I couldn’t help but smirk. As if being stuck would stop me.
Not after how far I’d come. After all I’d done.
Killing the engine, I almost ripped the door off the hinges while stumbling out of the car, cursing as the soles of my handmade Italian dress shoes sank deep into the mud. Holding onto a thin layer of restraint, I made my way toward the building, calmly watching more expensive leather disappear into the earth.
Another piece of my identity soiled and ruined.
Just like everything else that mattered.
Lifting my chin, I glared up at the sky, a bitter blend of anger and alcohol swimming in my veins. “Is that the best you’ve got?”
In response, a streak of lightning lit up the sky seconds before the bottom fell out of it, turning the incessant rainstorm into a torrential downpour.
My lips twitched with a sadistic smile as I spread my arms out in acknowledgment. “Well played.”
Maybe challenging God wasn’t the smartest move, but recklessness had quickly become my drug of choice. It was an addiction more compulsive than gambling, producing a high twice as deadly. However, it wasn’t the eventual payout that kept the cycle in perpetual motion. It was the thrill of the hunt. The crave of the kill. One hit, and it thrummed through my veins, seeking more.
Needing more.
Always more.
And more is exactly what stood a hundred yards in front of me. As I walked toward it, the rain slipped away, along with my conscience. Judgment waited inside four weathered concrete walls forgotten by time. A blood coated foundation covered in so many weeds it appeared to have grown from the earth beneath it.
Inside those walls, I unleashed the man they created.
My breathing came faster and harder, and few steps later, I found myself standing in front of a wooden door. The white paint peeled from every groove and edge as if mirroring the scars inflicted behind it. Unlocking it, I tucked what was left of my conscience inside a box and walked inside.
A man dangled from an overhead beam with his mouth wide open. To be fair, he didn’t have much of a choice with his sock shoved in it.
Nice touch.
I slammed the door extra hard and made a show of turning the lock. Whether the move was induced by alcohol or ego didn’t really matter. Once his widened eyes met mine, I committed them to memory.
Was it sadistic to savor the moment? Probably. But any benevolence I might have had disappeared when I remembered the pain the Muñoz Cartel caused the people I loved.
Rafael tilted his chair back on two legs and greeted me with a curt nod. “Boss.”
That was the extent of his small talk. Not that I expected much more. My trusted soldier was a man of few words, which was fine with me. He did his job without asking questions and followed orders without expecting a pat on the back. He knew his role and respected the hierarchy.
We were associates, not friends.
And just by looking at him, I could see my associate had started the party without me. His white button-up was rolled up at the sleeves and splattered with blood, and the lines in his young face were pulled taut. A cold-hearted killer with a thirst for blood.
Quite the acquired asset.
Turning his attention back to his charge, Rafael kept one foot planted on the floor and kicked the man’s shin with the other, sending him spinning in a useless circle.
“Efficient as always, Suárez.” He nodded again as the chair’s front two legs slammed against the concrete not far from where José Rojas still swung like a pendulum. “What’s the status on the Chicago replacement?”
“Carlos came through. All eight hundred sold and distributed. After we split it up and give it a good wash through Caliente and Carrera’s real estate shell, we should see a profit.”
Thank God.
Step one down. Step two…well, I suppose he was still up.
Walking past our guest, I smirked. “José, glad to see you hung around for me.”
Rafael’s groan quickly turned into a cough as I glared at him over my shoulder. “Problem?”
“Nope.”
Giving my associate a curt nod, I circled José, his leather jacket brushing against his ripped jeans as he spun. The man looked like hell. His breath came rough and labored, which didn’t surprise me, considering the lead pipe that lay discarded at his feet. His nose was broken, his lip was split open, and blood dripped down his chin like a leaky faucet. I suspected broken ribs—maybe a punctured lung.
Rafael tended to be heavy-handed.
I couldn’t decide if I appreciated the preemptive gesture or resented being denied the pleasure of inflicting the pain myself. After all, it was my business he’d screwed with.
“José,” I acknowledged, clasping my hands around my back and walking a full circle around him. His swollen eyes tracked every move I made, and I had to give the guy credit; he didn’t plead for mercy. Most of the assholes who’d been in his position had already pissed themselves twice by now.
Of course, he was still gagged.
The legs of the chair slammed against the concrete again. “He kept trying to give me bullshit excuses,” Rafael explained with a shrug. “I didn’t want to hear any more.”
The attorney in me decided to let him plead his case. Years of litigation were too ingrained in me. Plus, I couldn’t walk away from a trial without a closing argument. Stopping in front of him, I jerked the sock out of his mouth.
“Where’s my shipment, José?”
“I don’t have your fucking blow.”
I should’ve punched out his teeth. Instead, I smiled. “Let’s try this again. Where’s my goddamn shipment?”
“Harcourt,” he rasped, licking his lips through a labored wheeze. “I’m surprised you’re still alive. I thought the sicarios would’ve taken you out by now.”
I gave his cheek a tap, sending him spinning again. “José, you’re acting real fucking stupid for such a smart man. I’m first lieutenant. You know I only answer to two men.”
He spat at the floor by my feet, smiling with blood-stained teeth. “Rezarás por tu vida a nuestros pies, Americano.” You will pray for your life at our feet, American.
Two steps forward and we stood nose to nose. “I’m not the one hanging from the ceiling, dumbass.”
José’s forehead wrinkled, and I didn’t bother hiding a smirk.
“Didn’t expect that, huh? Well, seeing as how I run an entire stateside cartel, I thought knowing some of the language might come in handy someday.” I tapped his cheek again. “What do you know? It did.”
“Pinche pendejo.” Fucking asshole.
“You know,” I noted, hooking my foot under the bloodied lead pipe and kicking upward into my hand. “The disrespect seems to have gotten out of hand. Maybe Rafael needs to beat some manners into you.”
José’s eyes widened as Rafael rose from his chair with his arm outstretched as if we were running some sort of demented relay race. “It’d be my pleasure.”
“No!” José yelled, twisting violently. “I swear I didn’t do shit!”
“You really shouldn’t swear unless it’s under oath. But I don’t blame you. I know you’re just the ‘yes’ man, José, so tell me who’s trying to reorganize your psychopathic bunch of assholes, and I might let you keep your eyeballs tucked inside your face.”
He stopped twisting, and his face blanked. “Me. It’s me.”
Curiouser and curiouser.
“Bullshit. Okay, let’s try another question. Why Chicago? Why not come straight back to Texas where the Muñozes had ties?” All I got in return was a glare of pure hatred, causing me to wave a dismissive hand. “Never mind. It really doesn’t matter.”
“Fuck you.”
“Last chance. Who’s calling the shots, José?”
“I don’t know.” He shook his head violently, the motion causing his body to sway even harder.
“Ah, but you’ve already said that.” Cocking my chin over my shoulder, I caught Rafael’s eye and tilted my head back towar
d José. “There’s only one thing I hate more than a thief.”
Rafael lifted an eyebrow. “An asshole?”
“A liar.”
“I’m not lying! I swea—” I narrowed my eyes, and he stopped himself. Inhaling a labored breath, he started again, choosing his words more carefully. “Okay, fine. But you won’t believe me.”
“Try me.”
“It’s Marisol Muñoz. She’s calling herself Adriana Carrera now.” He smiled, his teeth coated in a thin layer of blood. “But I guess you’d know that better than anyone.” When I didn’t answer, his smile wavered. “Come on, Harcourt. If someone was after Val or Mateo, would you hand them over to the enemy? You’d do the same thing in my position.”
He was right. I’d hold on to that shit until my dying breath.
He took my silence as an affirmation, his confidence elevating. “As long as you need a name, you needed me.”
Only, I didn’t. There was always another asshole left holding a smoking gun who eventually tucked his balls in his vagina and ran like a little bitch. Whether it took two more days or two months, I’d find him too.
This wasn’t the first time I had to fight my way out of a corner, and it wouldn’t be the last. Stopping my circling, I stood behind him and leaned in close. “Here’s the thing, José. I really don’t.”
With those last words, I stuffed his sock back in his mouth and pulled my gun from the inside pocket of my suit jacket. Aiming it at the back of his head, I pulled the trigger, watching as his broken body danced its way toward death.
“You know what to do.”
Rafael dipped his chin in acknowledgment as I wiped my hands on a handkerchief from the breast pocket of my suit jacket. When not a speck of blood remained on my skin, I left them both and stepped back out into the pouring rain
I didn’t waste time with small talk.
I had a queen to catch.
Chapter Three
Adriana
Appraising myself in the mirror, my lip twitched, curling up on one side. I looked the part. The pencil-thin black skirt fit like a glove, just as I suspected it would. The snug white blouse was a different story, but it’d have to suffice.
Sometimes assets were a liability.
No one would ever mistake the woman looking back at me for the one who stepped off that bus. Disguise had always been my specialty. Growing up in a family as notorious as mine, blending in wasn’t just a learned skill, it was basic survival. There was always an enemy lurking around the corner, just waiting for me to let my guard down.
The air was thick with justice, and it was time a certain counselor choked on it.
My heels clicked against the polished tile as I made my way toward the lobby elevator.
People crammed into the tiny box like migrants sneaking across the border. My chest tightened, but I forced myself to join them, tapping the toe of my high heel as the elevator stopped on each floor, depositing and acquiring passengers.
Fourth floor.
Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.
Fifth floor.
Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.
We made it to the seventh floor when a woman behind me let out an exaggerated sigh. “Do you mind?”
She looked like the woman I used to be—a revelation that made me want to sink a blade deep in her chest while watching that pretty white shirt turn dark red.
Stirrings I hadn’t felt in close to a year swirled in the pit of my stomach, and I shuddered with anticipation. A part of me I thought had faded away sprang to life. Slipping into my old skin was like coming home.
I could’ve stopped. I should’ve stopped. Adriana Carrera would’ve stopped. Unfortunately, there was still a tiny piece of Marisol Muñoz left inside me, and she stopped for no one.
More toe-tapping.
“I said, excuse me.”
I rolled my chin over my shoulder, pinning her with a hardened stare. Her wrinkled face blanched, and she swallowed so hard her throat muscles shook. “I heard you the first time.”
Nobody said shit for the next three floors.
Finally arriving at the tenth floor, I stepped into the expansive lobby. It was just as I remembered—beige, bland, and boring. My heels clicked against the tile, announcing my presence as I approached the front desk. A familiar perky blonde sat behind it, trailing her freakishly large blue eyes from the top of my head down to my newly acquired heels. I stood half-amused and half-irritated while I waited to see if she deemed me friend or foe.
Women were funny creatures. We were much more powerful united, yet there was an innate instinct inside all of us to tear each other down. It was the reason men thought we were the weaker gender. If only we’d get over petty competitive bullshit, women could rule the world.
How unfortunate.
Her gaze traveled back to my face, and she broke out into a huge grin. I knew she didn’t recognize me—I wasn’t that sloppy. I simply didn’t know whether to feel honored or insulted she’d decided so quickly I wasn’t a threat.
Case in point. Women were strange.
I wanted to tell her to fuck off, but she possessed way more power here than me. Murder and annihilation were a far cry from mergers and acquisitions. Unfortunately, I had to play nice. I knew just enough about the fair city’s former assistant DA to be dangerous but not enough to be deadly. From what I remembered about our mutual friend here, she’d be more than willing to fill me in on all I needed to know to tip the scales in my favor.
After all, I took the role of femme fatale quite literally.
The perky blonde leaped out of her chair. “How can I help you?”
“I’m here to see the assistant district attorney.”
Her smile faded as she fiddled with her laptop. “Do you have an appointment? She’s extremely busy today.”
I didn’t have time for this, and I sure as hell didn’t need her scanning some calendar for a nonexistent appointment. “No, I don’t, but I’m an old friend of his, and I’m sure if you ask…” I paused, feigning shock. “Wait, did you say, she?”
“Yes, Charlotte Kimbrell. I’m her secretary, Nancy Malone.” She tapped her nameplate as if I cared.
“What happened to Brody Harcourt?”
Her eyebrows pulled together, little lines darting across her forehead. “Didn’t you say you’re a friend of Mr. Harcourt’s? Surely, you know about the…” She leaned over the desk and lowered her voice, “…scandal.”
“I’ve been out of the country.” Technically, it wasn’t a lie.
“Well, I really shouldn’t gossip. Mr. Harcourt was my boss for years, you know.”
Of course, I knew, and I didn’t give a shit. However, I dutifully nodded my head because that was what she wanted.
“It’s not my place to repeat his personal tragedies.”
But you will.
“But since you’re his close friend and all…” Pausing, Nancy raised a perfectly penciled-in eyebrow as if waiting for approval. Of course, it probably didn’t matter one way or the other. Nancy was a natural leak. The wind could blow the wrong way, and she’d take it as a sign to blab.
“Of course.” I smile. “We go way back.”
That was all she needed. Nancy’s mouth opened, and everything I’d missed in the last year came spewing out like a geyser. “You know he had an estranged sister, right?” Obviously, it was a rhetorical question, because she barely took a breath before answering for me. “Well, about six months ago, she came back into town. Not long after that he started missing court dates and got into some seriously deep shit…I mean hot water with the Carreras.”
I gasped. “The cartel?”
“Shocking, right?” Nancy said, waving her hands around like a lunatic. “Unfortunately, one thing led to another, and she died, and then his mother got arrested.”
I had to refrain from poking holes in her story. Nancy’s version was like staring at a jigsaw puzzle when half the pieces were missing. “So, this is the scandal you were talking about?” I asked, shifting her
back on topic. “The DA’s office forced Brody out?”
Nancy shrugged and lowered herself back into her seat. “No, Mr. Harcourt resigned first. After he lost his family, something snapped up here.” Tapping her finger against her temple, she sighed, the corners of her mouth turning down as her excitement faded. “Such a shame too. He was one of the good ones.”
I wanted to laugh in her face. The Brody Harcourt she knew was a façade. A skin he stepped into the minute he walked into this office and took off the minute he walked out. His palms were just as greasy as his mother’s, and his loyalty was twice as thin. I wanted to take that heroic image she’d created in her mind and twist it until it was nothing but useless dust.
But I didn’t.
As sickening as it was, devotion like Nancy’s could be a useful tool. Besides, I still needed one more thing from her. Luckily, emotional manipulation had always been one of my finer talents.
I shot her a pleading look. “Do you have any idea where I can find him?”
“All I know is he bought that cantina from one of the Carrera wives.” She glanced up at the ceiling, snapping her fingers as if it held the answer. “Crap, what’s its name?”
“Caliente,” I muttered, more to myself than her.
“Yes! That’s it—Caliente. He bought it to make it respectable and give back to the community.” She beamed with pride, and I wanted to punch her face. “Although I’m not sure he’ll be there.”
She might not be sure, but I was.
The only thing sure in life was that history repeated itself. This whole thing started when I walked into that damn cantina, and it’d end the same way.
“Thanks.” Widening the distance between us, I turned to leave when she grabbed my arm.
“This is going to sound crazy, but do I know you? You seem so familiar.”
So close.
A year and a half ago, Brody Harcourt was an overly ambitious politician tucked into Valentin Carrera’s pocket. I spent many days shadowing and interacting with him, and he never knew it. But Nosy Nancy apparently had a mind like a steel trap.
“I don’t think so.” Each word carried an implied message, spoken with a cold darkness that sent goose bumps scattering up Nancy’s arms. Blood pulsed in my ears and every muscle in my body stiffened. Nancy’s breathing quickened, those bug eyes growing impossibly wide and filling with unshed tears.
Drawn Blue Lines: A Carrera Cartel Novel Page 3