Carrera Cartel: The Collection

by Kenborn, Cora

“Then lose yourself in me, my devil,” she whispered as she bowed her head, offering up her delicate shoulder blades as a sacrifice to my mouth while she braced herself on her elbows for my next act of violence. “Take what you want from my body. I’ve told you this before... I’ll give you all of me if it helps calm the storm.”

  Heaven and hell.

  With the softest of kisses to her flawless, alabaster skin, I drove back inside her—tearing through any lingering resistance and seating myself so deep she muffled a scream into the pillow.

  This is what I did. I took without mercy or restraint, and Valentin Carrera would be wise to remember that. No deal would ever be equal in my eyes. I always weighed the percentages in my favor. New York would be mine again as soon as I had the intel I needed, and then, we’d be taking a wrecking ball to the goddamn Mexicans.

  There was a tempest heading Carrera’s way... One flash of lightning and my bullets would be setting fire to his fucking rain.

  I finished with a roar, the base of my spine bursting into flames as I felt Eve quiver and strain beneath me. In the golden moments that followed, I painted sepia-tone pictures in my head. We were parted once. Since that day, I’ve never taken a single beat with her for granted.

  Trailing more kisses down her spine, I eased slowly from her body. She whimpered but didn’t move as I tucked the white sheet around her hips. Once done, I rose from the bed, pausing at the foot to watch her sleep—the darkest angel standing guard over the lightest. Two pregnancies hadn’t dulled her beauty. The silver lines on her skin mirrored my many scars. They were slashes of endurance for the ultimate gain: hers gave our lives meaning by welcoming our daughters into the world. Mine had led me straight to her.

  She stirred, turning her head to the side and offering me her cheek this time.

  “Rest,” I commanded, stealing another kiss from her, her skin as soft as my blood was savage. “We still have another couple of hours of flying time left.”

  “Why are we going to Mexico again?” she asked sleepily.

  “Business,” I murmured. “But afterward, mi alma, we’re heading straight to Monaco. It’s been too long since we had time alone without the children. After forty-eight hours of my undiluted pleasure, my angel,” I added huskily, “you’ll be begging for my mercy.”

  She laughed. “Same to you, my devil.”

  I never doubted it for a second. I’d kill for her. I’d die for her. My very existence would be a black hole without her.

  My cell started ringing as I left the bedroom with one hand still buttoning up my black shirt.

  Sofia.

  I answered expecting to hear the softly-spoken voice of my children’s nanny. Instead, the sweetest angriest melody assaulted my senses, and my mouth did the unthinkable by stretching into a smile.

  “Papá!” cried my eldest daughter, her shrillness laced with all the indignance of a four-year-old whose best laid plans had just been thwarted. “Sofia says I can’t ride my pony until I’ve brushed my teeth. It’s not fair! It’s not fair!” Her words hit a crescendo, displaying a temper that already rivaled my own.

  “Hush, Ella,” I crooned, switching my cell to the other ear to flick my middle finger at my second-in-command, Joseph Grayson. The tall, blond American was watching me intently from the other side of the jet’s cabin. His expression never shifted, but I saw the trace of amusement in his eyes. All men feared me, but three women brought me to my fucking knees. “Sofia is right, chiquita. Do you wish for all your teeth to fall out?”

  “But papá!” she wailed, clearly dissatisfied with my response. “Archie will be so sad.”

  “Archie can wait five more minutes for your affections.”

  Joseph couldn’t hide his fucking smirk now, neither could the two men he was sat with. They were the only ones I allowed to see this side of me. It didn’t stop me wanting to decorate their faces with my fist, though.

  “Archie will be mad as well, papá,” she added sternly.

  Archie can fucking deal with it, I reflected, gearing up for some tough negotiation—the one parenthood staple that all the books forgot to mention. “If you brush your teeth for Sofia, chiquita, I promise to make it up to you and Archie.”

  “How?”

  She still wasn’t impressed. She needed a five-point fucking plan for how I was going to fix this. I wonder who she gets that from? I never explained my shit to anyone, but with Ella and Thalia I found myself curbing my own rules on a daily basis.

  “A new saddle?” I offered.

  “Uh-uh.” She paused to mull it over before delivering her verdict. “You gotta hug him, papá.”

  What the fuck?

  “Papá?” she prompted.

  “Fine, fine,” I said in exasperation. If she asked for my heart, I’d pass her my knife and tell her to get on with it. “Now go and brush your damn teeth!”

  “Bad word!” she crowed with a naughty giggle, and the strength of her innocence made my black heart explode with light.

  Her mother taught me how to yield to love.

  My daughters taught me to accept its cruel sting.

  There was so much harm in this world, but they would never know pain and danger. Not like me. Not like their eldest sister. Ella and Thalia’s lives would be shaped with warmth and safety, and I’d kill every single threat to keep it that way.

  “Love you, papá,” she trilled, finally placated. “And Archie loves you, too.”

  “And I love Archie,” I replied through gritted teeth, ignoring the bark of laughter behind me. “Be good for Sofia… Mamá will call you later.” Papá’s got some even tougher negotiation to do for the next twenty-four hours. “How about you take that laughter and shove it down your fucking throat, Sanders,” I roared, hanging up on my daughter.

  “Has anyone ever accused you of having a bipolar disorder?” Rick responded mildly. “And have you ever considered getting your inflight entertainment room soundproofed? I never knew Eve had so many vowels in her vocabulary.”

  Motherfucker.

  “If bipolar means splitting a man’s body in half, here…let me demonstrate.”

  “Why don’t you have a drink first?” Joseph rose to his feet and thrust a bottle of bourbon at me to slow my murderous intent. He gave me a look as I stopped and swigged from it like a man possessed. He could tell that my current state of mind was Carrera-made, and not courtesy of Rick’s big mouth.

  “These are piss-poor bartering lines,” I mused darkly, taking another swig. “I never should have agreed to leave the island.” I never should have brought Eve with me.

  “Then redefine them,” he responded without blinking. “Shove your terms down Carrera’s throat so far, he’ll be spitting them up for weeks. At least it’ll blindside him from what’s really going on.”

  This produced my second broken smile of the journey. Joseph had already guessed I’d no intentions of honoring this deal. I knew he would. He moved in my shadow. He stung like a bee. And he’d anticipated my moves more times than a fucking chess champion.

  “Roman, talk me through what Chernova said to you about New York last week.” I turned to the blond-haired FBI agent sitting next to Rick.

  “Don Ricci cut a deal with the justice department on the sly—the Italians are on the ropes and Carrera wants the city as much as we do.” Roman yawned and pulled out his cell to check his messages. Sometimes I had to remind myself he was a useful asshole to keep around instead of just an asshole. The latter would have seen him six feet under a long time ago. “Carrera is against this deal as much as you are, Dante,” he warned. “But, it’s mutually beneficial, so please shelve any ideas you have about sabotage until after we smash this organization wide open.”

  Roman could also be a pious prick when he wanted to be.

  “Why the hell does a Miami pakhan care so much about this anyway?” I demanded.

  “Let’s just say we all have a vested interest in this trafficking ring operating in Mexico. She hates this shit as much as we do.” Roman
’s expression tightened as he slid his cell back into his inside pocket. His twin sister was also trafficked and murdered by Sevastian Petrov. In retaliation, Roman was the one responsible for his uncle’s death inside a dirty jail cell. The official line was that the Russian had been shanked in his gut by his cellmate, but everyone on this plane knew otherwise. Roman’s slick, well-groomed, corporate facade hid his own mayhem and murder.

  “Does Carrera know about your Russian connection to her?”

  “As far as he’s concerned, I’m just another dirty cop on the make.” He smiled at me with all the warmth of a great white shark. “The fact that I’m Andrei Petrov’s son would tip the merger too much in our favor. My father’s name still carries weight in certain circles. Remember, Chernova wants this to happen as much as we do. She lost one of her girls, and she wants her back.”

  It was all playing into my hands too perfectly. The truth felt like water. I could feel the trickles seeping through the cracks, but I couldn’t stem the flow with an answer. Something didn’t feel right about any of this.

  The names of the Mexicans… New York falling back into our laps… It was all too easy.

  “Is Viviana joining us there?” I said, referring to my niece who was busy making quite the name for herself fronting my cartel in Colombia these days.

  “She’s meeting us at Miami-Opa Locka.” Joseph collapsed back into his seat with a groan. “She’s swinging by Florida on her way through. Something about a shipment delay.”

  “Call ahead and make sure she’s ready and waiting. I want a united family front for Carrera.”

  “All two of you,” Rick muttered, picking the ice out of his whiskey.

  It’s a good thing I didn’t bring him along for entertainment purposes. Rick was still a Brooklyn crook at heart, with a loyalty like Joseph’s and an aim as lethal as mine.

  “Three,” I corrected him with a grimace, thinking of my angel lying naked ten feet away from me.

  Though I wish to fuck it wasn’t.

  Chapter Three

  Valentin

  Mexico City, Mexico

  “Again?”

  I slowed my stride, my teeth grinding together. Any other day, a question like that would’ve earned a .45 caliber response. Fortunately for my soon-to-be brother-in-law’s first lieutenant to our stateside operation, the price I’d pay for the bullet wasn’t worth the effort.

  “Shut the fuck up and do your job. I’m not in the mood to clean your blood off my lawn, Suarez.” Leaving my newly appointed head of security behind, I walked the perimeter of the grounds once more, checking every lock and interrogating every guard.

  Third time’s the charm.

  It was a ridiculous phrase. People said it all the time as if men like me got more than one chance to get it right. We didn’t. If we fucked up on the first try, that was it.

  Game over.

  Maybe they got another shot.

  I just got shot.

  But my safety wasn’t what prompted all this. Taking a bullet was as routine as breathing in this business. Life was a constant roll of the dice, and I lived it knowing I’d eventually throw a bad hand.

  But this wasn’t about me.

  It was about them.

  “Everything satisfactory now, boss?”

  Coming to a dead stop, I turned and shot him a lethal look over my shoulder. “If you have to ask me that question, then I made a mistake in bringing you here.”

  Whereas most young men Rafael Suarez’s age would’ve pissed themselves trying to correct their mistake, he simply tightened his jaw. Barely a noticeable reaction to anyone else, but I wasn’t just anyone. I was the son of one of the most infamous men in modern history—an indiscriminate monster who killed for money and tortured for fun.

  My father raised me to identify the slightest twitch and manipulate it to my advantage.

  Cartel regime may have controlled Rafael’s reaction, but it ran through my veins.

  “I’ll have ten sicarios run hourly perimeter checks,” he announced in a strong, monotone voice.

  I stifled a smirk. He was learning, and the words weren’t offered as a question, which earned him another hour with air in his lungs. Some might consider it insubordination, but I appreciated a man who didn’t have to be told something twice. Every day I made split-second decisions, and I didn’t have time for hand-holding. Read between the lines or bleed out. I didn’t give a damn.

  Those allowed inside my inner circle swore to four oaths.

  Honor the cartel above anything else.

  Shut your fucking mouth.

  Protect your leader.

  Give your life for his family.

  Although last, the fourth and final oath held precedence over all the rest. It was why we stood here having this conversation. It was why I was here doing the work of men ranked so far below me I didn’t even know their names. It was why my breath kept getting caught in my chest, and every step sounded like thunder in my head.

  To the majority of people here, these walls contained a private wedding. But to that inner circle, they caged a brewing storm—a storm, very few people knew was currently thirty-six thousand feet in the air, somewhere between Colombia and the estate.

  Standing in one spot was against my nature, so I continued my security check, not surprised when Rafael’s footsteps fell in sync behind me. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched the line of heavily-armed guards pretend not to notice us. “What have you told them?”

  “Just that some very important and influential people will be in attendance, and you’re putting extra measures in place to ensure their safety.”

  “That’s all it took?”

  “I may have dropped a few names.” He nodded toward a line of stone-faced guards. “They’re killers, not idiotas. No one wants to fuck up and land on a Chernov or Sinner radar.”

  “And the Colombians?”

  The corner of his mouth twitched. “Only that Santiago and his men are invited guests and aren’t to be shot out of the sky.”

  Well, at least not today anyway. “Muy bien. Anything else?”

  “If hostile shots are fired, the four oaths stand,” he added, his fists clenching by his side. “It doesn’t matter who’s at the end of their gun; they fire back.”

  That was exactly why men twice Rafael Suarez’s age stood on the front lines while he gave the orders. I didn’t appoint him head of security for my sister’s wedding as a favor to my soon-to-be brother-in-law. It was because he was a ruthless sicario who knew the grounds better than anyone.

  When I sent the twenty-two-year-old to work under Brody, it wasn't an insult.

  It was a sacrifice.

  Rafael was one of my best men. Born to my father’s housekeeper, he knew the grounds like the back of his hand. That was why I brought him here, leaving Houston in the hands of second-rate lieutenants. His clean-shaven face and dimples made him appear otherwise, but Rafael Suarez was a stone-cold killer. If there was a hole in our defense, Rafael would find it.

  However, along with strong defense came a carefully crafted offense.

  “What’s the status of what we discussed this morning?”

  Instead of responding, he motioned me down the line to where a scarred-face man stood at attention, his black uniform crisp and neat. When he noticed us approaching, he stood straighter. “Jefe.”

  “I gave Francisco the order,” Rafael explained, ignoring the greeting and speaking directly to me—yet another point in his favor. Once I nodded, he faced the guard. “Have you received confirmation that Dr. Vidal is on site?”

  Hierarchy wasn’t just a chain of respect for men like us; it was our own stone-etched commandment. He outranked this guard, but I outranked everyone. Every word was spoken directly to me, or it wasn’t spoken at all.

  Just as I anticipated, Francisco glanced toward me, waiting for a nod before answering him. “Sí, jefe, about an hour ago.”

  “And the backup?”

  “Two additional helicopters have bee
n brought in from Médica Sur, as requested.”

  “Staffed?”

  The guard gave a stiff nod. “Two surgeons and a nurse on each one.”

  Not nearly enough in my opinion, but more choppers would raise questions I wasn’t prepared to answer. As it stood, once Eden saw them, I’d have to think fast on my feet or there would be hell to pay.

  Fucking women.

  Rafael nodded his approval. “Muy bien. Keep me updated.” Motioning me off to the side and out of Francisco’s earshot, he lowered his voice. “I didn’t want to say anything in front of the others, but Mateo’s wife saw the Médica Sur helicopters and started asking questions.”

  “Leighton?” My underboss’s wife usually stayed out of my way. Not that I’d ever given her reason to fear me. In fact, I’d gone out of my way to welcome her into my home, which after the bullshit she put the Carreras through a couple years ago, was more than she deserved. However, since we all seemed incapable of marrying outside our inner circle, my soon-to-be brother-in-law’s sister was also Adriana’s soon-to-be sister-in-law, which made her family.

  Did I say that right?

  Fuck, it was a wonder our children didn’t have three heads and webbed feet.

  “Has the situation been handled?” I asked.

  “For now. I told her it was all for Adriana.” Rafael glanced down at the grass, clearly uncomfortable. “You know, just in case anything happens.”

  Nobody liked talking about my sister’s medical condition. Mainly, because it sent my mood straight to hell. As if being diabetic wasn’t bad enough, I almost lost her a year and a half ago.

  Adriana called my excessive caution overbearing. I called it protecting a lucrative investment.

  “You’d better hope nothing happens,” I warned. “I only have one kidney left. If ‘anything happens,’ I have medical files on all of you motherfuckers and a scalpel.”

  Rafael laughed. I didn’t.

  Was I being irrational? Of course. There wasn’t a more secure place in Mexico today. The men walking these grounds were the best of the best. Trained killers stripped of empathy and conscience. They existed to do two things: obey orders and shoot to kill.