Shit.
It’s fresh.
Fuck.
I scroll down, to see the rest of the message. Their enforcer most likely trailing you. Grayson Teague. Be careful.
Pressing the screen again, my breath catches as I see the picture of a tall man with hard eyes. He doesn’t look much older than me—hell, he looks my age—and has everything but the appearance of an enforcer for one of the most dangerous Mexican cartels.
Chiseled jaw, straight posture, and confident grin. And then, muscles that push against the fabric of his clothes, filling them up easily. And then there are his eyes...only they betray how dangerous Grayson Teague really is. There’s a cold edge there, and it almost makes me believe that this man doesn’t have a beating heart inside his chest.
“Grayson Teague,” I mutter under my breath, closing my phone and throwing it on top of the bed. I move toward the large floor-to-ceiling window at the end of my suite, and look out toward the brightly lit city skyline.
Somewhere out there, Grayson Teague is looking for me. And, oh, I’ve heard stories...for the first time in a long time, I feel what seems like fear creeping up on me.
“Get your shit together, Eliza,” I chide myself, gritting my teeth and straightening my back.
If Grayson Teague wants a piece of me, he’s more than welcome to come and get it.
I’ll just pay him in kind.
Five
Eliza
Looking out the small window of the private jet, I smile to myself as I see the endless jungle stretching from under us. It’s insane how, underneath the thick canopy of the trees, major operations remain hidden, pumping a constant stream of drugs worth billions of dollars into the rest of the world. In a sense, the jungle is the beating heart of the drug trade.
Sure, you have your modern labs and whatnot, but nothing comes quite close to the savagery happening in the jungle. It’s almost as if civilization never got there in the first place, and the word of the cartels are the word of God.
“Do you really think this is a good idea?” Juan asks.
“It’s an idea, at least,” I shrug, looking away from the window and turning my gaze to Juan. “It’s dangerous, yes. But I prefer to act than to react. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to sit on my ass and wait for Grayson Teague to come and slit my throat.”
“So we’re going to rush in and get to him instead?” Juan asks with doubt.
I sigh. He’s been a little bitch the entire trip over.
“Is something bothering you?” I ask him sharply. “Do you not want to be in on this?”
“I don’t want to fucking die,” he says to me, answering me right back. “I’m never going to get the glory. I’m not you. People already ignore that I’m even there.”
“Well, maybe if you go out into the field, they’ll give you the glory,” I say slowly.
“They don’t see me like that anymore,” he says. “I’ve boxed myself into a corner. You came and basically ordered me on this plane. I don’t work for you. We’re supposed to be colleagues.”
“We’re about to go into a war zone and your worried about organizational hierarchy?” I ask.
Juan gives me a disaffected look.
I continue. “This could be the last moments of our lives.”
“Are you always this upbeat?” Juan sighs, apprehensively looking out the window. I can tell that his lack of status is still bothering him, but for now it seems to have been extinguished. Back in the day, Juan would never have allowed himself to be sidelined like this and I think he’s having regrets about playing it safe and no longer getting field assignments. But he’s not cut out for it.
Maybe this mission will set him straight. Because it’s not going to be an easy mission. Flying straight in the Mexican jungle doesn’t bode well for any of us. Because, you know, mosquitoes. And the horrible heat will screw with my makeup.
And the sicarios too, yeah, sure.
“Well, that’s part of my morning routine, yes,” I finally respond back. “A good bath, a facial mask, a good dose of optimism.” Shrugging, I throw Juan a smile. “You should try it too.”
“Right, one day,” he sighs, and then pushes a folder across the small table separating our seats. “Shall we take another look at it? I want to be ready by the time we land.”
“Sure,” I reply, opening up the folder and glancing at the notes. “According to the information we have, the coke squared formula requires a chemical compound with a specific alkaline structure.”
“Right, one that we don’t use in our own production. But we know who does.”
“We do,” I nod. “The Bonita Muerte cartel has been using this specific alkali base compound for a few years now, and we know exactly where they stash their inventory of it,” I continue, turning the page and analyzing the aerial photos of the jungle printed there, a few spots marked with red circles. “We’re going to land on a small airfield controlled by the Envigado cartel, and from there we’ll drive fifty miles west, straight to the Bonita Muerte’s warehouse.”
“That’s the plan, yeah. I just don’t know if I trust the guys the Envigado cartel is sending to help. I mean, why the fuck are they pitching in? Wouldn’t they be better off trying to score the formula for themselves? If it were me, I wouldn’t send my own sicarios to help a rival out, and risk a war with the Bonita Muerte guys.”
“And that’s exactly why you’re not in charge, Juan,” I tell him, being kind enough to smile as I do it. “The Envigado guys probably want us to get this compound, figure out the formula, and only then they’ll make a move and try to get rid of us. Or, who knows? They might just be looking to work out some kind of deal with us in the near future. Maybe they prefer backing us instead of having to deal with those Mexican psychos. Or maybe they want to change the drug game forever and make it free for all. Of course we’re not going to let that happen.”
“Psychos. Now that’s the word to describe them. I mean, shit, Eliza...I’ve seen what the cartel does in Juarez, stringing off people from bridges and all that shit, but the Bonita Muerte guys, they’re something else…”
“Yeah, and they have a thing for cocks and stuffing them down throats,” I comment casually, and only then do I see all color leaving Juan’s face. “C’mon, chill out. It’ll be fine. There won’t be a cock down your throat anytime soon, Juan. Unless that’s your thing, of course—I’m not judging.”
“Easy for you to say. You always make it out without a scratch. But this time we have to be careful, Eliza. We’re not cut out for this,” Juan says with the same lack of positive energy that probably sidelined his career. “We work distribution, we’re not supposed to be on the frontlines like this. Especially not with that Teague guy on the loose. Do you see what he does with the bodies? Always carving them up with those damn skulls.”
“Uh-uh. The king of psychos himself,” I sigh, flipping through the pages and finally closing the folder. I have all this shit on the tip of my tongue. I’m done with reviewing it. I just want to dive straight into it.
But don’t take me for a fool. I might not be used to this frontline crap, but I know I have to be careful when dealing with assholes like this Grayson Teague. And, yes, this plan is a risky one. Siding with the Envigado cartel, and head straight into enemy territory...if shit goes sideways, we’ll be in a fucking mess.
A six-feet deep mess.
“Landing in five,” the pilot says through the intercom, and Juan and I buckle up, watching through the window as the green jungle under us seems to rise up to meet us. Five minutes later, on the dot, the plane is touching down on the tarmac of an airfield with nothing but a small brick house at the end. Probably something the Envigado cartel built just to have planes flying in and out of here on the daily. Thanks to the millions they funnel into all South American government agencies, I’m willing to bet this airfield has never popped up on any law enforcement’s report.
“Llegamos, hijos de puta,” I scream out as we step out of the plane, no one the
re to meet us. Five SUVs are parked near the brick building, but there’s not a soul in the tarmac.
“Is it wise to call them motherfuckers as a greeting?” Juan says.
“You gotta speak their language,” I say with a shrug. “Show them you mean business.”
“Yeah, well, they don’t seem to bothered by it,” Juan replies, and then he starts heading toward the building, scanning his surroundings like a cockroach expecting to be stepped on at any minute.
I follow after him. Even though I don’t get scared easily, I gotta say...this place looks eerie as shit. The team we were supposed to be working with should’ve been here by now. Their cars, but I don’t see any of the men. Where the fuck are these jackoffs?
The moment Juan pushes open the building’s door, the stench of blood hits me right away. I clench my jaw, doing my best not to retch, and then I look over Juan’s shoulder at what’s inside.
Bodies. And lots of them.
Whoever killed Envigado soldiers probably doesn’t give a fuck about living. It’s like attacking the policia. You only fucking do it when your back is to the wall. Because Envigado doesn’t forget. They’ll unite the cartels and wipe you out if they find out who did this shit.
I can still smell the gunpowder in the air. Which means that whoever smoked these guys must still be around.
“Fuck, they know, Eliza! Someone warned the Bonita Muerte cartel we we’re coming. We’re fucked, Eliza...we gotta get out of there, and we gotta get out of here right fucking now!”
“Calm your tits, Juan,” I whisper, trying to keep my wits about me. Truth be told, I don’t feel so confident right now. But panicking doesn’t help, does it?
We explore the smaller buildings and it’s the same story. Blood. Bodies. Death.
I go into the one of the last buildings. It’s a large holding warehouse but has corridors and offices.
We get through the first round of corridors when the skin on the back of my neck stands up.
“Eliza Lang,” I hear a voice say from the other side of the main room we passed by. I hear a door creak as it swings open, and then I see the man standing there.
Skull tattoos climb up one of his forearms, but both look just as menacing.
Grayson Teague.
Fuck.
Six
Grayson
“You’re not coming into Bonita Muerte Cartel territory and taking shit to make coke squared,” I say solemnly to Eliza.
It’s a fact that I’m not letting her do this. I know what this means and I’m not looking forward to fighting her in one sense because I know how it will end.
“Coke what?” she says, trying to play dumb.
I pull out my gun and point it at her.
“You heard what I said,” I say to her. “I know why you’re here.”
I take a few steps closer to her.
“Turn around and put your hands on your heads, putas,” I command. “I’m going to escort you off the grounds.”
“Envigado is gonna kill you, homeboy,” Eliza says as she turns around slowly.
“I’ll deal with them after I deal with you and your bitch,” I answer. “Now raise those hands.”
She’s crafty and she follows my directions at first. Maybe we’ll get through this with a minimum of bloodshed.
But the second she throws the first punch in my direction, I fucking know it is the end of me. The fire inside this woman is like nothing I’ve ever seen.
I back up, but she swivels on her feet and kicks my gun right out of my hands.
Fuck. She’s not even a little dumb. She’s crafty.
“I’ve heard all about you,” Eliza says, spitting when I land a good hit on her face and she’s recoiling, but just for a second. “You’re not carving me up, Teague.”
Mmm, baby, no I’m not. I’m going to utterly lose my goddamn mind watching you dodge every hit you can, and how hard you fight back.
Eliza even manages to land a few hits at me. She is even smart enough to be conserving her energy, as much as she can.
Because when she gets tired, she’ll get sloppy.
When Eliza gets sloppy, that will be the fucking end of her because I’m a stronger fighter. Eliza has a clean-cut cartel job, but all the dirty work? That’s all me.
There’s a fire in her, but I’m supposed to snuff it out.
I grab her, holding her throat and pressing her against a wall. I should strangle her now. I feel her tensing her neck muscles so I can’t do that. She’s trying to kick.
That’s when I feel that hesitation creeping up inside me again. The one that makes me weak, that let’s her break free.
And that’s when the fucking maricón cocksucker she’s with reaches over and grabs a metal bar and hits her on the back. With a thump, she hits the ground.
Seven
Grayson
I can’t believe my eyes.
He fucking betrayed Eliza. I can tell by the situation. This is one I know more than anything else. It is one that I’m always ready to snuff out, one that I react to practically on instinct.
“Juan!” she gasps.
I don’t know who the fuck Juan is but I knew that look on her face. She struggles to get up but he’s completely blindsided her and kicks her to the ground again.
“What are you doing?” she cries.
“I’m taking what’s mine, puta!” he yells.
Let me just say that I’m standing there, watching Cabeza Dios attack each other. This is not what I expected when I touched down and wasted the Envigado fucks and got ready to meet Eliza.
“The cartel…” she starts but he spits on her.
“Has never given me the fucking glory or the money that they shower on you,” he says, his face twisting into a grimace. “It’s always Eliza this. Eliza that. Use Juan for whatever you need and then throw him back in the closet.”
“That’s not true,” she protests.
“Bullshit,” he says. “This coke squared is going to be your calling card. And I’ll probably be forgotten soon. Then one day someone comes and takes me out back. Tells me thank you for your service and puts a bullet in my head.”
“I always trusted you,” she says, clearly hurt at this betrayal.
“Well, you should have seen I was unhappy with this shit,” he says. “This fucking cartel gives me the info to give you like I’m your whipping boy. This is going to be my game now. Coke squared is going to be big. And you’ll fail. But, I’ll succeed. Bitch,” he says, and he spits at her again. Then he pulls out a wicked looking knife he must have had hidden.
He fucking betrayed Eliza.
Okay, yes, I know, technically, he betrayed her cartel. She’s not even in charge of Cabeza Dios cartel. So it isn’t Eliza’s cartel.
But I’m seeing red.
I’m doing the one thing I don’t hesitate on for a second.
I pull him off of Eliza and toss him like a sack of fucking air to the ground several feet from her. I grab Eliza’s hand and wrap my other hand around her waist, pulling her up so she’s up against the wall.
Then my energy goes back to Juan. All of my focus and attention is on ending him with a single-minded violence that actually, in the back of my mind, frightens me.
Against all logic and reason, I’m fucking punching this prick so hard his face is turning to hamburger. I have this thing about loyalty and betrayal, as you’ve surely noticed, and this tripped my wire and triggered the absolutely insane part of me that reacts first on instinct without regard for anything else.
He lunges for Eliza, and I lunge for him. His knife knicks my side and it should sting, but pure fucking adrenaline and rage just takes over. I hit him so hard the first time that it knocks him to the ground. Every time after that makes a raw, wet, smacking sound like packing meat into a small container. That’s not a good sound. It does something to a normal person’s stomach and turns it. Not me. I just keep fucking punching. I slam my fists into this fucker’s face so many times I know he doesn’t have a face
anymore, and he’s long past the point of being tough and fighting me. I make him cry for his mother, make him pray for the God he hasn’t talked to his whole life.
Still, I’m not paying attention to any of that, and I’m not sure when he dies, but its probably sometime in between him screaming and him gurgling up some of his teeth and my blood mixed in with his.
Eliza’s voice slowly filters in, even though she’s barely whispering. “He’s dead,” she says simply.
But something about this devilish angel’s little whisper pulls me back into reality.
She isn’t stunned.
But she is hunkering in a corner with her head between her knees and puking because I beat a man to death.
“This man betrayed you,” I state.
“Yeah,” she says, nodding. Her eyes are narrow and she’s looking at me. Yeah, what just happened was pretty fucking odd.
It isn’t exactly normal that the woman I was supposed to be killing, and who just saw me take out some other guy who came to kill her, isn’t afraid of me.
Her words are going through my brain as I survey my situation. My gun is still on the floor across the room. She’s not brandished a weapon either. “I’ve heard about you. You’re not carving me up, Teague.”
She’s not goddamn wrong.
I’m not.
I turn to look at her and her hands are shaking a little as she brings them to my fist. There’s blood everywhere, and some fragments of bone, teeth, maybe even some brains or tongue in there. Shockingly, the sight doesn’t horrify her. But her little womanly instinct there has her wanting to wash them off. She tears her shirt and wraps them first, since we’re nowhere near anything either of us is looking to wash anything off with.
I am still breathing heavily, and so is she, though hers is not the adrenaline of beating a man to death but instead the effect of watching me do it.
Don't Trust Him: An Enemies to Lovers Romantic Suspense (King Vs. Queen Book 1) Page 3