Kiss of the Cartel

by Slater, Nikita

  Kiss of the Cartel

  Nikita Slater

  Copyright © 2019 Nikita Slater Writing Services Ltd.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Contents

  1. Lena

  2. Luis

  3. Lena

  4. Lena

  5. Luis

  6. Lena

  7. Luis

  8. Lena

  9. Luis

  10. Lena

  11. Luis

  12. Lena

  13. Luis

  14. Lena

  15. Luis

  16. Lena

  17. Luis

  Epilogue

  Excerpt: Driven by Desire

  Also by Nikita Slater

  Stay connected with Nikita!

  About the Author

  1

  Lena

  “Lena, dance.”

  I stiffen, not wanting to turn around, but having no choice. I know who is speaking, his curt voice, the timbre, the inflection and accent, unmistakable. I turn slowly, keeping Manuel on my right, still within my line of sight as I face Luis. The boss’s son, a man who's made it clear that we are not friends, we're not even acquaintances. We're enemies. And in our world, the mafia world, an enemy in one’s own camp is a very dangerous thing.

  His sexual appeal is undeniable. He’s tall, broad, and darkly dangerous. His inky black hair is long, tied at the back of his neck in a ponytail that flows to midway down his back. His suit is fit to kill. Women that is. Dark, tailored, with a crisp white dress shirt and a black bowtie. Everything about him is proper. But I know better. He's a wolf in sheep’s clothing, fitting in where he doesn’t belong. A killer pretending to be civilized.

  I despise the zing that goes through my body as I study him. The way my heart beats overtime in fearful interest. He won’t know though. I keep my gaze cool, assessing, impersonal.

  I keep my eyes lowered, my voice coolly professional when I say, “Are you asking me to dance?”

  “I wasn’t asking.” His voice is deep and the chill matches mine.

  I’m surprised that he would want to dance with me, though we are attending a charity ball and couples are whirling all around us. In the years we’ve spent living under the same roof, eating the same food, protecting the same man, he’s never once willingly touched me. Not unless ordered.

  Luis is a bully. He never misses an opportunity to verbally stab at me, to test the boundaries of his relationship with his father's asset. Asking me to dance is just another opportunity for him to fuck with me.

  I’m about to say no, to tell him I don’t dance, when Manuel turns from his conversation with a city developer and says, “Go dance, Lena. You rarely get to have fun on these outings, and nothing will happen to me in a room full of people.”

  His voice is low so no one can hear except me and Luis. This is because only a handful of people know that I am Manuel’s personal bodyguard. Most know me as his silent, much younger girlfriend. This cover has served us well, enabling me to remain at his side through most of his outings. His other bodyguards, big conspicuous men, are ever-present as well. But at events like this, where it becomes more difficult for the protection details to monitor their clients, I’m able to remain by his side. His secret weapon. The silent but deadly shadow that will strike before the enemy knows I’m even there.

  My existence in Manuel’s life is the reason for Luis’ hostility. He despises the idea of his father using a woman for a bodyguard. Luis is not as progressive as his father, he prefers the old ways. Bodyguards are big, burly men whose presence conveys a menacing threat to anyone who would dare mess with the family. Despite his annoyance at my position, I suspect he is also pissed off that I'm posing as his father's girlfriend.

  I see the way Luis’ eyes linger over my curves, settle on my body almost unwillingly before he forces his gaze away. Brutal experience has taught me to know when a man lusts after me. Unfortunately, I also know when a man hates me. And Luis is a cauldron of both emotions whenever we inhabit a room together.

  Before I can speak, come up with an excuse to refuse the dance, Luis takes my arm in a firm grip and pulls me toward the dance floor. My instincts are screaming at me to fight him, to break his hold and rush back to Manuel’s side, where I belong. I have been trained well. I must always keep my principal within sight unless I've been dismissed.

  Luis turns me to face him, one big hand wrapped intimately around my hip while the other takes my hand in an unbreakable hold. For one single moment the room ceases to exist. The couples, the music, the laughter, it all fades as Luis touches me. Our eyes lock and for this split second the ever-present rage falls away from him. It’s just the two of us, our undeniable attraction sizzling between us.

  The unprecedented moment feels almost... life altering.

  Then his lip begins to curl in a familiar sneer, and I know that the next words out of his mouth will be daggers to my heart, meant to shred any feelings I might have harboured for him. This man has convinced me I’m a masochist, because I crave his words, whether they are barbed knives or a passing comment. Even though they slice deep, they are mine.

  “You clean up good, Lena.” His deep voice holds the sharp edge of a dagger to it. “A fuckable little pet, attached to my father’s arm.”

  I don’t reply. I have nothing to say to him. He is the boss’s son and I must not disrespect him. Manuel is a mostly benevolent boss, but his goodwill ends when it comes to his son, his only remaining immediate family. The two men love each other as deeply as any father and son. They've set up a criminal empire together. And though Luis doesn't care for Manuel’s choice of personal bodyguard, he does hold his father in the highest esteem. Insulting Luis to his face is the same as insulting Manuel. Bad for my health.

  “A wolf in sheep’s clothing,” he murmurs, his eyes hot on the bodice of my dress. I nearly laugh at the analogy he uses, the same as I was thinking of him a few minutes ago.

  I’m wearing a black dress, sleeveless and low cut, but my arms are covered with a long-sleeved jacket that obscures the holster strapped to the left side of my chest, under my arm. It holds my .45 Glock. The dress falls to my ankles but slits up my side almost to the top of my thigh should I need to reach my blade, tucked into a holster strapped to my right thigh. My long brown hair sits coiled on the top of my head like a crown to keep it out of my way should I be attacked. I wear diamonds in my ears, on my neck and on my fingers. The only incongruency to my ensemble that anyone might notice is the low pumps on my feet, instead of the sky-high heels worn by the women whirling all around me. Intended so I can run or kick if the need should arise.

  My outfit is meant to look sexy and sophisticated, but with a hidden functionality. Perfect for the woman who stands at Manuel’s side posing as his girlfriend, protecting him as his bodyguard. A wolf in sheep’s clothing indeed. Few would guess that I could kill them before they have time to wonder why Manuel’s girlfriend has suddenly turned into a weapon wielding ninja.

  “Answer me when I speak to you.” Luis’ thin veneer of civilization is slipping. The rage he doesn’t bother to conceal is coming to the fore.

  “What was the question?” I score a small victory with my calm voice and straight face. I haven’t insulted him directly, yet we both know he wasn’t ask
ing me a question. He wants me to respond to his hate. He wants an opponent in me, not the doll who stands quietly with his father.

  I don’t give him the satisfaction. I find more pleasure in stoking the flames of his rage by remaining silent than by fighting with him. It keeps distance between us, a necessary wall. I am wary of his intentions. A part of me knows that if the dam between us ever breaks we'll find ourselves in a deadly, heated struggle. One that would inevitably end in my death. Better to keep my feelings to myself.

  His hands tighten painfully on my hand and my waist. He tugs me closer and the breath whooshes out of me as the tips of my breasts graze his suit jacket. I’ve never been much of a dancer, but somehow the stress of standing this close to Luis, of being touched by him, takes away any sense of awkwardness. He bends his head to speak in my ear, projecting an intimate picture to anyone watching.

  “You going to fuck dear daddy when we get back home?” His breath is hot against the side of my face, his words pointed and sharp. “Can’t blame an old man for coveting such a fine piece of ass. That’s all you are, you know. A piece of ass with a gun.”

  I jerk in his arms, not trying to get away exactly, but trying to put some distance between me and the poison he’s directing at me. I long to defend myself, but I keep my icy composure, moving my legs and my feet with his. Following his lead, even as every cell in my body tells me to break contact and walk away.

  We finish the dance and the moment it’s polite enough for me to do so, I pull myself from the warm contact of Luis’s body and turn. When I glance back over my shoulder, his hate-filled eyes are following, a burning promise sending a shiver of apprehension shuddering through me. One of these days Luis is going to follow through on that promise. I just hope I survive whatever he wants me for.

  2

  Luis

  I watch as she walks away from me. The fury I feel when she's near is close to the surface again. I can't explain what it is about Lena that gets to me, but something about her pushes my buttons. Perhaps her veneer of cool sophistication. Her untouchable attitude.

  Or perhaps it's as simple as a woman preferring to warm my father's bed. Since the moment my father installed her in our home as his 'bodyguard' I've been drawn to the enigmatic brunette. Her slight accent and the exotic features hint at a past worth exploring, but my father has refused to share details of his acquisition beyond that he found her in a Russian whorehouse.

  She rejoins him, taking his arm in an easy move, maintaining the fabrication that she is his girlfriend. My father is not a bad looking man. Manuel Ramirez is in his mid-sixties, 30 years older than me. He's a tall man, his shoulders and arms hint to the muscles that used to define his physique. His hair is dark with silver streaks and he sports a mustache and goatee. Most woman would be proud to grace his side, but the only reason a woman as young as Lena would touch my father is money and power.

  Cynical, yes. Also true.

  I used to suspect Lena's motives, but as the years passed it became obvious that she has no interest in either his money or the power of the cartel. She lives as frugally as I've seen anyone live and seems content. She rarely speaks when they're out in public, or ever really, and never addresses the powerful men Manuel does business with.

  She is an enigma. Not easily pinned down. And the fact that I've spent many hours pondering her existence is not something that sits easily. Women are shallow. Objects to be fucked and discarded. Not distractions. Especially to men like me.

  I'm about to make my way back to my father when Tomás Garcia, an old friend and associate of Manuel's, makes his way to my side and reaches for my hand. I allow the greeting, squeezing his hand in return. Tomás is an arrogant man who considers himself on the same level as my father. While Manuel seems to work well with the man, I tend to hold him at a distance.

  Tomás is no longer active in the underworld, stays closeted in his guarded estate. He was my father’s second before he retired, an advisor to Manuel, powerful in his own right.

  "Glad you could make it tonight, son."

  I grunt my acknowledgment. Though Manuel likes and respects Tomás, I would prefer not to have anything to do with the man. I saw him commit unnecessary atrocities when he worked for Manuel that turn even my stomach, and I’ve done some unconscionable things in the name of the cartel.

  When I fail to respond he follows my gaze, his own landing on the object of too many of my thoughts. I catch the appreciative look on his face, the glint in his eye as he watches her.

  "Fine piece of ass, eh?"

  Though I had the same thought moments ago, rage flashes through me as I turn to Tomás, a clear warning in my gaze. He lifts a hand and waves it as if to clear the air of his toxic insult. His sharp eyes turn from Lena back to me.

  "Deadly, I suppose."

  I look at him sharply. Does he know Lena is Manuel's bodyguard or is he just fishing? And why? I shrug. "I wouldn't know."

  The truth is, I have no idea if Lena is deadly or not. She's my father's personal bodyguard, not an enforcer or thug. I've never seen her in action and haven't bothered to spar with her. She's a woman. I don't fight women.

  When I don't speak again, Tomás nods his head absently. "Give your father my regards."

  I'm about to tell him to see my father himself if he has something to say, but he moves away, disappearing into the crowd.

  I turn my gaze back toward Lena and Manuel. Her hand is on his arm, but her eyes are on me. I give her a hard stare until she drops her eyes again, a blush staining her cheeks. I turn away from the pair and move in the opposite direction.

  One day Lena will fall under my power. That will be a good day.

  3

  Lena

  I feel him before I see or hear him. The hair on my arms and the back of my neck stands on end, warning me that a predator is near. I force myself to continue scanning the single person meals that Theresa, our chef and general housekeeper, made and stored in the fridge.

  Of course, Luis is not one to be ignored. Seconds after I sense his presence a hand lands on the door next to my head, slamming it shut in my face. I'm forced to jump back or get a body part slammed in the fridge. My back brushes against him and I jerk around to face him, pressing myself against the fridge.

  His scent assails me, masculine, clean. He's taken a shower recently. My gaze drifts to his long silky black hair, left loose to dry around his shoulders.

  "Midnight snack?" he asks, his voice a sarcastic sneer.

  I rarely eat at regular times and never with the family, unless we're at a function where it's necessary for me to eat with Manuel. I don't eat with the other staff either. Most of them don't know that I'm not Manuel's girlfriend. They don't treat me like family, but they don't treat me like one of them either.

  "It's only eleven." I don't know why I say this. I'm not trying to contradict Luis, but he unbalances me. I try to avoid conversations with him whenever possible, because he takes pleasure in tormenting me.

  He snorts his derision and moves back a few inches, dropping his arm away. I'm torn. Part of me craves his warmth, his scent, wants to lean forward, into him. The smarter, more life preserving part of me understands what a bad move that would be. Despite the time of night, the security of the house and the relaxed atmosphere surrounding Luis, he still carries a weapon. His gun is holstered against his side, under his armpit, where he can easily and quickly reach for it if need be. I know exactly how deadly accurate Luis is, having seen him on the range and having heard rumors of his victims.

  My own weapon is under my shirt, in my back holster. I don't know who the quicker draw is. It doesn't matter. I couldn't bring myself to kill Luis, and I wouldn’t dare to try anyway.

  "Why don't you eat with my father?" his lip curls in disgust, the way it always does when he mentions his father and me in the same sentence.

  "We eat separately," I answer simply.

  "Why?" he demands, unwilling to let it go.

  I shift away from him, pressing my a
ss against the counter behind me as I move. "Manuel prefers it that way."

  The ever-present anger surfaces at my use of Manuel's given name, a critical part of my disguise as his girlfriend, a concession not given to any of the other staff. Manuel has gotten me into the habit of calling him by his first name so I don't accidentally screw up in public.

  "He does, does he?" Luis sneers.

  I edge further away. Screw supper, my appetite is lost anyway.

  "If you'll excuse me." It comes out in a mousy whisper and I nearly roll my eyes at myself. For some reason this man steals any backbone I have when he comes near me.

  "No, Lena," he drawls my name out. "I don't excuse you."

  I stand stock still, waiting for his inevitable tirade. He doesn't fail to spew his usual vitriol my way. He takes the few steps separating us and gets right in my face, his finger pointed at the base of my neck, though he's careful not to touch me. He hasn't touched me since our dance more than a week ago.

  "You're nothing but a cheap whore who thinks she can fuck her way into my home. I don't know what back alley brothel my father picked you up in, but when he's finally done with you, I'll take the price of two years room and board out of your ass and dump you right back where you came from." His hard eyes sweep over me, making it painfully clear he finds me lacking.

  "Bodyguard," he spits.

  My heart shatters at his brutal words. The way it shatters every time he's spoken to me this way for the past few years. Luis is a cruel man and I am nothing but a target to him.