The Divorcee Murder Club

Cincuenta ~ 50

              The warehouse looks exactly like the one Kay brought me to at gunpoint, but it’s further down the pier, and salt from the ocean has weathered the exterior into a dull brown with rust as seagulls sit on the roof’s edge squawking. Jackson steers his truck through the lot, but it’s a bumpy ride thanks to the potholes in the pavement, which is probably an omen for what awaits us. However, I’m grateful that we’re facing this together.

Someone in dark blue coveralls emerges from the warehouse through its enormous open doors, and motions for us to park inside. So Jackson slows our speed, and we roll into the building where other cars are stationed. If I didn’t know any better, I would think this was an FBI gathering before a raid. Or at least from what I’ve seen on TV. 

Instead, it's a bunch of cartels standing around with weapons strapped to their hip or slung across their shoulders, but they’re all wearing tactical gear and bulletproof vests. Someone has set up a giant whiteboard with a drawing of what I’m assuming is the layout of the place we’re going to infiltrate to extract Alma. 

“Holy shit,” Jackson gasps. “Are all these people really here to save my girl?” 

“Sure looks like it.”

“I hate to say it because it’s messed up, but thank you for sleeping with Augusta for this.”

“Yeah…” I look away and unbuckle my seat belt. 

He doesn’t know I had sex with her again, and I don’t know if I have it in me to tell him how much of a fucking idiot I am. People often view me as a confident, and stubborn man, but as it turns out, I’m an easily manipulated pushover, and Augusta saw right through me.

This morning was a disaster.

Why wasn’t I strong enough to shove her away? Why did I let her put her mouth on me? Why did I let my mind and body betray me with arousal? I shouldn’t have stormed out on Gwen. Maybe she has the answers for why I behaved like a dog going back to his vomit. Then again, had it not happened, I wouldn’t have learned Augusta’s true motive.

The silver lining, I suppose.

But my stomach roils thinking about it, so there better be a bathroom nearby. However, taking a stress shit will have to wait because as soon as I hop down from the truck, Kay pins me against it, and breaths down my face. 

Where the hell did he come from?

“I’m onto you, you little shit.” He jabs his sausage finger into my sternum. “I know you took Richie.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play dumb.” He grabs a fistful of my shirt, but Jackson plows between us.

“Hey! Take it easy. He doesn’t have him.”

Kay’s glare flashes from Jackson back to me with a snarl as he whispers, “You’re lucky we’re surrounded by Cartel or I’d have you spitting your balls out.”

“I don’t have Richie, so back off, asshole.” I shove his chest. “Last I saw him was when you slung him over your shoulder, and left Dr. Banaag’s house. So maybe ask Jocelyn where he is.”

Kay releases a slow breath and leans in. “I know you took him, and when I get him back, I’m going to fuck you up so badly you’ll need a grave. Understood?”

“Then you better dig one for yourself,” I laugh, and smooth down his shirt in the same condescending way he did to me once.

The man wants to maul me like a grizzly bear, but he can’t with Emilio’s men around. So, I bump his shoulder when I walk away, and hold my chest high to mask my quivering spine. There is no doubt in my mind that Kay has the strength to kill me, which means I have a new problem on my hands.