The first guy falls like a rock, but the second only staggers back a few steps. Bullets clang against the car. I fire another round and hit the guy right in the head. Blood splatters against the car behind him before he drops onto the sand. I roll the window down, and grab a grenade and pull the pin before tossing it out the window. I throw grenade after grenade, and they land against the exterior wall. When the last grenade is out the window, I floor the accelerator, because that motherfucker is going to blow any second.
Boom. Boom. Boom. The succinct explosions rock the car. Sand and metal go flying into the air, and huge ball of fire rolls into the sky, the heat uncomfortably close to the back of my head.
I watch in the rearview as a thick plume of smoke billows into the sky. I should feel something; I know I should. I just took out one of Jésus' factories...I just killed a handful of people who have no other means of survival but to cut coke for the cartel. Mothers, fathers, daughters...but I feel absolutely nothing. It's hard to feel pity for anyone when you've lost everything. And so I drive, emotionless, broken, only able to feel when it comes to revenge.
I glance down at the clock when I pull into Gabe's drive. It's been over an hour since I blew that factory up. Two hours since I slit that inbetweener's throat. I can hear him cursing in Spanish before I even open the side door that leads to the kitchen. Fucking good. You had a hand in this, Gabe. Part of me blames him for this shit show I'm now the ringleader of, even though I know I made my own damn bed.
The second the back door slams shut his gaze snaps to mine. He hangs up the call and glares at me with his nostrils flaring and face red. "What the fuck are you doing?" he grates as he steps toward me.
I shrug and open the fridge to grab a beer. The second I shut the fridge, Gabe's hand is on the back of my neck, and he slams me face first into it. I feel the crunch when my nose breaks. A metallic tang runs down the back of my throat as blood pours over my lip. I can't help but grin because I'm going to beat the fuck out of him.
When I turn around, I crack my neck, and he takes a step back, but I just step toward him.
"Don't fuck with me, ese." He drags in a heavy breath, his jaw tense as he points at me. "You may be my friend, but shit on my business and I will kill you."
I slap his finger away from my face and grab him by his throat, my fingers squeezing into his warm skin. Gabe may be strong, but he's small compared to me. I slam him against the wall hard, my grip growing tighter as I stare him down. "You. I blame you for this shit."
Blood pulses through my temples and all I can think about is killing him. But I can't...I loosen my grip and the minute I do, he's swinging at me. His fist collides with the side of my face, dazing me. He drives several blows into my gut and sides, and I laugh as I gasp for breath.
He paces, cursing in Spanish. "You want to die? That's it?"
I punch him in the jaw, then grab the sides of his face and ram it down over my knee. Blood goes everywhere. Groaning he grabs at his nose when he stands, and blood drips between his fingers. I go to walk off, but he jumps onto my back. As soon as I throw him off, he's on me again, swinging. He gets in two good shots at my eye before I jab my finger into the base of his windpipe and send him sprawling onto the kitchen floor. I stand over him, panting. "Don't make me fucking kill you, Gabe," I say. I go to walk away and there's an audible click of a gun being cocked.
Glancing over my shoulder at him, I smirk. "Go ahead. Do me a favor." He won't. He knows it and I know it. I walk out of the room, passing Marney as I leave Gabe swearing in the kitchen.
"He's gonna be angrier than a hornet at you," Marney calls, but I ignore him.
My head's already throbbing by the time I make it to the foyer. I can feel my cheek swelling from the punches Gabe got in. I go up the stairs and into the room, grab my duffel bag, and begin cramming my clothes inside. He's not going to help me, and I sure as shit don't need to stay here. I hear Gabe shouting and seconds later the door flies open.
"You do not mess with my fucking business—"
"Gabe!" Marney shouts, panting when he appears in the doorway. "Just a minute, now." Gabe's staring at me, anger swirling in his eyes. "He's just lost his woman and daughter." Marney rests his hand on Gabe's shoulder. "That does things to a man."
Gabe's gaze drops to the floor on a heavy sigh. He scrubs a hand over his face and shakes his head. My heart thumps angrily in my chest.
He lifts his head and his expression has softened. "Do not think that I have not lost people. Camilla... He still has Camilla." He shrugs. "Or maybe the pale fuck has killed her, I don't know, but one thing is for sure, ese, in this business, you can't think with your emotions. This is a war I've—"
“This is not a war for me, Gabe. It's revenge. For Tor and Cayla.”
He holds my stare for a moment, then sighs and crosses his chest. “I must be going soft, ese. Five years ago, I would have just killed you.”
There's a loud bang downstairs, men shouting. Gabe cocks a brow and steps out into the hall. "¿Que?" he groans. Seconds later one of the guards comes running up the stairs and stops at the door completely out of breath. There's a cardboard box wrapped in duct tape tucked under his arm. "This was thrown over the gate." He holds out the box and Gabe reluctantly takes it. He tugs at the tape and tears it off with one hard pull.
When he looks inside, he groans. "One of my dealer's fucking cabeza." He snorts before handing the box back to the guard and pacing the hall, mumbling in Spanish.
Marney walks to the guard and pulls the cardboard flap back, peeking inside and wrinkling his nose. "Sloppy ass work, if you ask me."
Gabe heads down the stairs and into the kitchen, and I follow him. He grabs a bottle of brandy from the counter, takes off the top, and brings the bottle to his lips, taking gulp after gulp. "You've gotten me into a load of shit, ese."
"I guess we're even now," I say, staring at him. I can see him thinking, fighting his urge to fly off the handle at me.
"What in the hell..." Marney mumbles when he comes into the kitchen. He stops and glances up at the ceiling. "You hear that?"
I can barely make out a faint humming sound. Gabe runs to the window and leans down, straining his neck to look up at the sky. "This is a load of shit," he mumbles.
The humming grows louder, now the distinct noise of a low flying helicopter. Suddenly, there's a loud thud on the roof, followed by another, then another. A crimson wave of blood comes gushing over the gutter in front of the window. "That's it!" Gabe runs to the door, opens it, and steps outside, shouting. And then there's gunfire.
Marney and I stand in the kitchen staring through the window as a piece of intestine falls from the overhang. "Well," Marney says, "don't see that shit every day."
Gabe comes storming back into the kitchen, slamming the door behind him as he glares at me. "You want him dead, ese?" His jaw tenses and he spreads his arms wide. "Welcome to the war."
3
Jude
Gabe and I sit in his office, going through a list of contacts, maps of warehouses, and delivery routes. He's puffing away on a cigarette, still angry as fuck. There’s the constant sound of the cleaners on the roof tromping around, scraping off what's left of Gabe's dead dealers Jésus had dropped on the house. I glance out the window just in time to see a mangled arm fall to the ground. I must have snarled my lip because Gabe turns in his chair and looks out the window just as more shit comes toppling over the edge.
Sighing, he turns back around and jabs his cigarette out in the ashtray. "I just got those dealers a week ago. Took them right out from under Jésus...they still owed me one-hundred grand for the coke I supplied them." He shakes his head. "Puta," he mumbles before he swats everything from his desk. "To hell with a plan, ese. Fuck it." He angrily pushes up from the desk and paces. "The fucking Russian blew Jésus’ house up, then I can blow his house up. He thinks the Russian was scary, I'll shove a stick of dynamite so far up his asshole, he'll taste shit before I blow him to bits."
"Gabe..."
"I mean it, ese."
And this is my chance to put the nail in the coffin. "Ronan has a lot more reach than you do," I say.
He spits on the floor. "To hell with that pale fuck. I'll go over there and blow it all up, dig Jésus' mangled carcass out from the rubble and take a shit on his forehead."
He's on a tirade and that's exactly what I need. I need him unhinged. I just need to provoke him a little more... "Gabe, you're not the Russian. You don't have enough power to—"
"What are you trying to say?" He narrows one eye at me while the other one goes into a spasm. "You think that Russian is smarter than me?"
"I'm not saying—"
"I have more talent in one testicle than he has in his entire body." He slams his fist over the desk. "Doubt me." He arches a brow, his eye still twitching, and I simply shrug. That's enough, I guess because he yanks the phone from the desk and angrily punches in a number, staring me down as he waits. "Gustavo," he says. "I need a bomb." There's a pause. "A big bomb. I don't give a shit and I don't care how you get it." He slams the phone down and grins as he folds his hands on the desk and takes a seat. "Fuck the Russian..."
I lean back in my seat and pull a smoke from my pack, lighting it. Just as I take my first drag, Gabe's computer dings with an incoming video call. He glances at the open screen and then spits on the floor.
"The pale lord of Narnia is calling," he says as he presses a button.
"What do you want, you pale fuck?"
"Ah, my friends, how is the desert treating you?" Ronan says. "American, you know, you live with these Mexicans too long and you'll start to smell like shit and dust."
The vein on Gabe's forehead bulges as he turns the computer around so I can see the screen. "At least my balls aren't shriveled up inside my body from the cold," Gabe says. "What do you want?"
Ronan leans forward in his chair until all I can see is the black of his jacket as he rummages around on his desk. He comes back wearing a pair of glasses on and a mobile phone in his hand. "I am sending you an image." He pokes the screen with one finger. "I think it may interest you."
Mine and Gabe's phones buzz, and we cautiously look at each other as we dig our phones from our pockets. When the image loads, my chest goes tight. I stare at the picture of Tor in a bed hooked up to IVs. "What the fuck is this?" I say.
"Well, you were upset with me last we spoke." Ronan shrugs. "I hoped this might cheer you up, American." He smiles like the damn devil.
"What. The. Fuck..." My blood pressure skyrockets. "Is this?"
"You know what it is. Your woman did not die in the desert, although, she is still touch and go, so I am told."
My jaw clenches, my teeth grind together as I stare at that image, burning it into my mind. This fuck knew. All along. He fucking knew. "I want to kill you." I push up from the chair so hard it topples over. Gabe mumbles something under his breath.
Ronan leans back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head. "Ah, American, always so violent. I find out your woman is alive. I tell you, and now you want to kill me." He shakes his head. "So angry."
"Who has her?" I ask.
"Jésus of course. She is in his villa."
I blow a loud breath through my nose as I turn and head toward the door.
"Have fun with that, Colombian," Ronan says to Gabe.
"Where are you going?" Gabe shouts.
"Where the fuck do you think?"
He grabs onto my shoulder and I shake him off, turning to shove my finger in his face. "Do not try to stop me. I swear to god..."
I let that threat hang in the air as I make my way down the stairs and to the front door. I can hear Gabe yelling for his guards, but I keep going. I check the first car, but it's locked. I go to the next, and Gabe comes running out of the house with a rifle. There's a bang followed by a sharp prick in my neck. I swat at it, pull a fucking blow dart out, and toss it to the ground. I attempt to grab for the handle of the next car, but my vision blurs. My pulse pounds in my ears. My arms and legs grow heavy and before I know it, I'm falling forward and everything goes black.
4
Tor
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The noise sounds over and over annoyingly. Groaning, I blink and squint against the sunshine pouring through the window. I try to sit up but pain lances through my entire body. I gasp through the agony and catch movement in my periphery as I fall back against the mattress of the hospital bed. I glance around the room full of hospital machinery. A heart monitor beeps rhythmically to the side of the bed. This is one of Jésus’ rooms…
"You should be more careful, Victoria." I turn my head on the pillow and meet Jésus' gaze. His hands are shoved deep in the pockets of his suit trousers, his inky black hair damp, I assume from a shower. A small smirk darts over his lips as he reaches inside his jacket pocket and takes out a cigarette. He places it between his lips and lifts the lighter to his face, allowing the flame to kiss the end of the cigarette. Taking a puff, he rounds the bed. "It hurts, doesn't it?" he whispers. "Coming so close to death." I glance down at the drip attached to my arm, and notice my body covered from hips to chest in bandages.
Frowning, I try to work through the fog of confusion clouding my mind. Jésus. Jude...it's all like a dream that I can't quite grasp onto even though I know I'm missing something vitally important. "What happened?" I ask, my voice nothing more than a hoarse rasp.
"You were shot, chiquita. And not by my men." He lifts one eyebrow, and though his expression is schooled, I see the anger swirling behind them. I've seen Jude wear that exact look so many times before.
My memories blur together, pulling at the edges of my mind. I remember Cayla, Jude...the meeting in the desert. I set him up. Oh my god, I set Jude up. It all comes back in a rush, but it's more like a nightmare than a dream. And I almost wish I couldn't recall this particular nightmare. I squeeze my eyes shut. I can picture Jude's face, desperate and angry even from across that short expanse of desert that stretched between us. I can practically hear the gunfire, the explosions, the smell of burnt flesh, and scorched sand. And then, blood. So much blood and pain, and the only thing I could see was Jude's face, his anguish as he tried to run to me, as the men around him held him back. I remember knowing that I was dying, knowing that I would never see Jude again, that our story had ended in such tragedy.
Only, I'm not dead. I'm here. "Where's Jude?" I ask quietly.
Jésus tilts his head to the side as a small smirk works over his lips. "He's gone, chiquita. That was the deal you made, remember? His life for your daughter's."
The pain surging through my body does not compare to the pain that grips my soul. It’s as though a vital piece of me is being torn away. All the tiny little threads that hold me together are being shredded and frayed.
He can't be dead. He can’t.
Surely I would have known? I would have woken up with a gaping void in my chest because it's Jude. Without him, I'm ... I don't know what I am. I press my hand to my chest, rubbing over the spot where my frail heart beats so pitifully. Oh my god. I am responsible for the death of Jude, the other half of me, the father of my child. I squeeze my eyes shut and feel a tear slip down my cheek. I know I can't show weakness, but I'm breaking. Part of me wishes I had died from that bullet because Jude is dead. I can never again see my own child. Everything I had is gone, and still, I'm a prisoner of the cartel. What I've woken to isn't worth living.
“You also traded your life for your daughter’s." Jesus steps closer and reaches out, stroking my cheek with his rough finger. He catches my tear and lifts it as though he's inspecting it. "So pretty," he says before he leans over and brings his lips to my ear. "You are mine now, Victoria. I saved you. I saved your child. Everything that you are belongs to me, and I expect your loyalty."
I hear the words he doesn't say. Cayla's life depends on it. I take a shaky breath as his lips brush just below my ear. I can feel myself shutting down, my heart shriveling in my chest. "You have it," I say quietly.
If that is what it takes to keep Cayla safe, then I will do it. I will willingly lose all sense of the woman I once was and become something else. She is my only reason for existing now.
"Good." He grabs my jaw, twisting my face towards him. His dark eyes lock with mine, cruel and hungry. "And remember, that should your loyalties change. I know where your daughter is. I know where your sister is. I have no problem killing Elizabeth and her husband and bringing the little one right back to Mexico. Don't make me motivate you."
I swallow heavily, fighting tears. "No, please leave her alone. You have what you wanted," I beg.
Laughing, he shoves me away hard enough that pain shoots through my body. He turns and walks towards the door. "I haven't even begun to get what I want yet. You need to rest, chiquita. I'll be back later."
The door slams shut and I'm left with my grief, my pain, and my fear. This is what I sacrificed— for Cayla— and even though I feel impossibly broken, I would shatter a thousand times over for my baby.
5
Jude
I wake up with a fucking headache. Tor!
My eyes pop open, and I'm staring at the cinder block walls of that damn jail cell. Again.
"Gabe!" I shout, groaning as I slowly sit up. My voice echoes down the small hallway, and then I hear keys jingling.
"Hola, mi amigo," David says as he steps into view.
"Is this what you guys fucking do?" I shout, rubbing over the sore spot on my head. "Knock people out and lock them up?"
War (Wrong Book 4) Page 2