by Amy Jarecki
You lie. For years, The Godfather had filled her head with countless untruths. “Are they?” she asked innocuously, starting toward her chair.
But El Padrino caught her wrist. “I thought you didn’t like the pilot.”
“I didn’t—I-I still don’t. He’s a criminal.”
The man chuckled, a low, barely discernable chuckle, the one that always meant he didn’t believe her. “I’m not blind, chica. Lucas Lewis is an attractive man—a gringo.”
Mia squared her shoulders. Showing fear now would be a grave mistake. “He might be, but that doesn’t make him a good man.”
“Is that what you value, my pet? Goodness in men? Bleeding hearts? Knights in shining armor?” He yanked her to his side and pressed his lips against her ear. “You’ve been reading too many fucking books.”
She tried to wrench away. “Stop. Please.”
“Do you want him?” El Padrino’s fingers dug into her flesh.
“Of course not!” She winced. “You’re hurting me.”
“Good.” He pulled her toward the black Japanese screen. “But I think you need to remember your place. To remember what I expect from you.”
“No!” Mia’s voice shot up. She tried to resist as he dragged her forward. “I-I know my place. I have been put on this earth to please you. I am a lowly servant. I have no rights. You allow me to live in comfort only because it is your will.”
“That’s right.” His eyes grew fierce with his snarl as he forced her behind the screen and bent down her wrist until she dropped into the wooden torture chair. “But you sound like a parrot. When will you realize what those words actually mean? When will you realize you must obey my rules?”
She crossed her arms tight over her chest and clenched her teeth. “Please, no. I’ll be good. I promise not to interfere again.” Sweat broke out across her brow as her heart hammered.
No matter what she said, he still placed the crown of pain on her head. Mia tried to push it off, but he caught her wrist, forced her arm downward and locked it to the armrest. “You are growing too bold,” he said with a sneer, securing the other wrist and tightening her torso to the backrest. Then he picked up the controller and stepped away.
A tear streamed from Mia’s eye as she whispered, “Please. I only tried to help.”
He pressed the button, making electricity shoot into her brain. Excruciating pain surged through her body like knives cutting her from the inside. Shuddering out of control, her legs kicked as her arms jolted against the bindings. Her teeth gnashed so hard, they felt like they would shatter.
“You are filth! You are nothing!” El Padrino bellowed. “I will break every bone in your body if you ever think to cross me.”
The electricity stopped. Mia squealed with a release of pain, sweat slipping into her eyes.
“Do you hear me?”
“Yes, yes,” she said through short gasps. “I am nothing.”
Another jolt shot through her body making her teeth rattle and her heart race like a jackhammer. Then he leaned forward and met her gaze with a stare filled with hate. “You will not cross me again, my pet.”
She shook her head—partly because she’d lost control of her nerves and partly because if she didn’t agree with him, he could turn the electricity up so high, her heart would stop. Why doesn’t he? He hates me. “I won’t.”
“Now compose yourself. We’re going to have a chat with Mr. Lewis.”
***
After Luke entered El Padrino’s office, he stopped short, hesitating near the doorway. Mia sat in a wing-backed guest chair, her head down, her hair draped forward and hiding her face. Something was wrong.
What did he do to her?
Against an overwhelming impulse to ask if she was okay, Luke clenched his teeth and shifted his gaze to Morales. “You wanted to see me?” Standing akimbo, he planted a fist on his hip, giving a pretense of nonchalance.
“I did,” said the man, sneering beneath his mustache. “I understand you had some trouble after you made the drop.”
“Some trouble?” Luke straightened and cracked his knuckles. “More like a whole shit storm.”
Morales gestured to the chair beside Mia. “Tell me about the flight. What happened?”
Taking the seat, Luke chanced a glimpse at Mia out of the corner of his eye. She still hadn’t raised her head and she grasped the armrests with white knuckles. Luke pretended not to notice, sat back and again crossed his arms. “There’s not much to say really. After I made the drop the fuel gauge fell fast—right after the engine started knocking. And that’s when I realized I was either going to take a dive in the drink or head for the nearest airstrip.” True, the gauge hadn’t moved, but there was no way for anyone to verify what he saw, and what he was about to say next would be more believable if he’d seen the gauge drop.
“And you had enough fuel to get there?”
“Just enough. Had to turn the old Beech King into a glider, but she made it.”
“Where did you land?”
“At a mate’s airfield. Let’s just say a good friend who won’t talk.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“You better believe it. Air Force buddies have a code they never break.”
“Hmm. That’s quite a story.” Morales picked up his sword-shaped letter opener and used it like a pointer. “If you’re lying, I’ll find out. And if I do, you won’t live to take another breath.”
“Why would I lie? If I weren’t an ace, I’d already be dead.” Luke leaned forward and gave the bastard a hard stare. “What I want to know is when I’m gonna get paid.”
“That’s the last thing you need to worry about. You will receive your money in cash at the end of the month just like everyone else.” Morales stood and moved in front of them.
Mia pushed her hair back and looked up at the bastard while fear oozed off her. She completely ignored Luke as if he weren’t there. The jerk had done something to her—something horrible.
Morales drummed his fingers on the side of his leg. If he’d had a holster on his hip, Luke might have thought he was about to draw. “Mia tells me she doesn’t like you because you are a criminal.”
What is he up to? Luke held El Padrino’s black-eyed gaze. “Well then, I reckon she’s smart.”
“But she helped you.”
It didn’t take a genius to figure out Morales was trying to corner Luke into saying something he shouldn’t. It also didn’t take a genius to realize Mia was there because of the direction of the conversation. And it was obvious she’d already been punished. Luke splayed his fingers. If only he could bury his fist in the bastard’s snout. In a heartbeat, he’d throw Mia over his shoulder and haul her the hell out of there. But too much was at stake. Luke pasted on a passive smirk. If he showed any concern for Mia he’d end up a dead man. “She might have come up to the gate with that useless golf cart, but I can hold my own,” he said, sounding like an arrogant thug. He gestured toward her with a casual flick of his thumb. “I don’t need help from a Sheila.”
El Padrino’s chin tipped up. “But you think she’s pretty. You look at her with the eyes of a predator.”
“Yeah, well, I’m a man.” Luke shrugged like he couldn’t give a frig. “There are pretty women everywhere. And I like mine with a bit more meat on their bones.”
“Men like you can’t help themselves.” The fingers that had drummed his thigh slipped behind Morales’ back. Luke forced himself not to react as the bastard brandished a Glock and shoved it against his temple. “I told you to stay away from her. You don’t touch her. You don’t look at her. You don’t even acknowledge she’s alive.”
Searing heat spread across his skin while a jolt of rage shot up his spine. Fuck the apathetic routine. God damn, he’d had enough. He might be on an op. It might be critical for him to infiltrate the cartel, but this nutcase had already tried to kill him once—twice if you count the stunt by Juan and the men. Three times with the fucking gun against his head. If Luke didn’t as
sert himself now, he might as well sit there and wait to be shot.
Moving with the speed of an asp, he seized El Padrino’s wrist and controlled the direction of the revolver and shifted it aside. He surged to his feet, twisting the weapon against the bastard’s thumb. In a nanosecond, Luke went on the offensive, controlling his urge to severely injure the sick drug lord who thought he was God. He shoved the Glock into the back of his waistband while gripping Morales by the throat and backing him into the desk. “I don’t know what kind of sick, jealous mind-fuck you have going on here, but I’m not playing your game.” With a quick incline of his head Luke gestured toward Mia. “This girl is nothing but a child. An immature, sheltered, uneducated brat who thinks the sun rises and sets on you. I’m here to do a job. That’s it. You either pay me or I walk, end of story.”
Morales gasped, his legs kicking, his hands ineffectively clawing at Luke’s vicelike grip. “I—”
“I’m not finished,” Luke growled, shoving his face into Morales’ and glaring at the bugged eyes of the most powerful drug lord on the planet. “If you ever pull a gun on me again, you’d better use it, or else I’ll make you eat lead for your last meal.”
With another twist of his hand, Morales squealed like an adolescent boy and dropped to his knees.
“I agreed to fly for you. Full stop. You don’t own me. You’re worried about my loyalty? Well, the street runs both ways, and I’ll be as loyal to you as you are to me.” Luke spun and strode out of the office while his gut twisted into a knot. He wasn’t ready to walk away. Not with unfinished business, but personal vendettas must come later. Nonetheless, he might never forgive himself for leaving Mia alone with a monster.
Chapter Ten
Vincent Morales sat by himself in his bedroom and sipped tequila. Hot blood pulsed through his veins as he stared at a portrait of his mother, feeling no remorse. Though he’d ordered her execution, he missed her. The pain of being alone in the world often brought on a spell of melancholy. His only solace? One day in the distant future, he would be reunited with his loved ones. Of course, his parents would forgive him because they inherently knew he’d had no choice. Besides, Padre was murdered by his fiercest enemy, Amado Zambada, shortly after Vincent rose to glory.
That’s when it had become clear that no one he loved could live. It was an act of compassion that made him send his mother to be at his father’s side. Now, his parents lived together in eternal happiness.
A few months after the funeral, one of his distributors couldn’t pay his debts and offered Mia as collateral. She was twelve at the time and shapeless. Vincent took her, thinking it might be diverting to have a child in the house for a while—someone to chat with during meals. But then the distributor was killed. When no one came for her, Vincent decided she could stay. Since, she’d grown into a beautiful woman. Since she’d never associated with friends, never attended school, Mia was naïve, and he liked her that way.
In truth, he trusted her more than any other person in his employ. That’s why Lucas disturbed him so much. Mia was attracted to the pilot. Though she tried to hide her interest, Vincent felt it.
Her past had been tragic. And though Vincent didn’t like to admit it to himself, he had taken pity on her. True, he’d been born poor. It wasn’t odd for a man like him to pity an urchin. As a child, he’d begged on the streets—sold cheap, string bracelets his mother had made. Indeed, he knew something of what Mia’s childhood was like. At the age of eighteen, he’d moved to a border town where he worked smuggling drugs into America. He learned the ropes in a contemptible cartel—one filled with lowlifes. The boss was a swindler and an idiot. Once Vincent had learned the machinations of the business, he killed the hombre and assumed control. From there, he developed his empire. Every year, he became more powerful. And every year, simply living had become more precarious. The price on his head was immense, and that meant he must be a fox and outsmart them all. To be the best in this game, a don needed to think fast, to grasp complex situations and act swiftly, flexibly and creatively.
Yes, Vincent craved love, craved a family. But in replacement of a true love, he commanded Mia’s affections. He controlled her. He owned her. She did whatever he asked of her.
After taking another sip of tequila, Vincent rubbed his wrist where Lucas Lewis had gripped him and disarmed him—the pilot almost broke his damned arm. From the way he moved, that dog had some sort of elite military training. Lewis knew exactly how much pressure to exert just like Vincent knew exactly how much electricity to use to get a man or woman to submit. Still, he didn’t like the pilot.
Lewis was brash with a smug attitude. Though most aviators carried the same baggage. The worst thing? Vincent had no idea that Lewis would look like G.I. Joe. Tall, blond and cocky, the man should be on the silver screen, not flying drugs an ocean away from his native land.
If he’d seen a picture, he would have understood why Lewis had made Mia so nervous.
And Lewis stood out like a beacon in Mexico—too easy to remember. Though he’d proven himself a damned good pilot.
Mia had warned Vincent not to hire Lewis, but he hadn’t listened. He could read her like a billboard. She was young, vibrant and too beautiful for her own good. A woman with so much curiosity was always a handful but, when Lewis arrived looking like Thor, Vincent had felt threatened. He wouldn’t admit it to a soul—not even to God—but if he lost Mia, he’d be destroyed. That’s why he’d ordered the plane’s fuel gauge to be tampered with and to add only enough fuel for the bastard to reach the drop site. Sure, Vincent could pass it off as a test to the pilot’s abilities, but he didn’t think Lewis would survive. He also figured if Lewis somehow did manage to live, the idiot wouldn’t return to Hacienda Paraiso.
The man must be serious about his vendetta against the Zambada Cartel. Or else he’s desperate for money.
Vincent looked to the ceiling and let out a long breath. He could order a hit on Lucas Lewis this very night. But he decided against it. The man might be a cocky bastard, but Vincent still needed a pilot and, moreover, a man he could trust. There were several things about today’s meeting that had actually impressed him.
His years of experience had a way of helping him break things down pragmatically and avoid making too many emotional decisions. On top of that, he respected a man who stood up for himself. He respected a man who looked danger in the eye and grabbed it by the testicles. Vincent was such a man and when he was younger—about the age of the Australian, he probably would’ve done the same thing. But acting on one’s anger was a blessing and a curse. If he allowed Lewis to live, the man should never enter the house without two armed guards. Vincent was older now, smarter, but no longer as strong as he once was. He must never underestimate Lewis again, not without guards.
And the man needs another test.
Raising the tumbler of tequila to his lips, Vincent sipped thoughtfully. It had been interesting to watch Lucas and Mia interact. She refused to look at the Australian, and if Lewis cared about her sitting silent and sulking, he hadn’t let on. He’d even insulted her.
Perhaps the Australian is only interested in money. Not unusual for a pilot in his line of work.
As the tequila warmed his stomach, Vincent snorted. Lucas Lewis was either a good actor or a rogue. True, a self-assured man like that could probably get any woman he wanted in any town, anywhere. Why fixate on another man’s property?
Cementing his decision, Vincent downed the last of the tequila. He would give the pilot one more test. And then he’d decide if the arrogant bastard should live.
He picked up the phone and dialed an internal number. “Hola, Juan. I have a job for you. The Zambada Cartel is shipping a load of coca to the coast. I want you to take our new pilot on a raid. No planes.”
***
Sitting on her loveseat with her feet up, Mia turned the page of her book. Ever since arriving at the hacienda, she’d spent a great deal of time reading. Though she only had a first-grade education, with the help
of a dictionary, it hadn’t taken long to develop reading skills. And once she had those skills, she devoured books with a fervent passion. Without a knock, the door opened and El Padrino entered. Mia tensed and lowered her book.
He sauntered toward her, the corners of his lips turned up in a half-smile, half-sneer. “You didn’t join me for dinner.”
She swung her feet to the carpet and crossed her arms. “I wasn’t hungry.”
“You are not a very good liar, Mia. You were sulking.”
Maybe she was, but The Godfather had been the cause of it. “I don’t like the crown of pain—there was no reason for you to use it.”
“Is that so? Must I remind you I decide when you should be punished?” He sat beside her and patted her thigh, a gesture that made Mia’s skin crawl. “But your discipline is not why I’m here.”
She gave him a glance, not because she wanted to, but because he expected it.
“I visited a Dr. Labastida.”
It was unusual for him to share such personal news. “Are you okay?”
“I hope to be. Soon.” He rubbed his fingers up and down her thigh. “I’ve received treatment for a problem.”
“Oh?”
“And if it works, I think it will be time for you to come to my bed again.”
She shuddered.
“I want to please you,” he said in a soothing tone.
“Do you?”
“Si, my pet. Sex is always more enjoyable when both parties delight in their pleasure.”
Mia didn’t know. Though El Padrino had been her only partner, sex had never been welcome or enjoyable or even pleasant.
He slapped her thigh and sat forward. “I’d hoped the news would make you happy.”
She looked away. “You care about my happiness?”
“I shouldn’t, but I do.”
Pursing her lips, she nodded, unable to respond with anything civil. El Padrino only cared about pleasing himself. He’d proved that more times than she could count. How could he walk into her bedroom mere hours after he’d used the crown of pain to bend her to his will—to make her plead for him to stop. Did he think his brutality was so easily forgotten? Did he think by torturing her she would turn around with love and admiration?