Heat in Marrakech

Chapter 13 : Family Business

Grenade.

Live.

Three seconds.

Two seconds.

One—

Sabastian shoots.

Hits Cross’s hand.

Right hand.

Blood sprays.

Finger gone.

Grenade drops.

Rolls.

Metal on concrete.

I dive.

Grab Layla.

Cover her with my body.

Her lion between us. Stuffing in my mouth.

Sabastian kicks the grenade.

Hard.

Like a soccer ball.

It slides.

Out the door.

Into the yard.

Boom.

Ground shakes.

Ears ring. Pain.

Dust. Screaming.

Outside. Not us.

Cross is on the ground.

Hand gone. Stump.

Bleeding. Laughing.

Insane.

Eyes wild.

“You’re just like her,” he coughs. Blood on his white suit. Red on white. “Your mother. Sofia. Always picking the wrong man over family. Over blood.”

I stand.

Layla in my arms.

She weighs nothing.

Five years old.

Should be twenty kilos. Doctor says.

She’s maybe fifteen.

Bones under dress.

“ What did you do to her?” I ask. Voice dead. No feeling left.

“Me?” He smiles. Blood on his teeth. Red and white. “I loved Sofia. She was my little sister. My favorite. Sabastian’s father killed her. Ran her off the road.”

I freeze.

Turn.

Sabastian goes still.

Gun still up.

Still steady.

“What?” he asks. Voice empty. No air.

“My father died twenty years ago,” Sabastian says. “Car crash. Brake failure. Police report. I read it. Age 12.”

“No.” Cross laughs. Coughs. More blood. “He died stealing from me. Ten million. Cash. I made it look like a crash. Your mother helped me, Yvonne. Sofia. She drove the car that hit him. His brakes were fine.”

I step back.

Hit the wall.

Hard.

Layla whimpers.

Scared.

“Liar,” Sabastian says. But his voice shakes. First time.

“Check the ledger,” Cross says. “Page 47. Project Vance. Photo inside. Of your father. And her mother. Together.”

Sabastian doesn’t move.

Can’t.

“Check it!” Cross yells. Spit flies.

Sabastian pulls out the ledger.

From his jacket.

Bullet hole through the cover.

Straight through.

He flips.

Pages 46. 47.

Fingers shake.

He reads.

His face goes white.

Like paper.

It’s true.

All of it.

I step back again.

Can’t breathe.

“Your family killed mine,” I say to Sabastian. Voice breaks. “Your father.”

“And yours killed his,” Cross says. Happy. Clapping with one hand. “Round and round. We’re all murderers here. Blood for blood. Eye for eye. Daughter for daughter.”

Sirens. Outside.

Distant. Getting closer.

Police.

Cross’s men or real ones?

No way to know in Marrakech.

Cross smiles.

“Take her.” He nods to Layla. “Go. Be a family. Play house. But this isn’t over. Blood calls to blood. Always.”

Sabastian grabs my arm.

Hard.

Bruising.

“We go. Now. Car is two blocks. East. Black Audi.”

I pull away.

“No.”

“Yvonne—”

“That’s your name in that book. Your father. Vance. Your family killed my mother. Sofia.”

Layla cries.

Loud.

Sobs shake her whole body.

“Stop!” she yells. Small voice. Big power. Lion falls to floor. “Stop fighting! Please! Stop!”

We both freeze.

She looks at me. Tears down her face. Snot.

Then Sabastian.

“He saved me,” she says. Points at him. Finger trembles. “The mean man was going to hurt me. With the gun. Last night. He stopped him. He gave me water.”

My heart breaks.

All over. New pieces.

Sabastian holds out his hand.

Not to me.

To Layla.

She looks at me.

Asking.

I nod.

Once.

Small.

She takes it.

Small hand in his big one.

Scarred. Bloody.

Then she takes mine.

Other hand.

Connects us.

Chain.

“Please,” she whispers. “Mama? Can we go home? I’m tired.”

I look at Sabastian.

Enemy? Family? Killer? Savior?

I don’t know.

I don’t know anything.

Sirens get louder.

“Decide,” Sabastian says. “Now. Trust me or don’t. Live or die.”

Footsteps. Running.

Heavy. Boots.

Door bursts open.

Not police.

Elias.

With a gun.

Pointed at Layla.

At our daughter’s head.

Barrel shaking.