The Cartel King: A Captive Mafia Romance

by Bella King

  “Were you poking through my stuff back there?” he asks.

  “You locked me in the trunk. I was bored. I thought we went over this.”

  Another bullet pierces the back window, and Rey lets out a growl. “That fucker better not be putting holes in my trunk.”

  “Scared of damaging the money?” I ask

  “There’s something in there that’s much more valuable than money, dear,” he replies, swerving the car into the wrong lane and stepping on the gas.

  I peek over the dashboard at the road to check if anyone is coming toward us.

  “You scared?” Rey asks with a grin.

  “No,” I reply, but I am.

  “Maybe you see the sense in me leaving you in the good old USA, huh?”

  I shake my head. “That’s not fair. You kidnapped me, and I’m probably going to lose my job because of all this.”

  “Start selling drugs,” he replies. “You’ll do a lot better.”

  “I’m not going to do that.”

  “Then you’re not fit to be in the cartel., Congratulations, you failed the interview,” he says with mock enthusiasm.

  I roll my eyes and groan. “That’s not fair.”

  “It is fair,” he replies. “You’re not going to –”

  Another bullet cracking the back window cuts him off.

  I’ve had enough of this. Whoever is shooting at us is going to see their last days. I don’t take kindly to people trying to kill me, and I have no issue with defending myself with lethal force. Where I grew up, damn near everyone owned a gun. I’ve shot one plenty of times.

  I jump into the backseat, my fingers curling around Rey’s rifle before he has the chance to object. He’s too occupied with driving to do the shooting, so it looks like this time it’s going to be my turn.

  “What are you doing?” Rey asks, looking back at me with panic in his eyes as I lift up the rifle.

  I check the magazine for ammunition and smirk. “Proving my worth.”

  I turn around, sliding the barrel of the rifle out of the broken back window. Glass crunches as I let the rifle rest on the frame, and I swivel the gun to face the cartel-occupied police car. I wouldn’t kill a man of the law, but I would kill a cartel goon who’s out for blood.

  I squeeze the trigger, trying to keep the gun steady as Rey swerves like crazy. I know he’s trying to prevent us from getting shot, but he’s also making it hard for me to aim.

  Thankfully, the mere act of shooting back seems to have dissuaded our pursuant from continuing the chase. He pulls back hard, putting a significant distance between us. I fire a few more shots for good measure, but I’m pretty sure he’s not interested in dying today.

  “Did you kill him?” Rey asks, turning his head around when he notices the police car slowing down.

  “I don’t think so,” I reply, “I probably just scared him.”

  “What a fucking pussy,” Rey says with a laugh, straightening the car out. He rolls down his window and throws out a middle finger, chuckling like we didn’t just almost get killed. His complete disregard for his own life amazes me.

  I jump back into my seat, still holding the rifle in one hand. “So,” I say with a smile. “What’s the real reason those guys are after us?”

  He pauses, looking me over with his piercing blue eyes. I sense a hint of admiration in his gaze, but he’s also holding onto a reluctance to accept me fully. He doesn’t want to spill the whole truth.

  “You can tell me, Rey. I’m not going to rat you out,” I say, tilting my head forward and making eye contact.

  “You’ll sing like a bird if the cartel gets their hands on you,” he says.

  “Rey, you are the cartel. Aren’t you going to protect me?” I ask.

  “Perhaps.”

  “That’s not a very satisfying answer,” I reply, shaking my head. “Be real with me.”

  “I am,” he says, keeping his sentences short and choppy. He doesn’t want to talk, but I’m not letting him off the hook so easily.

  “Come on,” I say, placing a hand on his blue jeans and running it up to his crotch. “You can tell me.”

  He brushes my hand away. “Mind your own business. The cartel is too dangerous for you.”

  “They’re going to kill me anyway,” I say. “And besides, at this point, I bet the police will throw me in jail for helping you. They won’t have mercy on me.”

  “They won’t,” Rey says, but there’s doubt in his expression.

  “If they get us, then just kill me,” I say, straightening up in my seat. “Then you won’t have to worry about me snitching, will you?”

  “I don’t want to kill you.”

  “Then protect me.”

  He lets out a long sigh, twisting the white leather on the steering wheel in his hands as the cogs turn in his brain. “This is going to get me in trouble,” he mutters to himself.

  I wait for him, placing the rifle beside me on the seat and shifting my body to face him. My hands rest in my lap, loosely clasped like a therapist waiting for the breakthrough confession of her client. I don’t know what to expect, but I know that it must be major if he’s keeping it such a big secret.

  Money and murder are out in the open.

  This isn’t.

  Rey finally turns his head to me, a slight smile occupying his lips. “Nothing I do is without reason,” he says. “Nothing.”

  I nod, waiting for more.

  He takes a deep breath. “When I went to prison, it wasn’t because I messed up. I did it on purpose.”

  “You turned yourself in?” I ask, thoroughly confused.

  “No, I allowed myself to be caught. To be fair, it wasn’t the original plan, but sometimes you have to improvise.”

  “What was the original plan?” I ask, trying to sink into his brain further.

  “Go to Canada, like I’m doing now,” he says, smiling as though his story is really that simple.

  “Okay… So, what changed?”

  “Do you know anything about stamps?” he asks.

  I sigh. “Rey, I’d really just like you to explain why you ended up in jail.”

  “I am,” he replies with an air of carelessness. “Do you know anything about stamps?”

  “No, I don’t care about stamps,” I answer dryly.

  “Well, neither do I, but I do know that some people really like to collect them. And there are even some folks who will pay a whole hell of a lot of money for the right ones.”

  I frown. “Don’t tell me you’re smuggling stamps.”

  “I’m smuggling stamps.”

  I roll my eyes. “You’ll have to come up with a better story than that.”

  “It’s true,” he says, shrugging off my denial. “I got ahold of a particularly rare stamp, a yellow misprint of an already rare stamp, and I was going to sell it in Canada, but the guy I put in charge of it got busted by the police. He swallowed the damn thing in a little plastic bag, and I had to go to prison to retrieve it.”

  “You went to prison for a stamp?” I ask, giving him a look of disbelief.

  “Not just any stamp. It was a yellow misprint of an already –”

  “Like, okay, I got that much. But a stamp?” I ask, not fully buying his story.

  “The guy who wants it was willing to pay me seven million dollars for it, so I wouldn’t just call it a stamp.”

  My jaw drops. “Seven million?”

  Rey smirks, nodding his head as he drives. “I talked him up from five, which was his original offer. It wasn’t easy to steal, and then having to go into prison to get it – rough.”

  “You stole it?”

  “Of course, I stole it. Why do you think the cartel is after me?”

  “Jesus,” I say, shaking my head. “You’re nuts.”

  “I’m a lot more than that, and so maybe now you understand why I’m too much trouble for you to handle,” he says.

  “Not true,” I counter. “I just think you’re crazy. I didn’t say I didn’t like you anyway.�
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  He laughs, his blue eyes sparkling in the bright Texas sun as we approach the edge of the state. I get lost in those eyes again for a moment, falling into his soul with the same innocence that got me pulled into this situation in the first place. It seems that I’ll never learn.

  Rey looks at me, tilting his head to the side. “You don’t really mean what you say, Marybeth. Maybe you should hate me instead.”

  I frown, struck by a sudden discomfort from his words. I don’t hate anyone, not even my father or Eddy, for that matter. It’s not in my nature to hate. I think everyone is redeemable to some extent. Even if Rey isn’t the type of man a woman like me should be interested in, that doesn’t mean he can’t still turn his life around.

  But as he looks at me, the sparkling gone from his eyes, I can see the darkness that replaces it. He won’t change, not even after the pleasure that we shared together. He’s stuck in his ways, and the only way for me to be with him is if I dove right in after him.

  I can feel the devil’s fingers around my throat, whispering horrid but delicious things into my ear. I can see the light of everything I learned withering away, replaced only by the charcoal shadow of Rey.

  I shiver, snapping back into reality as the blue Welcome to Oklahoma sign appears on the side of the road.

  “Shit, we’re out of Texas already?” I ask, looking over at Rey’s serious face.

  He nods. “Out of Texas and almost out of gas again.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Rey

  I don’t think we’re going to be able to make it very far into Oklahoma before we have to snatch gas from another vehicle. That said, it’s a blessing and a curse that more people live around these parts. I should be able to find an unattended car, but the chances of being seen and recognized are much higher.

  “I’m pretty hungry,” Marybeth says as I tap on the steering wheel, scanning spaced-out farmhouses as we pass them.

  “I don’t want diesel,” I say under my breath as we pass an old truck pulled parked in the driveway of a run-down house.

  “Diesel?”

  “For the gas,” I clarify. “For the food, well… I guess we might have to dig around in someone’s house.”

  “Like, rob someone?” she asks, clearly hesitant to do so.

  “We’re just stopping by for a bite to eat,” I reply with a smile. “In and out.”

  “Why can’t we just go someplace quick, and I’ll run in and get the food?”

  “Because your face is probably all over the news. You were kidnapped, remember?”

  “Oh, I guess I forgot.” She lays a finger in her chin, thinking hard about alternatives while I drive slowly through another barren country neighborhood. Whatever she comes up with doesn’t matter because I’ve already made up my mind.

  I brush my finger over the shape of the revolver tucked in my jeans. Things get dangerous quickly, especially when it comes to break-ins, and I’m wondering if I should leave Marybeth in the car. She might not be able to handle this if things go south.

  “I think if I go to a drive-through, then we’ll be able to avoid breaking and entering,” Marybeth chimes from beside me.

  “No,” I reply bluntly, turning the wheel and pulling into the driveway of a particularly large house with no lights on and a car hanging out idly beside it in the grass.

  “You don’t think it would be better to take fewer risks?” she asks, notes of hope in her voice.

  “We’re not stopping twice,” I growl. “Maybe you should stay in the car.”

  “I’m going in with you,” she says, her hand closing around the rifle beside her.

  I sigh. “You’re not going to shoot an innocent person, are you?”

  “I wouldn’t,” she says, tilting her chin up and straightening her back.

  “Wrong answer.” I but the car in park and turn to her. “Listen, there’s probably nobody in that house, but if there is, I might have to kill them.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t want to kill them, but in my experience, people are stupid. They want to play hero all the time, and it ends up badly for them every time they do. I just don’t want you to get mixed up in this shit.”

  “If they attack you, then I’ll kill them,” she says, her face turning cold.

  I pull my head back, shocked by her sudden change in attitude. Is she really that into me, or is this a bluff so that she can come in and play peacekeeper?

  “I don’t have time to fool around,” I warn her.

  “I’m not fooling around. I’m coming in with you,” she insists.

  I shake my head, pushing open the door and stepping out into the driveway. I lean back, gazing up at the house and studying the windows for movement. Normally, if someone were home, they would come outside and check us out already. People generally don’t like strangers pulling up in their driveway unannounced.

  But nobody is at the window or the door, and I suspect that the house is empty, at least until folks start coming home from work. It’s getting close to sundown, so we’ll have to make this quick, or we might very well find ourselves shooting our way out.

  Marybeth appears beside me, dead set on coming in with me. I hate to say it, but I think it’s going to be a lot harder to get rid of her at the border than I thought it would be. She seems to have taken a liking to me, and well, I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t taken a liking to her as well.

  “You ready?” I ask, pulling my revolver out and nodding to her.

  “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

  “Let’s go in through the back,” I say, stepping forward. “A lot of people don’t even lock their back doors, and we’ll be able to tell if they have a dog. It would be barking by now, though, if they did.”

  Marybeth’s eyes are wide as she nods along to what I say. Her expression is that of excitement and a small tinge of fear, but it’s much less than it was before we say any actions. A few shootouts seem to have shifted her perspective. A few more, and she’ll never be able to go back to normal.

  We step around to the back of the house, which doesn’t even have a fence. It’s a sure sign that there aren’t any pets around waiting to gnaw my legs off as I step into the house. This might just turn out to be the easiest break-in I’ve ever done.

  I stop at the back door, spinning around to face Marybeth. “Here’s how this is going to work. We go in, we grab some food, and we put it in the car. After that, I’m going to siphon gas, and we’ll be on our way. Any questions?”

  She raises her hand.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Can we steal a pillow too? My neck is painful from last night.”

  I laugh, turning back to the door. “Yes, Marybeth. We can get a pillow. Just make it quick.”

  I knock on the door loudly, testing for sleeping occupants.

  After a few seconds of complete silence, I wiggle the handle, testing if it’s unlocked or not. Doors around here, especially back doors, don’t typically come with alarms. These houses are old, and the people who live here sleep with guns, so there’s usually no reason to worry about a break-in.

  I’m the exception.

  The door doesn’t come open right away, so I lean against it, pulling a thin metal pick out of my pocket and inserting it into the cheap doorknob lock. It takes less than thirty seconds to pick a moderately secure lock, but for this one, it’s more like five.

  “Suddenly, I’m thinking my apartment back home wasn’t all that secure,” Marybeth says from behind me as I push the door open.

  “Yeah, I say over my shoulder. “Locks are more of a psychological thing. Guns and alarms work better.”

  The back door leads straight into the kitchen, which is brimming with canned food and unwashed dishes. The place isn’t filthy, but it’s getting there. It’ll be best to raid the pantry and stay out of the fridge.

  “I’m going to go upstairs and get a pillow,” Marybeth says, clutching the rifle to her chest and speaking with bubbling excitement in her voice.

/>   “Alright, just stay out of trouble,” I say, looking around for some sign of life. As far as I can tell, there isn’t another soul in this house.

  Marybeth books it up the stairs to the bedroom while I rummage around for things to take with us. I wouldn’t mind stocking up for the entire trip here, and since there is so much canned food, all I really need to find is a can opener, and we’ll be set.

  I move to the living room, keeping my revolver loose by my side as I look around for something more to steal. I have itchy fingers, ones that like to grab expensive things almost as much as they like to grab Marybeth’s pussy. Even with the money and priceless stamp in my trunk, I have the urge to collect more items to sell. It’s something that’s ingrained in me, etched into my DNA.

  But the house is sorely under-furnished, and the owner is far from wealthy. Most of the stuff in it appears to have been built at least forty years ago, and even the furniture looks like it hasn’t been replaced or cleaned since they moved in.

  I don’t really need anything but a bag to put all this food in, but to my annoyance, I’m unable to find one when I return to the kitchen. It looks as though I’ll have to shuck a pillowcase off a pillow upstairs and use that instead. I just hope the bed has more than one, or Marybeth is going to be pissed.

  I take large steps up, skipping stairs as I go. When I was younger, I used to try to go up in the least number of steps. Even in my youth, I was tall, and I could usually clear five at a time if I tried.

  When I’m almost at the top, I extend my leg. Mimicking my old behavior and skipping five stairs. I must look crazy walking like this, but thankfully Marybeth isn’t at the top. Though, I wouldn’t mind hearing her carefree laughter, even if it were aimed at me.

  As I turn into the bedroom, Marybeth bolts upright, no doubt startled by my sudden entrance. In the fraction of the second that she was bent over the bed, her ass was sticking out like it was begging me to take her from behind.

  Come to think of it, I think we have a little time to kill before we have to leave.