Page 4 of Puma's Pride

“We need to tell Spark.” I fiddle with Corinne’s phone, sending the photo to my phone and to Spark’s. “Stay here. I think this will help.” I tell her as my father follows me out of the room.

We find Spark and Byte sitting in front of separate keyboards, their fingers flying as various camera images flash on the screens.

“Spark…” I start, but he holds up his hand to stop me.

“Got the image. We’re looking for him right now.” He tells me.

“Maestro found something.” comes a voice over the speaker.

“Go.” Byte shouts back.

“An accident on the corner of Owens and Hood. Motorcycle on the side of the road, no sign of the rider.” Maestro says over the speaker.

Images flash on the main screen and I let out a sob when I see Puma’s bike lying abandoned in the road. The recording cycles backwards until we see Puma pull up to the intersection. We watch in horror as a van slams into him before four men jump out of the back. One man raises a weapon and points it at Puma. I gasp and close my eyes, burying my face in my father’s chest. “He shot him.” I sob.

“With a taser.” Spark assures me. “No blood. They wanted Puma unconscious, not dead. That’s good.”

I glance back at the screen in time to see the four men carry Puma and toss him into the back of the van. I feel a small sense of satisfaction knowing it takes four men using a van and a taser to subdue my man.

“I know that van. It belongs to the cartel.” My dad says, pointing at the logo on the rear of the van. “The cartel has Puma.”

“Where would they take him?” Spark barks.

“Maestro is tracking the van via traffic cams.” Smoke says. “It’s headed toward the airport.”

“Are they flying him out?” I ask, horrified. If they take Puma out of the country, we may never find him.

“I’ll call my contact at the airport. Tell them to be on the lookout.” Spark says as he leaves the room with his phone already in his hand.

“Wait, they could be taking him to the warehouses.” My dad chimes in. “The cartel owns three warehouses near the airport. They rent them out to legitimate business. To fool the cops. The warehouses are all tied together via a series of tunnels and rooms underneath. If they have Puma, that’s where they’ll take him.”

“Directions.” Byte asks and my father reels off three addresses.

CHAPTER THREE: PUMA

“What the fuck did I do last night?” I ask myself. I’m wracked with pain when I try to move. My eyes fly open when I realize I can’t move my arms or my legs. I’m sitting on a wooden chair in the middle of a boring and empty room. I have no clue where I am or how I got here. The floor is concrete and there are no windows. The bare bulb hanging above me does little to improve the ambiance.

Struggling against the zip ties, I realize it won’t take much for me to smash the wooden chair to pieces. But before I try, the single door opens to allow four men to pass through. Three are obviously the muscle, thick necks, thick bodies and vacant expressions give them away. The fourth is the one I watch. He looks familiar, but I can’t place him. At least not yet. Since he hasn’t said a word, I know he’s waiting for me to break. Idiot.

When he realizes that I’m not scared, he buckles. I win.

“So you’re the great Puma.” He says with a sneer as he takes me in. The only response I give him is a smirk. “You don’t look so tough. Probably don’t feel so tough, either.”

I glance at each of his guards before focusing my attention back on him. I’m still working out who he is. His taunts have given me some info, though. He’s Mexican, and he’s jealous of me. Interesting.

I can tell my silence disturbs him. He does his own glance around the room before returning his focus to me. “Got nothing to say? Too scared?” He taunts.

My laughter echoes around the room, causing all of them to jump, which only has me laughing harder. I know my laugh is loud and in this empty room; the sound bounces around the room.

My captor steps forward and throws a punch, laughing when I see him rubbing his knuckles. “I’ve had point guards hit me harder than that.” I tell him. “What the fuck do you want?”

“I want to know why you tried to kill my father.” The man demands.

“Who the fuck is your father?” I ask, although I’m piecing it together. I’ve never met the man standing in front of me, but if I’ve guessed right, I already know the answer.

“Salvador Gutierrez.” He snaps.

I don’t know whether to laugh or cuss. “Why the fuck would I want to kill Sal? We’re business partners, you idiot.” But his words cut through my anger and I realize I missed a crucial point. “Wait, someone tried to kill Sal? How? When?”

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