Wanted by the Alphas(27)

Conchita is in terrible pain. So much pain that morphine and all the cocktails of opioids and other painkillers cannot keep it at bay. Pain like this is not compatible with life.

But Marco, Conchita’s eldest son, knows that with the passing of his mother, he would officially have to take over the drug empire his mother has built. He is not ready for this and the assassination attempts that would follow. So he is trying to keep her alive for as long as possible.

Outside this hacienda, no one knows just how sick Conchita Ruiz is.

Shannon has been feeling poorly for three months now. She has not been sleeping well and she has completely lost her appetite. She has lost ten pounds and her clothes hang upon her body as though it is a rack. Her normally lustrous hair is dry and listless. Her skin is pale and cold.

It is almost as though the cancer has latched onto her soul and is bleeding her life away. She knows it is psychological – there is no real tumor in her body. But the dark blight upon her soul is very real, as if the shadow of death has passed upon it.

Shannon turns from Damon in desperation.

“Call your brother,” he says again. Pleasantly but dangerously. “Tell him you need to stay another night.”

Shannon draws in a sharp breath.

Think. Breathe. Keep calm.

“I’ll call him,” she says in a shaky voice.

“Good,” Damon says. He is a huge man. Mexican. Towering above six feet four. Dressed to kill. Unlike plenty of henchmen, he does not wear the proverbial scars of his trade. “Would you like to use the house phone?”

“No. I’ll use my cell.”

She turns to walk away for some privacy. This, at least, they allow her. So long as she does not leave the hacienda.

She goes to a bathroom and locks herself in. Upstairs, Conchita is crying out in pain. Her cries can be heard all throughout the house.

She dials Jared’s cellphone and is gratified when he picks up at first ring.

“Don’t tell me,” he says.

“They need me . . . for one more night.”

“Damn it, Shannon. You have been saying that for the past seven nights. They’re going to kill you. She’s going to die, and you with her.”

“I know. But they won’t let me leave.”

“Not if I can help it.” His tone is grim.

“No, Jared, don’t . . . these people have guns!”

But he has already rung off. When she frantically tries to call him back, her call goes to an engaged tone.

A knock comes on the bathroom door.

“Shannon?” It is Damon. Pleasant but determined. “Conchita needs you upstairs.”





*





Midnight.

Shannon is drained. She is in a little cot next to Conchita. The old lady is on a hospital bed, connected to infusion pumps filled with opiates. A monitor showing her heart rate has been put on silent. The fulltime nurse they have hired is outside, asleep. Conchita’s breathing is very ragged, and the whole room smells of sickness and decay. Trays of food sit on the table by the window, untouched by both Conchita and herself.

The barking of dogs comes again outside. Furious barking.

Shannon sits up. Her ears are pricked.

More barking, and then comes the sound of whimpers, as if the dogs are being frightened into submission.

Shannon’s heart is in her throat.

She gets up and goes to the window. There are men shouting downstairs. It is as though an intruder has entered the grounds and the guards have been thrown in disarray. She can’t see anything but for the shadows of the trees.

A gunshot goes off. Then two.

In bed, Conchita groans.

The nurse enters the bedroom, frightened.

“Something is happening downstairs,” she says. “We are under attack. Is it a raid?”

Shannon thinks she knows, but she can’t be certain. The hacienda is a closely guarded and very secret location, but you cannot rule out an attack by a rival Mexican drug gang.

The nurse locks the door behind her and bolts it. She is trembling.

“They won’t come in here,” she says, as though to assure herself. “We’ll be safe in here. They won’t harm a sick woman, will they?”

If that sick woman is Conchita Ruiz, they might, Shannon thinks. Conchita’s ruthlessness with dealing with her rivals is legendary.

Both she and the nurse huddle together in a corner of the room, listening with growing fear. Gunshots puncture the air, seeming to get closer and closer to the locked bedroom. Rabid growls from a large animal intermingle with the cries of men.

Please, Shannon prays, let everything be all right.

There comes a thud on the door, and the entire frame shakes. Finally, the door splinters apart. The nurse shrieks as a very large black animal – the size of an enormous lion – stands at the doorway. It is a panther, and yet not a panther. Something about it is terribly intelligent and ancient.