Claim Me

Chapter 9

9

Lucas

As soon as I read Esguerra’s message, I radio the guards and order half of them to head to the club. None of them had noticed any suspicious activity, which means that the threat, whatever it was, had come from within the club, not outside as we’d expected. I’m about to rush into the club myself when I get another text from Esguerra:

Recovered Rosa. Follow the white SUV.

I instantly radio the guards to do so, and at that moment, another message comes in:

Bring the car to the alley out back.

I start the car and zoom around the block, nearly running over a couple of pedestrians in the process. The alley at the back of the club is dark and stinks of garbage mixed with piss, but I barely register the ambience. Stepping out of the car, I wait, my hand on the gun at my side. A few seconds later, the men radio me that they located the white SUV and are following it. I’m about to give them further instructions when the door to the club swings open, and Nora comes out, her arms wrapped around Rosa. Esguerra follows them, his face twisted with rage. As the light from the car illuminates their figures, I realize why.

Both women are shaking, their faces pale and streaked with tears. However, it’s Rosa’s state that sends my blood pressure through the roof. Her bright yellow dress is torn and stained with blood, and one side of her face is grotesquely swollen.

The girl had been violently assaulted, just like Yulia seven years ago.

A crimson fog fills my vision. I know my reaction is disproportional—Rosa is little more than a stranger to me—but I can’t help it. The images in my mind are of a fragile fifteen-year-old, her slender body torn and bleeding. I can see the shame and devastation on Rosa’s face, and the knowledge that Yulia went through this makes my guts churn.

“Those fuckers.” My voice is thick with rage as I step around the car to open the door. “Those motherfucking fuckers. They’re going to f*****g die.”

“Yes, they will,” Esguerra says grimly, but I’m not listening. Reaching for Rosa, I carefully pull her away from Nora. Esguerra’s wife doesn’t appear to be hurt as badly, but she’s still clearly shaken. Rosa sobs as I shepherd her into the car, and I do my best to be gentle with her, to comfort her as I couldn’t comfort Yulia all those years ago.

As I buckle her in, I hear Esguerra say his wife’s name, his voice strangely tense, and I turn to see Nora double over next to the car.

The baby, I realize in an instant, remembering her pregnancy, but Esguerra is already bundling her into the car and yelling for me to drive to the hospital, now.

We get to the hospital in record time, but long before Esguerra comes out into the waiting room, I know that the baby didn’t make it. There was too much blood in the car.

“I’m sorry,” I say, taking in my boss’s shattered expression. “How’s Nora?”

“They stopped the bleeding.” Esguerra’s voice is hoarse. “She wants to go home, so that’s what we’ll do. We’ll take Rosa, too.”

I nod. I told the hospital I’m Rosa’s boyfriend, so I’ve been getting regular updates on her condition. As expected, the girl has refused to talk to the police, and since none of her injuries are life-threatening, she doesn’t need to stay overnight.

“All right,” I say. “You take care of your wife, and I’ll get Rosa.”

Esguerra goes back to Nora, and I follow up with our cleanup crew, giving them instructions on what to do with the guy they found knocked out at the club. From the little I pieced together via Rosa’s hysterical explanations, the maid had been attacked in the back room of the club by two men she’d danced with earlier. Nora came to her rescue, knocking out a third guy who had been guarding the room. Esguerra made it there in the nick of time, killing one of the assailants, but the other one dragged Rosa outside and would’ve taken his turn in the car if Esguerra hadn’t saved her. It was that man who got away in the white SUV—the SUV whose license plate I’m tracking now.

Once we know his identity, the driver of that SUV is as good as dead.

Putting the phone away, I go to get Rosa. When I walk into her room, I find her sitting on the bed in nurse’s scrubs; the hospital staff must’ve given them to her to replace her torn dress. Her knees are drawn up to her chest, and her face is bruised and pale. An image of Yulia flashes through my mind again, and I have to take a deep breath to suppress a swell of rage.

Keeping my movements slow and gentle, I approach the bed. “I’m sorry,” I say quietly, clasping Rosa’s elbow to help her to her feet. “I really am. Can you walk, or would you like me to carry you?”

“I can walk.” Her voice is thin, high-pitched with anxiety, and I drop my hand when I realize my touch is upsetting her. “I’m fine.”

It’s an obvious lie, but I don’t call her out on it. I just match my pace to her slower one, and lead her out to the car.

An hour after we get back to Esguerra’s mansion, my boss comes down to the living room, where I’m waiting to fill him in on the developing situation.

“Where’s Rosa?” he asks. His voice is calm, betraying nothing of the hollow agony I see in his gaze. He’s compartmentalizing to cope with what happened, choosing to focus on what needs to be done rather than dwelling on what can’t be fixed.

“She’s asleep,” I answer, rising from the couch. “I gave her Ambien and made sure she took a shower.”

“Good. Thank you.” Esguerra crosses the room to stand in front of me. “Now tell me everything.”

“The cleanup crew took care of the body and captured the kid Nora knocked out in the hallway,” I say. “They’re holding him in a warehouse I rented on the South Side.”

“Good. What about the white car?”

“The men were able to follow it to one of the residential high-rises downtown. At that point, it disappeared into a parking garage, and they decided against pursuing it there. I’ve already run the license plate number.”

“And?”

“And it seems like we might have a problem,” I say. “Does the name Patrick Sullivan mean anything to you?”

Esguerra frowns. “It’s familiar, but I can’t place it.”

“The Sullivans own half of this town,” I say, recounting what I just learned about our newest enemy. “Prostitution, drugs, weapons—you name it, they have their fingers in it. Patrick Sullivan heads up the family, and he’s got just about every local politician and police chief in his pocket.”

“Ah.” There’s a flicker of recognition on Esguerra’s face. “What does Patrick Sullivan have to do with this?”

“He has two sons,” I explain. “Or rather, he had two sons. Brian and Sean. Brian is currently marinating in lye at our rented warehouse, and Sean is the owner of the white SUV.”

“I see,” Esguerra says, and I know he’s thinking the same thing I am.

The rapists’ connection complicates matters, but it also explains why they attacked Rosa in such a public place. They’re used to their mobster father getting them out of trouble, and it never occurred to them that they might be crossing someone just as dangerous.

“Also,” I say while Esguerra is digesting everything, “the kid we’ve got strung up in that warehouse is their seventeen-year-old cousin, Sullivan’s nephew. His name is Jimmy. Apparently, he and the two brothers are close. Or were close, I should say.”

Esguerra’s blue eyes narrow. “Do they have any idea who we are? Could they have singled out Rosa to get at me?”

“No, I don’t think so.” A fresh wave of anger makes my jaw clench. “The Sullivan brothers have a nasty history with women. Date-rape drugs, s****l assault, gang bangs of sorority girls—the list goes on and on. If it weren’t for their father, they’d be rotting in prison right now.”

“I see.” Esguerra’s mouth twists coldly. “Well, by the time we’re done with them, they’ll wish they were.”

I nod. The minute I learned about Patrick Sullivan, I knew we’d be going to war. “Should I organize a strike team?” I ask, gripped by familiar anticipation. I haven’t been in a good battle in a while.

“No, not yet,” Esguerra says. He turns away and walks over to stand by the window. I don’t know what he’s looking at, but he’s silent for well over a minute before he turns back to face me.

“I want Nora and her parents taken to the estate before we do anything,” he says, and I see the harsh resolve on his face. “Sean Sullivan will have to wait. For now, we’ll focus on the nephew.”

“All right.” I incline my head. “I’ll begin making the arrangements.”