“Keep your voice down,” Ramsay ordered.
“For God's sake, what if it was important town business? Wouldn't that be allowed?”
“In these parts, we try to behave with decency, Ms. Kingston. It would be impolite to go to someone's house at night to discuss business.”
“Sometimes shit happens. You're as bad as Marjorie, condemning them before you even ask them what the hell was going on.”
Jessie shook her head. “I know it seems old-fashioned, Eva, but it's just the way it is around here.”
“We're not all as liberated as you folk from the city,” Harrow sniffed, the superiority in his voice made her want to punch him in the nose.
“Yeah, it's a real pity you're not. What are you going to do? Go and arrest the two of them for, gasp, daring to meet during the witching hours? The last time I checked that wasn't against the law.”
“No, but murder is.”
At Ramsay's gloomy voice, Eva blinked. “How the hell did you leapfrog to that conclusion?”
“It's election year.”
That had all three of her audience nodding sagely.
“So?”
“Some folk will do anything to cover up their secrets. Especially if Marjorie was coming to you to share such delicate information with the town. They probably had to stop her before she told anyone else. It was only good luck that homosexuality isn't a big deal from your part of the world.”
Eva rolled her eyes. “Why don't we just strap them both up to the electric chair, guys? You've already tried and found them guilty. All without asking a single question.” She got out of the booth, placed a hand on the edge of the table but pointed at them with her free hand. “I suggest you stop drinking your coffee and get your asses over to the town hall. If Marjorie turns up today, safe and sound, you can be sure this little tidbit of Neuview's idea of justice will be in the papers.”
Before Ramsay could say a word, she stalked off.
Maybe Darmon wasn't so goddamn cute, after all.
Chapter Fourteen
“Good work, Juan.”
His second-in-command shrugged. “It is my fault she escaped. I'm just relieved I can come to you with this good news.”
Martinez hid a smile. Juan had taken Eva's escape hard. Harder than even he himself had. For his own part, though he disliked her tactics, he was more amused at her antics than pissed off.
She'd pay for her misbehavior, he'd see to that, but he could only applaud her for a job well done in escaping their notice for so long.
“Hernandez and Montoya confirm that it is Eva.”
“You worked quickly.”
“The instant I saw the article, I suspected it was her.”
“Small town's BIG mouth. The Neuview New View is stirring up a storm in Tornado Alley. I'm not sure how you suspected anything from that headline.”
Juan shrugged. “She was a cat, Eva.”
“She was?”
He nodded. “Yes, jefe. For the most part, she stayed silent, but she had a strangeness about her. She was cat enough to toy with her mouse, and for all she enjoyed her work as a loba, she had a thread of honor too. I know she went to Matteo a lot with supposed misdoings in the upper ranks.”
Martinez tilted his head to the side at that. “How do you know that?”
Juan sighed and crossed his legs at the ankle. “If you remember, I was on Matteo's watch for a while. She went to him a lot. I never heard what they discussed, but Matteo disliked her. She was a tattletale, he said. Whenever she visited him, they both departed angrily. Eva, because he hadn't listened to her, and Matteo, because she had the balls to stand up to him. She wouldn't be cowed—like a cat.”
Martinez tapped his fingers on his desk. “Matteo knew about Rico's mistreatment of the putas.”
Juan hesitated. “I think a lot of the gang knew, jefe. Rico was...” He hissed. “Rico was a mean bastard. It was no hardship ending his life. He was capable of some sick shit, not only to the putas but to the men, as well.
“A lot of us knew that Eva had gone to Matteo to talk about Rico's cruelty, but when he did nothing, I won't lie, we were frightened.”
Martinez absorbed that, feeling his displeasure with his brother increase. He cracked his knuckles before getting to his feet and striding over to the window. Looking out onto the world that was his unfortunate playground, he asked, “Why didn't you come to me?”
“Everything was to go through Matteo, jefe. If he'd have found out we'd gone to you first, he'd have set Rico onto us. Not many could beat him in a fight, but even if it was possible, Matteo would have set someone else on us.”
When a man started to see why a traitor felt the need to put his brother behind jail, things were fucked up. Rubbing a hand through his hair, he contemplated the city in the distance and murmured, “I had no idea things were so bad.”
Juan grunted. “Many were relieved when Matteo was arrested. He could be cruel, and he used Rico like his own personal guard. I think a lot wished Rico had gone down too.”
Martinez turned around. “Tell me true, are things better now?”
Juan smiled. “Of course. Now Matteo has gone, your open-door policy actually has some effect. The troops knew you were interested, but they didn't dare risk going to you.”
“I should have realized something was going on.” The numbers of visits to his door by the lower ranks had increased dramatically. “It's to my shame that I didn't realize sooner.”
Juan shook his head. “No one blames you. In truth, it's Matteo who was blamed. You're a fair leader, jefe.”
Martinez narrowed his eyes at his second-in-command, switching topics as the thoughts came to him. “Did Montoya and Hernandez say why she was in South Dakota? Does she have any family there?”
Juan, used to the boss' rapidly shifting conversation, merely shook his head. “No family. But she bought the paper, free and clear.”
“Probably with her earnings from the gang.”
“Maybe.”
Martinez snorted. “Where else could she get that kind of cash?”
“True.” Juan paused. “Should we look into her police record? Was she dirty?”
“Already done. She was highly lauded at the academy. Something happened, the case was locked down, but it stopped her from graduating with her class. She graduated a year later. Aside from that blip, she's been a model blue blood. Rose through the ranks, passed detective with one of the highest scores in her precinct's history. After her stay with us, she was a shoe-in for promotion, until I screwed that up for her.”
“She fit in too well here,” Juan commented. “I find it hard to believe she didn't work something on the side.”
“Does it matter if she did?”
“I don't know. It just gives us more of a clue as to who she is.”
“I already know her.”
“In fairness, jefe, you really don't.”
“I do.” He pursed his lips. “I should have known she'd pull a stunt like that. I was arrogant, and I didn't account for how popular she'd become with the troops during her time here.”
“She's a chameleon.”
“No, she's not. She liked the gang life. It was easy to see. That's why I never suspected her. When she passed the initiation rituals, I had no reason to doubt her. Then, when news came back that we had a snitch, I kept looking at her but seeing nothing. She enjoyed it here.”
Juan snorted. “Like I said. Gata.” Cat.
Martinez shook his head. “Loba.” Wolf.
“If you say so.”
“I do.”
“What do you want me to do? Hernandez and Montoya are out there in the closest motel to the county. Do you want me to have them bring her in?”
“No. I want to see her in her own territory.”
“You want me to arrange the flight?”
“If you will.”
Juan nodded. “I'll see to it now. When do you want to take off?”
Martinez eyed the papers on his desk. “Two days f
rom now. I can't miss Chela's art show.”
“Okay. I'll email you the confirmation.”
“Thanks.”
When Juan departed, Martinez eyed the photo Juan had handed him twenty minutes ago. It was grainy, even with the top line phones Montoya and Hernandez had. But regardless of the camera quality, he'd recognize that face anywhere.
Eva was buried away in a hick town in South Dakota, and had been since her escape.
His jaw cracked when he thought back to that night. He hated to admit that his cock throbbed with the memory. She'd turned the tables on him, tied him down to the bed, fucked him. He admired her nerve. That he could admit. He just wished he didn't want her still.
But maybe that was impossible.
In his world, integrity was a rare commodity. Even Juan, who he trusted, hadn't had the guts to face Matteo, but Eva had. She'd locked horns with him, time and time again.
She'd tied Martínez to the bed, but she hadn't made her escape then. Technically, she hadn't reneged, because according to her, she hadn't actually agreed to his deal. The technicality amused him rather than pissed him off.
She was strong. An equal, even if there was a slight stench of 'bacon' surrounding her. Pig, she might be, but she was woman with whom he could battle.
If anything, after her escapades, he wanted her more.
The idea of making her submit to him this time could keep him up at night, cock throbbing with a hard-on that wouldn't quit. Not a one of the women Juan sent his way could appease the need Eva had sowed in his soul. He'd tried, but it felt pointless.
When sex had started to have a point, Martinez didn't know. He'd fear he was getting old, if it weren't for the fact Eva was the only woman who had ever twisted his cock into a knot.
When faced with a creature like that, a complicated, feral beast, what fun was a docile animal? One who laid there and moaned in the right places. He wanted the fire, the brawn of the bitch who'd had the audacity to put him in a choke hold. Who hadn't thought to kill him, who'd tied him down, taunted him by denying his orgasms, and had then fucked him like a siren.
Was it any wonder she was in his blood? In his mind?
She was an itch he needed to scratch, but he feared her poison was in his blood.
* * *
“Well done, Chela.” Martinez leaned down and pressed a kiss to his sister's temple.
At five-five, she was a short ass, but beware anyone who failed to see the little firebomb inside the small packaging.
For the last six years, she'd been fighting him, fighting to find her feet in the art world. He'd wanted her to get a decent degree, something that would enable her to support herself. Instead, she'd gone for a degree in Fine Arts.
The day she'd told him she'd received a place at his own alma mater, Columbia, he'd wanted to cry. Not in happiness either.
His family knew what he did. They understood that his work necessitated a few breakages of the law, and they accepted it, because it fed, clothed, and sheltered them. However, only his mother knew that he intended on doing this for only as long as his sisters needed him.
Within the next year, the financial lodestone on his shoulders would start to disappear. Chela was out of school now, and had, incredibly, managed to make a career out of her hobby. Angela was still in college, and next year, Thea would make her way into the world of adulthood, too.
Once they left home, he'd finally be free.
When Chela smiled up at him, radiant with her success, he felt guilty for feeling they were a burden. But they were. A burden he'd carried for many, many years. When his father died Thea had only been a toddler, and suddenly, becoming the man of the house at sixteen had been a nightmare of epic proportions.
Not only did he have to deal with his father's death, but he'd endured the sounds of his mother selling her body on a night. He'd had to protect his sisters and brother from the knowledge of what his mama had to do to feed them.
The gang, nothing more than a few pissed off kids, had started from there. Martinez, Rico, Matteo, they'd been the first three. Others had come, some had gone, but for the last seventeen years, his life had been the Lobos.
He'd never intended for this to be his world. He'd gained more power than he'd ever believed a kid from BedStuy could ever attain. He had more money, more possessions, than he'd dreamed possible, but they were done now. They'd stopped being impressive. He was tired of the violence. Tired of the fighting. Tired of the threat of jail.
When Matteo had gone down, his own personal nightmare had been realized. He could not go to jail, and with such a short time left until he was free to be his own man, the idea of being locked up was hell.
He'd intended to pass the Lobos on to Matteo. His younger brother enjoyed the life. Enjoyed the violence, the fighting, the endless squabbling with rival gangs. The Lobos wouldn't have turned as high a profit as they would with Martinez at the helm, but that would no longer be his problem.
It would be Matteo's.
That was until Eva had come along and fucked up his plans.
Now, he was left with a vacuum at the top. Rico, even though he'd been a founding member of the gang, would never have been a suitable leader. Juan was the only one Martinez trusted, but he was young. Too young for the older members of the gang to share Martinez's trust.
Despite that, within the next year, Martinez had decided to groom Juan for the leadership. Make the upper ranks trust him.
The last thing he wanted was to leave behind unrest in the troops.
The Lobos, while just a gang, supported a hell of a lot of people. The ill-gotten gains funded many outreach programs. Some of the shittiest neighborhoods in the city weren't so shitty thanks to the Lobos' generosity.
He couldn't cut all ties with the gang. No matter how he wanted to.
When Chela squeezed him in a hug, he smiled, pressing his lips to her hair. “Enhorabuena, hermanita.”
“Less of the little,” she chided with a grin. “But I'll take the congrats.” Chela looked around the gallery, sighing at the sight of the crowds, her art lining the walls, a lot already decorated with a SOLD sign. “I can't believe it, Martinez. I've finally done it.” She shook her head. “We've finally done it. I know I wouldn't be here without you.”
He grinned. “It's not what you know, but who you know.” He'd bought the gallery last year, but Chela didn't have to know that.
He'd influenced the director a smidgen, but Chela's talents had gotten her her first solo showing at the Lowra art gallery. He'd only been capable of doing so much, and she'd done the rest.
She whacked him on the arm. “Stop raining on my parade.”
“I'm not!” he denied, raising his arms in surrender. “Your hard work has led you here. I'm proud of you, and I know mama is too.”
“I wish Matteo was here.” She sighed. “He'd have loved this.”
Martinez felt himself tense at her words. It wasn't the first time since Matteo had gone to jail that Martinez had the disloyal thought he belonged where he was. Not that he could tell Chela that. Instead, he stuck to the truth. “He would have loved it, you're right.”
Chela smiled. “We've come a long way, haven't we, Martinez?”
“We certainly have.” He squeezed her hand. “Go on, enjoy your night.”
Her grin widened as she nodded and flittered away, the belle of her very own ball. He watched as she moved through the crowds, chatting to some, discussing God knew what with others. She maneuvered her way through the sophisticated hordes, pausing to glance at her own work every now and then, a glint of pride on her face.
How long he stood there, watching his baby sister enjoy her success, he couldn't have said. With a glass of champagne in his hand, he finally stopped his private study of her, a study founded in his relief that Chela could stand on her own two feet at last, and circled the room.
The Lowra was a modern art gallery. He disliked most of the stuff sold here on principle. After he'd bought it, he'd veered the product lines from th
e crazy to the more aesthetically appealing. After seeing two painted skulls and a wall of graffiti-decorated hubcaps, he'd told the director to stick to paintings.
As always, Martinez astounded himself. He was by no means an artist or even a lover of art. He appreciated his sister's, could tell that her work was good, but on the whole, he was no connoisseur. And yet, ever since he'd bought the Lowra, profits were up by over seventy percent.
Sometimes it was easy to believe his good press—he really did have the Midas touch when it came to business.
The gallery was a blank canvas. The cream interior was lined with glass partition walls. Each piece of art occupied its own partition, and decorated its own space. The walls were lined around the cavernous area, each clustered together in a maze-like formation. Once you stepped into the maze, there was nowhere to go but deeper inside.
On the outer walls, Chela's biggest works hung. He'd bought one of them before the crowds had even stepped foot through the door, and only because he'd seen her painting it. Last year, before she'd moved to her own place, he'd seen the portrait of a woman slowly being crafted brushstroke by brushstroke. And he'd known, even at its bare bones, it had been a portrait of Eva, Lucia.
He'd wanted it back then but had known it was for her gallery showing. Being the owner of the Lowra had its perks. No one had a chance in hell of getting their hands on that particular piece. It had his name written all over it.
His obsession with Lucia should have concerned him, and to a certain degree, it did. But at the same time, it wouldn't have made sense if she hadn't appealed to him. Strength attracted strength, and there were few stronger than Lucia.
He hovered in front of his new purchase. It was a study of light and shadow. Half her face was painted in black and white before it faded into gray scale, then burst into color. Chela had done it cleverly, because the features weren't actually painted in. Only the outlines were, but still, when he looked at it, he saw far more than a two-dimensional image.
Lucia stood turned to the side, her shoulders twisted slightly, but her face was aimed forward. The powerful brushstrokes brought the vitality he knew throbbed through Lucia's veins to life. Her power, her own ingrained strength, was visible for all to see in the stern cast of her lips, the narrowed eyes, and firmed chin.
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