Twisted (A Zeta Cartel Novel Book 5)

by AJ Adams

  I was about to speak up for her when Jorge slammed his hands on his desk. "Not fair? After the way I treated you?" He was white with temper. "You ungrateful little zorra!"

  "Don't you call me names!"

  "Loba! Do you how much we've invested in you? Clothes? Your website? Flying you to your clients?"

  "I'm worth every cent!"

  "Are you hell! You'd still be hooking on street corners if it weren't for us."

  She shrieked, he yelled and for a full two minutes they hurled insults at each other.

  Finally, Miranda threw herself into my arms, sobbing, "You see how he treats me? I want to die!"

  I pushed her straight back into her seat. "Oh, pull the other one. It has bells on."

  My disbelief worked like a cold shower. Her sobs stopped instantly. "But you're on my side."

  "Not anymore." That shut her up. I put her in her place. "You're not frightened at all. And you lied about wanting to quit. What you're moaning about is money."

  Miranda pouted. "Well, I made a fortune last month. I deserve a bonus."

  "Loba!" Jorge was fuming. I recognised the frowny brows and pinched lips.

  I'd seen him negotiate with dozens of people and he'd never once lost his cool. Also, there was a gaping hole in Miranda's claim.

  I bypassed the glorious hair and body, noting the sulky mouth and entitled attitude. "Miranda," I asked slowly. "How come you were earning big money last month? You spent it looking after James."

  "Oh," she said airily. "Jorge paid for my time."

  " I paid your full day rate, you little puta! And paid you a bonus, you little zorra!"

  "Quite right," I said to him. The girl's cheek was astonishing. "Jorge's been paying you out of his own pocket and you want to thank him by walking out on him? Tell me, Miranda, are you going to knee him in the nuts too?"

  She got to her feet, every inch the tragedy queen. "No wonder he likes you so much. You're as bad as him!"

  "Do you know what?" I was fuming. "I'll just let my middle finger do the talking!"

  I watched her march out, not doubting for a second she'd spread the news I was a right cow.

  Jorge was still steaming. "The ungrateful loba!"

  "Yes, she is. I'm not surprised you're mad at her."

  Jorge sat down, fingers rattling a tattoo on the desk. "I won't make decisions while I'm angry."

  "Good idea."

  "I'll fire the bitch tomorrow."

  "Well done."

  "She can work for fucking Demopoulos and when he beats her senseless, she'll deserve it."

  "Absolutely." He didn't mean it. This was the angry Zeta mouthing off. A bit of raging would let him blow off steam. He'd calm down soon enough. "She's a cheeky bint."

  "She's a misbegotten loba."

  My heart was soaring. I didn't have to worry. Jorge was dead straight. The girl had a contract and could walk if she wanted. Also, he could have told Miranda to look after James and paid her a pittance. But he'd been generous. And despite the rage, he'd not even come close to threatening her. What's more, she'd not expected him to. That was clear from the second she'd insulted him.

  "She's just a chupita." Jorge was cooling off. "I shouldn't let her get to me."

  "There you go." I went around the desk to give him a hug. "Sorry, love. She tried to use me."

  The jet-black eyes turned a friendly brown as he grinned. "That was a mistake. You ripped her a new one, fresa."

  "I was an inch from slapping her," I confessed. "But I was a twit, too. She said she was afraid, so I felt sorry for her. And when she said you'd listen if I talked to you..."

  "She's right," Jorge said.

  "W-what?"

  "I love you," he said simply. "Whatever you ask for, I'll give you."

  My jaw dropped to floor level and I couldn't breathe.

  "Persia?" Jorge asked worriedly. "You okay?"

  I held on to his arm. "You'd better lock the door," I said hoarsely. "Because I'm going to rip off that shirt and have you right here on the floor."

  Back in my office, having completed yet another walk of shame past a gaggle of giggling staff, I finally understood how my life had changed.

  I'd seen my dream realised, a loving man who accepted me warts and all, but the package came with responsibility. Jorge had taken me into his confidence and he'd let me stay on the side-lines. It was a unique position but I could see it would create friction. There would be more Smiths and Mirandas looking to use me.

  If I kept out of Jorge's business, that would stop. It wouldn't be unusual either. It was standard practice for Zeta men to separate home life from business.

  That wasn't an option for us. Jorge lived and breathed work. It obsessed him and there was no way he'd ever be different. The cartel wouldn't let me in but Jorge needed me to be fully informed and on his side.

  The decision took me less than a second. Life without Jorge was unthinkable. Also, I liked the Zetas. They were hard men, violent even, but totally in your face about it. I loved their honesty and those rules, about bystanders being out of it, meant the world to me.

  So, I opted in fully and I didn't have to wait long to let him know. At the end of the day, Jorge dropped by my office, planting himself in my big chair while I draped my statement piece carefully on the mannequin. To complement the buttons down the front, I had embroidered the flared skirt with butterflies, their coloured wings giving the dress a happy lift of colour.

  "That's one fantastic dress," he observed. "Love the way it drapes."

  Which just shows you how much he'd bought into my world. "I love it but I'm not happy about the hat. I junked the one I made last week and am starting from scratch. How was your day?"

  "Okay. The reorganisation is taking well. But it's not exactly putting a distance between me and the street. I had an old lady today, asking me to help her sort out her daughter's abusive ex."

  "You told her to get lost, right?"

  "I did not!" Jorge bit instantly, bless him.

  "Ha! Made you fall for it."

  "Bruja," he grinned.

  "So, you're doing your bit for corporate social responsibility, Zeta style?"

  "Pretty much."

  "Hmm, shades of the Kray brothers."

  "The old-timers who were good to old ladies?"

  "Yeah." Then an idea popped up. "You know what, Jorge? Taking a leaf from their book may not be a bad idea."

  "How do you mean?"

  "Sorting out trouble will make you a lot of friends. The plods don't have time for ordinary people in trouble, and when they do try, the courts often wimp out."

  Jorge frowned, suddenly intent. "Yeah, that's true."

  He was quiet all the way to Bubbles, clearly deep in thought as he escorted me swiftly through the waiting crowd and into the club. We got to it later, when we were in the Cantonese Kitchen, me gorging on silk tofu and braised eggplant, and the Zetas diving into sweet and sour shrimp.

  "The Mafia got its big bucks from selling booze during Prohibition, right?" Jorge announced. "But most of all, they got respectability because people loved gin and whiskey more than sermons and iced tea."

  This had been thrashed out before, it was a Zeta favourite, so there was lots of nodding.

  "Respectability is a shield and we need a thick one to keep Smith and his team off our backs," Jorge continued. "The key is policing."

  All chopsticks were suspended.

  "Uhm, aren't we against that?" Paco asked.

  "Persia suggested it," Jorge explained. "People are fed up with burglary, snatch theft and taggers. If we clean up, we'll get lots of credit. Then, when Smith sniffs around, the citizens won't cooperate."

  "We already offer a ticket fixing service," James nodded.

  "It would be the modern form of protection," Lencho agreed.

  Uh-oh. "I did not mean hitting people up for cash in return for not breaking their windows," I said sternly.

  Jorge grinned. "We get it, fresa."

  "Actually, we don't
run that kind of scam," Lencho said. Then ruining any idea of virtue, he added, "It's not a business that pays."

  "I'm glad to hear it."

  James rolled his eyes. "Acting the good guys. That'll make a change from lawyering."

  "I like it," Paco mused.

  "Me too," Lencho grinned. "We'll enjoy being white hats."

  From the bits and pieces I heard over the following days, the Zetas went at it with their usual enthusiasm. There were rumours of burglars and muggers being tracked down, beaten up and told to move on. Smith came by and yelled at Jorge, but the way the crew smiled, they were pleased with the results.

  I felt it too. I rather liked the idea of old ladies being safe as they went about. Of course, it was business as usual by the cartel but respectable people didn't see it and so they weren't bothered.

  Thankfully, the war was going well, with the Zetas settling in to their new territory. With Kowalczyk apparently helpless to do much about it, there was very little violence.

  What did concern me was that Jorge was still being cold-shouldered by Lord Grandville and the people he needed for his seaport. The papers were still digging up dirt regularly, the Rampage in particular, and it was messing up any of Jorge's attempts to mend fences.

  I fretted about it, uncertain of how to help, but then Isa dropped by. She arrived in a taxi, crossing over one of the sky bridges and wearing a black wig and sunglasses as a disguise. "I feel like Emma Peel," she giggled.

  "Safe is better than sorry." I helped her shrug off the wig. "But what brings you to this part of town? I've never seen you north of Knightsbridge," I teased.

  "I came because I want to pick your brains."

  That was a first. "Me?"

  "Do you remember Matt Orneso? He still owes me for that photoshoot I did in Milan."

  "He's a bugger for not paying."

  "The thing is, I had to pay a fortune to get that job," Isa blurted out. "And I have a tax bill coming up. I need that money."

  That's the bit most people don't know about: unless you're Naomi Campbell or Coco Rocha, the model pays for transport and housing. If you're not careful, an overseas gig can cost you money.

  "I'm desperate," Isa confessed. "I was thinking about asking Lencho to help."

  I saw how that would go. Lencho would get Orneso to pay up in ten seconds flat and expect nothing more than a dinner as thanks - and he'd probably pick up the bill too, generous bugger that he was. But word would spread that Isa was in with the Zetas. It wouldn't take long for a player to try to rope her into a deal.

  "I'm not sure if it's the right thing to do," Isa said diffidently. "I wouldn't want to do anything that would get him into trouble."

  Isa was super-hot at her job but she was so straight that you could play Liar's Dice with her over the phone. If there were trouble, Lencho would be causing it, not catching it. But Isa couldn't see that.

  "A lawyer's probably better," I suggested. "I'll introduce you to James."

  "Are you sure?" Isa asked doubtfully. "My agent has sent three demands for payment, the last one threatening legal action and he ignored them all. He knows I can't afford to take him to court in Milan."

  "James will have his delivered by a courier who'll do some obvious wise guy posturing. Orneso grew up in Naples, so he will get the message."

  Isa was round-eyed with interest. "Wow, that'll scare the crap out of him."

  "Serves him right. He should pay his bills on time." I was adding some detail to a sleeve and not really thinking. "He's lucky not to have his arm broken. As encouragement for better behaviour."

  "Persia!" Isa exclaimed.

  "Well, he should," I maintained.

  Isa picked up some marking chalk, turning it over and over in her hand and not looking at me as she asked, "Do you mean that?"

  We'd been friends for years, and Isa would never judge me. But this was a deal breaker, I could sense it. "Of course not," I lied briskly. "I'm just mad at him, that's all."

  "I knew it," Isa said relieved. She put down the chalk and smiled. "But honestly, Persia. For a moment I really believed that rubbish printed in the Rampage."

  "Laura has it in for me and she's furious with Jorge."

  "Ohmigod, I don't think she'll ever forgive him," Isa giggled. "I can't believe Jorge pretended he thought she was a tart. That's so evil!"

  "She was being mean to me and you know he's very protective."

  "He's lovely," Isa sighed. "Those dark eyes and that smashing smile are heaven. And then there's that hint of danger."

  That was putting it mildly. "He's a pussycat, really."

  "Oh, I know that," Isa scoffed. "I don't believe all that Zeta nonsense, Persia. He was so sweet when we went to Ascot, and we've all had so much fun at Bubbles. There's just no way he or the others could be crooks."

  Told you she was innocent.

  "Newspapers are always saying terrible things and then paying up for defamation suits," Isa continued. "Look at JK Rowling and the Earl of Spenser! The papers had to apologise to both of them for making up nasty nonsense."

  "You're quite right."

  "I think Kowalczyk is egging Laura on," Isa mused. "They were tight for a while, you know."

  It was an angle I'd not considered. "They met when his club reopened," I mused. "It was lust at first sight. He fell into her cleavage and she was awed by his wallet."

  "Well, I saw them at Annabelle's last night and she didn't look very happy."

  "Good. In her last column, she said my nickname was Bun because I'd been wrapped around so many wieners."

  "You should sue," Isa suggested. "She's writing this toxic stuff and egging on the other papers. It's not right, Persia. She's using her job to try to destroy you."

  I would not remind her that truth is a defence against libel. All a lawsuit would do is confirm I was a tart, and that Jorge was a thoroughly bad lot. I wasn't even going to joke about that to Isa. "You know me, I don't take it personally. I just give them all the finger."

  "You never change," Isa said as she hugged me. "You talk tough but secretly, you're a total sweetie with a heart of gold."

  Later, after I waved off a glowing Isa, happily comforted knowing that James would magic up payment, I pondered that. Six months before, when I'd been a student well content about my future, my raging at my friend being cheated would have been pure mouth. I would have fumed and felt helpless.

  My brother and Kowalczyk had changed that. To be fair, Jorge had a hand in changing me too. Together, they had pushed my boundaries, propelling me into a new space.

  "I hear Isa was here." Jorge stood in the doorway, the raised eyebrows warning he was in mid guard dog impression. "Everything okay?"

  "Awesome." And so it was. I was harder, but that was okay because I wasn't a victim anymore. And also, I wasn't using my new superpowers for evil. "Isa has a collection problem but James says it's a snap to fix."

  Jorge listened and nodded approvingly. "It's the best way. But Persia, Orneso will know you set this in motion."

  "If he has the cheek to bitch about it, or try to mess with me, I'll let his wife know about his little habit of screwing rent boys whenever he's in London."

  Told you I wasn't nice.

  But Jorge grinned. "I'm sure he'll be very careful not to piss you off, fresa."

  "He's damn lucky I didn't let Isa have Lencho deal with him."

  Jorge shrugged. "The man's a pendejo but why break bones when a warning will do?"

  I agreed with him intuitively. That lesson that he had tried so hard to drum into me, finally crystallised: I was a player and I'd opted in. The knowledge freed me. From now on, I could be my bad girl self.

  "What's with the evil grin?" Jorge chuckled.

  "You're seeing the inner me." I held his hand. "Listen, the Rampage is stirring the pot, right? What if we get them to stop? Would that help?"

  "It can't hurt," Jorge mused. "Do you have an idea?"

  "Well, Isa told me some gossip that made me think I might persuade
Laura to quit writing about us. I wonder, could we accidentally on purpose bump into her?"

  "Sure."

  "You're not asking for details?"

  He put an arm around my shoulders as he piloted me out to the private lift. "Persia," the dark eyes were warm, "I don't question James when he gives legal advice. You made a career from living in the public eye. If you think there's an opportunity, we run with it."

  His trust warmed me. "After we talk to Laura, want to work on that wish list?"

  "Claro que si!"

  We found Laura in Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese, sitting at a table with her laptop open and a glass of vino at her elbow. The gutter press colleagues crowding the bar looked up as we entered but as the pub is home central for journos, there's an unwritten rule forbidding interviews and photos. So they stared but stayed put.

  "Sixty seconds and we fix the problem," Jorge growled as he glared at the hacks.

  "By charming them with smooth talk?"

  The deadly anger was sloshing all over the place. "I was thinking Magnum .45."

  But I had spotted exactly what I expected, so I waved down a bartender. "A bottle of Moet will do the trick too."

  "Sure?"

  "Pretty much. Laura's miserable. Also, she's got little bruises on her arms."

  "So?"

  "I used to have those. Kowalczyk likes to pinch."

  Jorge visibly forced back his temper as he saw the implications. "Ay, fresa!"

  "Exactly." I put a hand on his arm, rigid with tension. "Try to smile."

  "That pinche hueco." But he sat back and bared his teeth. "Go for it."

  At the other table, Laura took one look at the fizz. When I raised my glass and smiled, she toasted me back, reluctantly. A minute later, she was making her way to our table. "Thanks for the Moet." And with an attempt at humour, "It's not poisoned, is it?"

  "I expected you'd need cheering up. Considering."

  She bit instantly. "Considering what?"

  I dropped my voice. "Hey, he pulled the same shit on me."

  Her hands clenched as she squawked, "I don't know what you're talking about!"

  Talk about touching a nerve. "Those little bruises." When I tapped her wrist, she jumped and paled. "You got those when he did you in his office. He had you bend over the desk and he had his men just outside the door, listening as he fucked you."