Page 74 of Possession

With Damian out of the way and my promotion within the family secured, I have direct access to the leader and founder of the Marino Cartel.

No boundaries.

No barriers.

“The Jackals?” he bites. “Did they come through and finally prove themselves? Damian had been working on them for months, but they refused to pull the trigger—the actual fucking trigger.”

I grip the phone and pause for two beats, because I have no idea what he’s talking about. And I can’t let on that I’m sitting here clueless on the other end of the line, so I do what I always do—fake it. “They came through. Finally.”

“When?” he bites, causing my insides to twist with adrenaline. “I follow the news. I haven’t seen anything.”

The news? What the hell?

There’s nothing like flying into the pitch-black abyss with no clue how to get out. “Trust me, we’re good.”

“I want to know when and where.” His old voice, which is usually raspy and shallow, turns sharp. It has an edge to it that gives me a hint as to who he used to be … the evil, sadistic leader that did anything and everything to claw his way to the top of the worldwide drug trade. “I want proof. I want to know how it was done. Then we can move forward.”

I stand and stride to the window, as if the answer will crash against the cliffs of the rocky Pacific shore so I can get myself out of this pinch that really feels like the damn walls are closing in on me.

Wishful thinking.

“Tell me what you want, Alamandos. I’ll make sure you get it. You know I’ll do anything for you.”

“I want to know when and where it happened. I want a name. I want to know the family they left behind. I want to know how they died.” Evil bleeds through the phone with each and every sinful demand. “I want the fucking picture of the dead cop. If it’s a Fed, even better. It’ll go straight to the top of my collection.”

All of a sudden, I can’t see anything. Not the ocean, not the cliffs, not the ground or the pool or the armed guards that are on point at every corner of the estate.

My vision hollows.

Dead cop.

Shit.

It’s an initiation?

“Boz?”

A fucking initiation?

“Here,” I grunt and do everything I can to keep my composure. I squeeze my eyes shut, force myself to speak, and steady my voice. “Tell me what kind of proof you want. I’ll get it.”

“I want links to the news story. Details on how it was done. And I want a fucking background on the pig they took down. Pictures. I want it all.”

“Done,” I snap, even though I have no fucking clue how I’m going to come through with anything on that list. All I know is I need to end this fucking call. “My schedule is back-to-back the rest of the day with the other side of the business. I’ll have it to you by tomorrow.”

I have no fucking idea what I’m going to do, but I’ll figure it out right after I throw up and plan his demise, step by fucking painful step.

I also need to salvage this deal with the Jackals. No one else is delivering this load other than them.

“Impressed with you, mijo. I’ve been hazy with grief. You mean more to me than my own blood remaining in this world. Knowing I can trust you means something, Brian.”

Brian.

Fuck.

I can almost taste the bile bubbling in my gut. “Appreciate that, Alamandos.”

“I look forward to your report.” My report. I look forward to seeing what I can pull out of my ass too. “One to add to my collection.”

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