Dark Hunter (A Zeta Cartel Novel Book 4)

by AJ Adams

  I wanted to hate him, but I couldn’t. “Two words: capture bonding,” I scolded myself. “Wake up, you stupid bitch!”

  My head told me that was sense, but my heart just wasn’t working with it. That feeling of guardian angel was running deep and messing up my head.

  My chores kept me busy till sundown. I tried sitting in the garden, but it felt eerily quiet. I got a case of the creeps, and even the aqua-and-rose skies couldn’t shake them.

  I had canned soup for dinner, brushed my teeth, and went to bed. The idea of lying in the dark terrified me, so I left all the lights blazing, shoved a chair under the doorknob, and crawled under the covers clutching a torch just in case the bedside lamp went out.

  I fell asleep and was instantly back in Templado, “Hold her up! Don’t let her pass out!” I was up with the sweats and realised I’d been out for less than an hour. And that was the pattern for the night. Each time I drifted off, scenes of that dreadful beating came back. “Fuck her up the ass from me.”

  Half asleep and half awake, I became convinced that Neto and Mitch were lurking somewhere. At four I gave up sleeping. I sat up, all the lights on, drowning in misery.

  By the time dawn filled the room with light, removing the chair and opening the door wasn’t easy.

  “You’re an idiot,” I scolded myself. “Nobody knows where you are. Neto and Mitch are probably celebrating that you drowned. Get your ass into gear.”

  I got out of that room and went straight into the garage, thinking that cleaning that up would keep me busy. The chores helped a little, but I increasingly had the creeps, convinced I was being watched. My nerves stretched, and by the time I got the place straightened out, I was stumbling around, dead tired, and imagining a thousand horrors.

  I went inside, showered, sat down for a second on the bed—and was out. Neto was punching me down and Mitch was laughing seconds later.

  “Bitch! Loba!”

  “Don’t let her pass out.”

  My screams woke me up. I knew it was crazy, but I ended up lying there, shivering with fear.

  I had my head under the covers like a two-year-old when I heard Rip’s voice. “Morgan, are you asleep?”

  The corner of the blanket moved aside, and I caught a glimpse of blond hair and blue eyes. I was wrapped around him a split-second later.

  “Hey, you okay?” His hands were gentle, but he smelled awful, like flowers gone rotten. I didn’t care because I felt safe. With Rip here, they couldn’t get me.

  “Who’s going to get you?” His voice was cool and somewhat puzzled. “There’s just you and me here, Morgan.”

  I was flooded with confusion. Images of angels warred with screaming warnings about dangerous fiends.

  His hand was feeling my neck. “You’re a bit warm. Do you have a fever? Do you need a doctor?”

  Angel or fiend, Rip was taking care of me. I was shaking with relief. “I’m okay.” I lifted my head and looked into his eyes. “Thanks, Rip.”

  God, Rip’s eyes. As beautiful as jewels and just as lifeless. Totally unreal.

  “Just a bad dream, probably.” He sounded happy. “You’re sure you’re all right?”

  “Yes.” In my nightmare, I’d been hurting. Now I was feeling no pain. He was not my guardian angel, but flashes of Rip caring for me ran through my mind again. Whatever he was, Rip had healed me.

  Now he was hugging me, saying, “Come on, let’s have a shower and then dinner.”

  It was a relief he was back. As the thought hit me, I knew I had to get hold of myself. Rip was not my friend. But the war between my head and my emotions kept raging.

  Half an hour later, I was watching Rip dress. The blonde hair was dark, still damp from the shower. Brushed back, it left the sunlight dancing on the azure eyes, slanting bones, and chiselled lips. If you didn’t know what he was, you’d think he was panty-dropping handsome.

  “Tomorrow we’ll begin cleaning out that bit of rough ground by the garage,” Rip was chatting, sounding as if we were a couple instead of captor and captive. “It will take a bit of work, but once it’s clear, we’ll turn it into a vegetable patch.”

  He was making plans for weeks ahead. There wasn’t anywhere for me to run to, and I didn’t have it in me to bash him with a shovel. “Yes, Rip.”

  He was buttoning his shirt, another classic pink and white striped cotton one. “You sound awfully subdued, Morgan. I must say, you’re giving an excellent impression of a nice, quiet girl.”

  I was thinking what to say when I spotted men in the garden outside. I knew straight away they were Zetas. I moved instinctively to Rip’s side, suddenly feeling sick and sweaty.

  At first he stood very still, staring at me with expressionless eyes, and then he smiled and put an arm around me. “But how sweet! Did you miss me, Morgan?”

  I wanted to say, “I’ll say what you like, but please don’t let the Zetas near me,” but I just couldn’t get a word out. All the stories I’d heard about the cartel were rushing back to haunt me. I was petrified.

  I hung on to Rip and was conscious of that crazy safe feeling flooding through me again. He smelled of lemon, fresh and clean. The muscles flexed reassuringly as I leaned into him.

  Rip looked out of the window, saw what I’d seen and smiled again. It was a knowing smile. “You don’t like my friends, Morgan?”

  Deflect and pretend ignorance. “I don’t know them.”

  “That’s a lie.” The human computer was at work. “I’d think you’d been fighting Zetas, but that wouldn’t be right, would it? If you had, they’d know you. But none of my friends have ever come across you.”

  They’d checked and not discovered my name. I breathed again.

  The blue eyes were narrowed. “Oh, Morgan,” Rip chided me. “A nice girl would’ve asked who the Zetas are.”

  Hell! I really wasn’t up to these games.

  “Nothing?” Rip mocked.

  I wasn’t going to make more mistakes, so I just glared at him.

  He just laughed.

  “These people are very important to me,” Rip was laying out my role. “They want to see you content, Morgan.”

  “Okay.” The men in the garden were lighting a barbecue. There was no messing about. Flames roared instantly. They were probably professional arsonists. I was remembering a horror about a crucifixion, and another where they’d boiled someone alive. “Anything you want, Rip.”

  “Really, very subdued.” The finger was under my chin again, forcing me to look into the pale eyes. “You seem so sweet and harmless, Morgan, but you can recognise Zetas a mile away. I’d like to know more about that.”

  I wasn’t going to say a word. I just stared back at him.

  “Not telling me, are you?” Rip was smiling. “That’s okay. Just be sure to be nice tonight.”

  If I’d had a shovel, I would have smacked him one, no problem this time.

  Rip looked at me, examining the boxers I’d borrowed, black this time, and the shirt, purple, and nodded, “Much better than PJs.”

  I stood there, convinced that the moment the Zetas saw me, they’d know me.

  “We’d best go and join the others,” Rip sounded happy. “Chumillo can turn tender cabrito into shoe leather if given half the chance.”

  “Yes, Rip.”

  I know. I should’ve said something, done something. Hit him with an axe or whatever and run for my life. But I didn’t because I had nowhere to run. So I went downstairs and stuck to my jailor like superglue.

  There were three of them. They had that arrogant stance that I knew so well. They were cartel, hardcore.

  They were drinking beer, Dos Equis, but the second they spotted me, they were roaring.

  “There she is!”

  “Guapa!”

  “Looking good!”

  My ears blanked out the words because my body was taking over. My knees went liquid and I found myself clinging to Rip.

  “Ay!” The tallest of the Zetas was smacking the other two. “Tranquilo, cab
rones!”

  Rip had an arm around me, carrying me with him. “She’s a bit shy.”

  “Sure, sure,” the real skinny one said.

  They were all nodding and smiling, as if we were friends. I couldn’t figure it out.

  “Chumillo, Rafa, and Gordo,” Rip said. “They’ve been round often to see you, but you won’t remember.”

  “Pobrecita,” Chumillo said. “It’ll take a day or two for the meds to clear.”

  They were all gazing at me. I saw the smiles, but fear was taking over.

  “Hold her up!”

  “Puta!”

  Flashes of Mitch and Neto tossing me around as they took turns to punch me were flashing through my mind.

  The Zetas sensed something was wrong, but they stopped staring and began breaking out more beers, pretending not to notice.

  “Rip, the garden’s looking awesome,” Rafa enthused.

  “I followed your mum’s advice and went to that garden centre,” Rip replied instantly. “It’s paradise.”

  At that, the attention really was off me. We sat around the table by the pool, and it was a full five minutes before I realised I was sitting in Rip’s lap. It was freaky, but glancing around, I saw the others took it as normal. The past rushed in again; this is what Rip had done when I’d been out of it.

  Being surrounded the Zetas felt like sitting in a ring of live tigers. I was shaking, but Rip was in a tearing good mood. He was so happy that he was animated. That distant look he got sometimes, where he’d zone out as he was thinking, was gone. He talked and laughed, acting and sounding perfectly normal.

  I was so caught up in trying not to be scared by the Zetas that it was ages before I realised that perfectly ordinary Rip was talking about someone he’d killed.

  “I put him in her bed, setting the scene.”

  “Angelita Romero’s bed. Now that may be worth dying for,” Rafa sighed. “After having Angelita, of course.”

  Chumillo was asking, “What was it like, her bedroom?”

  “Pink and white,” Rip said promptly. “It was pretty basic but there were a million throw pillows and gazillion stuffed toys and dolls.”

  “Yuk,” Gordo shuddered.

  “So, you set out the body,” Rafa prompted Rip. “And then what?”

  “Well, I prop up the corpse on the bed, check we’re good to go, and I’m on my way out of there when the lights go out and the lift stops. Then I smell smoke.”

  “Coño!” Rafa laughed.

  “Right, I’m thinking I’m fucked, right?” Rip’s face was alive with laughter. “I’m going to be roasted alive. Or the plods will come to my rescue, see the body, connect it to me, and then I’m still toast!”

  “What happened?” Chumillo was guffawing, totally pumped.

  “I hear lots of screaming, tonnes of sirens, and then this banging. The lift begins to inch down, and then there’s hands pulling the doors open.” Rip took a swig of beer, making them wait for it. “So I welcome them.”

  Then Rip tossed his empty on the grass, opened his arms wide and squealed, “Darling! You saved me!” The transformation was riveting. Rip had vanished. Instead, there was this screaming queen. “Ohmigod, I thought I would never get out here alive! Darling! What terror! I’m all overcome!”

  Rafa and Gordo stared, mouths wide open while Chumillo was moving back instinctively, away from the faggot who was about to throw himself around his neck.

  Rip sat back, grinned and was himself again. “Marcus Benson cast himself into the arms of his rescuers, and they passed that maricon out of there as fast as they could.”

  We all stared at him in awe.

  “Man, you could be in Hollywood,” Chumillo said with respect. “That was fucking amazing.”

  Rafa had collapsed in laughter. “I can just see them, the bomberos, trying to get the pinche marica out of there.”

  “Classic,” Gordo agreed. “Fucking A, Rip!”

  “The Sinaloa will be pissed at their good friends, the Gulf,” Rafa said. “Their condo, their lawyer’s love nest, and a body, all over the news.”

  “Classic.” Chumillo said again. “The Gulf deserve it.”

  Then he was off, ranting about someone called Gina who’d been shot by a Gulf street boss during a gun battle.

  “Yeah, they’re giving me trouble too,” Rafa moaned. “I was setting up a deal with Los Osos, they’re going to clip fifty cars a week for six months, but they got into a war with the fucking Gulf. I’ve got customers waiting, and I’ve already been delayed a fortnight. It’s costing a fucking fortune.”

  Christ, this was too close to home.

  “You okay, Morgan?” Rip was frowning. He’d noticed. He knew. “You’re not sick, are you?”

  I did my best to smile and shook my head. The arm went back around me, firm and protective. Then Rip went back to the conversation, and I was thinking that any second now they’d guess who I was. I was sweating with fear.

  I heard a low rumble and thought it was my insides shaking apart, but it was a monster of a man, riding up on a beautifully maintained Blackbird. He had cold silver eyes that put the fear of God into me. I found myself clinging to Rip.

  “Hey, Kyle, good to see you!” Rip exclaimed.

  Oh dear lord. Kyle, the man who specialised in debriefing, meaning torture.

  “Want a beer?” Rip was smiling, but I could feel him tense. “We’ll put on the prawns soon. The fire’s almost ready.”

  “A beer sounds good.”

  That low voice, cool and impersonal, did it for me. I folded myself into Rip’s side. Instantly, his arms cinched around me. “Come on. It’s okay.” He sounded soothing, warm. “Morgan, everything’s all right.”

  “Morgan?” That was Kyle, sounding suspicious. “Have you found out her real name yet?”

  Oh, dear sweet lord Jesus! This was it. They were going to interrogate me, and then I’d be dead.

  “Morgan doesn’t talk much.” Rip sounded defensive. “She’s had a hard time.”

  “What about her family? Her father? Her mother? Has she said anything about her background at all?”

  “She doesn’t have anyone.”

  “Are you sure? There must be someone.”

  “She says not.”

  “Sweetheart,” Kyle was trying to sound friendly but I wasn’t fooled. “Where are your family?”

  I was paralysed, frozen with terror.

  “It’s okay. Just tell me.” That voice was insistent and the silver eyes hard. “Don’t you want to call someone?”

  He knew. He knew who Papa was, and I was dead. The sweat was running off me.

  He was insisting, those gunmetal orbs burning into me. “Sweetheart, where are you from? Where’s home?”

  “I don’t have one.” I screamed the words in my head, but it came out all strangled.

  Rip was hugging me closely. “Kyle, let Morgan be, okay? You’re scaring her.”

  “I just think we should know who she is.”

  “You heard her: she doesn’t have a family.”

  “Then what’s her name?”

  I wasn’t going to tell him. “Morgan.”

  “I meant your real name, sweetheart.”

  “I’m Morgan!”

  Rip’s arms were tight around me. His muscles were tense. I could tell Kyle was making him nervous too. Rip was playing some kind of game, and he didn’t want it to stop. I did, but I didn’t want to end it by dying. So I held on to Rip, burying my face in the soft cotton of his shirt, praying he’d keep me safe.

  “All right,” Kyle sounded pissed. “But Rip, find out who she is, okay? It’s not like she dropped out of nowhere.”

  “Sure. When she’s ready, she’ll talk.” Rip said. “Isn’t that right, Morgan?”

  I decided at that point to keep my mouth shut. Permanently.

  Kyle had a beer and disappeared. I sat on Rip’s lap, shaking.

  “Morgan, he’s gone.” His hands were patting me. “Come on. Time for dinner.”


  At the thought of food, my stomach lurched, but Rip stood up, setting me on my feet.

  “She’s terrified.” Chumillo was getting up. “Listen, we’ll make a move, okay?”

  “Yeah,” Rafa was up too.

  “You two need some time,” Gordo said.

  Rip paused, glanced at the barbecue, at me, and then frowned. He was zoning out again. He looked blank, as if he were a machine rather than a man. Yet the intelligence was there, forceful as ever.

  “It’s the pills,” Rip was back. “There are some funny side effects.”

  “Absolutely,” Gordo agreed. “I was on painkillers the last time I got shot. But the capullo doc gave me too many. It totally fucked my mind.”

  Rip nodded and smiled. “Exactly.”

  The Zetas were uncertain whether they should stay or go, and Rip wasn’t giving them any cues.

  He’d said this was important. If the Zetas left, Rip might be pissed; pissed enough to decide to push me on my name. I found myself holding his hand and apologising, “Sorry. I got scared.”

  My senses were working overtime. Rip liked it. It was the right thing to say.

  “You’re not scared now, are you?”

  I was, but the rules of the game were clear. “No, Rip.”

  “Honey,” Rafa was trying to be nice. “Kyle won’t hurt you.”

  Not fucking much, I thought silently, but I nodded.

  “She’s petrified.” Rip was trying to sound concerned, but his face was expressionless. “I don’t see why.”

  “’Cos he’s a big scary bastard,” Rafa said cheerfully, adding to me, “but you needn’t worry, guapa.”

  “What is your name?” Chumillo asked.

  “Morgan.”

  “And before? Chumillo asked.

  “Morgan.” I was sticking to it.

  From the way Rafa, Gordo, and Chumillo looked, I could see they were wondering if Rip had threatened me. He hadn’t caught on before, but he was getting this message loud and clear. Oh, he didn’t give anything away, but I could feel him think it. His body was screaming with tension.

  He’d promised to keep me safe if I played my part.

  You’ll probably guess what I did. I leaned into him. “I’ve no family left.” That was true, at least. “I’ve nowhere to go.” That was also the truth. “I made some bad choices.” That was spot on. “I need a new start.”