Val’s eyes closed as if fighting to control his anger. “His exact words, Eden. What did he say?”
Thinking back, I struggled to recall our heated conversation.
“Here. Take this.”
“What is that?”
“Take it.”
“St. Michael?”
“The Archangel. The guardian of souls who triumphed over hell. He was a spiritual warrior and the conflict against evil.”
“It’s a little late for a triumph over hell, Dad. I’m in it.”
“Never take this off, Edie. You’re a warrior, and so much stronger than your old man. You can win this war, but you have to be smart and vigilant at all times. Save yourself, Eden. Don’t get involved with that man. They’re watching you.”
“What man? Who are you talking about? Stop talking in riddles!”
“What did he mean, Val? Who’s watching me?” The conversation that didn’t make sense eleven days ago rang in my ears with the same confusion.
I’d barely gotten the words out when Val shot up from his reclined position, and knocked me backward against his desk. With my elbows braced against the wood, and my breath lodged in my throat, I looked into chocolate eyes, glazed over with the blackest shade of fury I’d ever seen.
Ripping the medallion off his neck, he held it up between us like a dagger, his chest bent over mine in a position that scared the hell out of me. “Your father warned you not to get involved withme, Eden. He warned you my cartel would watch you.”
“What are you saying?” I whispered, my voice thick with refusal to believe his words.
Raising his arm high, he let out a primal growl as he slammed his hand onto the desk’s glass covering. The porcelain face of the medallion shattered, bits of it scattering across the desk and carpet. Scouring through the shards, his fingers picked up a small, circular, metal piece no bigger than half of my pinkie nail. Sliding his opposite hand up the side of my neck, he grasped a handful of my hair and forcefully turned my head toward the destruction.
“This is what I’m saying,Cereza.” Holding up the small metal piece, he shoved it in front of my face, leaning his mouth against my ear, his words ground through clenched teeth. “This is a tracking device. A GPS microchip has been transmitting my location to Manuel Muñoz’s intel.” Pulling my hair back, my chin tilted upward to meet his icy stare. “Your father sold you out.”
I tried to pull away from him, the first few seconds of his outburst not registering in my head. “No, you don’t know my father.”
“Neither do you.”
“He’s made bad decisions, Val, but he wouldn’t feed me to the wolves. He may be a drug addict, but he just tried to protect me. I’m sure he’d be as confused as me.”
“Yeah?” Val raised an eyebrow. Releasing his hold on my hair, he pulled his phone from his pocket and handed it to me. “Prove it.”
“What?”
“Prove it. Call him. See what he has to say.”
“You know I can’t do that. I’ve already told you he left.”
Crashing his phone next to the shattered medallion, he pushed off me, and I exhaled the breath I’d been holding “My point exactly. Either your father sold you out, or you’re both pawns in someone else’s sick ass game.”
Quiet filled the room. “My family wouldn’t turn on me.”
Cold eyes shot my way, and his voice deepened to a low unexpected tone. “Now, see, that’s the gaping difference in our worlds,Cereza. Mine would.” Grabbing the back of my thighs, Val lifted me onto the desk and reached between my legs. I started to protest when his fingers closed around the metal hook of his desk drawer and opened it. Pulling out a pistol, he released the clip, examining the magazine before slamming it with the heel of his palm back into place. “Do you have some place you can go?”
“Why?” My tone flowed cautious, but inside, my heart pumped a furious pace. My hands gripped the desk again, still reeling over the knowledge I’d willingly given Val a wearable crosshair.
“I’m going to Mexico for a few days.” He tried to keep the statement void of emotion, but his eyes tightened with every word.
An unexpected brick sank low and hard in the pit of my stomach. “You’re going to take over the cartel, aren’t you?”
Anger replaced the apprehension lacing his face as he tucked the gun into his waistband and slammed the drawer shut. “My father is dead. This is what’s expected of me. It’s my legacy.”
