back.”
“Y – your wife?” he asks, a hint of curiosity in his voice.
“Fact,” I say. “But don't worry, Michael knew nothing of it. Holly and I had a – private ceremony.”
Michael and Ian look at me, both angry. Their eyes are narrowed, and their jaws clenched. The look like they want nothing more than to beat me to a pulp right here-and-now. But, they also know they'll be signing their own death warrants if they do.
“Here's the deal,” I say. “You're going to meet me tonight. I'll text you with the location and details. You bring Holly, I bring the six million Michael owes you along with the dossier and we'll call it even.”
The pause on the line goes on for a long moment and I'm starting to wonder if he hung up on me. But, the line hasn't clicked off, so I wait him out.
“Ten,” he finally says.
“What's that?” I ask.
“Ten million,” he says. “And the dossier.”
“Done,” I reply. “I'll send you the information.”
“I swear to God, mister,” Trujillo hisses. “If you try to screw me, I'm going to bury you.”
“And I swear to God, Trujillo,” I hiss back, “if there is even a scratch on Holly’s skin, if there’s so much as a hair out of place, I’m going to bury you. I promise you that.”
I disconnect the call and drop the phone on the desk. I look at the two men standing in front of me and feel nothing but repulsion.
“I'll text you the information.”
Without waiting for a reply, I pull my phone out of my pocket, and punch in a number as I turn and walk out of the office, leaving them to stand there, gaping at me.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Holly
“This isn't right, Dad,” Armando fumes into the phone. “She's my wife.”
He paces the hotel room, his face dark with fury. I'm only hearing his half of the conversation, but I'm getting the feeling that something has changed on his father's end. From the sound of the conversation, at least what I can hear, it sounds like it might bode well for me – for a change.
“Who is this guy?” he asks.
I hear his father's muffled voice coming through the phone, but I can't quite make out the words. I'm sitting on the couch in the room, looking at the front door. I've given thought to just rushing the door, trying to escape, and letting the chips fall where they may.
But, Armando's driver, the large, intimidating man, obviously intuited what I was thinking as he positioned himself closer to the door, giving me a long, knowing look in the process.
“I don't care what he offered you,” Armando explodes. “She's mine. I'm not going to –”
Armando sighs, his face etched with frustration. He is clearly a man who doesn't like to hear the word no, or have his shiny new toys taken away from him. The thought that I am his shiny new toy sends a chill down my spine.
“Fine,” he finally says, his voice tight with anger. “Fine.”
He walks to the window, staring out at the city of Denver bathed in afternoon sunlight, the phone pressed tightly to his ear. He's nodding as if his father can see him, making noises and grunting every now-and-then. All the sudden though, his demeanor changes. He seems to relax and calm down a bit.
Whatever his dad said, obviously mollified him. Probably offered him another woman or something.
“No, that sounds good,” Armando says. “That sounds great, actually.”
He disconnects the call and slides the phone in his pocket. Armando stands at the window with his back to me. Finally, he turns around and there is a wicked smile on his face.
“Who is he?” he asks.
I cock my head. “Who is who?”
“This mystery man,” he says. “The one who's coming to save you.”
“I have no idea who you're talking about.”
“Right,” he says. “So, some guy comes out of nowhere, claims to be your husband, and demands things of my father? Do you know who my father is?”
“I'm very aware of who your father is,” I say.
“So, who is he?” Armando presses. “Who is your husband and why does no one seem to know that you're married?”
Brayden. Given everything that happened, I forgot that I was on the phone with him when Armando's men grabbed me. He must have heard what happened and put two and two together. It makes sense. He probably found my dad, and squeezed him, and Trujillo, in the process.
“I have no idea who you're talking about.”
Armando cocks his arm back like he's about to deliver a vicious backhand and I brace myself for the blow. I'm tempted to tell him I'm pregnant with the hope that it will stave off a beating, but it might only enrage him further and cause him to beat me harder. The fact that I’m carrying another man's child in my womb won't exactly endear me to him.
Armando's hand remains in the air, cocked back and ready to strike, but he hesitates. With tremendous effort, he lowers his hand again. I can see the rage in his eyes burning bright and know he wants nothing more than to smack me. I guess this is his version of problem solving.
“Don't lie to me, bitch,” he says. “Who is he?”
“I guess he's my husband?”
Armando turns away from me and lets out an animalistic growl as he punches the wall. His fist goes right through the drywall, leaving a gaping hole. It sends a shiver through me thinking that it could have been my face, rather than the wall, that he lashed out at.
But then, I have a feeling his father, probably knowing his penchant for hitting women, told him not to lay a hand on me. Which makes me feel a little bit better about the situation. But, only a tiny bit.
“So, what's the deal?” I ask. “Is your dad selling me back to my family?”
He rounds on me, a snarl on his lips, and fury in his eyes. “Shut your mouth, puta.”
“Because, based on that conversation I heard, you're not getting what you want,” I say.
His snarl turns into a greasy smirk and he shakes his head, a low, ominous chuckle passing his lips.
“Baby, I always get what I want,” he says.
“Then, why are you so pissed off?”