The stealth of his movement and the sudden impact caught me off guard. Without thinking, I turned away from Val and stared blankly where my hand still pressed against his chest. Even through the layers of his pretentious suit, the hard muscle molded against my hand, and my head filled with flashes of being pressed against a wall.
The sound of a throat clearing broke the moment, and all eyes turned toward Val. He stood with one arm crossed over his chest, stroking his chin with the other, his eyes bouncing between us.
He said nothing. In fact, the entire room had gone silent.
Jerking my hand away from Brody, I ignored the heat burning my cheeks and scowled at both of them. “No.”
Well, that sounded convincing.
Val quirked an eyebrow. “No?”
“No.” Why did my voice sound all breathy? Squaring my shoulders, I tried again with more conviction. “I work alone.”
“And I sure as hell don’t want to babysit her.”
I inhaled slowly, forcing myself not to turn around and punch him in the face.
“Val, come on,” Brody protested, stepping in front of me like a damn caveman. “That’s not feasible. I can’t drop everything and spend God knows how long in Guadalajara. I have an entire stateside operation to run, in case you’ve forgotten.”
I stared at the back of his head like it had grown horns.
Insubordination. I would’ve shot him on sight.
Apparently, Mateo had the same thought. In the blink of an eye, he crossed the room and stood beside Val, his hand disappearing under his black leather jacket. However, Val held up his hand and Mateo’s relaxed, dropping to his side.
“I’m sure you’ve left it in capable hands with Rafael,” he said, his tone slow and calculated. “Besides, you owe me for the mess you made in San Marcos, don’t you think?”
Brody’s face blanched. “Val—”
“I’m the boss of this cartel. It’s time you remember you take orders, not give them, lieutenant.”
A tense silence filtered around the room, and for once in my life, I didn’t know what to say. All eyes were on Brody, and all ears waited on his response. I had no idea what happened in San Marcos, but his entire body language changed at its mention. The fight drained out of him, his shoulders dropping, as if those two words carried the weight of a mountain.
I’d found another chink in his armor, and I tucked it away for later.
Lifting my eyes, I met Brody’s tortured gaze, but it wasn’t focused on my face. It was locked below my chin with a resigned intensity so strong it commanded my body without my permission. As he stared, my fingers brushed over the scarred skin at the base of my neck. I swallowed hard, the moment uncomfortably intimate.
Too intimate.
It was like he saw through my scars and forced his way into forbidden territory. My fingertips danced along my chilled skin, and as my hand shook, he caught my eye.
A simple glance.
No smirk. No wink. No words.
Just silent acknowledgment of an unintended show of weakness.
Pulling his eyes away from me, Brody stepped forward and settled them on Val. “Message received, boss. However, there’s no way Adriana can get inside Muñoz walls after they—”
“After they found out I was a Carrera,” I interrupted, commanding Val’s attention. “It’s all about protecting the bloodline…right, brother?”
Brody glanced back at me with a question in his eyes I ignored.
My words hung in the air, and Val’s grip on his glass tightened. Lines sank deep into his chiseled face, and the corners of his eyes pulled downward. “Adriana, I want to believe you. For almost a year, I’ve tried to find you. I…” His voice trailed off, and he lifted his glass, draining half of it. When he spoke again, his voice was clipped, all emotion on his face erased by the hardened mask of a ruthless leader. “My men will ensure you have all you need. I’ll expect regular updates.”
Without another word, he finished what was left in his glass, slammed it onto the marble bar, and stormed out of the room.
Mateo started after him, then paused, turning back toward us. As usual, his expression held both the unreadable secrets of an exclusive brotherhood and the transparent loyalty that said he wouldn’t hesitate to take us both down to protect them. “Try not to kill each other. I’ll be back to show you to your rooms.”
Brody and I stared after him, speechless for what seemed like forever. Scrubbing my hands over my face, I slumped against the wall, slowly sliding down until my ass hit the floor.
Well, that went well.
A shadow crossed in front of me. “Why wouldn’t you let me tell Val they hurt you?”
Every muscle in my body coiled as I peered up at him through a small space between my index and middle fingers. “Even though he doesn’t trust me, he wouldn’t have let me go if he knew.” Dropping my hands, I rolled my head against the wall and gazed up at him with a half-hearted smirk. “Come on, even a former Muñoz knows Val’s strict code against violence toward women. I told you I want to prove myself, and I meant it. If this is the way I have to do it, then so be it.”
“Are you willing to die for your cause?”
At that moment, the sarcastic shield Brody Harcourt wielded as a weapon failed him. Gone were the dozens of masks he hid behind, leaving only the raw power of a man on the verge of anarchy. A man caught between fighting for a life he never wanted and against his natural instinct to throw me to the wolves.
And in that same moment, I stared down the quiet hallway where the only family I had left disappeared, and the carefully constructed walls I built around myself bent.
“I already have,” I whispered. “Dying isn’t the hard part, Brody. Living, now that’s the real torture.”
* * *
An hour later, I settled into a quiet room on the third floor of the Carrera estate. A place that, despite being the hub of everything I was raised to hate, felt oddly familiar. Almost as if the walls themselves whispered my name.
Dropping my bag on the oversized bed, I found myself drawn to an antique dresser that sat tucked against the opposite wall. Muted and worn, it seemed almost out of place, considering the over-the-top grandeur of the rest of the estate. Closing my eyes, I fought a wave of emotion as I trailed my fingers along the dark wood, every divot and crevice painting a picture of a life I couldn’t remember. A life as real as the wood under my skin, but as ruined as the scratches that marred it.
A life just like this antique dresser. Preserved, yet somehow still lost in time.
Ghosts lived in this room. I heard their whispers, and they tore at my soul. I heard the lullabies coated in the soft, soothing voice I used to hear in my sleep. One I convinced myself over the years was nothing but a hallucination. Only it wasn’t because if I listened hard enough, I could hear it now. I felt her in the air. I felt her in the wood under my fingertips, and I knew it was no accident I’d been put in this room.
I’d been here before.
I’d lived here before.
I’d died here before.
My back slammed against the wall, my eyes squeezing shut to block out the memories assailing me like snapshots from a photo album I’d never seen but knew all the same. The father who never once held me or allowed my name to pass his lips. The small brother who sat outside my bedroom window, watching and protecting as if he somehow felt the end nearing.
And the mother who, in the midst of a massacre, gently sang Duérmete Niño, keeping our family together until the last note took both of us away.
The words echoed within the confines of the four walls.
Duérmete niño, duérmete ya.
Sleep, baby, sleep now.
As pain tore through my chest, I pressed my hands against both ears, but it did nothing to block it out.
Que mientras tanto te canta Mamá.
While Mommy is singing to you.
Louder and louder, the lyrics seeped into my soul. Taunting me. Filling the hollow spaces with a d
ark warning as the edges of my vision blackened to a dull haze.
“Stop!” The word tore from my chest in a violent scream so loud I slapped a hand over my mouth in horror that someone heard.
I had to get out of here.
As if pulled by instinct, I stumbled down the hallway, past closed doors without giving them a second glance. The entire floor seemed deserted, yet I still moved, drawn toward a destination I knew nothing about. It wasn’t until I turned left and neared the end of another hallway that I heard a familiar voice.
“…doing well. Barely remembers anything that happened or anyone involved.”
Mateo.
“That…that’s for the best.”
And that voice was unmistakably Brody’s. I’d recognize the deep timbre and rough edge anywhere—a fact I didn’t care to analyze.
Pressing my back against the wall, I lifted onto my toes and slid quietly along the floor, willing the backs of my high heels not to fall off. Just as I pressed the side of my face against the frame of the open door, the voices stopped. My heart climbed into my throat, and for a moment I thought they’d heard me until Mateo’s thick accent broke the silence.
“Aren’t you going to ask?”
“No.”
“She remembers you. She asks about you.”
My grip on the doorframe tightened. Who was she?
“Mateo, I can’t…” Brody confessed, the pain in his voice palpable. Almost as if the fight in him had died and he was one blow away from breaking.
“Don’t do this, man. She’s just a little girl.”
Wait, what?
“I can’t hurt them again.”
At that moment, my high heel slipped off the back of my foot and slammed against the marble floor. I tipped my head back and winced, but at the same moment, the wall behind me vibrated with what I could only assume was one hell of a punch.
“You don’t think refusing to see them isn’t hurting them?” Mateo roared. “Dios mío, do you think I’d let you anywhere near them if I thought you were a threat to their safety? You’re familia, Brody, but I’d put you in the ground before I’d put them in danger.”
“I know.”
The quiet response intrigued me more than the testosterone show Mateo put on. I’d spent no more than forty-eight hours with Brody, but even I knew his two-word compliance was completely out of character. The man lived to argue, and contrary to my insults, he’d made quite a successful career out of it. Whatever they discussed was serious enough to disarm a man who used words as a weapon.
“So stop feeling sorry for yourself and man the fuck up,” Mateo growled, and I couldn’t tell if he meant it as a suggestion or a warning. “You’re the only family they have left. You made some bad decisions, but you didn’t hurt them on purpose. The only person punishing you for your sins is you.”
“I’ll think about it.”
Mateo barked out a sardonic laugh. “Don’t hurt yourself on your sister’s account.”
Hold on a damn minute.
Sister?
My mind spun a hundred miles an hour as bits and pieces of an earlier conversation clicked into place.
“You know he had an estranged sister, right? 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.”
“The cartel?”
“Shocking, right? Unfortunately, one thing led to another, and she died, and then his mother got arrested.”
Oh, hell no.
My days of being left in the dark were over. With fire shooting through my veins, I hobbled around the corner. “I thought your sister was dead?”
Chapter Fourteen
Adriana
Both men turned at the sound of my voice. Mateo faced the wall where I’d just been eavesdropping, his palm braced next to an impressive dent. Brody leaned against the opposite wall, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, the vibrant green in his hazel eyes all but swallowed by a lifeless brown. However, once they landed on me, a rough smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Mateo, not so much.
“Don’t you know how to knock?” he growled.
I glared at him. “Don’t you know how to close a door?”
“Calm down, Mateo. It’s fine.”
“It’s fine?” Mateo pushed off the wall, his hands fisting by his side. “I’m sorry, have you forgotten she blackmailed you into betraying Val by having Leighton stalked?”
Brody shot him a pointed look. “No, I haven’t forgotten.” Both men stared at each other, their restraint razor thin. However, instead of volleying another insult back to Mateo, Brody shifted his attention back to me. “As far as the US government knows, my sister and niece are missing and presumed dead. Before I left the DA’s office, I faked passports for both of them so Mateo could get them out of the country.”
“Why?”
“With the mess my mother’s arrest made, it was the only way to ensure their safety and privacy.”
“You haven’t seen them since they left?”
“No,” he admitted. Pushing his shoulders back, he tossed a heated look Mateo’s way. “And contrary to popular opinion, it should stay that way.”
My brows knitted together. “Huh.”
“What does ‘huh’ mean?”
“Nothing. Just that the US has this huge intelligence cooperative, and all this time the two people they’ve been looking for have been—”
Mateo came off the wall like he’d been shot out of a cannon. “Stay away from my wife and daughter. You got that?”
To be honest, I forgot he was even in the room.
“Wow, the nice guy routine doesn’t last long, does it?”
Antagonizing my new brother’s foot soldier probably wasn’t the smartest move, but the guy acted like I planned to toss his family into a bonfire and watch them burn.
He shoved his finger in my face. “Look, you bit—”
One minute, the Carrera underboss stood inches away from wrapping a hand around my throat, and the next he sailed across the room like a frisbee, creating a second dent into the wall not far from the first.
“That’s enough!” Brody growled. “Do I need to remind you that Adriana is a Carrera? She’s Val’s sister, which means you’ll treat her with the same respect you would any member of this family.”
Being thrown like a human lawn dart by his inferior didn’t seem to faze Mateo. Instead of coming barreling back, he tugged a hand through his long hair and gritted his teeth so hard I heard his teeth clack together. “She hasn’t earned it.”
“It’s not your call to make, is it?”
I’d witnessed brutal murders that didn’t fill a room with as much tension as the stares those two men passed back and forth. I almost felt guilty for stirring the pot of whatever friction boiled between them.
Almost.
Without another word, Mateo turned away, slamming his hand into the wall on the way out.
Three dents.
What fascination did Carrera men have with destroying drywall?
Flopping down on the bed, I leaned back on my hands. “That guy needs to lighten up, or he’s going to have a stroke before he’s thirty.”
I glanced at Brody discreetly out of the corner of my eye as he fumbled around in his suitcase. Finally, his head popped up, and with his toothbrush in one hand and a bottle of shampoo in the other, he disappeared into the adjoining bathroom. I wasn’t sure whether it was to unpack or get away from me, and the fact I even cared irritated me.
“Back off, Adriana,” he called out over the sound of running water.
I sat up. Surely, he wasn’t taking a shower now. I twisted my fingers around the bedspread, battling the urge to go in and see for myself. A battle I almost lost until he poked his blond head around the corner.
“Just because I defended you doesn’t mean I don’t agree with him. Stay away from my sister and my niece, and this will go a lot smoother.�
��
I winced. For reasons I didn’t care to explore, Brody standing up for me felt good. Maybe because for a second, I actually let myself believe what he said was true.
I quickly turned my back to him. “Does this have anything to do with San Marcos?”
“I’m not discussing this with you.”
I sighed. I’d let it go for now. “Okay, then tell me why you defended me. You don’t even like me.”
“You’re right, I don’t. But I also don’t like exclusion. I know what it’s like to be the outsider. The top layer of the Carrera empire is like a tightly-woven shield—tied together and almost impossible to get through. I may not trust you, but I hate seeing someone bounced off it without being given a chance.”
“If you don’t trust me, why did you tell me about your sister?”
“I don’t know. I have no basis for it, considering what you’ve threatened me with so far. But something tells me you draw the line at hurting children.”
A sharp pain tore through my chest, and it wasn’t until I glanced down that I realized it came from my own nails.
“Adriana?”
I slowly turned around, expecting to see his messy blond hair still peeking out from behind the bathroom door. But it wasn’t. It was right in front of me, connected to a bare chest leading to trousers popped open at the button. And leading right to that button was a trail of blond hair that disappeared where his zipper started. A zipper playing referee between two prominent slopes that formed a perfect V cutting sharply down to his groin.
I was staring, but I couldn’t help it. I grew up cartel. Every male I’d ever known looked the part—Latino and rough with slivers of bronze skin peeking through a litany of colorful tattoos. Tattoos that meant they’d met certain standards in a life of power, murder, and crime.
But Brody Harcourt was nothing like them.
He was a privileged gringo whose sun-kissed white skin stretched over every taut muscle in his chest. Deep lines defined his pecs and abs, the toned peaks and valleys rolling over a deceptive blank slate. Unstained by ink. A fresh canvas for the sin that dwelled within him.
Drawn Blue Lines: A Carrera Cartel Novel Page 11