“Oh, so that’s an option, is it? Fantastic.”
“You two can go up. But I’ll need to accompany you.” Maria Rosa’s man has stopped murmuring into his radio. He stares at both of us as he reaches forward and hits the button for thirty-five. We wait in silence. A group of tourists come stand behind us, talking loudly and giggling—four overweight adults and three overweight kids. When the doors to the elevator open, Carnie, the guard, and I get on. The holidaymakers are about to follow suit but then they see our faces. The casual bulge of the gun on Maria Rosa’s henchman’s hip. The tattoos that cover the majority of our visible skin.
They make the smart choice and don’t get on.
The doors close and we begin our ascent. “Give me your guns,” the guard says. “You won’t be admitted into her presence without surrendering all weapons.”
We already know this is how Maria Rosa operates. Smart, really. She commands the most lucrative gambling and drugs ring in the country. There are people who would kill her for that reason alone, to take her business, regardless of the fact that she’s faintly psychotic and slices off people’s skin for fun.
“We left our guns at home,” I tell him. He gives me a look—he clearly doesn’t believe that. “You can have our knives, though. That make you happy?” I grin at him, which doesn’t seem to ingratiate me to him any further. Holding out his hand, his cold eyes travel over us, as though searching for the telltale bulge of a gun that we’re claiming we don’t have. I start pulling out my knives—one from the waistband of my jeans, one strapped to my side, one strapped to my ankle. Carnie has more; the guy overcompensates when Margo’s not on his hip. All told, the guard has nine knives in his hand by the time we’re done giving them up.
He draws his lips into a tight line—not impressed.
The doors to the elevator open then, and a housekeeping maid—a skinny woman with a neat ponytail and sensible shoes—is waiting on the other side. She nearly jumps out of her skin when she catches sight of the sharp blades clutched in the guard’s hands. “Sorry, I’ll…I’ll just…” She doesn’t enter the elevator. She spins on the balls of her feet and hurries off down the corridor, glancing over her shoulder at us as she flees. The guard gestures to us that we should follow him.
“She gonna cause problems?” Carnie asks as we follow the hallway around, passing room doors on either side of us.
“She might tell her superior,” the guard grunts. “But he’s one of ours. They’re all ours. It won’t go any further.”
“Sweet.” Carnie pulls a face at his back. Fucking child. I give him a warning look, wondering why the hell I brought him and not Cade. That wasn’t really an option, though. There are times when Carnie just can’t behave himself, or hold his tongue, for that matter, but in this instance he was the sensible choice. Cade and Maria Rosa… Cade and Maria Rosa have history. She swore a long time ago that she’d have his balls if she ever laid eyes on him again. And Maria Rosa is a very literal woman.
I smack Carnie on the arm, sending him an expression that I hope conveys how much shit he will be in if he fucks this up.
The guard leads us to the end of the hallway, to the very last room on the right. He knocks twice, quietly, and then steps back, presumably so whoever is inside the room can see who’s at the door. A rattling, scraping sound follows—the chain being undone—and then the door opens and a huge guy in sweat pants and a muscle tee is standing in front of us, face drawn into a dramatic scowl. Rico Mendez. Rico has been Maria Rosa’s personal guard for the past twelve years, by all accounts. He’s her personal trainer. He drives her anywhere she needs to go. She fucks him when the mood takes her, although I’m pretty sure she prefers American men. The first time I met him was in Colombia, when he was trying to kill me. He didn’t succeed, of course. I kicked his ass and gave him the gnarly scar that still twists the flesh down the left-hand side of his face.
“Rebel,” he says, as though my very name is a statement in itself.
“Rico.”