Leaving her for the crew would’ve been easier. It’d been risky to show my face to her. I should’ve just left the logistics to Emilio like he wanted, but for some reason, I wanted to see for myself that she was all right.
How in the hell did Cereza turn out to be Lachey’s sister? How’d I manage to bring the one woman who caught my eye into the middle of a cartel war?
My arrogance would get me killed one day.
I closed my eyes and paced the stark white bedroom. Blindly bumping into things posed no danger. Safe houses were anything but homey. A metal bed with sheets as soft as the needles on a porcupine was all that stood between my fist and the wall.
And God, she made me want to plow through plaster.
Pacing the room, I stopped occasionally to shove my hands through my hair, tearing at the strands until they fell around my temples. I ripped at the collar of my new shirt, buttons flying, and not giving a shit.
She made me crazy. No, she made me more than crazy. I wanted to grab that smart fucking mouth and squeeze until she shut it, and no words came out. I craved to have those pouty lips under my command, kneeling before me with her hands bound until she stopped her incessant talking.
I needed to see a moment of fear in her eyes…just a passing of uncertainty glaze her pale blue eyes, fearing my power over her. Then the fire would return. The cold power that lined her veins and steeled her jaw would demand her retaliation. She’d pull away, glaring at me with a mix of hatred and unwanted desire.
All that raw hate and vengeance inside one woman set something alive inside me that lay dormant for years. I could satiate carnal desires with any woman, but Eden Lachey was a sparked live wire for the taking. The choice was mine to touch her and burn from the inside out or step away and die from nothingness.
Opening my eyes, I found myself at a dead-stop, leaned against the plain metal dresser. Hard as a rock, my slacks barely contained my erection.
Damn this woman.
Cursing, I pushed my palms away and stalked to the attached bathroom, stripping what was left of my suit off as I went. A trail of clothing followed my path until the tiny, stark white bathroom met my scowl. A single basin sink with cheap chrome faucets lined a dirty countertop, and I took care not to touch anything as I turned the shower on.
I’d kill Mateo for choosing this place.
Stepping into the stream of hot water, I let the abusing pelts bruise my skin. I wanted the pain. I deserved it. Placing both palms against the tile, I leaned into the force of the stream and closed my eyes.
I’d indirectly gotten the girl’s brother murdered. I’d ordered the beating on her father, and the fucking Muñoz cartel killed Emilio’s crew, delivering the wrong Lachey. Even if my men didn’t pull the trigger, her brother had shed blood because of my orders. I was also responsible for every Muñoz dick that wanted to violate her. I couldn’t think of what would’ve happened if we hadn’t gotten to her first.
She called me one of them. She called me a murderer. She was right. I was all those things. Yet, I’d never force myself on her. Unless she wanted me to. And God, did I want her to.
A soapy hand slid from the tile as I imagined her crawling on her knees to me, hands bound behind her. I’d make her wait. I’d make her ask for it…cry for it, even. When we both couldn’t stand anymore, I’d grab a fistful of that bright red hair, jerk it back, and shove my cock down her throat. She’d take it all, because of her insatiable need for me. More than anything, I craved to see my dick disappear past that smartass mouth. Then, I could remind her every time she told me to ‘go fuck myself,’ exactly how easily she swallowed it with a smile.
As the fantasy played out in my head, I worked myself into a frenzy. Images of her face flashed through my head as my breathing escalated. My eyes squeezed shut, and my grip tightened while thoughts of her tongue had me pumping at a furious pace.
I braced one hand against the shower wall as a groan tore from deep within my chest. “Cereza, fuck!”
Coming back down to earth, the visions in my mind cleared, and all that remained were stained walls and an unsatisfied cock. Sighing, I washed off and wrapped a towel around my waist.
I couldn’t allow thoughts of her to consume me. I may be a murderer, but I wasn’t a fucking rapist. Something had to give, or I’d spend the entire time in the safe house, jerking off to images of Eden Lachey’s acid tongue.
* * *
By the time I got out of bed the next morning, I was ready to crawl back in. Sleep never came when my mind replayed the sight of Eden alone and bleeding in a concrete room. I’d tossed and turned, until I finally gave up and went in search of anything resembling a coffee pot. What I found looked like it’d time traveled from 1983. The pot was stained, the filters were fuzzy, and I didn’t even want to know what the hell still clung to the sides of the grounds bucket.
But caffeine was caffeine, and I needed a boost. Something told me our prisoner wouldn’t be as pleasant as yesterday and may need some liquid energy of her own. Taking a sip, I grimaced and hoped she took her coffee with no frills. She was getting it tar black, just like my mood.
On the way to take it to the basement, I paused, hearing Mateo unlock the front door. It had to be him. Anyone else would’ve broken the windows or shot their way in. Still, I dropped the second coffee mug and molded my hand around the gun wedged in the waistband of my sweatpants.
I was sure, but I wasn’t stupid.
My tensed muscles relaxed as Mateo’s long hair popped in the kitchen door attached to a shit-eating grin. “Hola, boss. You’re up early.” He raised a tray and the smell of brewed Colombian coffee filled the room. “I brought brain food.”
“Thank God,” I exhaled, grabbing one out of the carrier. Taking a sip, I held in a groan of satisfaction and threw the remaining mug in the sink. I caught Mateo’s eye as he watched the move, counting the cups before they shattered against each other.
“Dos?” He held two fingers up and shook his head with a smirk. “Taking the prisoner coffee doesn’t exactly play up the fear factor, does it?”
I didn’t appreciate what he insinuated, but I couldn’t deny it either. “She has to drink, Mateo. We’re not savages.”
Mateo took a slow drink from his cup before answering. “She’s hostile, boss. I tried to give her food last night, and she walked away from it. The less you interact with her the better. She’s throwing around accusations about the cartel and using our names.” He glanced toward the closed door where she lay cuffed. “You’ve shown yourself once. Don’t give her more ammunition.”
“Too late for that.” The memory of her skin against my lips caused a crack in my hardened armor that I covered with a scowl. I couldn’t let my men know Eden and I already had somewhat of a bizarre history. The insignificant conversations for months leading to my ill-timed decision to visit the cantina two nights ago were private. From the look in her eyes, we’d both envisioned the ending to that night with me buried deep between her legs.
Jesus. I couldn’t think like that or I’d have to shower again.
Mateo paced. “The police raided Caliente early this morning.”
His words knocked me out of my stupor and pulled me into full boss mode. “What reason would the police have to go to Caliente?” My eyebrow arched, and my hand stopped him mid-pace. “The cleaners already passed through, right?”
If our men hadn’t gotten rid of Lachey and cleaned up the mess before the badges got there, we were fucked.
“Si.” Mateo nodded his head. “They found nothing. The alarms tripped, and Emilio had to go back not long after he left here.” He glanced out of the small reinforced glass window toward the isolated street. “They tried to rattle him, but he knows the rules.”
I didn’t like the way this was playing out. “There’s only one way the police could’ve known Lachey was there, but it goes against everything cartels believe as a whole…despite our rivalry.”
“You think the Muñoz Cartel called the cops and pointed
them to Caliente?”
“Either they did, or they had someone do it for them.”
Mateo’s eyes widened. “Why? The cops could bust them just as much as us.”
“Agreed.” I ran my finger along my bottom lip, tapping it at the corner of my mouth. “Something doesn’t add up. It was a ballsy move and not one I would’ve made without knowing it wouldn’t backfire. Whoever made that call wasn’t worried. The question is, what insurance policy do they have?”
“Boss, if you want, I can stay here while you—”
I nodded toward the door. “Thanks for the coffee, but you need to get back and check on the shipment coming in from the port.” I clapped him on the shoulder and looked him in the eye to convey the seriousness of the situation. “I’m counting on you, Mateo. Without Nando, we’re a man down. I need you to be my eyes and ears in Corpus Christi. Make sure that truck gets here.”
“Of course, boss.”
“I also need you to fill Nando’s position. Look toward the higher soldiers. Someone’s got to stand out as worthy.”
He dipped his chin. “I’m on it.”
The door closed quietly, the lock engaging along with the coded alarm. I stared at the cool coffee containers and cursed under my breath. Business came first and one unpleasant phone call needed to be made. Sighing, I pulled my phone from my pocket and addressed my current problem before I opened the door to my other.
I fought a yawn as I dialed the number. He answered on the first ring, his voice holding a satisfactory mix of trepidation and anxiousness.
This might be easier than I thought.
“What do you want, now?”
“Brody, that’s hardly an acceptable way to greet someone, don’t you think?” I imagined him loosening his tie to breathe easier. They all did.
“I’m at work, Carrera.” His voice sounded rushed. “I’m going into court.”
“Be late.” I picked up my coffee, agitated from my conversation with Mateo.
“I can’t,” he snarled through what sounded like clenched teeth. “Talk fast.”
“A few officers paid a visit to one of my men early this morning at his cantina. Do you know anything about that, Brody?” The man couldn’t lie for shit. He had to be the worst assistant DA in history.
“N-no. Nothing, Val. I haven’t heard a thing.”
I knew he was lying. Brody Harcourt never called me by my first name. It was a human reflex to become friendly and communicate on a personal level when a man lied through his teeth.
“Nothing? Not a word around the office?”
“No, I told you, Val. It’s been quiet. Nothing’s come across my desk.” He paused, and his breath became labored. “Why? What happened at Caliente? Something bad?”
My fingers tightened around my coffee. “I never mentioned it was Caliente.”
“Well, I just assumed, you said cantina, and I know your guy, Emilio owns Caliente.” He laughed nervously. “Simple process of elimination, Val.”
Goddamn it. Stop saying my name.
This conversation was obviously headed nowhere fast. Harcourt knew more than he’d divulge over the phone. He needed some face-to-face encouragement to not be a rat bastard.
“Nothing happened. The alarm must have tripped and alerted the authorities.”
He audibly swallowed. “Yeah, sure. That has to be it.”
Of course, it does, you lying motherfucker.
Once I got Eden settled, and Mateo came back, I’d pay our fair ADA a visit and jog his memory. Until then, I’d humor his selective amnesia.
“Enjoy your day, Brody. Watch out for cars when you cross the road.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
It meant absolutely nothing. I just enjoyed fucking with him.
“Traffic. I heard it’s bad today. You’re late for court.” I disconnected the call in the middle of his string of curses.
Every man in the Carrera Cartel knew the penalties for lying. That knowledge prevented lies from being told amongst our men. Unfortunately for Brody Harcourt, he’d find out soon enough why there was rarely a crack in our cartel family code of honor.
Chapter Fifteen
Valentin
An hour later, I still held the phone in my hand, my eyes shifting to the closed door that led down the stairs to the basement. Mateo made sense. Continuing to interact with her wasn’t the smartest move, but I couldn’t deny the magnetic pull she had over me. No matter how many times my brain told my body to shut up and turn away, I found myself facing that goddamn door.
I’d taken three steps toward it when the phone vibrated. Since only business associates knew my number, I didn’t hesitate to answer in my native tongue.
“Si?”
“It’s Consuelos.”
Chris Consuelos had been hard to bring to control when I’d arrived in Houston six years ago. One night of Nando sitting across the street from his house in a tinted SUV cracked the Chief of Corpus Christi Port Security’s shell before I could pull my phone from my pocket. Nothing changes a man’s attitude faster than an unspoken threat to his family.
I kept my gaze on the basement door. “Not a good time.”
“Your boat never arrived, Carrera.”
The edge in his voice gave me pause. “What do you mean, it never arrived?”
“Exactly what I said. The boat was never found, but the bodies of your boys washed up on the Padre Island National Seashore. There’s no proof, of course, but if I was a betting man, I’d say they were intercepted not long after they left the coast of El Mezquital.”
Son of a bitch.
Small shipments had been MIA here and there for months, but lately, the frequency had tripled. Stolen cargo was a nature of the business, and I’d learned to eat the cost, but I couldn’t ignore it anymore. Writing it off as a coincidence wasn’t an option.
With the weight of his words distracting me, I stepped away from the door. “What the hell happened, Consuelos?”
For the first time, fear crept into his detached voice. “I have no idea, but my guess is there’s only one group with the cajones big enough to cross you.”
Muñoz.
My hand tore through my hair as my fingers ripped the strands from the root. Scenes of what would happen when word reached my suppliers that Muñoz enforcers had intercepted their shipment flashed through my head. “Do you realize what this means, Consuelos?”
“It can’t be good.”
“Good? These are the fucking Colombians, Consuelos. Suppliers don’t send an IOU to collect a debt on ninety pounds of cocaine.” I closed my eyes and cursed. “They wipe out entire neighborhoods.”
“That sucks, man.”
I opened one eye at his dismissal. “Don’t be stupid, pendejo! If you think they don’t know what you ate for breakfast this morning, you’re an idiot.”
His voice shook. “You mean…”
“Update your insurance policy.” I disconnected the call without another word. Callous? Probably. But I had more pressing issues than Chris Consuelos’s newly-soiled pants. I had hours to figure out how the hell to appease an eleven-million-dollar debt and smooth trade negotiations with my best supplier.
This feud had gotten way out of hand. Rivalry was one thing, but they’d fucked with my business one too many times. I’d had enough. Filling my chest with a calming breath, I released the death grip I had on my phone and started to dial the last man I wanted to talk to, when a high-pitched scream echoed from the basement followed by a clang of metal.
Warning that had built inside of me all morning exploded into a siren. Dropping the phone, I flung the door open and took the stairs four at a time, pulling my gun from my waistband.
Eden stood next to the iron bed, her cherry-red hair disheveled and wild, with a crazed look in her eyes. Bent over the mattress with her hands clasped together, she jerked roughly on the handcuff, snapping the metal into her wound with each pull.
Shocked at her ferocity, I stood with my gun pointed at her whi
le she continued to jerk and pull, screaming like a wounded animal. Blood poured down her arm, and the food tray lay on the floor just under repeated marks and chips in the wall where she’d beaten into it. I assumed it was to get our attention.
It worked.
Unfamiliar with unbalanced females, I tried reasoning with her. “Cereza, you need to calm down.”
As if I were prey that had wandered into the lion’s den, she shifted her eyes toward me with her chest heaving. “This is calm. Uncuff me…now.” Every word she spoke dripped with disgust, spoken between clenched teeth.
“You know that’s not going to happen. I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if you don’t calm the fuck down.”
She paused a moment before turning her eyes away and continuing her maniacal screaming. The safe house was secluded in a rural area, but it wasn’t sound proof. I had to shut her up. Letting out a sigh, I shoved my .380 caliber pistol back in my waistband and sat down on the bed.
“Sit down, Cereza.”
At my command, she quieted, the fight seeming to melt out of her. Sinking next to me, her shoulders slumped forward in defeat. “I’m scared.”
“I know.” Her closeness raced my pulse, so I increased the distance between us. “I’m sorry about your brother. I know what it feels like to lose family.”
“Did you kill him?”
“No.”
She inched closer, her small frame shaking. “Who did?”
“Rivals.” I needed to move away from her. That’d be the smart thing to do. I shouldn’t let her feel as if we were equals. I needed her fear to keep her on edge, but for some reason, I craved her closeness.
“Why?” The tremble in her voice gutted me.
I could give her nothing but honesty. “Bad blood.”
She glanced up with tears pooling in her bright blue eyes. “My brother died because of some vendetta between drug cartels?”
Carrera Cartel: The Collection Page 11