“Get your goddamn hands off me!” I roared. “You think I did this? Blow up my own sister’s wedding for you?”
“Where the fuck is she?” he shouted again.
“How the hell should I know?” He’d made his fucking bed; he could lie in it.
Baring my teeth, I threw all my weight forward, the heel of my palm attempting to crush his Adam’s apple. Santiago took a step backward in time and swung his fist at my head. It breezed past my cheek as I shoved hard at his chest.
Buying myself a few seconds, I frantically searched the sea of faces again—a vice clamping around my chest when all I witnessed was smoke and destruction.
I felt a heavy hand on my shoulder. “You’re a fucking dead—”
With a savage roar, I balled my fist to swing at Santiago myself and found a gun aimed at each temple instead.
Fuck.
“Great wedding, Carrera,” a voice drawled as I dropped my fist. “Do I get my slice of cake before or after your funeral?
I glared at the smiling asshole out of the corner of my eyes. “Either shoot or get out of my way, senator.”
“Dante,” I heard Grayson murmur.
Santiago’s vapid black eyes remained on me as he pulled his gun from his leather holster. “Keep him here until I find Eve.”
“Hola, fucker.”
As twisted up as my insides were, I couldn’t help but smile at the image of Mateo’s gun leveled at the back of Santiago’s head. The man looked like hell. He must have caught a canopy in the face because there was a bloody gash on his cheek, and the long hair he’d secured at his nape for the ceremony was now torn free and hanging wild around his shoulders like a lion’s mane.
A dangerous, bloodthirsty lion.
We locked eyes, as if he knew what was coming. “Is Leighton okay?”
I wasn’t completely heartless. Mateo was the closest thing I’d ever had to a friend. Besides Eden, he held more of my trust than anyone. While his wife may not be my favorite person in the world, she’d always have my protection. If it came down to it, I’d take a bullet for her.
That was familia.
And familia also understood silent questions.
He gave a slight nod, “She’s fine. She’s with Eden and Ava. Adriana’s fine too. They’re all fine.”
Fine.
The word flung my heart against my chest, kickstarting its stagnant beat. After exhaling the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding, I forced the husband and brother in a box and locked it. I’d deal with them later. Instead, I inhaled smoke and ash from my burning estate, allowing the cartel boss to fill every other crevice inside me.
I let him fuel my need for hate and hunger for blood.
I didn’t give a damn if Grayson or Sanders fired, I’d get my shot out first. I might take my last breath tonight, but so would the man responsible for this.
“You can pull the trigger, Cortes, but there’s more than one Santiago here,” came a female voice, as another gun joined in the festivities.
Jesus fucking Christ. Now I had his niece’s gun in my face, as well.
I glared at her. “You’re becoming a real pain in my ass, you know that?”
“Says the man with my bullet aimed at his head.” However, her grin quickly faded as Brody appeared behind her and rammed his steel into the small of her back. “Big mistake, gringo,” she hissed.
Brody just smirked. “Carreras have a code against shooting women, but I think I’ll get a pass on this one. I’m fairly sure you have a dick anyway.”
“Kill him,” Dante ordered in a lethal tone.
Grayson’s head jerked up. His loaded question hung thick with the smoke.
“I said, kill him.”
“Dante, stop.”
The order came from a sweet, angelic voice that seemed to carry the fortitude of an army. The volatile tension flipped like a switch, and every eye turned to watch the graceful woman in white approaching. A trail of crimson divided one cheek, and her dark hair was streaked with ash.
Santiago’s entire demeanor changed again. “Mi alma,” he said roughly. “Where have you been?”
I watched her glance at Mateo and then at gun pointing at her husband’s head. “What’s happening here? What have you—?”
The rest of her words were drowned out by a single, devastating shot.
No one reacted. Maybe it was because there were so many fucking barrels aimed in our circle we were simply waiting for one of us to hit the ground first. But having a gun shoved in my hand at a young age taught me instinct, and my head was already swinging in the direction of this fresh mayhem.
My right.
Where the rest of Santiago’s entourage stood with loaded guns in their hands.
The red haze I’d been avoiding all day seared across my vision. I didn’t think, I pulled my gun and fired back as Dante dragged Eve to the ground to avoid the line of fire. Meanwhile, the rest of his men scattered like fucking atoms.
Again.
And again.
Followed by more guns. More shots. More bullets.
More screams.
Rivals scattered like roaches in a floodlit room. Familiar voices shouted names I knew but couldn’t process. The man who knew those names and cared to listen was locked away in a box. The only word the cartel boss knew was ‘kill.’
The tepid false calm finally gave way to the chaos that had been building as screams blotted out the pop, pop, pop of endless bullets. Eventually, I couldn’t tell which shot came from what gun.
But I saw red.
I saw people, who moments earlier had been laughing and dancing, lying lifeless on the ground. I saw my allies drowning in puddles of their own blood. Then I saw my sister and new brother-in-law face down and frozen.
The red shawl, now indistinguishable from the red staining her gown.
And that box inside me burst open.
“Adriana!” As I dove toward them, another round of shots rang out, and a lethal burn tore across my chest. Then as quickly as the fire seared, an icy cold spread through my limbs.
As I fell to my knees, one thought filled my head.
Brody was right. Trusting Santiago had been a mistake.
A red one.
Chapter Fourteen
Valentin
Death was never an ending.
It was the one thing people like me had in common with the good people of the world. The ones who looked at red and saw passion and love. The ones who followed rules, obeyed laws, and pretended the promises of their leaders weren’t tainted by our stain.
That we didn’t exist.
Because if we did, then that meant their whole lives had been a lie.
But they were anyway. Because although we both believed death wasn’t the final act, it was for two vastly different reasons. They clutched their pearls in one hand while the other held tight to their rosaries over the graves of the dearly departed. They prayed for the safe delivery of their loved ones’ souls to the gates of Heaven because their time on Earth had been a simple stepping stone on the path to the ever after.
While we, too, believed death not to be the final act, it wasn’t because we expected to spend eternity lounging on some cloud playing the harp. When Santa Muerte came for us, we knew damn well where our ticket was getting punched—on the same express train to Hell we’d damned thousands to already.
But here was the difference… That was where it ended for them. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, kick some dirt on top, and toss a rose. Done. But for men like me, it was never done. Somebody always had to pay, and if the fucker responsible happened to be on the train too, then whoever was left made sure their father or their brother or their son or their whole goddamn family paid.
They were ashes to ashes.
We were eye for an eye.
“Val! Dios mío! Val! Val, where are you!”
Her screams were what cleared the red haze. Gritting my teeth, I pressed my palm against the grass, a fucking bitch of a burn setting my left s
ide on fire. I’d been shot too many times not to know I’d taken a bullet somewhere from my shoulder to my ribs, but I didn’t care enough to find out where.
My eyes were open, I had breath in my lungs, and I could stand. That was all that mattered.
“Val, please! Oh God, help!” Adriana’s voice pierced through what was left of the haze, and I staggered toward it. I didn’t look at the bodies on the ground. I couldn’t. Not yet. I stepped over them as shots still rang out around me, telling myself I’d come back to them to either assess the casualties or fire an assurance bullet.
All that mattered was my family. Once I knew they were safe, I’d find Santiago and make his wife watch as I tortured him into a slow and painful death.
As I neared them, I caught a black streak out of the corner of my eye. Without hesitation, I turned my gun and fired twice. Only afterward, did I turn and see two men I didn’t recognize lying slumped on their sides, staining my lawn with their blood.
I’ll figure it out later.
“Mateo!” I yelled, making my way toward the stage. “Where the fuck are you?”
If he’s dead, I’ll kill him.
But all thoughts of Mateo flew out of my head the minute I saw my sister. She was lying on her back under Brody, her flailing arms and screaming face, the only parts of her visible. By the time I made it to her side, she'd already pushed her way out from underneath her new husband, and at closer sight of her, I let out a howl.
Her beautiful wedding gown, the antique lace dress our mother wore to marry our bastard of a father, was no longer white. It was red.
My sister was covered in bright red blood.
“¡Maldición!” Cursing, I dropped my gun and took her in my arms, the monster in me clawing and raging for release. “Where are you hit?”
“No!” she screamed, the tears streaming down her face mixing with the blood smeared across her cheeks. “Not me! Brody! Dios mío, no! No! No, no, no!”
Shit. That’s not her blood.
Crawling back to the still form lying beside her, she repeated the words over and over as she rolled him onto his back and straddled him. “Baby, wake up! Oh God, please wake up! There’s so much blood. Why is there so much blood? Where is it coming from?”
Adriana tore at Brody’s tuxedo jacket, ripping it open and finding nothing. Dropping down beside her, I seized her hand, stopping her frantic search. “Move.”
“What? No!”
“Bichito, please.” With her hands shaking, Adriana tumbled off him, watching in horror as I rolled him onto his stomach and flipped his jacket up, confirming my suspicions.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Adriana’s tortured wail harmonized with the refrain of gunshots and soprano screams filling the night air. The back of Brody’s white shirt was stained red, and a bullet hole on his lower back pumped out a continuous stream of blood.
No exit wound.
Goddamn it.
“He jumped in front of me!” she cried. “He pushed me to the ground. He… he… Brody wake up!”
I needed something to stop the bleeding, and my jacket didn’t have enough give to the material. Just as my eyes shifted toward the train on Adriana’s dress, I caught the briefest glint of black.
There was no time to warn her. Grabbing the back of Adriana’s head, I shoved her down against the wood and fired three times. Another unrecognizable pendejo hit the ground with a hole between his eyes and two in his chest.
I was done fucking around.
Braced on her forearms, Adriana twisted her head and stared at the dead man, her body starting to shake. “Val,” she whispered, her face turning to chalk. “I’m going to be sick.”
I didn’t have time for her to be sick. I loved her, but right now, I needed her to be a cartel queen, not a bride. “Sit up,” I commanded. When she blinked at me with a vacant look in her eyes, I leaned over and grabbed her chin. “I said sit up!”
Still dazed, she flopped onto her ass, which was fine. It gave me the access I needed. Grabbing the train of her gown, I said a silent apology to mamá before shredding the fuck out of it. Adriana didn’t budge. After a few more rips, I snapped my fingers in her face. “Adriana! Ponme atención! Pay attention! I need your help to stop the bleeding. There are others here I have to...”
I froze. It was like taking a sledgehammer to the chest.
“Eden.” I was so blindsided by the gunshots, so unsettled by the fucking men in black, so rattled by my sister’s bloody wedding dress, so consumed with saving my new brother-in-law’s life, and so focused on task after task, that I left my heart exposed.
“Val, what are you doing?” Adriana snatched the fabric out of my hands. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Eden…” I repeated, climbing to my feet again. “I have to find Eden.”
“Don’t you dare fucking walk away from him! Val! Please!”
Shaking my head, I backed away. “I’m sorry…”
“Go, Carrera. I’ve got this.”
The voice behind me was familiar, but instinct took over, and I turned around, greeting its owner with the barrel of a gun against his forehead. Instead of raising one of his own, he cocked an eyebrow and glanced down. “I bet that hurts like a bitch.”
Of course.
Cristiano Vergara.
But the asshole was right, so I finally looked down at my own wound and assessed the damage. Not as bad as I thought, but still ugly as fuck. A clean surface shot through my shoulder. I’d had worse. I’d need some stitching and an entire bottle of tequila if I survived this shit.
“Make sure he lives, or I’ll kill you myself.” Vergara’s answer was to walk away from my gun and kneel by my sister’s side. “Apply pressure and find someone to help you get him to the helipad,” I growled at his back. “I have medic choppers waiting.”
As I backed away, I heard Cristiano calm my sister in a soothing voice. “He took a bullet to the back, but he’s still breathing, cariño. Talk to him and keep pressure on it while I tighten this.”
“Cereza!” Her name was the only thing on my lips as I wove my way through the carnage of bodies decorating my courtyard. In an ironic twist of fate, the only color I sought out was red.
Fucking red.
Bullets still flew around me, one coming so close to my ear, I felt its heat. Nothing stopped me. Nothing slowed me.
Where were my guards?
How in the hell had this happened right under our noses? In our faces?
As I carved my path, exposed faces frozen in death sought me out. Syndicate leaders. Bratva pakhans. Corrupt politicians. My own fucking men. One thing was for sure. The targets were clear. Seats of power.
I surprised myself by thinking of Ava and hoping she’d survived the fall.
Fucking conscience.
Halfway across the courtyard, I forgot about the pain in my shoulder because the one in my chest was about to explode. Dangerous thoughts crept inside my head, poisoning it with images that blackened my vision.
My heart. My life. My world.
Gone.
But then I saw it.
Red.
“Eden!” She was lying on the grass with a man standing over her. A man in black.
An entire army couldn’t have stopped me. I ran until my lungs burned. She was the only reason I didn’t pull the trigger. He was too close to her.
But I didn’t need a gun to kill.
However only a few feet away, the man in black turned around, gun in hand. “What the fuck is this, Carrera?” A cool darkness simmered in Niko’s eyes. It was the rage of a trained assassin ready to strike. A man conditioned to thirst for the kill.
A man who stood, ready to defend and protect his wife.
The redhead.
Ava was on the ground, blood covering her legs. Her dress was pulled to her waist, revealing where a bullet had entered and exited the outside fleshy part of her right thigh. The wound wasn’t life threatening, although considering the murderous look in Niko’s eyes, you would’v
e thought she was near death.
“Who the fuck did this,” he repeated, aiming his gun at my chest.
I wasn’t concerned. If he pulled the trigger, a bullet to his skull would soon follow which would leave his precious Ava helpless. The Russian was smarter than that.
“Who the fuck do you think?”
“Santiago…” he growled. “He’s a dead man.”
Knocking his gun out of my way, I continued my search while muttering, “Get in line, motherfucker.”
“Eden!” Impatience consumed my humanity faster than I could salvage it. If I didn’t find her soon, fire and bullets would be the least of everyone’s worries. I’d burn this whole damn place down myself.
“Val!” Mateo’s voice hit my ears, but it wasn’t as much my name as the urgency it carried that drew me toward him. I didn’t see, I flew. I bulldozed. And when I arrived, I fucking roared.
My second-in-command knelt on the ground in the far east corner of the courtyard, ash and debris falling around him like snow. His hands were covered in blood all the way up to his elbows, his tuxedo jacket gone, and his white button-up shirt stained that fucking color.
Red.
Then I heard crying. Tortuous sobs torn from a heart being ripped at the seams. Female sobs. My gaze slid to the other side of Mateo where his wife, Leighton, openly wept, mascara trailing down her pale cheeks in streams of angry black tears. She shook, prayed, and begged with her hands extended in front of her.
The mind was a fascinating thing. As humans, we thought we controlled it. We made it think what we wanted, see what we wanted, and believe what we wanted. But in reality, it controlled us. It protected us from ourselves. From the things we didn’t want to face.
The things we didn’t want to see.
If we had control, I would’ve looked down and seen the reason my friend was coated in blood. I would’ve known why his wife was crying and praying. Because once it allowed me to, I saw what I didn’t want to.
My heart. My life. My love.
Lying between them in a pool of blood.
Carrera Cartel: The Collection Page 104