Chapter 89
Chapter 89
Landon
I sit in the car silently beside Antonio. The air between us feels charged, his hostility radiating like heat, though he keeps his posture rigid and his mouth shut. I can practically taste his discomfort, and it makes me chuckle inwardly. The irony of it all amuses me—Antonio, once so arrogant, now reduced to silence. He doesn’t know what’s coming. We’ll see if he keeps quiet or squeals like a pig at slaughter, even though it won’t matter. His chapter is closing soon. Diego will see to that, and with Antonio gone, maybe the feds will fade into the background too.
The car hums along the road for twenty minutes before I discreetly pull out my phone, thumbs moving quickly. Arriving in five. Deal starts five after. Price replies with a simple thumbs-up. I slip the phone back into my pocket, my pulse steady, my mind sharp.
Antonio finally breaks the silence, his voice low, probing. “What is it you want? Power? Prestige? Money?”
I shake my head, a small smile tugging at my lips. Leaning closer, I whisper, “You still don’t get it? All I want—all I wanted from the beginning—is Diego. Nothing else matters. He’s the endgame.”
Antonio stiffens beside me, disbelief flickering across his face. “You mean to tell me all of this was for… love? A fleeting feeling?”
I laugh outright, the sound sharp in the confined space. “Fleeting? What makes you think this is fleeting? I went against everything I stood for to protect him from an outcome where he’s no longer free. I didn’t do that for some passing emotion. I did it for something so deep it defies explanation. Even I can’t put it into words—it just is.”
Antonio turns his head, eyes locking on mine. I meet his gaze unflinchingly, steady, resolute. This will be the last conversation we ever have, so why not let him spill whatever he needs to? “Say everything you want to say. I’m listening.”
He shakes his head, his voice tinged with regret. “There isn’t much to say. I talk to you about fleeting emotions, and I let a fleeting emotion—anger—drive my actions. And now look where I am. There’s no coming back from this, is there?”
I tilt my head, studying him thoughtfully. “There can be redemption—in action when it counts, and in inaction when it matters.”
Antonio nods slowly, as if letting my words sink in.
At that moment, the driver’s voice cuts through the tension. “We’re here.”
We step out of the car, the night air cool against my skin. Another vehicle waits nearby, headlights casting long shadows across the pavement. Antonio grips the briefcase of “money,” his knuckles white. I motion to the other men, signaling them to spread out, each one slipping into position with practiced ease.
A gentleman exits the other car, rolling a suitcase on wheels as he approaches with deliberate calm. “Antonio, I presume?”
Antonio nods stiffly. “Elliot?”
The man nods back. “Okay, let’s get this show on the road.” He pushes the suitcase toward Antonio.
Antonio kneels, unzipping it to reveal tightly wrapped bags of white powder. He looks up at Elliot. “All pure?”
Elliot nods. “Try it.”
Antonio pulls a switchblade from his pocket, slicing one of the bags open. He dips the tip of the blade into the powder, lifts it to his nose, and inhales sharply.
That’s when it happens.
“Freeze! DEA! Don’t move! You’re all under arrest!”
The shout splits the night, followed by chaos—men running, agents swarming, weapons raised, commands barked. My pulse spikes, but my movements are precise. I yank out my phone, firing off a quick message to Diego: They’re taking me in. I’ll talk to you soon. Love you. Then I rip out the SIM card, snap it, and stomp the phone under my heel. Price promised they’d come for me last, give me time to destroy anything that could get me a conviction.
Hands grab me, rough and unrelenting, shoving me against the car. Metal cuffs bite into my wrists, none too gently, might I add. They push my head down and force me into the backseat of their vehicle. My elbow slams into the seatbelt buckle, sending a jolt of pain through my funny bone. I grunt, biting back a curse. Clearly, not everyone’s been told I’m undercover.
I straighten myself, settling in for the waiting game. Price will get me out before they drag me into interrogation—he’d better. I don’t want to sit through that long ass, drawn-out process. I want to get home to Diego to assure him that everything is okay.
Through the window, I watch the agents swarm, shoving men into cars, searching others. Antonio and Elliot are cuffed, searched, and shoved into agency vehicles. Satisfaction curls through me, a smile tugging at my lips.
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. The adrenaline drains, leaving me dizzy, hollow, but steady. The game is in motion. The end is near.
The ride feels endless, though I know it’s only like twenty minutes. The agents don’t speak to me, their silence heavier than any accusation. The cuffs bite into my wrists, the cold metal unforgiving, and every bump in the road jolts me against the seat. I keep my face neutral, calm because panic would serve no purpose.
The car finally slows, pulling into a secure facility. Floodlights blaze overhead, washing everything in harsh white. The agents yank me out, their grip firm, their movements brusque. They shove me through a set of double doors, the sound of them slamming shut echoing like a verdict.
Inside, the air smells of disinfectant and stale coffee. The walls are sterile, the floors scuffed from years of boots dragging men like me through. They march me down a corridor lined with doors, each one a reminder of the countless interrogations that have taken place here.
I’m deposited into a holding room—bare, cold, with a metal table and two chairs. The cuffs are removed, but the weight of them lingers on my skin. I rub my wrists absently, settling into the chair, leaning back as if I own the place. Price promised he’d get me out before they dragged me through the motions. I cling to that promise like a lifeline.
Minutes stretch into an hour. I watch the clock tick, each second deliberate, each minute a test of patience. Agents shuffle past the window in the door, some glancing in, others ignoring me entirely. I know the drill—they’re waiting, trying to see if I’ll crack under silence.
But I don’t.
Instead, I think of Diego. His touch, his voice, the way he looked at me before I left. I replay his words in my head. No matter what happens tonight, remember, we walk out of this together. It steadies me, keeps me anchored.
Finally, the door opens. Price steps in, his expression unreadable, his suit immaculate. He closes the door behind him, the click of the latch sharp in the silence.
“You did well,” he says quietly, his tone clipped but approving. “We’ll process you, make it look official, then I’ll get you out.”
Relief washes through me, though I keep my face composed. I nod once, leaning forward, my voice low. “Make it quick. I’m tired of sitting here.”
Price smirks faintly, as if amused by my urgency. “I know. And I’ll make sure you get out as quickly as possible. We’ll be going to processing soon, but we’ll be processing you out so you can leave when you’re done.”
The waiting game isn’t over yet, but the end is in sight.