The Carrera Cartel : A Dark Mafia Romance Collection

by Cora Kenborn

  Balling my fist, I gritted my teeth.

  “Of course, you’re right. Look, I know Eden’s worried, and you both have a lot going on, but I wouldn’t bring her if I didn’t think this threat was real. It’s not the first I’ve heard of Muñoz reconstruction and infiltration.” I caught a quick glimpse of him as he paced across the office. “No, I’m not hiding anything from you, Val. I’m not a damn moron. I just didn’t want to come to you until I had full recon and intel. Adriana has the name of the man leading the charge. It’s foolish not to hear her out.”

  For a moment, I almost believed the shit he was shoveling. Then I remembered he was so desperate to hide his Chicago dealings and indiscretions, he’d sell his sick grandmother beachfront property in Colorado if it meant saving his own ass.

  Hypothetically speaking, provided he had any family left.

  Which he did not.

  “Yet again, she won’t tell me.” I cocked an eyebrow at his tone. It bordered on mocking, a dangerous line to walk for a man in his position. I suppose he knew it too because he returned to his chair and slumped down. “I ripped the floor out from underneath her, Val. She wouldn’t trust me with her drink order, much less valuable information.”

  That’s true.

  “No, she won’t be here for at least another forty-five minutes.”

  I laughed to myself. That’s what he thought.

  After a long stretch of silence, Brody let out a relieved sigh. “Perfect. I’ll have the pilot on standby.”

  Pilot?

  Clamping a hand over my mouth, I crept over to where I’d dropped my bag. Collecting my belongings, I quickly slipped inside the ladies’ room before being discovered. Once inside, I leaned against the tiled wall, the bag falling from my shoulder again. This time, I didn’t care. All I could do was stare at my reflection in the blurry mirror, the reality of what I’d heard finally sinking in.

  This was it. There was no turning back now.

  We’re going to Mexico.

  Chapter Eleven

  Brody

  My patience was running low.

  Bouncing my knees up and down, I watched. Tapping my fingers against my chin, I waited. Finally, seconds after the plane leveled out, the pilot’s voice crackled over the onboard PA system.

  “We’ve reached our cruising altitude, Mr. Harcourt. You’re free to move about the cabin.”

  Thank God.

  I didn’t waste another minute. Unbuckling my seat belt, I pressed a hidden button on the inside of the arm rest, causing the back to recline and a footrest to pop out. The groan that followed bordered on obscene. Whether out of embarrassment or courtesy, I tilted my chin to the left and offered an unenthusiastic apology. “Don’t worry. Everything’s still tucked in and zipped.”

  Silence.

  “Adriana?”

  Silence.

  I popped an eye open to find the bane of my existence sitting across from me with her head bowed, waves of long onyx hair covering her face like a curtain. Her entire body was rigid, and all hunched over so that she looked like one of those weeping angel statues. In fact, with the soft sounds coming from the other side of the plane, she could even be…

  No way.

  I glanced at her again. “Are you praying?”

  Adriana slowly lifted her head, her thick hair falling back to reveal a clenched jaw, thinned lips, and a glare so sharp it could cut glass. “What? Like I can’t pray?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You think I’m going to burst into flames or something?”

  “Damn, forget I asked.” I rolled back over, perfectly content to doze off and dream of a world where Adriana Carrera skipped her ass back to wherever the fuck she came from.

  The hell of the last few days had just started melting away when disturbing noises assaulted my ears. Gagging would be too tame of a word. It was more like an overweight cat coughing up another cat. I opened my eyes to find Adriana, crouched forward with one hand clamped over her mouth while the other frantically patted down every inch of the recliner. She wore the look of a woman about to defile a multi-million-dollar jet.

  “You’re not gonna puke, are you?”

  Giving up on her quest, she scowled before closing her eyes and sinking back into the chair. “No. I’ll be fine once this death box levels out.”

  “Well, then you might have a problem since that happened five minutes ago.”

  Her eyes popped open, and she gripped the arms of the chair with such force, I wouldn’t be surprised if a few of those red nails slashed through the leather. “Tell me you’re joking.”

  “Sorry, princesa. Maybe you missed the announcement from the cockpit while you were wheeling and dealing with the man upstairs.” I jabbed my finger in the air a few times for emphasis.

  She opened her mouth and took a deep breath. But instead of insulting me, she rubbed her temples, releasing her breath with a slight frown. “I hate flying.”

  “I’m shocked. You hide it so well.”

  She rolled her chin toward me, eyes blazing. I had her riled up, and it was about time. The woman was a pain in my ass who blackmailed her way onto a kingpin’s private jet, but at least she was a distraction.

  The brief moment of peace ended as the curtain at the front of the jet parted. Immediately, Adriana’s walls shot back up, and she glared at the flight attendant as she made her way toward me.

  “Mr. Harcourt…” Turning, she smiled brilliantly at Adriana, who scanned the woman’s navy-blue pantsuit like it was loaded with contraband. “Miss Carrera, would you like anything to drink?”

  I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. “I’ll have a scotch on the rocks, thanks, Tia.” I motioned toward Adriana. “She’ll have water and a barf bag.”

  Giving a small tight smile, she nodded, disappearing as quietly as she’d appeared.

  “You drink too much,” Adriana grumbled.

  “You talk too much.” It was on the tip of my tongue to ask if Tia had anything to dislodge the stick from someone’s ass when the plane dropped, leaving my stomach hovering about two feet above the rest of me.

  I grasped the chair just as Adriana let out a high-pitched scream.

  “It’s just a little turbulence,” I assured her. “We hit an air pocket. It’s fine.”

  “Couldn’t you have just rented a car?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Because a nineteen-hour road trip with you would have been so enjoyable.” That was when I noticed she had her arms wrapped around her body, and she was shaking. The woman who led an entire cartel actually had a horrific fear of flying. Everything about me was designed to seek out weakness and exploit it. Adriana’s shield was up most of the time, but no one could run from demons at forty-one thousand feet. This was my chance. I should go in for the kill.

  “Look, if it makes you feel any better, you’re two-thousand times more likely to be in a car crash than a plane crash.”

  Or I could toss out random statistics to help the enemy.

  Whatever.

  “Yes, but if I’m in a car crash, I have a chance of surviving. If this abomination of gravity goes down, they’ll have to piece us back together like a damn puzzle.” As if the mental image wasn’t enough, she put her fists together then opened her palms and threw her arms out wide in a physical reenactment of our deaths.

  I dismissed her dramatics with a wave of my hand. “Don’t be ridiculous. If that happened, the engine would explode, and we’d fry to a crisp before even hitting the ground.”

  Just a little dig to remind her who called the shots once we hit Mexican soil.

  Crossing her arms, she turned her back to me. “Don’t talk to me until we’re on solid ground.”

  Well, shit. If I knew describing our hypothetical deaths in graphic detail would shut her up, I would’ve done it a long time ago.

  “With pleasure.” After Tia returned with our drinks, I took a much-needed sip and placed it in the chair’s drink holder. Folding my arms behind my head, I stret
ched out and enjoyed the first moment of peace I’d had all week.

  As if pulled by some unknown force, my gaze wandered back to Adriana. She still sat as rigid as before, except the cup of water in her hand shook so hard, droplets spilled over the edge and scattered across the leather. I assumed air sickness had struck again. I had no idea how to comfort an ally, much less an enemy. Normal emotion wasn’t something I felt anymore.

  The only thing that felt natural was sarcasm, but just as I opened my mouth to insult her, I noticed her face. It was no longer green but pale. So pale, if she wasn’t almost panting, I’d wonder if she was breathing at all.

  “Adriana…”

  She cut a sharp stare at me, immediately setting down her cup and clasping her hands together. “So, what kind of shit show am I walking into?”

  I motioned toward her tight grip. “Are you sure you’re—”

  “I assume when you convinced Val to let you bring me to Mexico City, you conveniently left out the reason you’d suddenly joined Team Adriana.” Her face tightened, either in pain or in anger. Whatever the cause, the message written across it clearly said back off.

  So, I did.

  I rattled the ice in my glass. “As far as Val knows, my concern for the cartel outweighs any risk you might pose.”

  “And?”

  “And I told him I believed you were sincere.”

  “And he believes it?”

  “Mm-hmm,” I mumbled, around a mouthful of scotch.

  Adriana’s pale lips twisted in suspicion. She had every right to doubt me. The conversation wasn’t quite that cut and dry. I left out the part where Val more or less threatened to castrate me.

  “This is not a time for a family reunion, Harcourt. In case you forgot, Adriana had my wife’s brother tortured and killed. I put you in charge of Houston for a damn reason. If you can’t handle the job, then maybe I should—”

  “I can handle it. Look, I know there’s bad blood with Eden, but I wouldn’t bring her if I didn’t think this threat was real. It’s not the first I’ve heard of Muñoz reconstruction and infiltration.”

  “And you’re just now informing me. Hijo de tu puta madre.” Son of a bitch.

  “Val, I’m not a moron. I didn’t want to come to you until I had full recon and intel. Adriana has the name of the man leading the charge. It’s foolish not to hear her out.”

  “Force the name out of her. When did you become such a pussy?”

  “Yet again, she won’t tell me. And nobody has the balls to employ torture techniques on the boss’s sister.”

  “You’re a resourceful man. Figure something out.”

  “I ripped the floor out from underneath her, Val. She wouldn’t trust me with her drink order, much less valuable information.”

  “Dios mío. Fine. I’ll have Walker prep the jet. But, Brody?”

  “Yeah?”

  “She’s your responsibility.”

  As usual, with Val the real threat lay more in what he didn’t say rather than what he did. He agreed to open his home to us, pull back the veil and bare a vulnerability few ever witnessed. However, reward never came without risk. I swore on my life his family would be safe. I personally guaranteed Adriana would prove both her loyalty to him and herself worthy of the Carrera name.

  She had to.

  Because if she failed, we would both die.

  And I wasn’t so sure Val would be the Carrera to pull the trigger.

  Chapter Twelve

  Brody

  Mexico City, Mexico

  I whistled as we approached the opulent excess of the Carrera mansion. “So, this is how the other half lives.”

  Adriana paused on the first step, her bag sliding down her arm. “What are you talking about? You grew up in a mansion.”

  Shoving my hands in my pockets, I swiveled around on my heels to face her. “Well, if it isn’t the pot calling the kettle black. For your information, I grew up in a modest three-bedroom house until my dad died. It wasn’t until my mom remarried that we shot up into an obscene tax bracket.”

  “But you’ve been to Val’s estate before, right?”

  “Meetings in Mexico, yes. House, no.” I fought a smirk as Adriana’s brow furrowed. As fun as it was to toy with her, I had no desire to encourage more of her questions. “Look, you grew up in this life. You know better than anyone that the people in a man’s business inner circle aren’t necessarily the ones in his personal one. Val has a wife and a son to protect. I get that.”

  “But you’re his second in command,” she argued. “Besides, regardless of what happened between you and Eden in the past, you said it yourself. She’s his wife, and you saved her life.”

  I shrugged. “Sometimes a person’s mistakes will always haunt them and overshadow any good they’ll ever do.”

  “That’s depressing,” she huffed, turning to climb toward the front steps.

  Chuckling, I followed behind her. “That’s life, kid.”

  As we both stood outside the enormous archway that framed the front door, our limo driver held out his hand, preventing us from moving any closer.

  “What?” I asked, almost barreling into him. “Is there a password?”

  He grunted and turned his palm up. “Guns.”

  Adriana’s eyes narrowed, and before she could make this worse, I clarified things for the idiot. “I’m Brody Harcourt.”

  “I don’t give a fuck if you’re Santa Muerte. No guns.”

  Crossing her arms over her chest, Adriana nodded toward the estate. “And what about their guns? I suppose if we use the wrong fork they’re allowed to shoot us in the face?”

  Jesus Christ.

  “Adriana!”

  “What?”

  “Shut up and give him your gun.”

  She shot me a wry look. “I don’t have a gun.”

  As much as I understood her reluctance, I also knew this guy had orders, and they stated the line stopped here. We didn’t cross unless we caved.

  “Adriana…” The word was her name, but the warning was clear.

  This is what you wanted.

  “Oh, fine, here.” Reaching under her skirt, she unclipped a thigh holster and slammed a small revolver into the man’s hand, glaring at me the whole time. “Happy?”

  Handing over my own gun to the man’s waiting hand, I smirked. “Ecstatic.”

  As soon as we crossed the threshold into the house, I whistled again, ignoring Adriana’s glare. The Carrera estate made the elaborate display of wealth I spent my high school years living in look like a run-down backwoods shack. Intricate framework, brushed gold, museum quality artwork, and enough square footage to house a small neighborhood closed in on me, tightening the already snug tie around my neck.

  Pulling on my collar, I leaned close to Adriana. “Maybe this is a bad time. We should go.”

  “But you just got here.” The commanding and authoritative voice slithered down my back, and as if we’d been struck by lightning, Adriana and I spun around to find the source.

  Like a panther watching its prey from a higher vantage point, Valentin Carrera nodded, acknowledging our presence from halfway up the winding staircase, then slowly and meticulously descended, his predatory eyes watching me the entire time. He exuded confidence. It poured out of him, coating the very floor the man stood on. He was danger wrapped in a designer suit, and intimidation masked as an ordinary thirty-one-year-old man.

  But there was nothing ordinary about Val Carrera. From his slicked back black hair to his heavier-than-normal beard, the kingpin of the Carrera Cartel wielded power most men could never fathom. With a simple nod, he decided who lived, who died, and who suffered until madness took whatever remained.

  And if that weren’t enough, trailing behind him was the second most feared man in Mexico. Val’s most trusted confidante. The prince who’d become king should Val’s enemies ever succeed in taking him out.

  Mateo Cortes.

  A man who’d both killed for Val and nearly died for him. His fam
ily was the cartel. His loyalty knew no bounds. He was younger and more impulsive, but just as deadly.

  He was also my brother-in-law.

  “Val.” I nodded in return, watching him just as carefully. Then I turned my head. “Mateo.”

  Mateo dipped his chin. “Brody.”

  Adriana stood motionless beside me as Val made his way toward us. I followed his gaze, identical eyes meeting for the first time in over a year.

  “Marisol.” He spoke the name slowly, as if tasting the word on his tongue.

  “Adriana,” she corrected, not an ounce of fear in her tone. I didn’t particularly like the woman, but I had to admit, hearing her talk back to Val Carrera did something to me.

  Something that, if I didn’t get under control, would embarrass all of us real soon.

  Instead of launching into his usual tirade about respect and authority, the corners of Val’s mouth curled in the barest hint of a smile. “Of course. Adriana. My mistake.”

  “Where’s Eden?”

  Fuck.

  Yeah, I thought it, but I sure as hell didn’t mean to say it. The words just slipped out, and as soon as they did, I wanted to stuff them back down my throat.

  Mateo raised a questioning eyebrow, and if looks could kill, Val’s narrowed stare would’ve incinerated me to dust.

  “My wife is out.”

  I heard the meaning behind the words loud and clear.

  Stay away from her, asshole.

  “Besides, I thought it would be best that Eden not be here when she arrived,” he added, nodding toward Adriana.

  Adriana opened her mouth to object, but I stomped on the toe of her high heel, causing her to swallow a muffled groan instead.

  “Of course,” I answered for her.

  While Adriana shot me death glares, Val headed into a sitting area to our right and straight for the fully stocked bar nestled in the corner of the room. Filling a stem glass full of what I knew to be Añejo tequila, he placed one hand on the marble and drank leisurely before saying a word.