Page 97 of A Game of Deception
“Absolutely not.”
“You need backup,” I insisted. “You need someone with medical training in case Diego is hurt.”
Xander looked like he wanted to argue, but another glance at his phone—probably another panicked text from Ben—changed his mind.
“You stay in the car,” he said finally. “No matter what happens, you stay in the car and you call 911 if things go bad.”
I nodded, though we both knew that if things went bad enough to require police intervention, it would probably be too late for all of us.
Xander accelerated toward the industrial district, the precious folder secure in my lap. My father’s reckoning would have to wait—but it was coming.
25
XANDER
I focusedon the road ahead, the tension from the warehouse visit coiling inside me. Ben’s text with the address sent us speeding through Miami’s backstreets toward the industrial district. Twelve minutes. That’s how long Google Maps said it would take to reach this place called “El Santuario.” Twelve minutes that could determine whether Diego lived or died.
The irony wasn’t lost on me. Not long ago, I punched Diego in the face. Now I was racing to save him from God knows what.
“This is insane,” Tara said, clutching the folder with Morrison’s notes to her chest. “These people are dangerous enough to kidnap someone in broad daylight.”
“I know.” I pressed harder on the accelerator as the light ahead turned yellow.
“And your plan is to just... what? Walk in there and ask nicely for them to let him go?”
“Something like that,” I said, shooting through the intersection as the light turned red, earning an angry honk from a delivery truck.
Her fingers dug into my arm. “Xander, these aren’t people you can charm your way past.”
“Good,” I said, taking a sharp right turn that had Tara bracing herself against the door. “Because I’m not going to try and charm them. I’m going to make them an offer.”
“What kind of offer? You want to pay off Diego’s debt? It could be hundreds of thousands. These guys deal in cash only. You don’t have immediate access to that much in cash, do you?”
“It’s not about cash.” I glanced at her, my mind racing, a wild idea starting to form. “Men like this, they deal in a different kind of currency. Power, respect, status... I just need to figure out what they want more than Diego’s money.”
She fell silent, and I knew she was calculating the odds, weighing variables like she always did.
My phone pinged with another text from Ben:Hurry. I’m outside. Back entrance, like you said.
We’d pulled over briefly so I could call him back, instructing him to wait at the building’s rear entrance rather than going in alone. One hostage was enough.
The GPS directed us into a section of Miami most tourists never see—a labyrinth of warehouses, truck depots, and industrial parks sitting under the constant hum of the airport flight path. The buildings here were utilitarian, sun-bleached concrete boxes with minimal signage and barred windows.
“That must be it,” Tara said, pointing to a nondescript building at the end of a dead-end street. No signs, just a gray box with a loading dock and a bunch of cars parked out front like vultures.
I pulled over a block away, killed the engine, and turned to face her in the sudden silence. “Okay. You stay in the car.”
“Xander—”
“I mean it, Tara.” I took her face in my hands, my thumbs resting on her cheekbones, forcing her to meet my eyes. “This isn't a game. If I’m not back in thirty minutes, or if you hear anything that sounds wrong, you call 911. Not your father, not the team—911. Got it?”
Her eyes flashed with that familiar fire I was coming to know so well. “Thirty minutes,” she said, her voice steady and leaving no room for argument. “Then I’m calling the police, and I’m coming in after you.”
“No. Absolutely not,” I started to say, the words a knee-jerk reaction. “Under no circumstances are you to come in there. That’s an order.”
It was useless. I saw it the moment the words left my mouth. She didn't even have to say anything. The slight lift of her chin, the narrowing of her eyes—it was a look of such absolute, unshakeable defiance that I knew I’d have better luck arguing with the tide. This woman, who had meticulously plotted my downfall for twelve years, was now prepared to walk into a nest of gangsters for me without a second’s hesitation.
And in that moment, staring at her stubborn, determined face, a wave of something fierce and protective crashed over me. I loved her for it. I loved that fire. I wouldn't have her any other way.
