by Cora Kenborn
As the heavy metal door slammed behind the medical examiner, I stood alone in the middle of the morgue, a metal drawer pulled out in front of me, and my father’s gray, lifeless cheeks reflected the flashing overhead fluorescent bulb from above.
“Do you positively identify this man as your father, Alejandro Carrera, Mr. Carrera?”
“Yes.”
“Very well. Would you like a moment alone?”
“Excuse me?”
“A moment. Would you like a few moments to say some words to your father, Mr. Carrera?”
“Oh. Sure. I mean, yes, I would, thank you.”
The exchange replayed in my head and a sadistic laugh rumbled in my chest.
A few words. How about a lifetime of words? A lifetime of beatings, blood, and being sold into a life no father should ever take pleasure in bringing a son into. The Carrera name stood for death and destruction, and it all stemmed from the man lying on a slab with a white sheet draped over his chin.
“Why can’t I see all of his face?”
“Mr. Carrera, as I’m sure you know, your father didn’t die of natural causes. His throat was cut and it’s not something we like to display to family members.”
Stepping closer, I reached out to lower the sheet before I could think better of it. In this cartel life, I’d killed many men and tortured many more. Blood, or the inside of a man’s body didn’t cause me to break a sweat. However, one look at the savagery inflicted upon the man who’d given me life shot a haze across my vision that blinded me for a moment.
This is where I’ll end up if things don’t change between cartels.
“Bet you never thought it’d end like this, did you, old man?” Not that I expected anything other than the hum from the overhead light, but I paused before continuing. “You promised her you’d stay away from Mexico City. She believed you. She trusted you, and look what you did to her. Look what you did to all of us. My entire fucking family is dead because you couldn’t keep a goddamn promise. Do you know what it was like to hear them scream?” Rage built as memories flooded the tiny room. “I was six years old, you bastard! You only accepted me when I pledged to kill for you.”
Fresh pain from the constant screams I heard every time I closed my eyes had me wanting to resurrect him, just so I could slit his throat all over again.
“I damned myself to hell just to get justice for the women you allowed to die. I dreamed of the day I’d be powerful enough to take you down and watch you crawl on your knees while I took everything away from you. Then I planned to kill you myself and run this goddamn cartel my way.” Roaming a glance down his motionless corpse, a sadistic laugh tore from my throat. “Guess I’ll have to settle for the last part.”
“Mr. Carrera?” The door opened as the medical examiner stuck her no-nonsense ponytail through the crack. “Are you finished?”
With a last look at my father, I turned toward the door and smiled. “No, ma’am. I’m just getting started.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Eden
“Val’s fine. Stop dissecting your burrito, Eden. It’s dinner, not a science project.” Taking a slow drink of his beer, Mateo tipped the neck of the bottle toward the sleeveless, short black dress I wore. “And you can’t afford to skip any more meals.”
Dropping my fork with a clang against my plate, I ran my hands over the loose-fitting material self-consciously. “Are you trying to tell me I look like shit, Mateo?”
“Woman, you’ve been on some sort of self-imposed hunger strike for a week now.” Lifting an eyebrow, he shook his head and brought his own overstuffed tortilla to his mouth. “A strong wind could carry you out to sea.”
“I had to exert some sort of control over my situation, you know,” I argued, picking my fork back up and trailing it through a glob of guacamole. “Being chained didn’t exactly lend itself to rational decision-making.”
“Cuffed.”
“What?”
“Cuffed. You said chained. You were cuffed not chained. You act like we had you hanging from a rafter in some dungeon.”
“Whatever,” I muttered, nibbling on a tortilla chip. It tasted like fried cardboard. My stomach churned, thinking of Val alone in the morgue with his father and raw emotions he’d kept bottled for years.
Sighing, Mateo finished chewing, then dropped his food back onto his plate, leveling an accusing stare at me. “Okay, truth or dare time, Eden.”
The chip crumbled in my hand as I returned his stare. “Be serious.”
“Oh, I’m very serious. Truth, or dare.”
I didn’t trust any questions Val’s right-hand man could possibly have for me, so the answer flew out before thought could piece together his game plan. “Dare.”
“Fine. I dare you to eat everything on your plate.” A smirk coated his face as he sat back and crossed his arms for dramatic effect.
Son of a bitch.
The thought of even biting into my chicken burrito make my mouth water, and not in the ‘oh my god, I’m salivating for more,’ kind of way. No, a metallic taste filled every crevice, forcing me to swallow in more of a ‘oh my god, I may just puke more than a drunk virgin on prom night,’ kind of way.
However, a dare was a dare.
Steeling my nerves, I tried to hold my breath as I bit into the vile concoction, but chewing and swallowing apparently required oxygen and use of fine motor skills. Gagging on impact, I immediately spit it all out in my napkin.
“I can’t do it, Mateo. God, I’m sorry. I just can’t. I’m too worked up to eat.”
His expression never changed as he simply nodded in acknowledgement. “Truth, it is.”
“No.”
“Then I suggest you open that napkin and start licking, Lachey.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Try me.”
If I had any clue where we were, or how to get back, I’d leave his ass just for being a dick. “Jesus, fine! Ask your stupid question.”
Leaning his elbows on the table, his eyes studied my every move. “What’s going on between you and my boss?”
“Nothing.”
“Eden…”
Pushing my plate away, I rubbed my temples as a headache brewed between them. “All right, there’s…something. I just don’t know what to call it, or label it, or…fuck, I don’t know. Val doesn’t want anyone to know, okay? He thinks it makes him vulnerable.”
“He’s absolutely right.”
The gravity in his voice didn’t lessen the ball of dread sitting in the pit of my stomach. “I don’t want to hurt him, Mateo.”
Crumbling his own napkin, he threw it in his plate. “Look, I’m not going to tell you what to do. Whatever you and Val do is between you two. That’s none of my business.”
“Thank—”
“But when it jeopardizes his life,” he interrupted, folding his arms across the table, “That’s when it becomes my business. I like you, Eden. I think you’ve been given a shitty deal in life just like him. Maybe in another time, you could’ve been good for each other.”
My heart sank. “But now?”
“You’re in Mexico City, waiting on a man who’s identifying the body of his father, one of the most notorious drug lords in the world, then he’ll meet with that man’s cartel to follow in his footsteps. You’re not going to change him.” He tilted his chin to hold my stare. “I want you to understand that. This isn’t a game. You won’t live happily ever after. If you step into this ring, be prepared to fight.”
I heard every word of his literal and double meanings. The words he spoke hurt to hear, but I’d come to respect Mateo as a straight shooter when it came to the truth. This was no different. Whether I wanted to hear it or not, the truth he spoke couldn’t be refuted.
Luckily, I’d reconciled myself to the fact that happily ever after was a lie fabricated by Disney and jewelry stores.
Standing, I glanced out of the window as Val exited the heavy glass door of the morgue.
“Come on Mat
eo, it’s time to find your ringside seat.”
My ringside seat turned into a backseat. As in the backseat of the charcoal colored Tahoe that Val and Mateo put me in before getting in their own car and heading to the meeting with Alejandro’s top men.
I’d argued and pleaded until almost making a scene. In the end, I knew it was useless.
“Val, you promised to take me. Don’t end up lying to me, too.”
“That’s not fair, Cereza. I promised to bring you to Mexico. I promised to let you come with me to Mexico City. Not once did I agree to let you walk into a room of rapists and killers looking like an all-you-can-eat buffet.”
As Mateo conveniently found something extraordinarily interesting on the side of a nearby building, Val leaned into the Tahoe, shrouded by the blessing of darkness and kissed me quickly, but purposely. Resting my hands on his chest, I felt his heart beat wildly against my palm.
“How am I supposed to get closure for Nash if Manuel Muñoz is still walking around, Val?”
“We’ll get him. Tonight, isn’t the night, though.”
“When?”
“Don’t fear the enemy that hates you, Eden, but the fake friend that hugs you.”
I raised an eyebrow, still pissed off at being left behind. “Have you been reading fortune cookies, Danger?”
A low laugh rumbled in his chest. “It’s a famous quote. It means Manuel will be expecting me to retaliate right now. He’ll be waiting for it—prepared for it, even. The risk of failure would be huge. Lulling him into a false sense of security, even convincing him I’d blurred the battle lines a little, is the key.”
Then it hit me what he planned on doing. “Oh, my God. You’re going to make them think you’re burying the hatchet, aren’t you?”
Another kiss, and he backed away from the Tahoe. “Interesting choice of words, Cereza. After Esteban Muñoz had my mother shot, his men carved out her heart and delivered it to him.”
The one chip I’d eaten with Mateo threatened to come up as I slapped my hand across my mouth and mumbled through my fingers. “Val, don’t go. Please, I don’t have a good feeling about this.”
Leaning against the doorframe, he nodded to Mateo. “I have to go.”
“Val!”
“You’ll have your justice, Eden, and I’ll have mine.”
“You’ll have your justice, Eden, and I’ll have mine.”
Val’s words echoed in my head along with my footsteps. The sheer square footage of Alejandro Carrera’s estate was mind-blowing, but the ornate detail work in the framework above all the archways and molding indicated just what a self-indulgent, pompous asshole the man was. Mirrors covered every wall as if he couldn’t walk two feet without stopping to admire himself. I almost gave myself a headache from all the constant eye rolling it involuntarily pulled from me.
Feeling stifled from the overwhelming presence of such a narcissistic man, I searched for an escape. I needed air, and I needed it now. I breathed a sigh of relief when my eyes landed on intricate brushed gold French doors that led out onto a terrace.
Thank God for small favors.
As I reached for the handle, a hand with thick, rough fingers grabbed me around my upper arm. “Miss Lachey, are you sure that’s a good idea?”
Whipping around, my hand immediately flew to my leg, fingering the gun holster that sat nestled on my inner thigh. Once I recognized him, my eyes widened, then narrowed. “Jesus, Joaquin. You think you could wear a cowbell or something? You scared the shit out of me.”
“A cowbell, señorita? I don’t understand.”
“Forget it,” I said, waving a hand. “I’m just going to get some air.”
“We have air here.” Motioning around us with both hands, he took an exaggerated deep breath.
Oh, great. Val left me in the care of a fucking comedian.
Joaquin Salazar was a new soldier in Alejandro’s army. He was what Val explained was in limbo between something called a falcon and a sicario. A falcon was somewhat of a watchdog—the eyes and ears on the street—and the lowest ranking man in a cartel. One step up from that, a sicario, or a hitman, was part of the armed group who carried out the assassinations, kidnappings, and real dangerous shit for the higher-ups.
Joaquin had proven his worth in an attempt made on Alejandro’s life near Guadalajara nearly six months ago, but hadn’t yet risen in the ranks enough to qualify for a place at the sit-down with Val and the other lieutenants. As a consolation prize, he qualified as my shadow.
Lucky me.
“Look, Kevin Hart, I realize you’re just following orders, but if you don’t get out of my face and let me walk onto this terrace to get some air by myself—you and me—we’re going to have a problem. Do you get what I’m telling you?”
“Who is this Kevin Hart? Is he new? Mateo told me nothing of another guard.”
Screaming in frustration, I grabbed the sides of my hair and gritted my teeth. “Go. Away.”
“But, señorita—”
“Joaquin, do you have children?”
“No. Not yet.”
“Do you want to?”
He blinked slowly before answering. “Someday.”
“Then I suggest you leave before I tie your nuts in such small knots, you’ll never shoot another load the rest of your life.”
I’d never seen a man move so fast in my life. One minute he was there, the next—gone.
Men were so easy. One threat to the boys and they folded like a cheap house of cards.
Outside the walls of that monstrous house, I finally began to breathe again. Sinking into a plush outdoor recliner, I put my feet up and enjoyed the impressive view of the city lights.
The long trip, coupled with the stress of worrying about Val and what he’d walked into, finally wore on me, and my eyelids closed a heavy curtain over the world.
I had no idea how long I’d slept until a crash from inside woke me with a jolt of adrenaline. Muted voices carried through the house as my pulse picked up a furious tempo.
“Joaquin?”
Attempting to keep a level head, I stood up and tilted my chin over the railing.
Hell, no. Three stories down would not end well for me.
My gaze landed back on the French doors as the same sense of dread settled in the center of my stomach and burst into tiny shards of resignation.
Swallowing hard, I ran my hand up my thigh and used my thumb to unsnap the holder on the handgun Val had given me before putting me in the Tahoe. Holding it tight, with the chamber loaded and my finger on the trigger, I opened the glass door.
“Joaquin? Are you awake?”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Valentin
Silence filled the room as all eyes stared blankly at me, then ping-ponged around from rank to rank, verifying they’d heard me correctly and hadn’t hallucinated.
And I was very fucking serious.
“Is there a problem?”
“Hell yes, there’s a problem,” Guzman yelled, standing up and slamming his fist down on the worn wooden table. The table had seen many of these same meetings take place around it over the years. It’d seen arguments, deals being made, and even its fair share of bloodshed; the evidence still stained some of the crevices. “This is suicide, Valentin.”
“For whom exactly?”
“For all of us,” he bellowed, gesturing around the table at the dozens of men flanking him. “We served loyally under your father. We have a long-standing war with the Muñoz cartel. They killed your mother, sister, and aunt, for fuck’s sake.”
Hearing him speak their names did something to me, and I pummeled my fist onto his spread hand. “I know that, asshole. You don’t have to remind me. I was there, remember?”
With a howl, he pulled his hand back, recoiling into his chair. “You’ve gone soft, Carrera. You’ve been in the states too long. You don’t remember what real life is like in the ranks.”
“The only thing soft is your dick, Guzman. Now, sit down, and shut the fuck up,
before you really piss me off.”
Glaring, his eyes darkened as he held his injured hand against his chest.
“A little over the top, don’t you think?” Mateo muttered under his breath beside me, his eyes questioning my actions.
“Probably,” I conceded. “But the bastard has had it coming for years.”
Gerardo Guzman had been my father’s second-in-command for over a decade. When I joined the cartel at age sixteen, it was automatically understood within the ranks that, as the heir apparent, I’d one day inherit the empire. I could tell as the years passed, it bothered Guzman, but he wisely kept his mouth shut and his head down.
“Something else to say, Guzman?”
“No, boss. Just like to stay informed.”
If I wasn’t hell bent on getting home to Eden, I might’ve pushed the issue with him. As it stood, I was just fucking tired. I wanted a warm bed, some good tequila, and to be nestled in between Eden’s thighs. I had no time or energy to waste on bruised egos.
“As I said, there’ll be no retaliation right now, but when the time comes, it’ll be on my terms. Now, if there are no more comments, I’ll explain why we’re twenty-two million dollars in debt, and why…” I paused and looked each man in the eye before continuing, “…four buildings went up in flames, and we narrowly escaped all of them with our lives.”
“We?” One of the newer lieutenants asked.
“Yes, ‘we,’” I snapped. “As in me, two of my top lieutenants, and a prisoner. Shut up for a minute, and I’ll tell you about her and why I think my father was so interested in her.” Preparing myself for the bomb I was about to drop, I shot Mateo a side glance and curled my finger around the trigger of my gun under the table. “Then, I can tell you to fuck off if she interests you in any way.”
“The fuck?”
“You heard me, Guzman.”
A low rumble of voices milled around the room, and I waited for it to die down before I commanded their attention. “I’m speaking!” All eyes turned my way as silence replaced the incessant chatter. “Somehow Manuel Muñoz infiltrated a drug debt in Houston, causing my men to torture an innocent man. Afterward, Muñoz sicarios executed him.”