DISCLAIMER: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc., are the intellectual property of the respective author. The original characters and plot are the property of Stephenie Meyer. No copyright infringement is intended.
-Chapter Forty-Five-
Ten minutes later, we had the duffel bag in our possession, standing across the street from the senator's mansion. It wasn't like anything I expected. The conversations I had with Edward describing the home he grew up in were vague, but I'd created this vision of a pale blue house with a white picket fence and grass on the front lawn. Not a ninety-two-story high rise surrounded by security cameras and cold, hard concrete.
The grand reveal was a disappointment, but what soon followed that initial reaction was one of doubt. There was no way in hell we were getting into this building. The security measures were iron-clad and top-of-the-line. There were six-foot-seven door attendants, secret service-type-looking dudes with black suits and earpieces, and they were focused and on high alert. A
billion cameras bolted to the pillars and pointed down at the street and double chrome-plated doors. It zoomed and panned, capturing and documenting every face that had the unfortunate luck of having to walk by Fort Knox on their way to work.
It was nuts.
"Who the hell does your father think he is, the fucking president?" I grumbled, shaking my head in disbelief.
"No," he replied, voice saturated with resentment. "The fucker thinks he's God."
Edward was many things, all buried below the surface, and he projected a man that instilled fear into people who crossed him. But I saw past the bullshit and into him because he allowed me.
He wanted revenge, but he was smart enough to know that it wouldn't change anything. The pain would still be there, torturing him for days and years. This job, and everything to follow, was only a temporary Band-Aid to a permanent and deep-seated wound that would never heal.
And that broke me into a million pieces.
"They're assholes, baby," I said, hooking my arm with his and snuggling close, seeking warmth but also wanting to comfort him. "They don't matter."
"Yeah, I know," he said, reaching around with his other hand and tapping the tip of my nose playfully to lighten the depressing mood. "Well, what do you think, kid? Should we get this party started?"
I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out my stopwatch. "I think we only have forty-two minutes and thirteen seconds until the senator comes home to get in and do what we came here to do."
"Forty-two minutes?"
"Well," I glanced down briefly and back up at him, "forty-one minutes now."
"That's plenty of fucking time," he said, waving me off, and I laughed.
It didn't matter if we had a hundred years or five minutes to do this job; Destiny required us to run out of time. That all were too consuming fire we had for each other was our Achilles heel, and eventually, that weakness—this distraction—would get us caught.
"Come on," he said, stepping back from the sidewalk's edge and turning north on Fifth Avenue.
Edward wrapped his arm around me for warmth as a chilled wind came in with a vengeance and blew my hair across my face. It felt like a thousand knives stabbing me, freezing me through and through and down to the bone.
"Fuck!" I shivered.
Edward, hearing my teeth chattering, looked down at me with his eyebrow cocked. "Are you cold?"
"It, it, it's bbbbelow eighty-fffive degrees, is, is, isn't iiit?"
Edward smiled and maneuvered before me to block out the wind. He rubbed his hands up and down my arms to generate heated friction. "How are your ears?"
My eyes widened with mocked surprise. "I, I, I, hhhhave eeears?"
Reaching up and tugging my left lobe, he gave a firm nod. "Yes, it appears so." Then, dropping his hand and hot touch, he pulled out a knitted beanie from his back pocket and placed it on my head, "A wise person once told me," tucking my hair up inside and pulling it down over my numb ears, "that a beanie was a proper disguise to a well-known outlaw, such as yourself."
"Oh, yeah?" I said, gazing up at him and that unruly yet distinguishable penny bronze hair. I frowned. "Where's yours?"
"Ah, don't you worry about me, I've got that shit covered," he said, reaching back and pulling up the hoodie on his sweater.
It shocked me how taken back I was because even though it was a slight change in his appearance, it was huge. The intensity of his eyes and the robust features of his face were more prominent and focalized now.
He looked dangerous, menacing, and it was fucking sexy. That simple flick of his sweater on top of his head turned me on to a level I didn't even know was possible. It wasn't fair for Edward to be this beautiful to other men out there.
"I like it," I said, feeling hot and uncomfortable as the heat of my attraction flooded my chest and face.
"Look at us, we're completely unrecognizable, kid," he said, grasping my hand and tugging me towards the curb. "Let's go flaunt our faces."
"What?" I gasped, damn near choking on my spit. "You're joking?"
"Nope," he said, looking both ways on the street, an extended break in the oncoming traffic. "I need you to run now."
"Oh, okay…" I said, barely able to get the words to put before Edward was dragging across the four lanes of traffic.
With our disguises firmly in place and a bag full of cocaine on our back, we ran across the street and made our way to the other side of the building, towards the underground garage instead of the heavy security at the front entrance.
Slowing down to a walk, we came to a closed gate, a thick, metal steel one that kept the wrong people out. Edward glanced around to ensure the coast was clear before releasing my hand and pulling out his phone.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"I'm calling Marcus to let him know that we're here."
My heart stopped. "He's…Marcus is here?"
"No," he answered, clicking and scrolling through his contacts.
I grasped my chest as my heart regained its steady beat and sighed with relief. "Good."
His head shot up. "Wait a sec...Are you afraid of Marcus?"
"Um," I shrugged, "maybe, a little."
"That's fucking…." He laughed.
I glared. "Why is that funny? You're the one who told me he was someone to fear. Was that bullshit?"
"No," he said, his laughter dying down and taking on a serious tone, "He's a deadly and frightening man, but you, of all fucking people, would be the last person to fear this asshole, alright?" I shook my head slowly, confused as to why I would be immune to the terror. "Look," he continued, "Marcus is in your fucking debt now. Did you get that? You own him."
"But I'm the one who shot and killed his brother."
"Bingo," Edward said and winked. He turned away from my perplexed and shocked stare, pressing the phone to his ear.
The biggest and baddest boss of a Mexican drug cartel was indebted to me, an eighteen-year-old girl who dropped out of high school.
"Yo," Edward said, tapping me on the shoulder and redirecting my attention to the gate.
"What?" I whispered.
"Enter this number," he said, pointing and leading my eyes to a keypad.
"Okay," I said, flipping the cover open, my fingers posed and ready for the code.
"1-1-9," he said, giving me time to enter the numbers, "8-2, and then press pound."
Doing as instructed, the keypad beeped, and the gates rolled open.
"We're in," Edward said, nudging me forward. "Where do we go now?"
The garage was dimly lit with orange light, giving off an eerie feel. The walkway we were on was slanted downward, taking us deeper underground. It was quiet, making the scuffling of my sneakers and Edward's voice echo and bounce off the concrete walls.
"Babe," Edward said, grabbing my arm and pulling me backward. "It's this way."
"Where?" I asked, squinting to see where he was pointing.
There was an elevator to the right in the distance, but Edward led me to the left towards these gray double doors.
"We're going through the kitchen?" he asked Marcus, pausing and listening for the answer.
In times like these, I wished that everyone was as loud as Emmett.
"And then what...do they know about...they don't...what the fuck am I supposed to say if they ask?"
Edward looked like someone kicked him in the nuts. He squeezed the bridge of his nose and breathed in slowly and deeply, trying to keep his aggravation under wraps. He didn't want to fuck up our only connection by losing his temper.
I smiled, amazed by how attuned and a part of Edward I'd become in such a short time. I could read his thoughts by the tenor of his tone and body language. He was an open book to me, now and forever.
"This shit better not become an issue...baby," Edward said, tugging my coat sleeve and regaining my attention. He jerked his head slightly towards the doors. "Knock on it."
I pointed to myself.
"Yes, baby," he chuckled, rolling his eyes. "I'm talking to you. Knock on the door."
I raised my hand and hesitated, taking a deep breath to prepare myself for whatever was behind this door. It could be a trap with the police on the other side, lying in waiting, ready to take the Bonnie and Clyde wannabes down.
Knocking three to four times, I took a step back and waited. Edward was beside me, getting the final instructions from Marcus before hanging up the phone.
"Did you knock?" he asked.
"Yeah," I said, chewing the shit out of my nails.
"Jesus, woman, you need to fucking relax," he said, pulling my hand away from my mouth.
"I'm fine," I said, gulping loudly. "Do you think we should knock again?" but just as I asked, one of the doors swung open and revealed a short and rail-thin Hispanic man with a phone glued to his ear.
He spoke gruffly in fluent Spanish as his dark eyes assessed us. He nodded to Edward. "Do you have the wildcat?"
"Yup," Edward said, shaking the duffel bag off his shoulder and swinging it towards the front. He patted it. "It's right here."
"Show me," the man said, eyes narrowed with distrust.
"Alright," Edward said, dropping the bag to the ground. He bent down and zipped it open, spreading it wide to showcase the endless white baggies.
As I stared down at the cocaine, it occurred to me then that it held more purpose than just planting it in various places in the senator's home. It was our ticket into the building. I was smack-dab in the middle of a shady backdoor drug deal, and Caius was our point man, the familiar face that would ease the tension—which was now thick and uncomfortable.
The man reached down and grabbed a bag, slicing it open with a pocket knife. He then licked the tip of his pinky and dipped it into the white substance. Placing the sample on his tongue, he smacked his lips loudly and hummed with satisfaction at the taste of, what I imagine to be, pure merchandise.
He spoke to someone on the phone in Spanish and then hung up the phone. "Close it and leave it."
Edward zipped the bag shut and rose to his feet. "I have an arrangement with Marcus."
"Yes, I know, and for these drugs, I will make sure that you get into Senator Cullen's penthouse without a problem," he said, stepping away from the door's entrance and ushering us in with a grand sweep of his arm.
"Go ahead," Edward said, placing his hand on my lower back to ease me forward, but I couldn't move. I planted my feet on the cement and was unwilling to cooperate. Panic surged through me. All the doubts plaguing my mind resurfaced and caused this strangling fear to overwhelm me. I started to shake my head no, to turn around and run, but then a soft and reassuring whisper, "It's okay, baby, I'm right here," changed everything.
And just like that, all of my stage fright was gone. There was nothing to be afraid of, not this petty drug dealer or the unknown danger that lurked behind these doors because I had the love and the trust of that man who stood less than a foot behind me. Nothing wrong was going to happen with him by my side.
He would never allow it.
"Hello." The man nodded as I turned to the side to squeeze past him. "I'm Ramon."
"Hi," I replied, my smile terse. "I'm Kid."