The Beasts of Juarez, R.B. Schow [books to read for self improvement .txt] 📗

said Callie is already gone and that Maisie and Zoey have a buyer who is picking them up in a matter of hours. He said he sold my kids. He sold my kids and he’s going to start mailing me pieces of Sydney!”

“What?” the old man said. It sounded like he was struggling to sit up in bed. How could he sleep through all of this?

“It was never supposed to be like this,” Camden said, his heart beating hollow as tears leaked from his eyes. “You said they would be safe.”

“No one is really ever safe, Camden,” the old bastard said, his voice as firm as Camden had ever heard it. The man’s sudden disconnect from the situation was not only startling but telling. Was he distancing himself from this deal already?

“I’m calling Leopold,” Camden said, resolute, angry, determined.

“Don’t you dare violate our agreements!” the old man roared.

“You violated yours!” Camden screamed back. “You had better pray to Christ I never find out who you are!”

“This line you’re taking,” the old man said, “is not very wise.”

He hung up the phone, dialed Leopold but got no answer. He called Leopold again and the man picked up on the first ring. It sounded like there was a lot of road noise in the background.

“Camden,” he said.

“Thank God, Leopold,” Camden said. “I got a text from Santiago saying that he sold the girls.”

“Which particular girls?” he asked.

“All of them!”

“Did he say anything about Callie?” Leopold asked. “Start with her, what did he say about Callie?”

“He said she was long gone, that she sold right away.”

“Oh, God,” Leopold muttered.

“He said that he sold Zoey and Maisie, too.”

“We’re going after them now,” Leopold said. “We’re trying to catch them before they’re transported out of the country.”

“I want to find that son of a bitch and cut off his head!” Camden screamed, not the slightest bit concerned about neighboring rooms, complaints he may garner, the bad press that was sure to end his career if anyone was nearby recording him.

“Who exactly are you referring to?” Leopold asked. “Because we’ve encountered our fair share of scumbags already.”

“Santiago Cardenas,” he hissed.

“Been there, done that,” Leopold said.

“What do you mean?”

“Your wife just killed Cardenas in ways that physically hurt to explain.”

“You found her then?” he asked.

“A few minutes ago.”

“Oh, thank God!” he said. “I want to talk to her.”

“We’re going way too fast to keep a low profile here in Juárez, Camden. If the Juárez PD decides to come after us, your girls are gone forever. If we get into a wreck, your girls are gone forever. If we miss the flight or can’t find the airfield fast enough, your girls are gone forever. Are you sensing a theme right now?”

“Call me as soon as you get them,” he said, now more of a basket case than ever. “And…tell Sydney I love her.”

“You can tell her yourself when you meet us with a diplomatic escort at the border. Because the second we get the girls, we’re going to need help getting back into the U.S.”

“I think I have a way to take care of that,” he said, the gears turning in his brain. “It may take a day or two, but yeah, I might know just the guy to help.”

“Good,” he said. “I’ll call you shortly, hopefully with good news.”

Chapter Forty

ATLAS HARGROVE

The Mercedes-Benz S560 roared through the streets of Juárez creating havoc and chaos as it went. Atlas didn’t care. He was trying with all his might to get to the private airstrip. Codrin texted them the images and directions to what looked like a dirt airstrip in the right location. Still, it took ten minutes of hunting around to find a dirt road leading into the smuggler’s airfield.

“The plane is on the runway,” Leopold said.

“I see it,” Atlas growled.

The private plane had already taxied to the back of a packed-dirt runway and was now turning around and preparing to take off.

“Get the guns ready,” Leopold said.

Sitting next to Sydney—who looked like she was ready to come out of her skin—Kiera was readying her weapons.

At the end of the dirt road leading to the airstrip, two cars with three men were watching the plane getting ready to take off. Now they turned around and were watching the Mercedes bounce and slide across the slightly uneven road as Atlas headed right for them.

“Why aren’t they shooting?” Leopold asked.

“This is Santiago’s car,” Atlas said. “They think it’s him.”

That’s when Kiera rolled down the back window, slid her lithe body out, and strafed the men with gunfire. She hit two of the three men but one ducked for cover just in time. Atlas raced past them, hung a hard right onto the runway, and smashed the accelerator.

“What are you doing?” Leopold asked, tensing up.

Most people would probably block the runway but Atlas charged the plane before it could get too much speed.

“I’m stopping this plane,” Atlas said.

Kiera rolled up her window, sat back down, reloaded her magazine.

“Are you really going to play chicken with a Learjet?” Leopold asked, gripping anything he could find.

They were on a collision course with the plane but that didn’t matter. As the distance between them began closing exceptionally fast, Atlas said, “Kiera, we need to get on that plane.”

“Don’t kill us first,” Leopold said as everything in him went piano wire tight.

The Benz roared down the runway while the jet headed toward them full throttle. The minute the pilot realized Atlas wasn’t moving, the jet engaged in emergency braking procedures, dropping the nose hard as the back end lifted high. Atlas slammed on the brakes at the last minute, the car going into a controlled skid.

Seconds before the impact, Leopold started to scream. Even though Atlas was shot through with adrenaline and clenching his sphincter like his life depended