Page 52 of Sold on Them

A gunshot rings out, and Carlos falls to the floor. The machete flies away from him as his hands go to the gunshot wound in his leg as he applies pressure.

I hurry over, pulling his arms behind his back and zip tying them while the other three hurry over to Mackenzie. A well-placed punch knocks him out. I’ll need him awake later, but for now, it’ll be easier if he’s unconscious.

Parker cuts away Mackenzie’s restraints while Cormac pulls his shirt over his head, dropping it over hers as soon as she’s free, helping her put her arms through the holes.

Damon kneels between her legs, hands on her face. “Are you okay, Mac?”

“Of course, I’m not okay.” She’s shaking harder now, probably dropping after the adrenaline. “How the fuck would I be okay right now?”

“I’m sorry, Mackenzie. This is my fault.” Parker shakes his head.

She grabs his arm. “It’snotyour fault. None of this was, but I’d like to get out of here if at all possible. I’m sure there’s more you need to do, but I don’t want to be here for it.”

Without a word, Cormac scoops her into his arms and heads for the door. Damon is hot on his heels while Parker glances between me and them.

“Sorry, Park. I’m going to need you for this next part.” I nod to Carlos’s prone body. “We need to find his phone or computer so we can call Santos and get him the proof he needs. He’ll probably make the decision about what we do with him. We should probably wrap his leg so he doesn’t bleed out.”

Parker makes his way over, spitting on the unconscious man. “He can die for all I fucking care.”

“Let’s not piss off the cartel boss for real this time, shall we?”

Parker rolls his eyes, but nods. I dig into Carlos’s pockets as Parker heads out, searching to see if we’ll find any other electronics in the warehouse. Depending on how long they’ve been using this place, it’s unlikely they’ve left anything laying around, but we need to make sure.

I find his phone and lift it up with a triumphant sound.

“Found the phone, I’m assuming?” Parker asks as he walks back in, a laptop tucked under his arm. “Found this. Don’t know if it’s Carlos’s or not, but it would make sense that Santos might want to see my body after Carlos killed me. The quality of cameras on phones aren’t nearly as good as webcams on most computers. Either way, it should make it easier for us to take care of this. Just give me a few minutes to get into it, and we’ll see what’s going on.”

I shrug, lifting the phone to Carlos’s face so it’ll unlock. I scroll through his contacts, which aren’t many, but it’s easy to find Santos’s number. He’s the only one marked as a favorite on the phone. Pulling up the text messages, I read through the messages they’ve exchanged—all vaguely worded so if anyone got their hands on the phone, no one would suspect what they are really talking about.

It’s pretty much what I was expecting, but not at all helpful to me.

“They have a program they seem to do video calls through,” Parker says as I lock the phone. “I should be able to get into it in just a minute… Or now. I’m in. Want me to call him now?”

“Can you pull up the video from our gear from his computer?”

Parker snorts, glancing back at me. “Can I pull the video, he asks. It’s already done.”

“Then, yes. Call him.” Grabbing a hold of Carlos’s collar, I drag him across the floor to the table where Parker has set the laptop. Grimacing at the trail of blood, I leave behind, I tear Carlos’s shirt off and wrap it around his leg with enough pressure that he shouldn’t bleed out while we’re having this conversation.

“Carlos?” Santos Santiago’s face appears on the screen. “Why isn’t your video on?”

Parker glances at me, and I nod. Santos scowls when I appear on his screen.

“Who the hell are you? Where is Carlos?”

“My name is Royce West, a name I’m sure you’ll recognize as an associate of Parker Hilton. Before you cut me off, Carlos isn’t dead. He’s just unconscious. I’m sorry we had to do this like this, but I didn’t think you’d take our call. Parker didn’t kill your wife, and I have a taped confession from the real murderer. I’d like to send it to you, so you can see who you should’ve been hunting the last two years.”

Parker is just outside of the frame when he calls out, “I’ve already sent the video to your email. Don’t bother asking how I found it. There’s very little that can’t be found on the Internet these days if you know where to look, and I’ve had good motivation.”

“Who’s that?” Santos’s accent seems to thicken as he narrows his eyes.

Parker steps over to stand at my side. “I’m the man who was framed for your wife’s murder.”

“Parker Hilton. I expected you to be dead when I saw your face for the first time.” He rubs his jaw. “Give me a moment to watch this video, but I can promise you that if it doesn’t provide definitive proof that someone else killed her, I’ll be gunning for you twice as hard. Especially if you kill Carlos.”

“He took a gunshot to the leg, but it’s not going to kill him yet. I suggest you watch the video before worrying too much about his welfare though.”

That has Santos’s eyes narrowing again, but his attention quickly shifts—assumedly to the video we sent to him. We get to watch his reaction as emotions splay across his face—shock, disbelief, anger, sadness—before he locks it all down.

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