The Carrera Cartel : A Dark Mafia Romance Collection

by Cora Kenborn

  My entire life was on the line and she slept like a baby.

  I sank the toe of my shoe in her ass cheek. “Adriana, if you don’t get up in the next five seconds, I’m dragging you off that mattress by your feet.”

  She didn’t move. In fact, as still as she was, it didn’t look like she was even breathing.

  Fuck.

  Blind instinct brought me to my knees next to her, my hand pressed against her back. I held my own breath until I felt the shallow rise of hers, rattled, but steady. My head dropped back in relief, and I sank onto the mattress next to her. “Jesus, Carrera.”

  My unguarded relief confused me. It wasn’t like I wanted her dead, but the fear that shot through me in those few seconds unnerved me. The conflict sparked a wave of anger in me I never saw coming, and my fingers dug in between her ribs.

  “Brody?”

  I had no idea if it was the confused, fragile look in her dark eyes that did it, or if it was the gray tint of her skin, but the need to lash out diffused. It was only when her eyes creased in pain, that I realized how hard I still gripped her. Snapping my arm back, I ran my hand through my hair, tugging hard at the strands.

  “You wouldn’t wake up.” Clearing my throat, I scratched the back of my head and stared through the destroyed doorway. “I called you four times.”

  “I’m tired.”

  “Yeah, well take a number, princesa. We all are,” I huffed, wincing as the words left my mouth. I knew I was being a dick.

  Adriana groaned behind me. “I just don’t feel so good. Must be the scotch.”

  “You didn’t drink any,” I muttered. When she didn’t answer, I risked a glance over my shoulder, noticing she now sat hugging her knees against her chest. “You poured your shot down the sink remember?”

  Her gray skin flushed a bright pink. “Right.”

  “Yeah, right,” I echoed.

  I didn’t have to elaborate. I could tell by the way her breath hitched that she was thinking about what happened after that. I had no doubt we’d send each other straight to hell, but if last night was any indication of what was to come, the ride would be worth the fall.

  I climbed to my feet before I started the descent right here. “Get dressed. We have to get on the road if we want to be in Guadalajara by noon.”

  Offering me a quick nod, she tightened her arms around her middle and grimaced. “I’ll take a quick shower. I’ll be ten minutes.”

  I raised an eyebrow. She sure looked hungover. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  Forcing a smile, she tossed out a weak excuse. “I’m just hungry. Once we stop for breakfast, I’ll be fine.”

  I didn’t buy the smile or the excuse, but I didn’t push it. I turned to leave when my eye landed on her dingy army green bag lying on the floor. I didn’t even remember her bringing the damn thing. Jesus, like one packed suitcase wasn’t enough? We were cartel runners on an intel mission, not rock stars on a world tour.

  Fucking women.

  Grumbling, I grabbed it off the floor. “I’ll take this to the car.”

  “No!” I didn’t even have time to react before Adriana launched herself off the mattress and ripped the bag out of my hands. Stepping back, I eyed her suspiciously, and she offered me another fake grin. “I mean, I need that. Girl stuff.” Climbing to her feet, she ran into the bathroom and slammed the door behind her, leaving me with a whole lot of questions and no answers.

  Like the line of bullshit she just tried to sell me.

  That woman rode my hand like she was on the final straightaway at the Kentucky Derby, came like a tsunami, then watched me lick it off my fingers like it was goddamn candy.

  Girl stuff, my ass.

  She was lying, and I’d find out why.

  I didn’t have the highest conviction rate in Texas for nothing.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Adriana

  Guadalajara, Jalisco, Mexico

  Besides the crackling static from useless radio stations, Brody and I spent the first hour and a half of the drive to Guadalajara in complete silence. Since the last twenty-four hours spun on a continuous loop in my head, I couldn’t decide if I was grateful for it or unnerved by it.

  I was grateful he didn’t care to analyze and dissect what happened between us. And what happened was that everything had turned upside down. Layers of skin were shedding, and I felt more exposed sitting in this car than when I hung half-naked from the rafters of a warehouse.

  I came to Houston with a plan. Everything so far had fallen into place. Box after box checked off as if I’d bound everyone to marionette strings. I made them move. I made them dance. Then I somehow twisted the strings.

  However, I was unsettled because last night should never have happened. As confident as I was playing the seductress, I’d never found myself so entangled in a web that I couldn’t walk away. But the minute Brody touched me, not only was I entangled in his web, I wanted to be his prey. Breathlessly waiting to be devoured inch by inch.

  In one weak moment, the tables turned, and I found my wrists bound by wires and dancing to his command. My body was his to manipulate and his to control. My lips called out his name both pleading for mercy until I shattered into irreparable pieces.

  And the worst part of it all?

  I wanted more.

  If he hadn’t walked away, I would’ve handed over something he hadn’t earned, and would never deserve.

  The more I thought about it, the more claustrophobic I got. Passing cars became a swirl of blurred colors, and my vision darkened. I gripped the edge of my seat, a thin layer of sweat beading across my top lip.

  I had to get out of this car.

  “I have to get out of this car,” I blurted out, shocked to hear the words in my head come out of my mouth.

  Glancing briefly away from the road, Brody nodded toward the passenger door. “Be my guest.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “Me too.”

  “Brody, I’m not jumping out of a moving car.”

  Taking one hand off the wheel, he fumbled with the radio tuner. “Then I suggest you sit back and ignore me for another hour and a half.”

  I stared at him, waiting for the punchline, only there wasn’t one. He just kept punching buttons, catching seconds of a song before it was swallowed by static. Letting out a growl, I knocked his hand out of the way and turned the damn thing off.

  “Hey, I was listening to that!”

  “Yes, unfortunately, I was too. A hundred and eighty minutes of choppy static, and it’s driving me fucking loca!” I screamed the last word, wishing I could’ve punched him without risking an accident.

  I wasn’t surprised he was acting like such an asshole. He was pissed about my overreaction about my bag, but if he was waiting for an explanation before dropping the attitude, the next few days would be very quiet.

  I let him pout for a few minutes before trying again. “Are you hungry?”

  “I could eat.”

  “Good. In about twenty minutes take a right. I’m about to introduce you to food cart dining.”

  Brody’s eyebrows shot up, worried lines creasing across his forehead. “I’m sorry, did you say food cart? As in food made in a cart?”

  “You’re not just a pretty face, are you?” Laughing at his pissed off glare, I sat back in my seat and smirked. “Don’t worry, counselor. If you get sick, there’s a hospital van just down the road.”

  Wiping a stream of crema from his chin, Brody gave me a reluctant stare and mumbled around a mouthful of food, “Okay, I admit, you were right.”

  Leaning back, I popped the last piece of bread in my mouth and grinned. “I’m sorry, could you say that again a little louder?”

  He flipped his middle finger and swallowed. “Don’t push it.” Attacking the last bite of his sandwich with gusto, he crumpled up the paper, tossing it on the hood of the car before leaning back on his palms. “What was that again?”

  “Pambazo. It’s fried bread dipped in red guajillo p
epper sauce filled with papas con chorizo.” At his lifted eyebrow, I added, “Potatoes and spicy sausage. My mamá…” I paused and stared at my lap. “I mean, Josefina used to make them for Manuel and me all the time.”

  “It’s okay to remember the good times with her, Adriana. She wasn’t a part of what happened to you.”

  Tilting my chin toward him, I squinted into the sunlight. “Wasn’t she? Can you honestly tell me that hours after Alejandro Carrera’s wife, sister-in-law, and one-year-old daughter were murdered, her husband showed up with a one-year-old baby, and she didn’t know exactly what happened?”

  Brody thought for a moment. The lawyer in him wanted to argue for the opposition but he couldn’t. There wasn’t one. “No,” he said, letting out a breath. “I can’t.”

  “Just because there’s no blood on the hand, it doesn’t mean the stain isn’t there. Guilt is guilt. The only difference is the perception of severity. So, you tell me, which is worse, committing a sin or hiding it?”

  Brody didn’t say anything, and I didn’t expect him to. If I hadn’t figured it out in six months, how could I expect him to do it in six seconds? There was no quick and easy answer.

  “Come on,” I said, gathering our trash and sliding off the hood of the car. “We have places to be and people to see.”

  Following after me, he leaned forward, pressing his palms against the hood. “Do you have a lead?”

  It was a loaded question, but one I expected. I considered my answer as I chucked our food wrappers in a nearby trash can. Dusting my hands off, I turned around and winked. “I just might.”

  “I don’t like when you get that look on your face.”

  “What look?”

  “That one,” he said, jabbing his finger across the hood. Just to rile him up, I turned my smirk into a pout, and he responded with crossed arms and a stony stare. “Don’t be cute. When your eyes get all shiny, I end up blackmailed into doing shit that could get me killed.”

  He made it too easy sometimes.

  Trailing a finger along the front of the car, I put an extra sway in my hips and sauntered toward him. “Aw, you noticed my eyes?”

  A groan rumbled in his throat. “You’re such a pain in my ass.”

  I had to admit, as much as watching Brody go from polished to prickled entertained me, we had more important things to do. “Relax. I’ve got a connection.”

  “What kind of connection?”

  “I know a guy who owns a club. There’s a good chance he might have some information.”

  I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, because I knew what he was thinking, and I was right. His face said it all. Eyes narrowed. Lips pressed tightly together. Arms locked over his chest. “Don’t look at me like that, you’ll be fine.” His nod wasn’t exactly a ringing endorsement, but I’d take it. However, when he dropped his arms, my eyes locked on the light blue tie hanging around his neck. “Well, maybe.”

  He rolled his eyes. “What now?”

  “Your clothes.”

  “What’s wrong with them?” His confusion would’ve been almost comical if he weren’t dead serious. “This is an Armani suit.”

  “You look like an investment banker. Did you bring anything else?”

  “I brought black slacks and a polo.”

  I pressed my hands over my eyes. If I made it back to Mexico City alive, I’d kill Val for this. I had to think fast. Waiting until we made it to Guadalajara wasn’t an option. I was good, but I wasn’t sure I could pull a miracle out of my ass.

  Opening my eyes, I held out my hand. “Hijo de tu puta madre. Give me the keys. I’m taking you shopping.”

  “The hell you are.”

  “I don’t remember asking for your opinion.” Dirt kicked up around my heels as I stomped around him and snatched the keys out of his hand. “Now get in the damn car. As impossible of a task as it is, you have to try to blend in. If you walk into this place looking like a Wall Street Ken doll, you’re going to get us both killed.”

  “Jesus, who owns this bar?”

  I flung the driver’s side door open and paused, questioning my own sanity. “My ex.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Adriana

  If there were a rating system for stash houses, this one would be a two star. A step above last night’s which would’ve received about fifty health code violations and a tetanus shot. At least I didn’t hear the sound of rodents running through the walls, and there were real beds instead of roadside mattresses. Plus, the shower had hot water and a tub that didn’t look like the remnants of a crime scene. My standards had seriously taken a nosedive.

  However, there were so many cracks in the bathroom mirror, it was like trying to get dressed in a funhouse. I had no idea if my smoky eye makeup made me look like a sultry vixen or a rabid raccoon. Sighing, I tucked a stray piece of hair inside my wig and gave myself one last check.

  “I’m not wearing this,” Brody called from the bedroom.

  “Yes, you are.”

  Our shopping excursion was an exercise in patience and restraint. Both of which were required not to kill him and dump his body on the side of the road. He argued with everything I said, refused to try clothes on, and sulked the rest of the way to Guadalajara.

  “Stop being so dramatic. I’m sure you look good.” Giving my lips one last swipe of red lipstick, I swung the door open and froze. My mouth went dry, and I couldn’t speak. All I could do was stare.

  Black boots replaced his pretentious designer dress shoes, and the tailored suit pants I had to pry out of his hands were gone. In their place were black jeans that hugged him in all the right places. Wall Street Ken left his starched white shirt, power tie, and jacket behind and got dirty with a fitted black button up, and I couldn’t help but wonder if I was a mad genius or a witch with a death wish.

  His eyes were still lowered as he held out his arms, the sleeves rolled up. “I look like I’m about to tie a woman to some train tracks.”

  I wasn’t listening to a word he said. I was too busy following the sculptured muscles up his thick forearms until they disappeared under the dark fabric of his shirt. Before I could stop myself, I moved from the doorway and stood in front of him, my hands on his collar.

  Brody’s head snapped up, his jaw going slack as he took in my dress. “Jesus.”

  Folding down the upturned side of his collar, I smoothed it over the tight cords in his neck. The air between us crackled with unleashed tension, and the way he looked down at me had me struggling for words.

  Clearing my throat, I lowered my hand and stepped back. “There. It’s fixed.”

  “That dress is…” He swallowed and shook his head. “Damn.”

  I felt my cheeks flush and lowered my gaze at the skintight red dress while trailing a hand over my stomach. “Do you like it? It’s your sister’s.”

  He glanced down at the prominent bulge pushing against his zipper. “I’m going to defer to visual cues to answer your question and pretend like I didn’t hear that last part.”

  I laughed. “Fair enough. Are you ready to do this?”

  His response was quick and simple. “Not in the least.” Pushing his fingers into the small of my back, he maneuvered me toward the front door. Just as I was about to open it, he tightened his hold on my waist. “By the way, what’s with the wig?”

  I was waiting for that.

  Did I pick the color on purpose? Maybe. Maybe I wanted to see how he’d react. Maybe I wanted to prove a point. Maybe I wanted to give him a subtle reminder of what was at stake. Or maybe a part of me had an innate need to correct the imbalance of power he’d created.

  Glancing over my shoulder, I ran a piece of the bright red bob-cut wig between my fingers. “Camouflage. I can’t risk being recognized. It only takes one Muñoz asshole to spread the word I’m looking for Ignacio, and this will be over before it even starts.”

  “So, this ex, how close are you two?”

  “Not very.” My answer seemed to appease him. He ush
ered me out the door, the deep line between his eyes relaxing, only to reappear when I added, “I mean, how close can you be after breaking off an engagement?”

  El Palacio was on fire tonight.

  Flashing strobe lights flickered around the darkened nightclub, painting everything in shades of magenta and purple as the rhythmic beat of reggaeton vibrated the walls. Brody stood behind me scowling as I paid our cover fee, and I would’ve slapped him if it wouldn’t have drawn even more attention to us. He already stuck out like bright yellow caution tape. Causing a scene wouldn’t help the situation.

  “If it wouldn’t be too much of an inconvenience, could you take that stick out of your ass?” I hissed, tucking a wad of pesos back into my purse. “People are staring.”

  “We waited in line for over an hour.”

  “Your point?”

  His nostrils flared, shifting closer as more people filtered in. “I would’ve thought the owner’s fiancée would have expedited entry.”

  I groaned. “Ex-fiancée, and are we still talking about this?”

  “You tell me.” Clenching his fists, he crowded against me. “Up until an hour ago, I was under the impression we were going into this thing blind. As crazy as it sounds, I thought maybe we were on the same side, but you keep doing shit to prove my instincts were right about you.”

  “And what instincts would that be?”

  Crowd. Step. Crowd. Step.

  To the casual onlooker, our habitual catch and release ballet seemed like a mating dance. In reality, it was a never-ending chase between stalker and prey. Only the roles weren’t defined and always reversed in the middle of the hunt.

  “That you’re hiding something.” He tilted his head, and the scent of scotch and sage hit me so hard I stumbled. Without hesitation, he slipped an arm around my waist, pulling me close to his chest and further toward the edge.