by Cora Kenborn
Okay, that was a lie.
I wanted to prove a point. I wanted her to open her eyes and see that the man who had her heart lived in a savage world. A world where men slaughtered entire families and brainwashed children. If she had left everything she knew to be with him, it would’ve been the biggest mistake of her life.
Eden would’ve been nothing but a pawn.
Disposable collateral.
Just like one-year-old Adriana Carrera had been.
But I said none of that. Instead, I shrugged like the asshole I’d become. “It wasn’t personal. I’m a lawyer. It was my job to pick out the pieces of a puzzle that don’t fit. It made no sense why your body was never found. Esteban Muñoz threw your birth mother and aunt away like trash. He would’ve done the same to Val if he hadn’t gotten away. But you? Not a trace of your blood or DNA was found at the crime scene. It didn’t add up.”
“It wasn’t personal?” She threw her head back and laughed so loudly the few patrons left in the bar turned a curious eye our way.
Gritting her teeth, she leaned in close enough that a sweet and spicy scent drifted past my nose, leaving a hint of licorice in its wake. A scent so complex and unique, I involuntarily tilted my head to chase it before it faded.
“Let me tell you how personal this is, Brody.” Ripping the button off the cuff of her blouse, she jerked her sleeve up her arm and held it up between us, instantly breaking the spell I was under.
I blinked twice before the jagged and distorted light pink line came into focus. It ran across her wrist, marring what was otherwise perfectly flawless bronze skin. My heart seized as flashes of my sister ran through my head.
“This is where I almost bled to death from the cut of a knife,” she hissed. “This?” Moving her finger from her arm, she trailed it just above the dip in her collarbone. “This is where they tried to slit my throat and missed. So, don’t you sit there and tell me it wasn’t personal.”
“They?”
A cold smile crawled across her lips. “Muñoz sicarios. My soldiers. My own familia. It seems upon hearing that the man who I believed to be my father was actually a sadistic fuck who murdered my birth mother and raised me to hate the Carreras as some sort of demented vendetta didn’t sit well with them.” She gave her free arm a dismissive wave. “Something about the only good Carrera blood is spilled Carrera blood.”
“So, is that what you want? Blood for blood? You want to see me suffer to make your pain lessen?”
“You’d deserve it. However, for now, we have more pressing matters to discuss.”
I lifted my mug again, trying hard to ignore her labored breaths and the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest. “We have nothing to discuss. You don’t have a throne anymore, princesa.”
“You’re right,” she admitted, rolling her sleeve back down. The cuff flapped at her wrist, and judging by her disinterest, she was either unaware that she’d destroyed the button or didn’t give a shit. “But thanks to you, I do have a name, and you’re going to help me claim it.”
I damn near choked on my beer. “What?”
“I know the name of the man reorganizing the Muñoz Cartel.”
“Right,” I mocked, drawing out the word. “Because the cartel trying to kill you also gives you insider info. Nice try.”
She tossed me a look somewhere between annoyance and disappointment. “Brody, you know as well as I do that true power lies in the hand that holds the truth, and effective strategy lies in knowing when to keep your trump card close and when to tip your hand.”
“Then why tip to me?”
“We have a mutual enemy and tearing the Muñoz Cartel down before it rises makes more sense than wasting time doing this.” She waved a hand between us. “Don’t you think?”
“Give me the name, and I’ll warn Val.”
“No. Take me to Mexico City. I’ll talk to Val myself, or I don’t talk at all.”
That was it. This bitch had lost her goddamn mind. Even if my damn dick didn’t know the difference between a blow job and a whack job.
“Are you insane?”
She squared her chin, unbothered by my insult. “Because of you, I have nothing. Nowhere to go. No one who gives a shit if I live or die, and now another asshole is trying to take me down. You owe me this chance.”
Shit.
Anyone else would throw her out on her ass. Regardless of what that birth certificate said that Leo dug up, she was raised Muñoz. She might have Carrera in her blood, but the woman had Muñoz in her soul. But as much as I tried to numb that sliver of my conscience that stubbornly refused to die, I couldn’t. And right now, it stood on my shoulder yelling in my ear that she was right. I owed her. Not for revealing her true identity; whether she wanted to see it or not—that was for the best.
But I owed her for the torture she obviously endured.
A familiar ache seared across my chest, and I pressed my palm against my shirt, willing it to subside. Of course, it didn’t. It never did. That was penance for you.
Moving my hand up, I scrubbed it over my face and sighed. “Look, Val knows about you. He’s been looking for you. He wants to know you.”
I didn’t know what I expected. Shock? Gratitude? A blush, maybe? I sure as hell didn’t anticipate the loud snort she gave me. “I highly doubt the same goes for his blushing bride. Let’s not forget I was responsible for arranging the hit on her brother.”
“Is that why you want me there too? To control Eden?”
“Well, you two once had a thing, correct? You can be my buffer.”
I didn’t bother responding to that. It was none of her damn business.
“Why would I even consider this?” I gritted out through clenched teeth. “Val is my boss. You think I want to get caught up in his shit?”
“You owe me.”
Same three words, only this time my conscience flipped a middle finger and sat the fuck down. Anger took the floor, and it was like slipping into a well-worn pair of socks.
“I don’t owe you shit.”
“You. Owe. Me. Everything.” Her voice dropped to an almost-demonic growl, her lips caressing each word as she punctuated them with dramatic pauses.
God, what the hell was it about this woman that scorched my blood and sent it rushing to parts of me that shouldn’t be reacting to her? Was it my addiction to danger that made me want her? The thrill of the forbidden? Because bad blood or not, Valentin Carrera would skewer my balls if I laid a finger on his sister.
“I’m sorry, princesa.” I winked. “I’m busy tomorrow. I have to see a man about a thing.”
Silence permeated the cantina as we glared at each other. Neither of us spoke as we waited for the other to give in first. The joke was on her. Until my visit with Leo Pinellas tomorrow, I had nowhere to be and nothing to do. I could sit here and play her little pissing match all day.
I gave her intel on Val’s interest in her. That’s as far as I went. If she wanted more, she could walk her happy ass across the border and ask him for it herself.
I smirked.
Adriana scowled.
I leaned against the bar.
Adriana crossed her arms across her chest.
I tapped my fingers on my glass.
Adriana tapped her toe on the tile.
I scanned my eyes down her legs, and the color of her face turned to lava. Just as she opened her mouth, a crash and the sound of shattering glass turned both our heads toward the bar.
Bar bitch stood on her toes with her palms held high in the air, her mouth rounded in a tight “O”. She stared down at the floor, and when I lifted myself over the bar, I saw why. Two bottles of Val’s most prized tequila lay shattered on the floor, the contents now rolling under the anti-slip mat.
“Well don’t just stand there!” I yelled. “Get a mop, for Christ’s sake!”
“I-I’m sorry,” she stammered, bending down and picking up random pieces of glass, slicing her hands to hell and back.
With a mop in one hand and a
towel in the other, I managed to stop the bleeding and prevent this from turning into a major worker’s comp catastrophe. As I put pressure on her wounds, bar bitch looked up at me with hearts in her eyes, and it was all I could do not to fire her on the spot.
By the time I returned to my seat at the bar, Adriana was gone.
Lifting my abandoned glass, I raised it in the air and toasted to small victories. “Better luck next time, princesa.” I drank slowly, savoring my victory. This wasn’t the last I’d seen of Adriana Carrera. She’d be back.
Just as the glass hit my lips, I saw it. A cocktail napkin covered in blood. Slamming the glass back onto the bar, I slid off the seat and snatched it from the puddle of water soaking the edge.
Only, it wasn’t blood. It was red lipstick.
Your thing isn’t that impressive.
And your man is for sale.
Never dip your dick in the same pool twice.
Regency Court – Room 233
“Fuck!” I balled it up and threw it across the bar.
She knew about Leo Pinellas.
Worse than that, now I had no choice.
Her trump card ended up being my Achilles heel.
Chapter Seven
Adriana
The scotch smelled like Band-Aids soaked in disinfectant. I had no idea how he drank this shit.
Picking up the clear plastic cup, I popped the pills in my hand into my mouth and tossed back what was left, shuddering at the vile taste.
It tasted just as bad.
Crushing the flimsy cup in my hand, I crossed the tiny motel room and dropped it in the trash can. Then again, I was drinking cheap booze out of a plastic cup I found on the bathroom counter. I wasn’t exactly the epitome of class. I might as well have sipped Cristal from a salad bowl.
My father would roll over in his grave if he saw how low I’d sunk.
My father.
The words hit my chest, knocking the breath out of me. My lungs seized as if I’d run full speed into a brick wall. I groped the scalloped neckline of my dress, desperate for something to ground me to this room. Far away from the lies whispered to a little girl or the truth beaten into a defiant woman.
But this was reality, and the truth was, my father wouldn’t care what I’d become. He wouldn’t care because he wasn’t my father. He never had been.
The same numbness started to surface, and I closed my eyes and squeezed my fists by my hips, fighting it with every fiber of my being. I refused to drift in between worlds, hovering in that fragment of space where no light could penetrate.
A void. An abyss.
I squeezed my fists tighter, my nails digging hard into my palms. “No,” I whispered. “I won’t give you power. Not here. Not now.” Opening my eyes, I blinked a few times as the room came back into focus.
I was still here in this crap-ass motel room.
Slowly, I unclenched my fists and glanced down at my phone.
And he was late.
Running a hand down the front of my dress, I straightened the tight lacy material, and a small smile tugged at one corner of my mouth. The royal blue lace overlay hardly masked the body-hugging nude lining. It had better do the trick because I was running out of options.
Grabbing my phone off the stained red and lime green bedspread, I tossed it between my hands a few times and then checked the time.
9:36 p.m.
I had to give Brody points for self-control. After leaving Caliente a little after two o’clock, I would’ve bet money he’d have beaten my door down by at least four. Although, to be fair, the note I left wasn’t exactly inviting. I’d wanted to antagonize him. Maybe push his buttons a little.
I eyed the offensive scotch bottle sitting on the small table as the clock on my phone changed to 9:41 p.m. If he dragged out this pissing contest much longer, I might be tempted to drink more than a sip just to block out the image of the dark ring around the bathtub and the stains on the bed.
God, I missed having money.
I had just grabbed the last plastic cup from the bathroom and filled it with the vile liquid when the sound of repeated fists pounding on my door diverted my attention.
“Adriana! Adriana open this damn door right now, or I swear to God, I’ll break it down.”
For reasons I couldn’t explain, I smiled and swayed my hips, sashaying across the room until I was pressed against the cheap metal. Holding the bandage flavored disinfectant in one hand, I pressed the other against the door. “Who is it?”
“You know damn well who it is. Now open the door.”
I trailed a nail across the metal, and it scratched like nails on a chalkboard. “I’m sorry, I don’t answer the door for strangers. A lady can never be too careful, you know.”
“Adriana,” he warned, the low growl in his voice drawing me closer to the door until I pressed flush against it. “You’re staying in a motel that’s in the heart of a Carrera-run neighborhood. If you don’t open this fucking door by the count of three, I’m going to open fire on this lock and no one will give a shit. Do you understand me?”
My smile faded.
I did understand him, and I wanted to slam my head against the door for being so stupid. Yeah, I didn’t have the extra cash to go to a fancy hotel, but I should’ve remembered the Carreras had a lockdown on this part of town.
He was right. He could empty the gun in the door and me, and no one would bat an eye.
Moving quickly, I opened the door with a scowl. “You’re a real aguafiestas, you know that?”
Brody stood at the threshold with his palms braced against the molding. “Thanks. And you’re one hell of a perra tramposa.”
“I call you a buzzkill, and you have to take it over the line with sneaky bitch?”
“Be grateful,” he gritted through clenched teeth. “That was me censoring myself.”
My scowl deepened, but it didn’t stop me from taking him in. He was still dressed in the same half-destroyed button-up shirt and slacks as earlier but whereas before they just looked disheveled, now they appeared to have survived a three-day bender. One wrinkled sleeve was rolled up past his elbow while the other flapped loosely around his wrist. Only four, maybe five, buttons held the whole damn thing together, the others scattered on a breadcrumb trail from here to Caliente. But his clothes weren’t what tightened my chest and sent my pulse skyrocketing.
It was his face.
Brody clenched his jaw so hard, the muscles in his neck twitched, and a vein running down the center of his forehead throbbed with barely-restrained rage. He was more than pissed off. He was a man whose hands itched to feel the life drain from my body. Chills scattered over my skin, and for a moment, I considered backing off.
Then he opened his mouth.
“Drinking alone?” His lips curled in a smirk, and he nodded his head at the forgotten cup in my hand.
“Well, when in Rome…” I motioned to where he still stood in the doorway.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I assumed all the women who spend time in your company erase the memory with booze.” His face flushed a heated shade of crimson as I swung my hips back toward the table. Lifting the bottle of scotch in the air, I licked my lips and winked. “It’s your favorite, rock bottom scotch. I’m out of cups, but feel free to wrap your lips around the tip and suck.”
Okay, admittedly, maybe I took it too far. Way too far, because Brody stormed through the motel room like a charging bull and caged me against the table. His palms slammed against the wood on either side of my ass, and I fought hard not to breathe in the intoxicating scent of scotch and sage. But not the kind in my hand. I recognized indulgence when I smelled it. Single malt scotch, expensive as hell, and hard to come by. Paired with the rugged earthy sage scent of his cologne, the combined effect knocked me off track for a moment.
“Did you hear me?”
I blinked him back into focus. “Huh?”
He rolled his eyes. “I said, what the fuck did you do with Leo Pinella
s?”
“Who?”
Brody shifted forward, the hard planes of his chest crushing my lace bodice. “Don’t play innocent, Adriana. It doesn’t suit you. After I read your little love note, I had one of my men go to the Mexican Embassy to check on him. He never returned from his lunch break, so I told them to check his apartment. I’m sure it comes as no surprise to you he wasn’t there either.”
I set my drink down with a shrug. “Why are you asking me? Isn’t he your stool pigeon?”
Brody’s eyes turned black, and an inhuman sound rumbled in his throat. Before I could process what was happening, one hand from the table buried in my hair. Tightening his grip, he jerked my head back and forced me to look up at him.
“You don’t understand what’s at stake here.” His fingers twisted tighter around the strands. “I need him. Tell me where he is!”
Dios mío. Why the hell was I turned on? In one show of dominance, my heart raced, and an unbearable ache hit hard between my legs. What was wrong with me? The man was seconds away from putting a bullet in my head, not his dick in my vagina.
I had to get it together.
Curling my fingers around the edge of the table, I gripped the wood tightly. “Oh, I understand a lot more than you think I do, counselor.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Instead of swinging your dick around, you should be thanking me.”
He let out a dry laugh. “For killing my informant?”
“For saving your ass!” I yelled, the truth barreling into me like a hurricane. Me. Adriana Carrera did something unselfish. Something that didn’t directly benefit me. Maybe I did take too many punches to the head in that warehouse. “Leo Pinellas was playing both sides—a game I believe you know quite well, if I remember.” I smiled as he shot me a look that said he wanted to tie me to a concrete block and toss me into a river. “It blows my mind you couldn’t see what was right in front of your face.”
A rogue piece of blond hair fell across his eyebrow as he leaned over me. “Bullshit.”
“Pinellas was reporting to the men trying to frame me, you idiot! How you ended up in charge of US operations, I will never know. Dios mío, you’re gullible. Do you still believe in Santa Claus too?”