The Carrera Cartel : A Dark Mafia Romance Collection

by Cora Kenborn

  I stared after him as he swung the bedroom door open and stomped down the hallway. When I told him last night I was tired of reacting, those weren’t just frivolous words. I was done being anyone’s victim and being trapped in his bedroom alone while he faced whoever was about to break down the door wasn’t happening.

  Following after him, I stopped beside the end table next to the couch and eyed the decorative ceramic lamp sitting in the middle of it. Backhanding the shade, I grabbed the thinnest part of the lamp just below the lightbulb and swung it over my shoulder like a baseball bat.

  Mateo froze, turning around and throwing his head back with a hiss. “Can’t you do one fucking thing I ask you to?”

  I tightened my grip on the lamp. “No.”

  “Mateo Cortes,” a voice boomed from the other side of the door, “this is the Houston Police Department. Open up.”

  My mouth dropped open. In another life, the police would’ve been a welcome presence, but the last nine days opened my eyes to a world I didn’t know existed. One where the men who swore to serve and protect wore self-serving duplicitous masks while the ones condemned as the faces of evil righted wrongs written off by the straight and narrow.

  “I’m going to need to see a warrant first.” Standing just to the left of the door, Mateo held his gun in position, every muscle in his body tensed.

  There was a quiet lull at first, with no response to his challenge and no further banging on the door. Confused, I let out the breath I’d been holding, the lamp slipping from my hands and resting on my shoulder.

  Then it came. The voice I never expected to hear—gruff and almost hoarse sounding with a harsh coating that rattled my eardrums. Like a chair being scraped across a dingy floor.

  “Leighton, are you in there?”

  I lost all sense of what was happening as the lamp slipped from my sweaty hands and crashed to the floor. “Alex!” I gasped. “Mateo, open the door! He knows where Stella is.”

  Still gripping his gun, Mateo squeezed his eyes shut, pacing a few steps before turning back and dropping his hands in defeat. Shaking his head, he unlocked the door, barely having a second to step back before four armed police officers stormed in, knocking him into the wall and taking his gun.

  One man pinned him with a forearm against his chest. “Mateo Cortes?”

  “Yeah.”

  Digging his fingers into Mateo’s shoulder, he spun him around, slamming his cheek against the wall. I watched in horror as the officer pulled out a set of metal handcuffs and locked his arms behind his back. “You’re under arrest for the murder of Hector Diaz. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law...”

  The rest of his words were drowned out by Mateo’s shouts. Still in shock, I didn’t understand what was happening until one of the other officers headed straight for me. Instinctively, I backed up, stumbling as my feet tangled in the shards of broken ceramic littering the floor. His hands reached for me, and before I crashed into the wall, his much larger body pressed against mine.

  “Get your fucking hands off her!” Mateo roared, fighting furiously as they shoved him face down on the kitchen table.

  As if in slow motion, I detached from the horror unfolding around me. Taking a figurative step to the side, I watched everything happening as if I were an invisible spectator in the destruction of my life. I heard Mateo plead for them to let me go, but nothing emotional registered. I saw the officers click the handcuffs around my wrists and pull me away from the wall but felt nothing. It wasn’t until a looming shadow stood over me that everything vibrated, igniting life back into me.

  I stared up at him. His salt and pepper hair was extra messy today, as if he’d spent all night pulling his stubby fingers through it.

  “Why are you doing this?” I whispered.

  “He’s a murderer, Leighton.” Alex shook his head and let out a disappointed breath. “I thought I warned you to stay away from him?”

  Murderer? What the hell was he talking about? A week’s worth of conversations raced through my mind as I tried to come up with any reason Alex would have to pull something like this. I wasn’t blind to who he was, but all his indiscretions were concealed cartel dealings.

  Except the one he disclosed to me.

  “Did you say Hector is dead?”

  “You sound shocked.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be? I didn’t know anything about the man, much less that he was dead.”

  “Someone’s cleaning up behind you, Leighton. Well, except for Hector, I had to take care of that particular mess.”

  “No,” I yelled, launching myself toward him while two guards pulled me back. “You can’t arrest someone without a body!”

  Mateo jerked his head off the table, his eyes widening. “Leighton, don’t say anything else.”

  “No, I’m curious, Leighton,” Alex probed, his forehead crinkling. “Why can’t we arrest Cortes? Have we got something wrong?”

  Hell yes, you do.

  “They got rid of the body. You can’t arrest him if there’s no body.”

  The entire townhouse went silent, and out of the corner of my eye, I watched Mateo close his eyes and collapse against the table.

  A slow smirk crawled across Alex’s face. “Thank you, Leighton. That’s all I needed.”

  Closing the door to the interrogation room behind him, Alex placed a paper cup of water in front of me before taking a seat across the table. Staring at it out of the corner of my eye, I backhanded it, sending the cup flying.

  “Now that was rude,” Alex noted, staring over my shoulder.

  He’d kept me waiting in this room for over three hours while I went stir-crazy worrying what was happening down the hall. I didn’t give a shit what he thought.

  “Why are you doing this to Mateo?”

  “Why not?” He shrugged casually. “I asked you to get me shit on the Carreras and instead of sharing information with me, you decided to share your bed with them. Can you blame me for taking matters into my own hands?”

  “How did you know about Hector Diaz?”

  He smiled again. Pulling a stack of papers from his lap, he spread them out in front of me. Giving them passing glance, I recognized them as crime scene photos.

  “Oh, Leighton,” he said, amusement and pity in his voice. “You told me.”

  “What? I did not—”

  Memories of a rain-soaked day sharpened to a crystal-clear dagger to the heart.

  “Hector Diaz is dead. I think he might be connected to the man who was in Luis’s apartment that night. I think the Carreras are involved.”

  My heart sank. Despite all my efforts to protect everyone, I ruined the one protecting me.

  I lowered my head, nauseated to see my Caliente uniform staring back at me. “You’ve been using me this whole time.”

  “I prefer to think of it as using each other.”

  I’d deal with Alex’s deception later. Right now, one thought dominated my mind. “Why won’t my grandparents answer my calls?”

  “What part of protective custody don’t you understand?” His smirk faded, and if I didn’t know any better, I would’ve sworn he looked offended. “I may be an asshole, Leighton. I may want things you couldn’t possibly understand, but I wouldn’t put an innocent child’s life at risk.”

  “Only mine, right?” I snapped, my voice full of loathing.

  “You’re not innocent.”

  Jumping to my feet, I slapped my palms onto the table. “Emilio threatened Stella! I want her out. Get my daughter out of protective custody and bring her to me.”

  “You’re not in charge here!” he yelled, kicking his chair back and slamming his own hands onto the table. “Now sit down and shut up. Unless you’ve got what Cortes stole, I don’t want to hear shit out of you.”

  “Stole?” This was the first I’d heard about anything being stolen, and the shock buckled my knees, lowering me back into my chair. “Mateo didn’t steal anything.”

  Alex snapped his finge
rs in my face. “Wake the fuck up, Leighton. In case you haven’t figured it out, everyone has an agenda and you plug right into the middle. Draw a line, connect the dots—hell, sit down and think about shit for a minute instead of spreading your legs and maybe you won’t feel so fucking stupid when the lightbulb goes off.” Pushing off the table, he gathered the papers in his hands and stalked toward the door.

  He could spew all the insults he wanted, but it wouldn’t faze me. However, if he wanted lines drawn, I was more than happy to oblige.

  “You want me to connect the dots?” I seethed, gripping the edge of the table with both hands. “Fine, let’s talk about my father. Did you do this to him too?”

  Coming to a dead stop, he turned his head and glared at me.

  “You banked on my ignorance, didn’t you?” I taunted, not sure how far I could push him before he exploded. “I know you were on the same task force, so I have a question of my own.” Turning my chair around, I sat up straight and faced him head on. “Where were you when my father died? Did he connect the dots, too, Detective Atwood?”

  My only warning came as a low rumble in his throat before he lunged, and I found myself flying backward as he shoved my chair across the room. My back hit the wall, knocking the wind out of me, and I let out a grunt as he leaned down.

  “Your father’s death was unfortunate, but I’d be careful where I pointed fingers. You may not like what you find.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “We all make our own beds.” As if a wave of reality washed over him, he stood and reached into his jacket pocket. Pulling out a single piece of paper, he dropped it in my lap. “Either you agree to testify against Mateo Cortes, or I’m charging you as an accessory to murder.”

  “You said you wouldn’t hurt Stella!” I screamed as he jerked the door open.

  His face remained stone cold. “She has her grandparents. She’ll be fine.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Mateo

  Sitting handcuffed in an interrogation room was nothing new to me. I doubted my pulse rose more than a point or two after being knocked around and left to wait for hours. Since living cartel life, the Houston Police Department became a revolving door for me.

  “Atwood!” I yelled, jerking on the handcuffs again. “I’m not getting any younger in here!”

  I let out a string of curses I knew no one cared about, but I couldn’t get the image of her out of my head. I promised Leighton no man would ever put his hands on her again, but they did while I watched.

  I didn’t even care her confession would probably put me away. Jail didn’t scare me. The only thing that scared me was the thought of Leighton taking the fall with me and our daughter growing up alone.

  My fists curled tighter in the cuffs. “Atwood! Either charge me or let me go, asshole.”

  The latch on the door released, and the familiar man from the campaign party walked in with a folder tucked under his arm. Sitting across from me, he raked his eyes down my face before throwing the file down and flipping it open.

  He smirked. “If you’d asked nicely, I would’ve come in a lot sooner.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “A pleasure as well, Mateo. No counsel?” he asked, gesturing around the empty room.

  “I have nothing to say.”

  “Fair enough.” He sifted through the papers in the folder and spread them out. “I’m sure you recognize Hector Diaz’s apartment. I mean, you were there first.”

  “So you keep telling me.”

  Atwood huffed out a laugh and reclined in his chair. “We investigated his apartment, thanks to the helpful tip from your girlfriend.”

  He was trying to rattle me into turning against Leighton. If that was the best he had, our visit would be short.

  “Good for you,” I said, my eyes never leaving his face.

  “You’re smart. I’ll give you that,” he conceded, holding up a photo of Hector’s living room. “You covered your tracks pretty well.” Dropping the photo, he picked up another one and flicked the black object in the middle with his finger. “You forgot to wipe your prints off the remote control though. Rookie mistake, Cortes.”

  Fuck.

  “Then charge me,” I demanded. “Why are you sitting here holding your dick?”

  He chuckled. “All in due time. I thought we’d have a chat first.” Flipping to the back of his file, he quirked an overgrown eyebrow. “Quite a rap sheet you’ve got here. Time served for felony possession with intent to sell? Aggravated assault?” He clucked his tongue. “Not very complimentary.”

  I had to give it to him. I’d been grilled by the best, and sooner or later, they all lost their temper. Atwood was a different breed. Maybe it was the trained DEA agent in him, but he seemed content to toss insults back and forth with no signs of breaking.

  It pissed me off.

  “Why are you so obsessed with me, Atwood?”

  He leveled a stare at me. “Maybe I’m picking heads on a platter—evil over innocence.”

  In that moment, I understood why he seemed so unflappable. Agent Atwood knew he held all the cards. He held the lives of the woman I loved and the child I’d yet to know in the palm of his hand and dangled them in front of me like a prize.

  He didn’t have to say it out loud. I understood the choice he wanted me to make.

  The family I honored with other men’s blood or the family I created with my own.

  Alex leaned both elbows on the table, a sheen of sweat beading on his upper lip. “What Leighton said proves she knew about what you did to Diaz, and it makes her an accessory after the fact. Either she cooperates with us or she goes down with you.”

  His threat was my undoing. Imagining her behind bars, scared and alone, unleashed a darkness that devoured me. Jerking on my restraints again, I roared, the sound inhuman. “What about my daughter, you son of a bitch? Why are you doing this?”

  Slamming the folder closed, he leaned over it, his face reddening with fury. “You cartel guys think you’re untouchable, but all it takes is one loose thread for everything to unravel. How ironic that the ADA’s sister will be the one to do it.”

  The monster in me begged to go for his jugular. Instead, I imagined Stella’s innocent face and regained control. “Why did you have Finn Donovan kill Hector instead of doing it yourself?”

  It was the last card I had to play, and it was an educated guess at best. But too many coincidences usually pointed toward a conspiracy. Seeing them at the party together set off a warning bell, and the photo of Alex at Leighton’s father’s funeral rang it even louder. His obsession with Hector Diaz was the final link that clicked everything into place.

  “Finn Donovan?” Alex enunciated every syllable. “You mean the missing man, Finn Donovan? Are you admitting to another murder, Cortes? If so, speak loudly so the microphone can pick it up.” He pointed a finger toward the ceiling where a camera sat tucked in the corner.

  “Let her go.”

  Pursing his lips, he returned to his reclined position. “Let’s talk about your friends Emilio Reyes and Valentin Carrera.”

  “Eat shit.”

  “No thanks,” he said, rubbing his stomach. “I had a pretty big breakfast.” Picking up the folder, he tapped it against his palm. “Tell you what, hand over what you stole from Diaz, and maybe I won’t leave her in a holding cell.”

  I stared at him with new eyes, understanding him now more than ever. That was the thing with men like Atwood—get them talking long enough and eventually they tipped their hand.

  No one but Val and Bright knew I’d taken the flash drive from Hector’s apartment.

  And only two other people knew what was on it.

  “What could Diaz have had that you wanted so badly, Atwood?” I felt relaxed for the first time in five hours, and I suspected, for the first time in five hours, Alex Atwood didn’t.

  “Something that could free both of us,” he conceded.

  Houston’s official “on-call” Carrera counsel sat across
from me, flipping through papers and making unpleasant grunting noises every time he read something he didn’t like. By the fifth groan and dramatic sigh, I wanted to grab the end of his blue and white striped tie and choke him with it.

  “Why is he here?” I grumbled.

  Glancing up from his own stack of papers, Brody glared at me over the wire rims of his glasses. “I called him because you’re a moron and talked to the DEA without a lawyer present.”

  I shrugged. “Not my first rodeo.”

  “That’s because you’re a gigantic bull’s ass,” he muttered, readjusting his glasses and returning to his files.

  I didn’t know whether to punch him or laugh. The Brody Harcourt Val had blackmailed a little over a year ago was a far cry from the Carrera lieutenant sitting in front of me in a private counsel room at the Houston PD.

  “You do realize I’m still your boss, right?”

  “Speaking of bosses,” he said, taking off his glasses, “I called Val.”

  “You...what?”

  He held up his hand. “I wanted him to hear this from me before it made its way to Mexico. I also told him all they have is circumstantial evidence.”

  “You told Val? Fuck, Brody! If he finds out it was Leighton who caused this, he’ll kill her.”

  “Val doesn’t hurt women,” he repeated, his face paling.

  Idiota!

  “No, but he eliminates traitors. How do you think he’ll see Leighton after what she said to Atwood?”

  I didn’t want to be right. It made me physically sick to watch the reality of our world register on Brody’s face because I knew the same truth was plastered across mine. Depending on what happened in the next few hours, he may have just gotten his sister killed.

  “Shit. What do we do?” he asked, both hands fisting his blond hair. “They’re holding you until Leighton gives her statement. Once you’re charged and booked, Leighton will be subpoenaed.”

  I had no idea what bullshit Atwood was feeding Leighton. I just hoped she believed in us enough to not fall for it. “You’re the ADA,” I countered. “You tell me what we should do.”