Page 87 of Loco

“It’s him,” he said, almost to himself, then answered without waiting. The door swung shut behind him, but not before I heard him speak into the phone.

“We have them.”

The words sent a chill down my spine.

I stayed still for a moment, listening and waiting, just in case someone came back—but the silence held. As soon as I was sure, I looked at Kairo, his eyes wide but steady, and nodded toward Kaida, who was still sleeping soundly in his arms.

“Hold onto your sister, baby,” I whispered. “Keep her safe for me for a minute, okay?”

He nodded quickly, his arms tightening around her like it was his mission.

I grabbed the blankets and pillows that had been dropped earlier and bunched them around the kids, tucking them in close and secure, trying to make the space warmer, safer, and softer. Then I stood and moved to the wooden box Russo had used as a seat.

It was heavier than it looked, but I dragged it beneath the window without waking Kaida. I climbed onto it carefully, balancing on my toes, and reached up toward the tiny, grimy window on the wall. The moonlight from outside was faint, diffused through years of dirt and dust, but I still tried to peer through.

Even standing on the box, balanced on the very tips of my toes, I couldn’t quite see out the window. The light barely filtered through, casting a dull glow into the room, but beyond that, there was nothing. No shapes or movement, no signs of where we were. Just gray light and a growing sense of isolation.

I pressed my hands to the cold edge of the frame, trying to lift myself higher, even just a little, but it didn’t help. With a quiet sigh, I lowered myself onto the box, the wood creaking softly beneath my feet. Frustration tightened in my chest, hot and sharp, but I forced myself to breathe through it. Letting it get the best of me wouldn’t help the kids.

When Russo had answered his phone, I’d wanted so badly to believe it was Roque on the other end—that he’d somehow tracked us faster than anyone expected. But the way Russo had spoken had proven it wasn’t that kind of call. His tone hadn’t held wariness or caution—it had held pride and satisfaction. He wasn’t trying to outmaneuver someone dangerous, he was reporting in to someone he worked with. Someone hefeared.

And then there’d been the words.

“We have them.”

Not “I have them.” Not “They’re here.”We.

That one word had told me everything—he wasn’t at the top of the food chain. He was part of something bigger—an organization or a network of men pulling strings from the shadows. Whoever he was talking to, Russo had been reassuring him and letting him know that now, with me and the kids locked away, they had power over Roque.

Except they didn’t.

Because Roque wasn’t the kind of man to break under pressure, he wasn’t someone you could hold hostage by proxy. If anything, they’d just made the worst mistake of their lives—because now, Roque would burn the world down to get us back. I knew him and saw how he protected people he barely knew. He carried the weight of others' pain like it was his own.

I turned my gaze back to the window, the dull light casting long shadows across the basement. Maybe I couldn’t see out of it, and perhaps it didn’t lead to a quick escape or hold some obvious clue, but it was something. It was a flaw in the walls built to keep us here, andwhenRoque came for us, he’d be searching for every crack in their plan.

I just had to find a way to help him spot this one. Because no matter what Russo thought, this wasn’t power, it was desperation disguised as control.

And Roque would never stop until we were safe.

Chapter 28

Roque

Judd’s voice was calm and steady, the kind of tone you used when trying to soothe a wounded animal that might lash out. “They want leverage, Roque. That’s all this is. And you don’t kill your leverage, that’s how we know they’re alive and okay.”

I nodded once, my jaw clenched so tightly it ached. Iknewthat, and I’d told myself the same thing a dozen times in the past hour. It was the only thread of logic I could hold on to without unraveling. If this were about control—if Russo wanted to use me—they’d keep Sayla and the kids safe. They’d have to for their plan to work.

But it wasn’t theifsthat were killing me, it was thehows. Not knowingwherethey were or what was happening to themwas eating me alive. My mind kept circling and spiraling through images I couldn’t stop or control. Kaida crying and being scared, Kairo trying to be brave when he shouldn’t have to be, and Sayla forced to protect them both with nothing but her own body and will.

The others had gathered there because it was neutral, secure, and off the grid enough not to draw attention. But I couldn’t stop moving. My skin felt too tight. I needed todosomething—anything—besides wait.

Imogen and Judd stood at the far end of the room, a dry-erase board propped against the wall between two windows, already filled with names. The list wasn’t short—officers who’d brushed too close to corruption and were caught intimidating witnesses or planting evidence, only to get slapped on the wrist. Or worse, have “no further action” stamped across their files like that was justice.

Looking at the board, I could feel it in the room—none of us had said it yet, not directly, but it was there in the way everyone moved. The job had rotted under us. The thing we were supposed to believe in, to fight for, had been festering with filth and cover-ups for years, and we were only now starting to peel back the layers.

Beside the names, they were writing addresses—places tied to the syndicate. Safe houses, storage facilities, laundromats, rentals, and any location loosely associated with Titian’s crew went on the list. Kapono was already out checking them one by one. He’d radio in every few minutes with a quick update, and each message made my chest tighten a little more.

Keir finally snapped, storming over to the table and flipping open his laptop. “Screw this,” he muttered. “We’re not doing enough.”

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