Hero

46 Calvin

My bare hands have served me well so far. They are my weapons. My skin is my shield, my strength is my lifeline, and Cataline, my motivation. I’m not sure there’s greater motivation to me at this point. I am alarmed to learn all the things I would risk for her.

We arrive at the East Side in record time. I don’t know what to expect, or even who from the Cartel will be present. The call didn’t come long after our contacts around the city were alerted to our emergency. I’d snatched the phone from Norman, trying to listen for Cataline in the background, but the messenger had already hung up.

McCormick is a weak substitute for Carter. I’ve employed him as my driver for years, but the possibility that Carter betrayed me has deepened the fissure of mistrust I carry with me. I watch him closely as we drive. He has one command: get Cataline to safety with or without me.

Overgrown weeds lick at my boots and dirt crunches beneath them as I approach the shithole where I’ve been directed. I’m still in full uniform, though I’m not sure it’s necessary. Part of me hopes seeing me this way will restore some of Cataline’s faith in her hero.

There’s a small crowd of men out front, some I recognize, others I don’t. What links them all is their ink. To send a message, I grab the nearest Cartel member and shove him in the dirt. My boot flies into his ribcage, sending him onto his back. “Take me to Riviera.”

The only one who doesn’t step back flicks his cigarette on the ground and stamps it out. “This way.”

I throw my shoulders back and follow him inside, my eyes scanning the space around me. My body locks into a tense knot when I’m led into a room with seven men. As if on cue, they simultaneously raise their guns. Carlos Riviera stands center, his arms crossed and his chin raised.

“Where is she?” I ask.

“She’s safe,” he says. “Play nice, and she can go when we’re done with her.”

“Let her go now, and maybe I’ll kill you with mercy.” I step forward and a chorus of gun hammers sound.

“Espera. Wait,” Carlos says, holding out his hand to them. “This kill is mine.” He rips the gun from the hands of the man nearest him, but as I anticipate the shot, he calls out, “Get her.”

One of the men pounds on a side door, and Cataline comes hurling through it. Her hands are cuffed in front of her, her mouth is gagged with fabric, and the clothing she left the mansion in is covered in dirt. But it’s her undone pants that blind me with a white-hot rage. The thought of Carlos’s hands on her ignites a burning in me that only his blood will extinguish. When she sees me, her eyes widen and she whimpers.

Riviera’s head snaps to the boy who comes in after her, and under his breath, he asks, “¿Qué pasó—dónde está el gringo?”

The boy shrugs. “No sé. Se fue.”

“He left?” Carlos asks. “Stupid motherfucker.” He yanks Cataline’s upper arm and places the gun against her temple as his eyes dart off the walls and back to me. “We fuck her while you watch. Hope you taught her right, ‘cause if she’s good, we keep her. If not, she dies. Then we kill you.” Cataline’s lashes glisten with fresh tears, and her eyes are heavy with resignation.

“This doesn’t involve her anymore. You got me where you want me, now let her go.”

“Don’t tell me what the fuck to do.” He grabs the hair at the back of Cataline’s head. “Get down,” he says, pushing her to her knees.

My feet are moving across the floor, but I stop when Carlos grinds the gun’s muzzle into her cheek. “Either you watch as she blows me and my crew, or I put a bullet in her head right now.” Without taking his eyes from me, he says, “Untie it.” The man next to her sets down his gun to remove the gag. Cataline’s shoulders quake as Carlos traces his barrel down her cheek.

“Stop,” I say, but I barely hear it because my heart pounds furiously in my ears.

Carlos wrenches her head back and looks directly at her when he says, “Open your mouth, bitch.”

She swallows, and her effort to avoid my eyes is obvious. My skin is so hot it would burn anyone who touches it. Carlos hands his gun off and undoes his pants. Her skin pulls taut across her face, but I can still see her grimace through it.

“You can have whatever, I’ll go wherever you want,” I say. “Just stop.”

“Calvin,” Cataline whispers.

“Did you hear that?” Carlos asks her, his voice eerily low. “Hero’s going to trade his life for yours. He’s going to sacrifice an entire city for you, leaving them unprotected. Did you know about his obsesión?”

This unfamiliar impotence unnerves me in a way I can barely contain, and I know I’m going to erupt if he doesn’t let her go within seconds. Cataline looks at me finally, and the resignation from before has vanished. In its place is something wild I recognize from the night she cut herself open. She has nothing left to lose. Her message is clear: she’s going to fight back.

My first step lands heavy on the concrete, upsetting a cloud of dust. As Carlos looks up, Cataline buries her head in his thigh. I lunge forward just as he cries out and throws her to the ground by her hair.

Men are coming at me, but I only have eyes for Carlos. I just dodge a bullet as I tackle him, but Cataline’s scream shatters my focus. Two men are dragging her from the room with a knife pressed into her cheek. Its blade is red with the reflection of her blood. I leap to my feet, ignoring the shot that burns into my calf. The man drops the knife and runs, so I swipe it as someone jumps on my back. I turn, grabbing behind me, and throw a man across the room.

When another shot rings out, my muscles tense, but nothing hits me. Carlos runs, and I pounce, catching him by the back of his shirt and hurling him. He collides with a wall, where I pin him with my forearm on his neck.

“What are you?” he wheezes.

“I’m a predator,” I say, my voice unnaturally deep. “I target, and I kill. You mistook me for a hero. I can’t be outrun. Nobody can escape me. Nobody can hide.” I spear the knife into his chest, pull it out just as quickly, and drop it. He grunts an inhuman noise. “Now you know my secret,” I tell him. “I cannot be defeated. And nobody touches what’s mine.” His mouth moves in a silent plea, his eyes round when I drive my fist in the wound. My hand wraps around his thumping heart, and I rip it out. It’s seconds before he collapses.

I turn to find another body slumped over feet from Cataline. Her ashen face is a canvas for silently streaming tears as she stares at the man she shot. Her cuffed arms are taut and trembling. The gun in her hands remains raised.

“Cataline.”

She jumps and aims it at me. A man’s life drips over my clenched fist as our eyes lock for a few static seconds.

“What now?” she whispers.

“I’m taking you to the mansion.”

“I’m not going back there.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

Blood, some of it hers, is sprayed and smeared across her skin. I want to lick it all away, clean her beautiful face, and then keep her forever so I can protect her. My ache to be near her is oppressive in its urgency. She’s frozen still as I cross the room. I walk until the gun’s barrel is jammed into my rubbery armor, right over my heart. “Do it,” I say.

“It wouldn’t matter. You said yourself nobody can escape. Nobody can hide. You can’t be defeated.”

“Maybe it will be the one bullet that kills me.”

I search the strangled depths of her eyes—blue like the air, grey like the sky. I sense the twitch of her index finger near the trigger. Finally her hands open at the same moment, and the gun clatters to the ground. She heaves like she’s going to vomit and falls into a squat, dropping her head between her knees.

More Cartel members enter the room. They look from the bleeding bodies to me to Cataline. I throw the red pulp of a heart on the floor and make short work of killing each and every one of them.