Drawn Blue Lines: A Carrera Cartel Novel

by Kenborn, Cora

  He stared with a widened curiosity. “No one has ever risked anything for you, have they?”

  Flinching, I immediately started to argue, then remembered my own words to him. How I told him in detail how Cristiano left me once a rank was no longer on the table. I lowered my eyes and rubbed my chest, trying to relieve the suffocation slowly building behind it.

  “Adriana, you fight me because you fear me.”

  I snapped my head up, eyes blazing. “I don’t fear anyone.”

  “See, that right there.” He blew out a heavy breath, his thumb leaving a trail of fire as it traced the corner of my mouth. “That’s your go-to response for everything. You talk a big game, and it’s pretty damn convincing to anyone who doesn’t know you.”

  “And you think you know me?”

  “I don’t think it. I know it. You keep people close enough to watch them, but far enough away that they don’t realize all this…” He waved a hand down the length of my body. “…is just an act. The real Adriana fears everyone.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  I’d perfected evasion into an art form. Hid behind it. Worn it as a suit of armor. There was no way he could’ve seen through it.

  “You think if you let someone close enough to get to know the real you, they’ll reject you, and that’s worse than having the world hate you. That’s why I didn’t think twice to protect you at that club, Adriana. Because despite all that you’ve done, and as hard as you try to hide from me, I see you. And maybe for the first time in my life, I don’t feel like a placeholder.”

  Stop it.

  The words echoed in my head, taking root and refusing to let go. He was digging too deep. It felt too personal. My world was black and white, but the things he was saying dragged it into a muddled gray area.

  “I think you see me too.”

  I should’ve pulled away. As soon as his thumb slid across my bottom lip, drawing it open, I knew what he wanted. My breath hitched as he leaned forward, his hooded gaze on my mouth. I’d already given him my body, but I couldn’t deny how much I wanted to let him have the one thing I’d never allowed any man.

  I craved it. I feared it.

  I turned my cheek just before he kissed me. “Don’t.”

  He pressed his forehead against my temple, a ghost of a smile on his face. “You have rules.” Sitting back, he scrubbed his hands down his face, discreetly adjusting his pants. Letting out a long, drawn out sigh, he nodded to the letter still clutched in my hand. “Open it. Time’s wasting.”

  Slipping my finger underneath the seam of the envelope, I tore it open and pulled out the multiple pieces of paper tucked inside. Brody sat quietly, giving me space as I unfolded them, scanning the handwritten pages.

  “It looks like pages ripped out of a diary.”

  Brody cocked an eyebrow. “Does it say whose?”

  It didn’t have to. “It’s my grandmother’s.” Then realizing what I said, I shook my head. “I mean, Esteban’s mother. It’s dated fifty-five years ago.” Scanning the pages, I read aloud, my hand shaking. “‘Today I followed Pablo to where he keeps his whore. He thinks I don’t know. Men with his power aren’t expected to be faithful, but he hasn’t been discreet with this one. I hid in an abandoned house across the street until he left then confronted the woman sleeping with my husband. I threatened her just like all the others. We both may lay with the same man, but we are not the same. Rosita can spread her legs for my husband, but I can break them. I gave her a choice, walk away from Pablo or never walk again. That was when she told me why she’d summoned him. Pablo’s infidelity has shamed our family, and the sins of the father are to be laid upon the children. Poison has infected our bloodline, and it will eat away at our souls for generations to come.’”

  The sins of the father are to be laid upon the children.

  Brody’s eyes flicked toward me. “He got her pregnant.”

  I nodded a weak affirmation, and as I flipped the page, every bone in my body snapped to attention. Swallowing uneven breaths, I felt an inescapable coldness settle into my soul.

  “Jesus, you’re shaking.” Brody’s concerned voice sounded far away as I stared at the paper in my hand. “What is it?”

  “It’s a birth certificate,” I whispered.

  “For who?”

  “Ignacio Vergara.”

  * * *

  Holding up my phone, I pointed to the dusty road to my right. “The GPS says this is it. Turn here.”

  Giving the wheel a sharp turn, Brody grumbled, “I don’t see why we’re bothering an old woman who may or may not have given birth to this asshole. We should be going back to Guadalajara and tracking down—”

  “Tracking down my ex,” I finished for him, rubbing my temples in frustration. “I know, you’ve said it six times already.” It was the same argument we’d had for the last hour, but apparently, one he wasn’t about to let die.

  “You’d think maybe after the first couple of times, some common sense would’ve gotten through to you.”

  I didn’t have time for this. We already went to Guadalajara. We searched for Cristiano. We threatened, I begged. No one was letting us into that club in the middle of the day. He wasn’t answering his phone, and I couldn’t waste any more time. When you had a smoking gun in your hand, you didn’t tuck it away to search for the missing bullet. You went straight to the hand that fired it.

  Besides, he called Val before we left the club, and he had already deployed a swarm of Carrera soldiers before they ended the call.

  “Would you stop with that? I’m not accusing him of anything until I have proof. You’re a damn lawyer. Aren’t people innocent until proven guilty?”

  Brody squeezed the steering wheel. “If it looks like a duck, swims like a duck, and quacks like a duck, it’s—”

  I glared at him. “It’s not a fucking chicken. I know. I’ve heard this one already. Get new jokes.” He didn’t answer, and I didn’t elaborate. “We’re here,” I announced as a tiny house came into view.

  With the papers in hand, we walked in silence along an overgrown walkway toward the front door. I knocked twice, drawing the ferocious barks of what sounded like extremely large dogs. “¿Señora Vergara, estás en tu casa?” Miss Vergara, are you home?

  The dogs kept barking, but no one answered.

  Brody sighed, the lines around his eyes deepening. “See? She’s not here, can we go now?” Just as he turned around, a frail voice filtered out from behind the door.

  “¿Quién está ahí?” Who is there?

  I grabbed his arm, pulling him back and continued in Spanish. “Miss Vergara, my name is Adriana, and this is my friend, Brody. We have a few questions we’d like to ask you. It won’t take much of your time.”

  “Go away!”

  I pounded on the door again. “Miss Vergara, please. This is important. It’s about your son, Ignacio.”

  There was a moment of tense silence before a makeshift curtain rustled against a window beside the door. I held my breath as a weathered face appeared. “I know no Ignacio.”

  That was a lie. I saw it in her eyes when she said his name. I didn’t wish this woman harm, but I wasn’t leaving without the answers I came for.

  Pulling out the birth certificate, I turned it around and slammed it against the window. “I think you do.”

  She raised a shaking hand, tracing the handwritten words. “Where did you get that?”

  “In a safe deposit box belonging to Esteban Muñoz. I know you know who he is, just like you knew Pablo and Carmen Muñoz. Now you can let us in, or I have no problem standing out here all day.”

  The old woman’s hand dropped, her dark eyes alight with renewed fire. “I’ll call the police.”

  It was the response I anticipated. “You do that,” I challenged, pulling the certificate away from the window. “I’d love to tell them how your son hunted me then chained me up like a dog. Or how he’s the one rebuilding the Muñoz Cartel.” She jumped as I slapped my palm against the glass. “
How many people do you think you’ll have at your door then, Rosita?”

  The curtain fell, and she disappeared. I couldn’t breathe. My lungs felt too small, and the air too thick.

  Brody placed his hand on my shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze. “Adriana, it’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not okay! She can’t just—”

  There was a soft click, and we both turned as the wrinkled face from the window appeared in the doorway. “Come, I’ll put the dogs away.”

  Ten minutes later, Brody and I sat on a stained floral couch in a pathetically bare house. A few pictures hung on what was probably once vibrant orange walls, and a small square table sat tucked in the corner covered in a serape.

  That was it.

  A door opened near the kitchen area, and she made her way toward us, the battered cane she gripped in her gnarled hand scraping along the dusty floor. Lowering herself into a rickety chair, she settled a hesitant eye on me and waited.

  However, Brody waited for no one. “Is Ignacio Vergara your son?”

  I glared at him, but he kept his eyes on Rosita, who shifted her attention toward him, transitioning into broken English. “Yes. But I haven’t seen him in many years. Not since…” She looked away, a sudden cloud shadowing her face.

  “Not since what?” he pushed.

  “Not since…” Her frail voice trailed off, and tilting her head, she narrowed an accusing gaze at me. “How do you know Esteban?”

  I froze, the words stuck in my throat. Panicking, I looked at Brody, who gave an encouraging nod. “I’m his daughter,” I said.

  She studied me. “His daughter is Marisol. You said your name was Adriana.” My name barely left her mouth before recognition sparked. Her eyes widened, and both hands wrapped around her cane as she flung herself out of the chair and snatched the crucifix off the wall. Holding it close to her chest, she dropped to her knees and closed her eyes, chanting a prayer in rapid Spanish.

  Ave Maria. Hail Mary.

  She knew who I was.

  There was a harsh edge to Brody’s face, and his eyebrows pinched together in confusion. But I knew exactly what was going on, and if I was going to get answers out of her, it had to be woman to woman.

  Victim to victim.

  I fell to my knees beside her and wrapped my hand over hers. Raising my voice, I overpowered her chanting with rapid fire Spanish.

  “You know who I am. You know Esteban murdered my mother and stole me from her arms. Now you tell me what Pablo Muñoz’s bastard son has to do with it!”

  Without warning, her incessant chanting stopped, and her eyes flicked toward mine. “Esteban wasn’t the one who killed your mother, child. It was my son.”

  I released her hand, falling backward as if I’d touched fire. “What? Why?”

  “Adriana, what the hell is going on?” Brody shot off the couch, but I didn’t move. I never averted my eyes as the harsh truth spilled from Rosita’s parched lips.

  “It was a test,” she said, her eyes locked on mine. “To prove his loyalty. All my boy wanted was to be accepted by his brother, and Esteban used him as a pawn.” She spat the words like poison. “Pablo refused to acknowledge Ignacio, so no one knew my son existed. Esteban used our shame to his advantage. He sent Ignacio away for months to make a trade alliance with promises to make him lieutenant of the new syndicate.”

  “Let me guess, Esteban lied.”

  She didn’t answer, pressing her lips in a thin, tight line. “He gave him one last task to complete. ‘All or nothing,’ he said. If he succeeded, the new territory was his, but if he failed…” She trailed off, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. “The task was a revenge mission in Mexico City. I told him it was too dangerous, and Esteban couldn’t be trusted, but he wouldn’t listen. He was willing to risk everything to return to what he’d built. But I was right. Alejandro Carrera demanded justice, and that lying pendejo handed Ignacio over like a sacrificial lamb.”

  “Obviously, he didn’t kill him.”

  “No, Ignacio overheard the conversation and ran for his life.”

  “You act like he was innocent!” I yelled. “This wasn’t a cartel hit, Rosita! Your son went after women and children. He killed my mother and my aunt. Had my brother not escaped, he would’ve been slaughtered too.”

  I vaguely heard Brody’s voice, and when his firm hand landed on my shoulder, I knocked it off. I only hoped he didn’t try dragging me out by force. I couldn’t promise I wouldn’t turn on him.

  Her cold eyes softened. “You still don’t know, do you?

  “Know what?”

  “Why you were taken. It wasn’t to punish Alejandro Carrera. It was to punish his wife.”

  All the air whooshed out of my lungs. “What?”

  “Alejandro didn’t want another child, so after you were born, he rarely came home. Liliana was a lonely woman, and Esteban was a very handsome and powerful man who saw an opportunity. They became lovers, and Esteban found himself so enamored with his rival’s wife, he would’ve left his own for her. However, she feared Alejandro’s wrath too much to risk the same.” She looked upon me with pity. “Jealousy has more power than love. Your mother ripped out his heart, so Esteban—”

  “Took hers,” I whispered. “He ripped me out of her arms…”

  “She rejected him,” she finished for me. “She wasn’t supposed to die, but she fought for you.”

  As the words sank in, so did the surge of hatred. Climbing onto my knees, I clenched my fists, the accusation boiling on my tongue. “Your son has my mother’s blood on his hands.”

  “He had no choice.”

  “Don’t!” I growled, squeezing my fists so tightly, my bones cracked under the pressure. “Everyone has a choice. Ruining my life once wasn’t good enough for your boy. Now he’s trying to do it again. You’ve kept your mouth shut for twenty-four years, and you’ll have to answer for that, but you make this right, old woman. You tell me where he is.”

  I waited as she did nothing but stare at me.

  “I know he’s in Guadalajara because he held me here against my will. Are you still proud of your son, Rosita?”

  A tear rolled down her cheek, and while part of me knew berating guilt into an old woman was wrong, I refused to stop.

  “If you don’t tell me where he is, you might as well put that crucifix down. When he kills again, it will be your hands stained with the blood.”

  That was the straw that broke her. Rosita let out a wail, her aged hands cupping her face. “There’s a warehouse near Tlajomulco de Zuñiga. It’s about half an hour from here.” Rattling off the address, she pressed her palms together under her chin. “He’s all I have left. Please show mercy.”

  “I’ll show him exactly what he showed me.” Climbing to my feet, I left her sobbing on the floor and flung open the front door. My chest burned as bile crawled up my throat. I didn’t know where I was going—all I knew was that I had to get out of here.

  I made it halfway to the car before Brody grabbed me by the shoulders and spun me around, his face barely containing his rage. “You’re not going anywhere until you tell me exactly what the fuck just happened in there.”

  “I can’t…” The words stuck in my throat like cotton. “Get me out of here. Please.”

  He stared at me, and I knew his internal debate was between losing his shit in public or private. Either way, he wouldn’t back down. Not this time. Closing his eyes, his nostrils flared, as he inhaled a deep breath before blowing it out hard and fast. “Get in the damn car.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Brody

  Adriana had gone rogue, so whether I liked it or not, I needed back up.

  I contemplated calling Val again, but it was too soon. I couldn’t call the boss of the Carrera Cartel with half a story and an excuse of, “My Spanish is shitty, so I missed half the conversation. However, I’ll call you back with more of an update as soon as I fuck it out of your sister.”

  Obviously, calling Leo was out of the question. Not
after what Val told me.

  That left only one person, and I had no doubt his help would cost me almost as much as the debt that got me into this mess in the first place.

  Karma was a hateful bitch.

  I dialed his number, watching Adriana through the glass doors as she paced a continual line outside, her thumb in her mouth, chewing on her nail like it was her last meal. All of this could’ve been avoided if she’d just been straight with me and stopped trying to do shit on her own.

  “Harcourt. ¿Cómo estás?”

  He didn’t care how I was doing any more than I cared about him. So, I got straight to the point. “I need you to find everything you can on Rosita Vergara and Ignacio Vergara from Guadalajara.”

  “That’s interesting. Last time I checked, I wasn’t your bitch.”

  “I don’t have time to fuck with you, Carlos,” I growled, now starting to fall in line with Adriana’s pacing. “Just do it. And get back to me as fast as possible.”

  A low laugh rumbled in my ear. “Information has a price—”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know. Information has a price tag, amigo. I remember. I’ll get you your money. Just do it.”

  “These Vergaras,” he said, his voice becoming deadly serious. “Are they the ones responsible for fucking with my kilos?”

  “I think so. But it goes a lot deeper than that.” I stared through the glass at Adriana’s hunched shoulders, her body a coiled spring ready to snap. “They’re both tangled in the Muñoz family tree, and I want every root dug up.”

  “Muy bien. I’ll be in touch.”

  “Oh, and Carlos? Find a location on Cristiano Vergara as well as any background information.” Disconnecting the call, I dropped my phone on the coffee table. I’d given Adriana enough time to pace. It was time to talk.