by LP Lovell
“I don’t know. I wanted to kill Alexandru.”
“And now you have.”
I nod. “Yes. But it’s not enough.”
She narrows her eyes. “So what would be enough?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and close my eyes. I want them all. Every single one. Every man who hurt and raped me, who would willingly destroy girls like me, girls like Zara. “I want the Sinaloa.”
“You mean Dominges.”
“I mean the Sinaloa.”
She blows out a breath. “You can’t take down an entire cartel, Anna. No matter how much they’ve wronged you.” But it’s an entire cartel that was responsible for my suffering. It’s an entire cartel that traffics young women, enslaves them and rapes them for profit and pleasure.
“A cartel is only made up of men.” Flesh and blood men who can be killed.
She inhales deeply and tilts her head back. “One or two kills is a hit. Hundreds is a war, and I am not equipped for a war.”
She’s right. I know she’s right. “If Dominges falls, what happens?”
“Honestly? Someone will replace him.”
“Who?”
"His brother, or one of his closest men.”
“So, what if we were to kill his entire inner circle, long enough to weaken them?” Long enough for the Juarez cartel to end this. Rafael wouldn’t even have to know. Una and Sasha are stealthy, fast, in and out, leaving only death in their wake. We could take out the inner circle, and the cartel war would naturally favor Rafe’s side.
“You can’t fight Rafael’s war for him, Anna.”
“I’m not, but I need this." I’m caught between pining for a man I can’t have and needing something to fill that void. In the back of my mind, I know this will bring me closer to him, or at least into the same country. Maybe I secretly like the idea of helping him in his war without him even knowing it. Being the strong woman he doesn’t think I am without him even being aware. For once, I would be an asset to him instead of a weakness because I’m not weak anymore. Far from it. I’ve changed, trained, and honed myself to a fine point under Una’s watchful eye. This situation is not what it was a few months ago.
This is purpose. This is more than survival, it’s living. And I choose to live for revenge right now. I want the Sinaloa cartel dead and buried.
Una drags her hand through her long hair, and I can see the resignation in her features. “Fine, Anna, but I’m not doing your dirty work for you. You’re going to have to train a lot harder if you want to stand against men like Dominges.”
“I will.”
“And this will take a lot of planning.”
I catch sight of someone in the doorway behind Una. Nero steps into the light of the gym and in the blink of an eye Una has a gun pointed at his head without even turning to look at him.
He rolls his eyes. “Every time,” he mumbles, grabbing her wrist and pulling it behind her back. She allows it. Of course, if she didn’t want him to, he’d have a broken nose by now. He presses his front to her back and kisses her neck. The tiny sign of affection has a pang of longing spiking through my gut.
“You shouldn’t creep up on me,” she says, an indulgent smile on her lips.
“It’s not creeping when you can hear me from a mile away.” She arches a brow silently. “Anyway, what are you planning?”
“Nothing,” I say defensively, probably because I know he’ll think this entire plan is ridiculous.
A smirk dances over his handsome features, and I look away from his intense gaze. Nero is beautiful but terrifying, and I’m not sure why. He lacks Rafe’s bulk or obvious sense of danger. But that’s all part of his allure. He looks like he should be adorning the pages of a fashion magazine with his expensive suit and his perfect hair, but I know he would open a man’s throat with a smile. He’s the only man who could possibly handle my sister and that in itself is enough to make me wary of him. He lacks any of the empathy that Rafael has. Well, for anyone but Una and Dante that is.
“Anna wants to go after the Sinaloa,” Una says, pulling her arm away from her back and tucking her gun into a holster. She leans back against him, and he grips her hip possessively.
The smirk leaves and Nero’s face becomes stony. “You want to start a cartel war. Tsk, tsk, Anna. You’re learning too much from that man of yours. Rafael should know better than to start wars, and so should you. It’s bad for business.”
“This isn’t about business,” I say.
His whiskey-colored eyes hone in on me. “Everything is about business.”
“Not this,” Una intervenes, and I’m grateful. I can’t handle both of them being against me.
“Morte,” he warns, calling her by the name he’s so fond of for her. Death.
“She’s my sister. I’ll give her what she needs.” She turns to face him, and he stares down at her much shorter frame.
“We’ll talk about this later,” he says and kisses her forehead. And then he’s walking out of the room.
She glances over her shoulder at me. “I will do this with you, Anna, but you need to decide where the line is. Draw one, or you will find yourself forever reaching.”
I nod, and she walks out of the room.
9
Rafael
I dial the number that I could recite by heart, waiting anxiously as I hope this is the time she’ll pick up. I need to hear her voice. I’m desperate for just a slither of light in this eternal darkness. I need her, but I can’t have her. The line cuts off…and she won’t even give me this.
I clasp the phone between my hands and release a long breath. Pushing to my feet, I leave the clinical breezeblock office and walk through the warehouse. The factory floor is in full swing, with girls packing coke and the guys loading it into crates ready for shipping. This is my domain, my empire.
Eventually, I find Carlos and Lucas checking over a shipment of weapons we just received from the Russians.
“Lucas.” He looks up, and I jerk my head to the side. He visibly tenses, swallowing heavily before he drops what he’s doing and rushes after me. I lead him back to the office and close the door. He looks like he’s about to shit himself. “Sit,” I say, clapping a hand over his shoulder. He sits, his spine bolt straight. “Calm down, Lucas.”
“Uh, did I do something wrong?”
“No.” I take a seat behind the desk and swipe a hand over my jaw in agitation. “I need you to call, Anna.”
He frowns, his skinny shoulders relaxing a touch. “Why?”
“You talk to her, don’t you?”
“Well, yeah, but…I mean, it’s not…it’s not like that…”
“I know.”
“We’re friends.”
“I know. Which is why I need you to call her?”
“And say what?”
I inhale a deep breath and reach for a cigar from my jacket pocket. “Just talk to her.” I just need to hear her voice. I fucking crave it like a madman. With a sigh, he takes his phone out of his pocket and stares down at the screen, his brows tightly pinched together. He presses a few buttons. “Put it on speaker.” I feel like a complete creep, but this is what I’m reduced to. This is what the girl does to me. I sent her away to keep her safe, but as the days go by, it’s starting to feel like I simply cut off my own oxygen supply.
Lucas’ lips press together in a hard line, and I can see the indecision written all over his face. “You aren’t being disloyal, Lucas. I just want to hear her voice,” I admit. Weak. It’s so weak, but I’m beyond caring. She’s my one weakness.
On a resigned nod, he dials her number, and I listen to the foreign ringtone indicating that she’s an entire country away from me. It rings and rings until finally, she picks up. “Lucas,” she says, and she sounds both relieved and bitterly sad.
“Anna. How are you?”
“I’m fine.” She doesn’t sound fine though, and that constant ache in my chest digs in just a little harder. “How is your rehab going?”
“Good. I’m w
alking almost completely without a limp now.”
“I’m so proud of you,” she says, her voice softening the same way it always does around Lucas. She’s always been fond of him. “How are all the guys?”
Lucas glances up at me, fidgeting in his seat. “As good as they can be. Still grieving.”
“Of course,” she whispers. “I still feel terrible that I wasn’t at the funeral.”
“It’s okay. I told you; Maria wouldn’t want you in danger.”
There’s a long pause, and I can practically feel the tension from here. “I would have been there if I could. For him.”
Lucas takes a shaky breath, avoiding my gaze. “I know.”
“How is he now?” she asks quietly, and suddenly I feel like an intruder. How is he now? That implies she’s asked the question before.
Lucas looks at me as he speaks. “He’s Rafael D’Cruze. He’ll make sure her killers atone for it.”
She sighs. “That’s what worries me.”
“You haven’t been answering his calls.”
“I can’t talk to him, Lucas. It hurts too much.”
“You can’t avoid him forever. I mean, you’re coming back, aren’t you?”
There’s a long pause. “I don’t think I can.”
My heart jolts in my chest, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from speaking up, from telling her that she will absolutely be coming back because I can’t do this without her forever. But I don’t. She’ll never trust Lucas again if she knows I’m listening.
“I need you to come back, Anna,” Lucas says honestly, his voice cracking a little.
“You’re my best friend, Lucas. I love you. I’m only a phone call away,” she says sincerely. I clench my fists as she says those three words to him. I love you. They should be mine and mine alone, but he’s the person she wants to talk to. He’s her comfort, and I’m her pain. I know that, and I fucking hate it. There’s the faint sound of a baby’s cry in the background. “I have to go, but we’ll speak soon. Okay?”
“Okay,” he whispers. The line goes dead, and it takes a few seconds for Lucas to look at me.
Leaning back in my chair, I drag a hand through my hair. “Thank you.”
He shifts in his seat, tapping his fingers over the desk. “You’re going to bring her back, right?”
I place my cigar between my lips and bring my lighter to my face, allowing the flame to dance over the end. “Not if I can avoid it.”
He frowns. “But you love her,” he splutters.
I nod. “I do. You’re dismissed, Lucas.”
He stands up and leaves the room—his shoulders slumped in defeat.
He’s too young and naive to fully understand this, much like Anna. Maybe that’s why she likes him so much. They both possess that same fragile innocence. Neither of them realizes the implications of her standing at my side. Such a fragile flower cannot survive the harsh conditions of the cartel. I managed to let her go once. I know I won’t be able to do it again. If she comes back here, it’s for good. She’ll always be in danger. Always be the weak point in my armor. And I’m so fucking selfish I won’t care as long as I have her.
It’s a fine line to walk, loving her, needing her, and yet constantly being at risk of losing her. Is it better to love and lose or to simply love and long from afar?
Samuel leans against the pickup, a cigarette pressed to his lips and a cloud of smoke billowing around him. When he see’s me, he pushes away and tosses the cigarette to the ground sending little sparks skittering over the tarmac.
“Rafe, you don’t need to do this.”
We’ve already spoken about this. “I’m not sending you in alone, Sam.”
“I can take Carlos.”
I glance into the bed of the truck, eyeing the two rifles lying there and the box of ammunition.
“You know I wouldn’t do that either.” Dominges might see his men as nothing but soldiers, cannon fodder sent out to protect him, but I don’t. I wouldn’t ask Sam or Carlos to do anything I wouldn’t do myself. I won’t send them out just to protect myself.
He sighs. “Without you…”
“Without me, you or Carlos could step up and run this shit with your eyes closed. This isn’t a fucking birthright, Sam, and you know it.” My father was the boss before me, and that definitely helped the transition when it came to the men that were loyal to him, but that’s as far as it went. Running the cartel is about strength and loyalty. Plain and simple.
“I don’t fucking care about the cartel, Rafe.” I look at him, and he stares back, his expression serious. “This shit is getting more and more dangerous by the day. It feels like it’s only a matter of time before someone finally manages to take you out.” His lips press together in a grim line. We’re guys, and we’re bad guys. We don’t talk about emotions and shit, but I know what he wants to say because I feel exactly the same about him and Carlos. They’re my brothers in every way but blood. We’ve all lost a lot and suffered. We’ve fought together and clawed our way to this point. We’re bonded. But this is the life we’ve chosen, the risks we take. Until this point, we’ve been near enough invincible, the ruling cartel, completely uncontested. The idea that we may actually be in real danger doesn’t sit well with any of us.
I brush it off with a smirk. “Did you forget? I’m Rafael D’Cruze.”
He rolls his eyes. “Doesn’t mean you’re bulletproof, fucker.”
I pick up one of the rifles and check the sights. “Come on. Let’s go.”
He hops up into the driver’s side of the truck, and I get in the passenger side. We pull away from the desert compound we’ve been laying low in. It’s tucked away in a valley, nearly impossible to find. It also houses my biggest coke factory. He’s got to a few of the others, but as long as this one remains operational, my ninety-eight percent pure cocaine will keep pouring across the border. His distributors are now in direct competition with mine, and they’re losing to a superior product. It’s just a matter of time. I’d love to think that I’m starving his operation out, but I’ve heard that they’re trafficking twice as many girls now, hosting auctions almost weekly. Selling them like cattle.
We drive back into Juarez, and the absolute darkness gives way to the city like a glowing beacon on the horizon. We stick to back roads. There’s speculation running rife through the city that I’m already dead, and that’s how I want it. Dominges will never know where I am or when I’m going to hit next. It gives me the upper hand.
We make our way to a warehouse on the outskirts of the city. I have endless rats buried within the Sinaloa. Most don’t last long, but one of them has come back with a tip that Dominges’ brother, Miguel, will be here tonight handling the transportation of some weapons.
My leg bounces anxiously as we wind along the derelict roads, the dim orange glow from the streetlights breaking in places before resuming again. Sam pulls the truck into an alley beside a garage about a mile down the road from the warehouse.
I jump out; swinging the rifle over my shoulder as I glance up the hill to where I know the warehouse sits. There’s nothing but darkness. Samuel hops out and picks up his own rifle, loading it and swinging it over his back. Between us, we only have limited shots. This isn’t a face-to-face assault. This is stealth.
We fall into silence as we make our way up the hill, sticking to the shadows and alleyways that cut between the nearby buildings. There’s a single guard on the gate, and it instantly makes me suspicious. Surely you’d have more security? Then again, sometimes security itself can draw attention. Samuel drops to the ground and sets up, his elbow braced against the ground, and his eye pressed to the sights. And then he waits. The guard slowly paces in front of the gate and says something into the radio. Sam waits for him to stop talking, and then he takes his shot. There’s a small pop, and he lands one to the head, dropping the man instantly. Sam’s up and jogging to the gate in a few seconds. We drag the body off into the shadows, and I kick dirt over the blood on the ground
.
“There are no cars here,” Samuel says.
“Doesn’t mean they aren’t here.” Of course, the information could be bullshit. Dominges knows I have rats in his organization, so he feeds a lot of false information. It’s always fifty-fifty on whether I’m fucking him or he’s leading me into a trap and fucking me. With only one guard on the gate, I’d be stupid not to think it’s the latter, but that’s why it’s just Sam and me. We get in unseen, and if it’s a shit show, we leave unseen. In theory.
As we round the back of the warehouse, I see the faint glow of lights inside spilling through the massive top windows. There’s a ropey looking metal ladder that leads up the side of the building and one part has pulled clean away from the wall.
Samuel taps my elbow and waves me to follow him. There’s a door at the back, and he grabs the handle, trying to open it. Of course it’s fucking locked. I’m not sure if that makes me feel better or worse about the situation. At least they’re not literally leaving the door open to invite us to our deaths.
Dropping to a crouch, Sam quickly fiddles the lock. Samuel, Carlos, and I learned fast how to pick a lock. By the time we were thirteen, we were stealing cars to order and breaking and entering like it was our right. Such is the way of impoverished kids in a cartel-run city. The door eases open and we both pause, waiting, listening. The door leads into a hallway that looks like a sectioned off office within the warehouse. I step inside, making sure my steps are slow and silent over the worn commercial carpet. The low hum of voices drifts from somewhere deep within the building, getting louder as we move towards the end of the corridor. Rifle ready, I carefully peek around the corner and see a huge glass window running along the length of another corridor. On the other side is the warehouse, but all I can see from this angle is a black van parked by some metal crates.
Tucking back around the corner, I glance at Samuel. We need to move. Right in front of the full-length window with absolutely no cover.
“Option one: step out all guns blazing and shoot out the glass.”