Sin stopped the video again, zoomed in on the foursome. “Both guys have a tattoo on the back of their shoulder.”
“Everyone has tattoos these days,” Tiffany said, leaning in.
Sin zoomed in on the video. “Yeah, but not the same tattoo.”
“A black hand with the number six underneath,” Troy said, eyeing the ink.
Sin opened another file, the one with the original text from the kidnappers. “Their tats are the same as the photo of the hand or glove that the kidnappers showed Lancaster.”
As they were talking, the door to the library opened. Carmelita entered carrying a tray of espresso and pastries. “It’s getting late, so I thought you could use a pick-me-up.”
Sin smiled a thank you and poured herself a cup. Doing so, she heard Carmelita suck in a breath.
Looking up, she saw Carmelita staring at the monitor. “What is it, Madre?”
“La Mano Negra?”
Sin squeezed Carmelita’s shoulder. “What do you know about ‘The Black Hand’?”
“Back in Cuba, before your mother and I escaped, crime was,” she shook her head, as if searching for the right words. “After the Castro regime took over, the government controlled everything. Free-enterprise became almost non-existent.”
“What do you mean, almost?”
“Mi hija, when times are hard, people are at their worst. Organized crime came to our island and began to extort anyone they knew was making money. That,” she pointed to the monitor, “was their calling card.”
“In what way?”
Her eyes wide, her pupils dilated, she stared at Sin. “Back in Cuba, you knew when someone came to collect their money because they always wore a black glove on their left hand.” She looked back at the monitor. Her face blanched. “And when they refused to pay, La Mano Negra kidnapped their loved ones.”
Troy looked at Carmelita and then at Sin. “Do you think that’s why Becca was taken? Are the kidnappers trying to extort President Lancaster?”
“Definitely a possibility,” Sin said, “but if so, why didn’t they say so in their text to the president?” She studied the monitor before adding, “Or maybe they did, and Lancaster didn’t say so.”
With the new-found information, everyone studied the footage again. Sin slowed down the speed, trying to get into the guys’ heads. The four of them walked down Duval together, yet paired off. The guy with the dreds was walking with Pia, while the other was staying close to Becca. Together, they strolled down Duval towards Mallory Square. Reaching the square, the guy walking beside Pia pointed left, herding the group to the east end of the island. Unfortunately, that’s where the footage ended.
13
The sun had set by the time Onyx stepped off the boat onto the dock. The night air was thick, the humidity a heavy blanket. Entering the wooden structure, he witnessed his men gathered in the front room playing cards and tossing dice. His presence roused them from their chairs and everyone stood at attention.
He said nothing as he walked past. The men’s faces downcast, they stared at the dirty floor, afraid to look him in the eye, yet they parted as he neared giving him room to pass. Their fear made him strong.
Opening the door to the back room, Onyx saw one of his soldiers, Amani, sitting in a rusted steel chair, his head tilted back, mouth gaped open, sound asleep. He kicked Amani in the shin, stirring him from his slumber.
The man jumped up, the chair tipping in the process.
The sound of the door opening, the heavy footsteps, and the clanking of metal on wood, shocked Pia, who was tied to the only other chair in the room. Her heartbeat quickened, her muscles tightened. Her extremities pushed against the ropes that bound her, digging into her raw flesh.
“Is this how you watch the prisoner?” she heard a strange voice growl. Her ears perked up as she listened to the ensuing conversation.
“Sh—she was sleeping,” Amani stuttered.
Pia could tell by the fear in Amani’s voice, the new person must be in charge. Someone she didn’t want to mess with.
“She already tried to escape twice. When I tell you to watch her, I don’t care if she’s dead, you do as you are told.”
“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“Leave us.”
Pia heard a body stumbling and the closing of the door. Her flesh, although soaked in sweat, chilled knowing she was alone in the room with the one Amani was so afraid of.
She heard him move the chair. His weight caused the floor to creak. Pia shivered when she felt his callused fingers run up her arms to her exposed shoulders and groaned as he grabbed her hair and yanked her head back. Pia refused to let him see her fear. In retaliation, she tried to pry her hair free, but he pulled harder.
“You are hard to tame,” the man said.
Pia jerked her head to the side, trying to break free from his grip. He pulled tighter and tore at the roots. He laughed as she recoiled in pain. His amusement frightened her even more.
He let go of her hair and ran his callused hands down her cheek. “That’s better,” he whispered. “You’re much prettier when you’re docile.”
His words and tone churned a mixture of anger and fear within her, but fear won out. She didn’t move, just shook uncontrollably.
She exhaled when he removed his hand from her flesh. She heard him stand, the chair scraping against the wooden floor.
“Your father has not cooperated with our demands,” he said. “I think further persuasion may be necessary.”
My father? she thought. What does my father have to do with this?
She heard noises and crinkled her nose to the point that she could see out of the corner of her blindfold. She saw him reach into a sack.
“In my country, we have ways—old ways—to help persuade those to do as we demand.”
His words and sheer presence caused tears to run down her cheeks, seeping through the blindfold.
She watched as he removed a wooden bowl and an object
