Old Hollywood (Colombian Cartel Book 4)

by Suzanne Steele

  Victor spoke through clenched teeth. “She’s not going anywhere.”

  “Has all your blood settled in your dick, Victor?” Antonio Wayne asked with a scowl. He opened his mouth to speak again but closed it when Ricardo cut grim eyes at him.

  “Yes, I did what you told me to do. She’s been trained by the best. I wouldn’t exactly put her in the ring with Mom, but she can hold her own.”

  Antonio Wayne wasn’t going to let this opportunity pass. “Would you put her in the ring with Roxanne?”

  His answer was swift and unwavering. “Fuck, no, Roxanne would chew her up and spit her out like last week’s tortilla.”

  That caused all three men to laugh uproariously at the thought of anyone taking on their women and prevailing.

  “That’s my girl,” Antonio Wayne said with pride, his laughter finally trailing off as he regained his composure.

  “The point is, son, she’s in the hands of trained professionals. God help the person who crosses your mother’s future daughter-in-law. You let her do this job and pull her weight like a good Colombian cartel woman does, and I’ll make sure she’s down that aisle so fast it makes your head spin.”

  “Yeah, sobrino, but that part about making sure she gets pregnant? That shit’s on you.”

  “I’m all over it,” Victor smirked.

  “I know you are.”

  Ricardo leaned back in a more relaxed posture. “Victor. You are my son and I love you. I would never let anything happen to your woman and God help anyone who tries to cross either one of you. Your future wife is safe in the hands of your mother and Roxanne. I would stake my life on it.”

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  “I don’t like it.” Victor’s voice was soft and low, his face buried in the crook of Valentina’s neck as she leaned against the wall. There was so much need in his voice and body language that it pulled at her heartstrings and created a surge of warmth in her chest. She’d read about it, understood the concept, but this was so real. Reading about it was nothing like this…this was a living, breathing emotion that danced like fire along her skin. It was a supernatural connection unlike anything she’d ever felt before.

  “I don’t fucking like it. I need you safe.”

  She had begun to suspect that her feelings for this man were every bit as deep and intense as his feelings for her. She was a pro at portraying emotions she didn’t really feel, but there was no camera now, no script. This was real life. She still grappled with the prospect of living the cartel life, but she couldn’t deny that her initial resistance was fading fast.

  As if he was reading her mind, he gritted out his next words in an anguished tone, “I love you, mi amor. I love you so fucking much it hurts. I know I threw you into this life, but I won’t let you--”

  She took his face in her hands. “Nobody comes into this game not pulling their weight. Your father would never put me in someone’s care he didn’t trust. We’re still getting to know each other, Victor, but you should understand that I cannot refuse an opportunity to prove myself to your father. I’ll always fight to get back to you. You mustn’t underestimate me.”

  She gave him a tender kiss before turning and walking away so he couldn’t see the tears in her eyes. He needed to understand that she meant business.

  Valentina was a great believer in trying a decision on for size, to see if it truly fit. So that was what she was doing. If she was going to be cartel, she had to know what it would be like, and decide if she was truly up for it. This was her chance. She really couldn’t say no.

  This wasn’t a time for insecurity or fear. She needed to do what she had to do, as her fellow Colombian cartel sisters did, and that was to pull her weight. To prove herself.

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  “Man, did you ever fuck up! All you had to do was kidnap those bitches. If you couldn’t do that, you should have stolen the car, but you couldn’t even pop the lock on the fuckin’ SUV.”

  “Well, it was locked, dumbass.”

  “’Well, it was locked, dumbass,’” Franco mimicked. “When have you ever let a detail like that stop you, Hugo?”

  “Fuck you, Franco! Now you’re all educated? You came from the streets like I did. Just ‘cause you learned a new word off the internet, don’t make you no smarter than me. Bottom line is: ain’t no bitches ought to be able and get over on us. You fucked up. I told you when we started, them bitches was not run of the mill playas. They married to cartel. Ain’t no bitch married to Colombian cartel that ain’t trained and street smart. I’m talkin’ trained—like military trained—not like our bitches are. They be takin’ they bitches an puttin’ ‘em through some kind of military shit. That Ricardo Ramirez be puttin’ all his workers through military training. When you didn’t kidnap them bitches, you put us in the line of fire, motherfucker! Ain’t nobody out here in these streets wantin’ to work for no gangster-suit-wearin’ bastard like Escondido. You want a boss tellin’ you what to do? Or do you want to be ya own gangsta? We need to kill dem bitches to send a message we ain’t scared.”

  “Yeah, I feel ya.” Franco answered as he took a long, sweet toke. “Ah man, they need to pull the male and female marijuana plant and separate ‘em, man. These seeds are too much. They be givin’ me a headache, man.”

  “Buy from the white boys then.” Hugo pulled the blunt from his homey’s hand. “You should be grateful you got weed to smoke and not bitchin’ about some SUV that may or may not have been the property of the Ramirez brothers. They old and played out, man…”

  “Who’s old and played out, baby?” a sultry, feminine voice asked.

  Hugo’s mouth dropped open at the sight of a woman with pink hair and piercings strutting around the corner of the alley. He thought he was going to come in his pants when two hot beauties followed behind her. He straightened from the wall and sauntered over to them, making sure to bring his best swagger and give his dick a little tug while he was doing it. Yeah…that got their attention, now he could get a better look at them. They were on his turf now. A man couldn’t be too careful on these streets, after all.

  More than one homeboy had been set up on these streets by the false promise of getting some pussy. One of the women was a long, tall drink of water with long black hair that had been dyed maroon at about the halfway point. That one didn’t have all the piercings but damn she was loaded down with tats. Most of her face was a fucking tribute to Goya. It didn’t matter though; when it was time to climb inside that one, he could always cover her head with a brown bag. That always worked for him, even when the bitch was fugly. And that fucking body she was sporting was rocking, that was all that mattered.

  Last but not least was the ponytailed redhead. She had a tattoo on her face, too, that ran along her hairline on the right side of her face. It started at the edge of her forehead and continued down past her cheek. It was an intricate design of a flower with scrolled writing.

  “Sinaloa.” The word rolled off his tongue with pride. Sinaloan pussy everywhere he looked? This was too good to be true, but fuck it, he wouldn’t turn it down. “¿Que paso chicas?” He made the mistake of reaching out to grab the black-haired girl’s arm and scowled when she jerked away.

  “No me toques!”

  The girls turned to leave but by now Franco had joined Hugo and both men were following them as they yelled out insults.

  “Don’t touch you?! Hey, fuck you, bitch,” Franco yelled as he followed behind his buddy, swinging a bomber between two fingers. The 22-ounce bottle was only about half full of beer, but it would do nicely if he needed to crack it open to cut a bitch. Franco wasn’t picky about what he’d have to do to get all up inside some new pussy. As far as he was concerned, these bitches had come to them; they were fucking asking for it.

  “Yeah, don’t nobody want to fuck a bitch with tats all over her face any-damn-way,” Hugo snarled. “But I ain’t picky, baby, and I got what you want. I’ll fuck your pussy or fuck your tits, but not without a bag over your fucking head.�
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  This elicited a laugh from Franco, who had decided it would be funny to hold his thumb over the end of the beer bottle and shake it up then spray it all over the bitches. They’d have their own wet t-shirt contest, at least until those fucking shirts got torn off. Being easily amused, the boys were too busy having fun to notice the white cargo van that slowly followed them.

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  Tony felt a chill in the air that had nothing to do with the weather. No, the reason for the subtle shift had everything to do with the man standing next to him: his older brother, Victor. Older by only a matter of minutes, nonetheless Victor took his role as older brother seriously. Even now in the dim streetlight, Tony could see Victor’s jaw tick as he clenched his teeth. Nobody hated waiting more than Victor, and Tony silently shook his head at the barely restrained emotion he saw there.

  Less than a year out from his second and final tour of duty in the Middle East, Tony was still adjusting to being back in the bosom of his family where passions and tempers were often allowed free rein. Tony’s whole life, he had done everything he could to avoid joining the cartel – the family business. So, he enlisted instead. As a sniper, he had seen things and done things that had fucked with his head. He had come home a changed man and told his father he was ready. He wanted in.

  In the months since he’d returned, he had noticed a few odd things, such as how it came naturally to him now to keep a lid on his own emotions to get a job done. Victor, on the other hand, tended to be headstrong and often seemed to struggle to not give in to the urge to rip an enemy’s head off. It hadn’t taken Tony long after his boots hit the ground in the desert to learn that undisciplined shit like that could get a man killed or, even worse, send another soldier home in a flag-draped coffin.

  “Lock that shit down and get ready, bro,” he muttered as he caught Victor’s eye. A silent look passed between the brothers before Victor looked away and released a long, steadying breath.

  As Antonio Wayne slid into the backseat, Tony turned around to look at King, who acknowledged him with a brief nod. King got it; he understood the importance of restraint and discipline in dealing with the enemy. Of course, King’s adversaries often had talons or fangs. But, nonetheless, King knew that Tony’s military training ensured his life was in safe hands.

  Tonight, King was letting the brothers use his newest toy -- a customized Dodge Ram cargo van. The side door opened so quietly that the gangbangers would never hear it if Tony kept them distracted enough.

  Tony grabbed a pair of black-rimmed glasses and a baseball cap from the console between the front seats, instantly transforming into a ‘nerd boy’. “Showtime…” He slipped out of the van and adopted a goofy, affable grin as he spoke in a nasal voice.

  “Hello, excuse me. Could you help me? It seems I’m a tad bit lost,” he said, laughing nervously.

  Hugo and Franco forgot all about the stuck-up women still shaking their asses as they strutted away. They knew they weren’t going to get any pussy now anyway, but it seemed that a new mark had dropped right into their laps. Robbing this dumbass white boy would be just about as much fun as getting laid, anyway.

  Hugo and Franco strolled around the tricked-out, custom cargo van, exchanging smug grins as they envisioned the bankroll the guy was probably carrying. Hell, even if the dumbass was lost on the wrong side of town without a wallet full of money, they’d just take the van to a Sinaloa brother who had a chop shop and still make out like fat cats.

  Neither man heard the electronic door on the opposite side of the van when it quietly slid open.

  “Ese…you should let us take you back to the highway. This neighborhood, it ain’t so safe, man.”

  Hugo looked over, momentarily confused as Franco crumpled onto the pavement. The bottle of beer shattered when it hit the ground, leaving shards of glass in its wake.

  “What the fuck, ese? How much did you drink?”

  Hugo never saw or felt the small animal tranquilizer dart when it struck his neck sent him crumpling to the ground beside his incapacitated friend.

  “I fucking love this van, King,” Victor commented as they prepared to heave the two men into the back of the vehicle.

  “Make sure the liner is secure. I don’t need broken glass in there, and this guy landed right in the middle of it. He’s a fucking mess. I guess ought to pull some of the pieces out.”

  “Tony, a few pieces of glass in his ass would be the least of his worries right now,” Victor said. “Seems like a waste of effort to me. Why the hell would we do that?”

  “True.”

  Moments later, with their cargo securely restrained in the back of the van, they pulled up beside the women, who had stopped to watch. “C’mon, let’s get out of here. Get back to your vehicle, we’ll sit tight until you’re inside. Meet us at King’s place,” Victor said grimly. “And Valentina, put on a dry shirt.”

  Valentina looked over at her companions and rolled her eyes. As the girls trotted back to their SUV, King watched them go. “You know what I love?”

  “Watching women try to run in high heels?” Victor drawled as he waited to make sure the women got in the SUV without any interference.

  “You got it, my man,” Tony laughed before abruptly turning wide eyes on Victor, who was glaring at him from the passenger seat. “Oh, hell, no offense, Vic. I didn’t mean to disrespect your woman.” He grimaced like he smelled something particularly rotten. “Or, you know, Mom. Or—aw, shit. I did not mean that the way it came out.”

  “Hmmph,” Victor grunted and shook his head as the van pulled out into traffic. “Just drive the fucking car.”

  “Who’s King?” Valentina asked as she struggled with the seatbelt while Juanita took off like a bat out of hell.

  “Oh, you’ll see. Believe me, it’ll be easier to understand if you just see for yourself.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I mean you can’t really describe King without a visual.”

  Valentina shook her head and looked out the window, resigned to the fact that the women weren’t going to explain or describe who this stranger named King was.

  She was kind of in her own world lately anyway because, although she hadn’t told anyone, she had begun to second guess herself about whether or not it had been Luis she saw that night in that black SUV. But what else explained there being so many black SUVs on the highway that night? They were popular vehicles; hell, even the soccer moms drove them. Anytime you pulled up to a school, half the vehicles were SUVs or soccer mom mini-vans. Black was a popular color.

  It had to have been him. She knew it like she knew her own name. She gritted her teeth and stiffened her spine. She might be the queen of the telenovela world, but she had no intention of being the queen of denial.

  Chapter Thirty

  It was the slap heard ‘round the world…or at least that’s what it felt like when Rene’s manicured hand connected with David Turner’s cheek, leaving a burning red handprint in its wake. As he shook his head, the ringing in his ears was disconcerting and kept him from wrapping his brain around what had just happened.

  Rene leaned in and clarified the situation for him when she whispered in his ear. “It isn’t your sexuality you’re grappling with, you know. Your struggle is with your fucking job. Now, you know how this works, right? We can do this easy or we can do this hard. You can let me -- the only person you can trust -- help you, or you can resist and I’ll do it my way.”

  She reached down and squeezed his fully erect cock so cruelly that it was all he could do to not cry out in pain. “When it comes to your sexuality, David, you really must learn to read your body. I sure as fuck know how to read your body, don’t I? But when it comes to matters of business, listen to your head”—she jabbed her finger against his temple to make her point—“this one, not this one”—she squeezed his cock again. “Got it?!”

  He couldn’t do anything but nod his head. His body was racked with a particularly nasty combination of pleasure and
pain that had his brain on full tilt.

  “Now, you’re going to open that pretty little mouth of yours but this time you’re going to use it for something besides licking my pussy. And if you’re a good boy, maybe I’ll let you lick it later. You’re going to tell me what the fuck you’re up to. You owe me that. We’re partners, in case you’ve forgotten—FBI agents dealing with fucking cartel. If you think I’m putting my life or yours in danger because you failed to communicate, you’ve got another think coming.”

  “It’s going to take longer than standing in a hidden hallway in an FBI building to fill you in,” he replied with considerable effort.

  “Then I suggest we go get a cup of coffee, dear.”

  She turned on her heel with him following behind her as he rubbed his cheek. He adjusted his pants and hoped no other agents would see the evidence of their discussion. He made sure Rene was far enough ahead of him before he gave in to a sheepish grin. No sense in making her mad; any madder than she already was, anyway. At least, not until they were off duty for the night.

  Chapter Thirty One

  Pulling into the exotic animal refuge pushed all thoughts of Luis from Valentina’s mind. As Juanita parked the car, Valentina hurriedly unbuckled her seatbelt and grabbed the headrest in front of her where Roxanne was seated.

  “This. Is. Amazing.” Even with only the light of a full moon to see by, Valentina was enthralled by the sight of llamas sleeping out in the open. They were fenced in but had been given so much room they were could probably be considered free-ranging.

  As if reading Valentina’s mind, Roxanne said quietly, “King likes to give the animals a realistic habitat, as close as possible to them being in the wild, while still keeping them safe.”

  Valentina squinted as she studied Roxanne. “How do you know so much?”

  Juanita laughed, looking in the rearview mirror at her sister-in-law in the backseat. “It was her idea. Ricardo had this place built for her.”