Dark Hunter (A Zeta Cartel Novel Book 4)

by AJ Adams

My first official assignment. The slice job. “Yes.”

  “Then do me two copycat kills. Right down to the roses.”

  “Okay.” I glanced at the files. They were enforcers, based in San Antonio, high up in the power structure, devious, suspicious, and good quality prey. It was perfect. This would settle me. I’d take them apart and get my groove back.

  “Rip, watch your back,” Arturo cautioned me. “Don’t take unnecessary risks.”

  “Sure.” But I barely heard him. I pretended I was focusing on the job but truthfully, I was running away.

  The three paedo pimps were a piece of cake to take out. Given the CCTV and that Arturo wanted execution-style hits that would be detected as the work of one person, I adopted light disguises.

  Paedo one got hit in his office that afternoon by a geek customer wearing wrap-around blue shades, paedo two got his later that night while taking a leak in a club courtesy of a fat bastard with the same blue shades, and paedo three was offed the following day while exiting his brothel by a gangsta type with blond-streaked black hair, baseball cap, and the blue shades tucked into a shirt pocket.

  Arturo was chuffed. “The Gulf met with the Sinaloa yesterday. By all accounts, it was a difficult conversation. Great job carrying those blue shades, Rip. They got suspicious instantly and by the time they traced the gun, accusations were flying everywhere. They were raking up the Navarro kill and the Mexico City job, too. Their relationship is shattering fast.”

  “Good.” But I wasn’t feeling it. The three kills had been as meaningless as taking care of Tricky.

  “Everything is good at the house,” Arturo said briskly.

  I knew because Chumillo had texted me. ‘Thanks. I hear the CCTV is ready to go and the dog patrol set up. Thanks, Arturo. I really appreciate it.”

  “Solitaire went to see Morgan too,” Arturo said carefully.

  My hands were suddenly sweating.

  “She says everything’s fine,” Arturo assured me. “We’re working on a plan to integrate Morgan.”

  I couldn’t see properly. My breath was stuck in my chest, and my heart was working like a jackhammer. I had an intense yearning to run back to see my girl.

  But I knew I was kidding myself. She didn’t want me. “Do say thank you to Solitaire for me,” I sounded perfectly calm and cool.

  “Rip, are you okay?” Arturo sounded hesitant again.

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” I forced down my roiling gut. “The extra halcones will take care of business, right?”

  “Absolutely.” Arturo promised. “And not a squeak from the Kiev Bratva either.”

  “Great. In that case, I’ll get on with the job.”

  I went after the enforcers, convinced that proper hunts would bring me back again. Killing the paedo pimps had been too quick, I told myself. These two would be proper quarry—and once I trapped them, I’d get my mojo back.

  Bill Smith was a nasty piece of work. Apart from the usual kills, he had a rep for raping the wives of the men who offended his boss. Reading over his file, I knew it would be a pleasure to take the fuck out.

  Smith had been trapped in a burning house when he was a kid, and that fear was the key to his death. I placed cones and tape all over the street, emblazoned with the local gas company logo, and when Smith pitched up, I just called out, “Sir, have you smelled any gas?”

  He was instantly uptight, and the gas canister I’d opened was whiffing nicely, fanning his fears. “Fuck! There’s a leak?”

  “Just a small one, sir,” I drawled Texas style. “We have a report from your neighbour who says she caught a whiff of it an hour ago.”

  Smith was looking at his home, key in his hand. The scent of the gas was now everywhere. “Yes, I can smell it.” His attention was completely off me and totally focused on the non-existent danger.

  “Sir, you’d better evacuate, just in case. Do I have your permission to check under your home?”

  Smith was pointing instantly. “There’s an access to the crawlspace right—”

  I socked him in the kidneys so hard that he went down and passed out. I guess my upset put some extra punch into the blow. Smith was on a chair in his living room, taped and stripped, before he really understood what had happened.

  “I caught you, and now you have to pay,” I told him.

  The power was fizzing up. This was going to be good. I was back in control.

  “I’ve come to have a chat on behalf of Julia Simmons, Adele Rodriguez, and Gloria Castillo.” Smith twitched violently at hearing the names of his victims. “Did they scream when you caught them?”

  And then, suddenly, I remembered Morgan’s eyes as I’d told her I’d hand her over to the Zeta enforcers. She’d been so scared that she’d almost brained herself in her terror. The knowledge went straight to my gut, killing the sweet dominance that ran through me.

  As the icy shock of revelation washed through me, hideous insight paralysed me. I’d prided myself on being a hunter of hunters, on exacting revenge, and yet I’d terrorised an innocent girl and blackmailed her into my bed.

  For a moment I was drenched in the horror of knowing myself. I had become the very evil I’d vowed to destroy. The evil in the man before me was clear because it was a mirror of my own.

  My reality rocked, I clutched the knife. Its razor edge would slice through my carotid artery easily. It would only take a second, and then it would all be over. The agony would be gone forever, leaving blessed nothingness.

  But then reality asserted itself. With me gone, Morgan would be helpless. Even if the Zetas didn’t kill her, they might hand her back to her own people. I liked Arturo, but I knew he’d do what was best for his family. With me gone, he’d use Morgan for his own advantage. That ruthlessness was what made him so successful.

  In my mind’s eye, I saw the small bones and the slanting grey eyes with their gold flecks. Morgan needed me, and I needed the Zetas. I’d face the horror of what I’d become later. For now, I was committed.

  I contemplated Smith. He was scum, and he deserved to die. The horror ebbed and was replaced with satisfaction. Yes, this was right. His victims deserved revenge. Their faces flashed before me, feeding the memories of my own pain. They had no recourse to justice. Their suffering had gone unpunished. The monster inside me flexed and roared, demanding tribute.

  Smith was wide-eyed, seeing my true self emerge. I showed him the razor. “I’ve figured out a way to make Julia, Adele, and Gloria smile. It’s payback time.”

  He squealed, and at that, I knew this was right. This was justice. He would suffer, and I would be the architect of his death. The anguish was retreating, leaving me free to do the work I was made for.

  I gave Smith my best smile, feeling the sparkles rush in. “You make a point of making your rapes last, don’t you? Shall we see if you can make it until tomorrow?”

  He did, and so I was in a good mood as I went to ambush Drew Martinez a few hours later. I knew his routine was to eat supper and then to go off to cook the books at his warehouse. Also, he had a penchant for blowjobs.

  Getting to him was a doddle. I merely stood in the alley where he parked, giving him the benefit of my long blonde wig and sexy sashay. Whispering, “Hey, big boy, I can suck the chrome off a tailpipe,” I had him welcoming me with open arms and zipper.

  Instead of a suck he got a tug, and the little pig was face down on the cobbles, my hands squeezing off his air, before he realised he wasn’t getting lucky. He was sitting in his office less than five minutes later, growling furiously as I cut his shirt off him.

  “Arturo Vazquez sent me,” I informed him. That had him squealing into the gag. “He doesn’t like the way you disposed of his team. You used a chainsaw, I believe?”

  I read him the list, and once again I had to work myself up before the power surged. He deserved his fate, I told myself. The courts would never touch him, but I could. My monster roared but it was muted.

  “Time to pay,” I told him.

  The first
cut was a beauty, blood spraying sweetly, but my pleasure vanished with it. Then, as much as I tried, I could not force my blood up again. That feeling of just vengeance, of righting wrongs, and of my own power, just weren’t working for me. Even so, I did the job, slicing the fucker over four hours, and leaving his office a gore-sodden hell.

  Driving out of the town, knowing it was work well done, I should have felt happy. Instead, I felt totally lost. Each time my thoughts drifted, I saw Morgan’s eyes, wide and frightened, as I chained her with threats.

  I had no regrets killing Martinez, Smith, Velasquez Cervantes, or any of my other targets. They were evil, and they’d not deserved mercy. I knew, because we were the same. I was a monster preying on monsters. And I was all that stood between my poor Morgan and death.

  She wouldn’t want me, but she needed me. It was knowledge that was tearing me apart. I decided I needed to think. Also, with five kills in four days, I needed to sleep.

  On impulse, I made for The Blaze, a five-star hotel just outside Laredo, the American town across the border from Nuevo Laredo. It was a beautiful place, all marbled up in Italian style.

  They must have had plenty of cartel custom because when the concierge signalled a minion to carry my backpack he also asked discreetly, “Anything else, sir?”

  I heard myself blurt out, “Send me a ho. One who likes kink.”

  He just nodded, and by the time I was sending Arturo the latest snapshots of my work, there was a knock on the door.

  As I opened it, Arturo was calling me, “Superb work, Rip! I expect the networks will be burning up by noon. Our friends are at each other’s throats, and this will tip them into war.”

  I listened to him with half an ear, with most of my attention on the girl. The concierge had sent me a blonde who looked like a model. She was carrying a backpack, and she had boobs the size of bumper cars.

  “You’re the best of the best!” Arturo exclaimed in my ear.

  “Good. I’m glad you’re pleased,” I managed.

  I took in the suite and the girl who was now sitting on the bed. It was a million miles away from the tatty little hotel in Brixton, but watching her get her kit off, I felt adrift again.

  The safe haven in Mexico was all I’d hoped for, but I was losing myself. Or maybe I had been lost years ago. I thought back to my home, burnt down to the ground and everyone I’d loved still inside. I had to face facts: I had died with them. It had just taken a few years to realise it.

  I looked back at the men I’d finished. We weren’t that different. I wasn’t an instrument of vengeance, dispensing justice. I was simply a monster.

  “Rip, come home.” Arturo was blasting away cheerfully.

  Home. The thought of the peaceful house by the river was soothing. The lettuces would need picking out, and the herb garden would need weeding. I looked at the blonde, who was down to her undies, a black corset with stockings, and shaking her assets at me. She was wearing a collar and had brought her own cuffs, but she left me cold.

  “I’m on my way,” I told Arturo. Then, remembering my new status, “Anything else, jefe?”

  His voice was surprisingly gentle. “No, Rip. Just come home, okay? And after you’ve seen Morgan, come and visit.”

  Morgan. I’d have to face her. “Arturo, I’m not sure—” I couldn’t get the words out.

  “Listen, Rip.” Arturo sounded sad. “We think the Kiev Bratva are on to you. Nothing concrete, but the Balchunas have been gossiping.”

  “Oh fuck.” My mind went straight to Morgan.

  “Whatever it is, we can fix it.”

  “Yes, of course.” But my heart was in my boots. “I’m on my way now.”

  Ambushing killers on their own home turf doesn’t worry me at all but I became more and more uptight each mile that took me closer to home. Morgan would take one look at me, and she’d always remember what she’d seen as I strangled the Sokolov kid.

  Nobody can live with a monster. A dozen nightmare scenarios ran through my head: Morgan disgusted, Morgan crying her eyes out, and finally, Morgan trying to run away and me having to keep my promise to Arturo. At that, I got so fucking scared that I almost bailed.

  But I had no choice: I had to face her. So when I finally made my way down the road, still potholed and rough, I was shaking with nerves. I spotted the halcone at the end of the road, and the one halfway down it, and finally the CCTV high up on poles.

  When I drove up, my home looked beautiful and serene as always, but there was a bloke lying on the ground. He was heaving his guts out while a Rottweiler watched him. A chill went through me: someone had gotten past the halcones and given the dog patrol a going over.

  Then my gut clenched in terror. There was an SUV parked in front of the triple garage and it was wide open. Slamming on the brakes, I saw Chumillo, Rafa, and Kyle standing over someone lying on the ground. All I could see were legs. Morgan’s legs.

  My heart stopped beating. Despite all precautions, someone had killed my girl.

  Chapter Twenty-Two: Morgan

  The camo kid was crying, lying on his back on the grass.

  “Go inside and leave me to settle it.”

  Rip snapped out the order, and it didn’t even occur to me to quibble. I found myself in the kitchen, suddenly realising that I was dripping water everywhere thanks to being thrown into the pool.

  Staring at the rivulets flooding the floor, I fought to get a grip. The camo kid climbing out of the river and the assassination attempt didn’t seem real, but the murder I’d seen in Rip’s eyes had terrified me. That was what I’d been running from.

  Chumillo was standing guard, looking distant. I thought it was because he’d clocked my identity, but then I caught him sneaking a glance out of the window. I looked too and almost had a coronary: Rip was killing the kid.

  “No!” I was up on my feet, but Chumillo was blocking my way out. “I have to stop him.”

  “No way.” The Zeta was built like a damn rock. “You’re not to interfere.”

  I was a split-second from kneeing him in the balls when I saw Rip let go. “Oh thank God!” The kid was retching. “What in the hell was he thinking?”

  “He’s sending a message,” Chumillo informed me laconically. He definitely didn’t like me anymore because he added sarcastically, “Surely you know how that works? Your papa must have done it a thousand times.”

  There was no answer to that. The kid was throwing up, looking like death, and I felt like joining him. The darkness coming from Rip and the Zetas was crushing. I sat back down, feeling thoroughly sick.

  My stomach was still heaving when Chumillo exited and Rip came in. I could barely look at him. That killing madness was coming off him in waves, “Rip, for God’s sake!”

  He was remote, completely unfeeling. “Now you know what I am.”

  I wanted to run, to get away from the monster.

  To my horror, Rip just exploded. “You made your bed, Morgan. Now you have to fucking lie in it.”

  The words just blasted me. I was still mouthing, trying to figure out what to say, when he rushed off. It was only when the Cayenne went storming down the road that it registered that Rip had gone.

  “Rip!” I went screaming after him. “Rip!” But he didn’t look back.

  I ran into the garage, but the damn SuperLow was out of action, and the Italika and ATV weren’t working either. I kicked them, convinced Rip was out to do something stupid and knowing that I could do nothing about it.

  I tore through the house, looking for a phone. Nothing. Even if there had been one, I didn’t have his number. I was completely cut off from the outside world. Ironically, after days of hoping nobody would come near the place, I was praying the Zetas would come.

  It was almost noon when I heard engines. Part of me wanted to run and hide, but I forced myself to go outside. It was Chumillo, flanked by a truck filled with men and equipment.

  “Rip says you’re to stay put,” the Zeta said briefly. “We’re installing CCTV.” A man and
a huge Rottweiler jumped out too. “And there will be a dog patrol.”

  Rip was giving orders. I really didn’t have a clue how he fit into the cartel hierarchy, but clearly he was important. You don’t get truckloads of men installing state-of-the-art surveillance gear on a phone call unless you’re calling the shots.

  Chumillo was still giving me the evil eye, but I had my own needs. “I need to talk to Rip,” I told him.

  “He’s out on business.”

  Christ! Not what I wanted to hear. “Will he call you?”

  “Maybe.”

  “If he does,” I said slowly, “tell him I’m waiting for him.” Then I went inside and pretended not to watch them set up cameras on the sides of the house and in the trees at the ends of the property.

  I ended up in the garage, working on the SuperLow. My hands worked carefully, giving the whole thing a wipe-down before starting on the proper work; my mind was going round and round.

  That garden scene had been a horror. There was no doubt in my mind that Rip had intended to kill the kid, but he’d changed his mind. Not only had I gotten through to the man buried underneath that insane violence, but I was understanding him.

  “He took it all. Because of Sokolov I lost them all. Mum, my sister Ginny, Dad, and even the baby. All dead.” The pain in his voice had cut to the heart of me. “Blood for blood. Scream for scream.”

  Poor Rip. He’d lost everyone he’d loved, too. But whereas I’d lost myself in drink and sex, he’d gone completely Punisher. Want to play? My heart ached for him. I had come back and rebuilt my life, but Rip had remained lost.

  “You stupid bitch,” I told myself. “You should have understood and reached out to him. Instead you stood around like a fool, judged him, and sent him running.”

  You made your bed, Morgan. Now you have to fucking lie in it. Awful words, but this time the snarling and threats didn’t frighten me. Rip had lashed out because I’d rejected him.

  Correcting the SuperLow’s chain tension and moving on to check the battery and coolant levels, I couldn’t help but avoid the knowledge that Rip and I had a lot in common. I’d wanted to kill Neto, and my revenge might as easily have led to my blowing up the Los Osos warehouse with everyone still inside it.