by Cora Kenborn
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept with a woman in my arms.
Whatever this was between us, I’d be damned if I’d let her shut me out again. We were going to talk about what happened at Rosita Vergara’s house and stop all this secretive shit.
“Adriana, baby, we have to get up.” Still half asleep, I flung my arm across the bed, only for it to fall on top of a cold sheet.
I ignored the rock settling in the pit of my stomach as I grabbed my discarded boxers off the floor before stumbling into the attached bathroom. “Adriana?”
It was silent.
A combination of dread and rage fueled me as I tore through the house, searching every empty room, the call of her name becoming angry shouts.
Then I looked out the window toward an empty driveway.
“Fuck!” I slammed my palm against the glass, trying hard to resist putting my fist through it.
If she wanted to have conversations behind my back, so could I. All Carrera vehicles were equipped with specialized GPS. One call to Val and he’d track her down in five minutes.
Turning around, I stalked toward the living room and reached for the coffee table where I left my phone only to find it missing too.
“Son of a bitch!” Hurling a nearby lamp across the room, I cursed as it shattered against the wall into hundreds of irreparable pieces.
Chapter Thirty-One
Adriana
The longer I drove, the hollower the ache in my chest became. Why did selflessness hurt so damn bad? Having a taste of happiness last night made leaving him this morning the hardest thing I’d ever done.
Whereas most people hungered for light, I found solace in shadows. But last night, Brody stripped my defenses, and I let myself need someone. Want someone.
I almost kissed him.
His lips were right there. I wanted to kiss him—something I’d never done. I’d fucked many men. I’d pleasured them with my mouth. But I’d never kissed one. However, last night, I was about to give the one thing I held the most sacred to the man who ripped my life apart.
And then he pulled away.
I had my rules, and maybe he had his too. I needed the words to justify the kiss, and he needed the kiss to justify saying the words. But maybe kisses and words weren’t important when actions spoke louder.
Was what I felt love? Was it lust? I didn’t know. I’d never truly been in love before. But if it meant shielding me from gunfire in a crowded nightclub, or doing whatever it took to unlock the secrets to my past, or lying to a man who could end his life just to give me more time to figure out mine—then I guess that was exactly what it was.
But love didn’t invite danger. It met it head-on.
And that’s why I left him sleeping.
Love also knew when to walk away.
He never would’ve let me leave, or even worse, he would’ve tried to come with me. This was dangerous cartel territory. To these men, oaths meant nothing. Pledges meant nothing. Affiliations meant nothing. I would’ve never forgiven myself if something happened to him.
It took a little over an hour to get to the Tlajomulco de Zuñiga address Rosita gave me. The warehouse was hidden three miles down a secluded road. It was everything and nothing I expected it to be. Run-down, gray, plain, and boxy. It blended in as nothing special which was just what he wanted.
As soon as I stepped out of the car, a thick foreboding hung heavy in the air, and the quiet hum of destiny whispered in my ear. That’s when I felt it. That’s when I knew.
He’d been waiting for me.
I didn’t bother to knock. There was no use. I pushed the latch down and opened the door, knowing it wouldn’t be locked. A dank, musty smell hit me as soon as I walked in, a metallic rust that only lingered with the stain of blood. As much as it turned my stomach, I ignored it, keeping a blank face as the heavy door slammed behind me.
My eyes fought to adjust to the dim overhead lighting, scanning for hidden Muñoz soldiers, but there were none. Only a folding table with a metal chair and the bright glowing end of a lit cigar.
“Ignacio Vergara.” The words slithered past my lips.
He removed the cigar from his mouth, his voice echoing off the bare walls. “Marisol Muñoz.”
“It’s Adriana Carrera.” I squared my shoulders. “You’re a hard man to track down.”
His lips parted in a sadistic smile. “Invisibility is a learned skill. I’m good at it.”
“Well, I found you, so obviously, not that good.” Clasping my hands behind my back, I walked a strategic line parallel to the table. “Plus, I know who you are now, so I suppose the only question I have left is to ask what the hell you think you’re doing.”
“I told you before. I’m taking what’s owed to me.”
I paused and lifted an eyebrow. “Am I supposed to know what that means?”
I knew exactly what he meant, so I was shocked when my abrasive belligerence came out of nowhere. I didn’t fear his aggression. I wanted it.
We locked eyes. “The Muñoz name,” he growled.
“See, that’s where you’re wrong.” Turning toward the middle of the table, I placed both palms down and leaned forward. “The Muñoz name died with Manuel. You’re not a Muñoz, Ignacio. You’re just Pablo’s bastard son, and Esteban’s little bitch.”
I barely saw him lift the back of his hand before my head snapped over my shoulder. “I would be careful what I said if I were you.”
I should’ve walked away. I should’ve run out that door, got in the car, and never looked back. But I was done running, and I refused to spend the time I had left looking over my shoulder. So I braved the consequences and faced him.
“Was being accepted by a brother who hated you worth killing two innocent women? Destroying a family? Ruining a child?”
“You know nothing.”
“I know he lied to you. Esteban used you to satisfy his vindictive jealousy then sold you out. He never had any intention of giving you a rank. That would’ve forced him to acknowledge his family’s dirty little secret.”
Ignacio raised his hand again, and damn it, I flinched. A sick smile broke across his face as he traced my face with the back of his hand. “Little Marisol. Never fear the knife to your throat as much as the one in your back.”
I knocked his arm away. “I didn’t escape before. You let me go.”
He laughed. “Why chase a rat when you can set the kitten free and wait for her to drop it at your feet?” Pulling the cigar back to his mouth, he took a long puff, blowing out the smoke in a cloudy haze. “You think this is about you? Puta, you’re nothing but my puppet. I barely did any work. I just stole a few Carrera shipments and put your name out there. You and your new boyfriend, Brody, did the rest.” The orange end of his cigar zigzagged as he pointed it at me. “Gotta admit, that one took me by surprise.”
“You set me up.”
Tucking one hand in the pocket of his dirty black pants, he rounded the desk with a confident swagger. “I simply put cheese on a plate. You’re the one who gobbled it up and got your fucking neck snapped. You did exactly what I thought you’d do, which was to try to save your ass by selling mine out.” We stood face-to-face, the low laugh he let out slithering down my spine. “You thought you were so smart, getting revenge on Brody Harcourt and shutting me down, all while using that new name to work your way into the Carrera family. You didn’t count on that being exactly what I wanted you to do.”
“You think you can take him down from the inside?”
“No, but you can.”
“Fuck you!” I exploded, but my outburst only seemed to amuse him.
“How do you think Valentin Carrera and Brody Harcourt would react if they knew that you were behind all this from the beginning?
I clenched my arms by my side so as not to take a swing at him. “They wouldn’t believe you.”
“No, puta, they wouldn’t believe you,” he sneered. “Not when they find out you were engaged to my son.” His words sank low and
hard in my stomach. “Not when they find out you gave him El Palacio to launder all Muñoz money. Not when they find out you lured Harcourt to his club and tried to get him killed.”
Brody was right, and betrayal hit hard with a vengeful hand.
“Cristiano.” I stared at him, silently watching as my misguided thirst for vengeance stole every trace of the fragile humanity I’d reclaimed.
I was trapped, a pawn in my own game, with death at both ends of the board. Ignacio Vergara’s blind ignorance might have changed my fate, but in a cruel twist of irony, it was my own that sealed it.
“What do you want?” I whispered.
“I want Alejandro Carrera’s son to kneel before me. I want him to beg for my mercy, just as his pinche cabrón father expected me to do.”
“Val kneels for no one.”
The glowing tip of his cigar magnified the hatred in his eyes. “He would for his son.”
My body stiffened, blood roaring in my ears as I made the connection between his cat and mouse game and his end game. “No.”
No. The ironclad will that moments ago looked my mother’s killer in the eye shriveled behind that one word. He told the truth. This was never about me or claiming either of our birthrights. This was retaliation twenty-four years in the making.
He warned me. I heard him say the words. I just refused to listen.
“Putting a bullet in your brain would be such a waste. Especially when your powers of persuasion could be put to much better use.”
“Against who? According to you, I’m public enemy number one.”
“There’s no truer revenge than an eye for an eye…is there, Adriana?”
“No. No, no, no, no, no.” The same word fell from my lips over and over, my voice breaking with finality.
Ignacio grabbed my chin, his calloused fingers digging into my bruised skin. “This sanctimonious act is getting old. Don’t lie to yourself, puta. Santiago Carrera is the heir to the throne. You’re nothing but an afterthought. A useless inconvenience. Without him, Valentin and Eden Carrera implode. It’s what you wanted, remember? Reclaim who you really are and stop pretending to be this pathetic shell of a queen. Besides,” he added, his knowing smirk sickening me as he loosened his grip to trace the traitorous dark circles shining under my eye. “I’ll put you back on top and make sure you live to see it.”
“You can’t want me to—”
“I want Valentin Carrera to remember my name,” he hissed, his grip tightening as he stalked forward, forcing me backward toward the door. “So you go back to Mexico City, Adriana Carrera, because I have a task for you. Don’t fuck it up, or I’ll kill you. But first, I’ll make you watch everyone you love suffer—including Brody Harcourt. I’ll enjoy the look on his face when he sees how blind he’s really been.”
I had to stop four times on the way back to Chapala to throw up. The rest of the drive was a never-ending blur of cars, trees, houses, and static. By the time I pulled into the driveway and around to the back of the house, my head felt as empty as my body.
That’s how I felt as I stumbled toward the house.
Empty.
“Adriana!” Brody stormed toward me, his green and brown eyes blazing with deadly fire and the strong smell of alcohol on his breath.
“You’ve been drinking again.”
“You’re damn right I have. Where have you been? No, don’t answer that. I already know you confronted Ignacio alone. You don’t—” His hand flew to my chin and turned it to the side. “Is that a bruise? Did that motherfucker hit you?”
I didn’t know what to say. The truth would send him into a drunken rage, but lying was pointless, so I said nothing.
“He’s a dead man.” He spoke the words with such cold malice, I shivered. Diving both hands in his hair, he pulled at the roots as he paced. “Who the fuck do you think you are, Adriana? I’m not one of your soldiers. I don’t answer to you, and you sure as hell don’t get away with stealing from me! I’m a goddamn Carrera!” His voice boomed, rage pouring out of him as he hauled me against him. “Do you hear me?”
All I could do was nod.
“That’s it? A nod? After what you did, that’s all I get?” Brody threw his head back and let out a harsh laugh. “Fuck this. I’m done.” Shoving both hands into my jeans pockets, he pulled out the keys to the car and his phone. “You won’t be needing these.” He tucked them away, and seizing ahold of my arm, dragged me inside the house. I didn’t resist. Truthfully, I was thankful for the help.
Once we were inside, he threw me onto the couch, where I collapsed, my body giving into fatigue and strain. My head lolled back, and I stared up at the man looming over me, his muscular body taut with unleashed rage.
“You need to lay off the booze. I’ll never understand why people willingly destroy their bodies. It’s disrespectful to those who never got to make that choice.”
“Thanks for the PSA. Now, explain yourself.”
“I swear, I—”
“Don’t!” he yelled, his fists balling. “No swears. No promises. Just truth.”
I winced at the disgust in his voice, but I couldn’t fault him for it. Truth was a two-faced beast dancing on my shoulders. Each whispered words of evil in my ear that would damn me if spoken out loud.
So, I gave him the only truth I could.
“Yes, I went to see Ignacio, but it’s not for the reasons you think.”
He stood still as a statue while I gave him a very abridged version of Rosita’s story. I told him about Esteban’s rank promises to Ignacio. About his ultimatum. About the affair and how Alejandro knew about it. I also told him how Esteban handed Ignacio over to the Carreras without a second thought.
I did not tell him about Cristiano, and I hated myself for it.
“So, why reorganize after twenty-four years?” he asked. “Why implicate you? The shit doesn’t add up.”
He was right. It didn’t. But only because I left out pertinent information that incriminated me.
“Ignacio was a hunted man, so he had to bide his time. After Esteban and Alejandro died, he only needed Manuel out of the way. Once that happened, there was nothing preventing him from reclaiming what he believed to be his birthright.” I shrugged. “He was the only one left alive who knew it wasn’t mine.”
“So, now what?” A distant black calm deadened his voice. “That’s it? You just exchanged contact info, and now you’ll send each other Christmas cards once a year?”
“What did you want me to do, Brody? Challenge him to a duel? You’re lucky I came back in one piece.”
I glanced up to see the tight lines in his face fading, his anger slowly dissipating.
He bought it.
A fact that should’ve relieved me. Instead, I’d never been more miserable.
He let out a heavy sigh. “You can’t keep doing this shit.”
“I didn’t want you to get hurt, and that would’ve happened if you’d gone with me.”
He reared back, a stricken look crossing his face. “So, what if you’d gotten hurt, or God forbid, killed? What would I have done then?”
I lowered my eyes. “Lived your life.”
“What life?” he roared, casting his arms out wide. “Christ, Adriana, do you understand I’ve felt more alive in the last five days than I have in the last five months?” He balled his fist, beating it against his chest with each word. “Do you know what it’s like to feel nothing?”
“Yes, I do.”
Rough, ragged breathing echoed in my ears moments before strong hands landed on the back of the couch, caging me in. “Adriana, you’re the only light I see. If you die, so does any hope of me living again.”
He couldn’t say those words. Not now.
“You’ve been drinking,” I repeated.
“Yes, but I’m very aware of what I’m saying.”
I tried to force him to hear words I wasn’t saying. “I’m not light, Brody. There’s nothing but darkness in me. Darkness you couldn’t possibly understand.”
I shattered. A million pieces, broken and jagged.
There was no thought. No reservations. No hesitation. My hands cupped his face, the now thick growth on his once clean-shaven face brushing against my palms as I pulled him toward me.
My breath hitched.
And then I kissed him.
Reckless and without rules.
It was everything I never imagined it would be.
I covered his mouth with mine, sweeping my tongue against his as if I owned it. As if I knew what the hell I was doing. Brody stilled, his eyes open wide with shock.
This was a mistake.
Just as I was about to pull back, he let out a low curse and cupped the back of my head, pulling me back against his lips. I started the kiss, but Brody owned it. His hands maneuvered my face, twisting it to his advantage so he could dive deeper, taste more, take as much as I’d allow. His primal groans awoke a dormant fire inside me, and I chanted his name in between kisses.
A low growl rumbled in Brody’s throat, and I found myself in his arms as we made our way toward the bedroom, hungry kisses now frantic and fevered.
Once we fell onto the mattress, he leaned back, and the sound of his belt buckle hitting the floor drew my eyes up. He crawled over me and took his time undressing me, revealing each piece of skin as if he were unwrapping a present.
“You’re so beautiful, Adriana,” he murmured, kissing his way down to my belly button and across to my hip. “So fucking beautiful.” His lips moved inward, his breath hot against my thigh.
I knew what he wanted, and any other time, I would’ve welcomed it. But not tonight. Tonight, I wanted his tongue inside the one place that only belonged to him.
“Brody…”
Hooded eyes gazed up at me, and then he smiled. He knew what I needed, and he waited to give it to me until I understood that asking for it didn’t make me weak. It empowered me.