The Carrera Cartel : A Dark Mafia Romance Collection

by Cora Kenborn

  “You never loved her,” I hissed.

  “Don’t tell me how I felt about Mari! Maybe I was never in love with her, but I’ll fight to the death for her. Adriana and my mother are the only two women who have ever given me love without wanting something in return, and Ignacio Vergara ruined both their lives. He deserves the same.”

  I was sick of his declarations. Any asshole could say words. It took a man to back them up. I’d crawled to the lowest level of hell for love. I wondered if Cristiano Vergara would do the same.

  I flashed a cold smile. “Let’s put that theory to the test, shall we?”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Adriana

  Tlajomulco de Zuñiga, Jalisco, Mexico

  My head felt like it’d been stuffed with a bag of cotton balls.

  I rubbed my eyes, trying to force them open while fighting through the fuzzy cloud blocking my memory. Nothing made sense, as if my brain were a giant puzzle that had been scattered about. Nothing fit, and there was no discernible pattern.

  Everything hurt. An aching, stinging, heavy hurt that made me want to give up and sink back down into the black nothingness I just came from. Frustrated, I tried to move, but my limbs felt numb and uncooperative. I blinked, the room dark except for two overhead swinging lights. The place looked industrial. Almost like a…

  Warehouse.

  Ignoring the pain, I pressed my palms onto the cold concrete and pushed myself up, praying the images flashing through my head were residual pieces of a nightmare and not memories. But the clearer they became, the more I remembered, and the more I remembered, the harder I shook.

  The late-night text that came through on my phone from Cristiano.

  Running to the back door to meet him, only to come face-to-face with Ignacio.

  The sting of the needle as he plunged it into my neck.

  Then pain when I awoke to the burning orange ember of a lit cigar inside a different warehouse.

  And the moment I wanted to die as I heard Santiago’s faint cry.

  I closed my eyes, remembering how Ignacio took sadistic pleasure in telling me no matter what I did, the people I tried to protect were going to die right along with me.

  All because I’d been played for a fool.

  Cristiano was Ignacio Vergara’s son, and even he was a pawn.

  I tried to block out his words, but he forced me to listen. His boy. His heir. His pride. For years, he’d lied to me. He knew I was Adriana Carrera.

  I brought all this to Val’s door. That hurt worse than any pain Ignacio could inflict.

  I’d lose my family again.

  It was too late to save me, but I’d die a thousand deaths before I’d let anything happen to Santiago. No child should ever suffer like I did.

  Or because of what I did.

  Someone would come for me. Ignacio enjoyed playing with his puppet too much to leave me alone much longer. I only had one shot. One chance to find Val’s son, and I refused to fail him twice.

  I needed a weapon. Unfortunately, captors didn’t make a habit of leaving sharp objects lying around their captive’s cages. I’d have to improvise, but there wasn’t even a chair to break. No table. No window.

  I scrubbed a blood caked hand across my forehead. “Great. Any more bright ideas, Adriana?”

  I stilled, my hand sliding down my face.

  Bright.

  Rolling my eyes toward the ceiling, I watched as the two hanging lights swung back and forth.

  Two lights. With two bulbs.

  Two glass bulbs.

  I glanced down at my flimsy tank top and tiny shorts I’d pulled on after leaving Brody’s bed, and for the first time since waking up in this hellhole, I smiled.

  Before running to meet “Cristiano” at the back door, I put on the first shoes I could find.

  High-heeled sandals.

  Unbuckling the straps, I slipped them off and climbed to my feet. Aiming the heel toward the bulb, I threw hard, missing the target by about two feet and snapping the heel off as it crashed into the wall. With a deep breath, I grabbed the second one. Drawing my arm back, I threw twenty-four years of pain into the air and watched it return well over twenty-four shards of glass.

  Someone was coming.

  Warm blood trickled down my wrist as the piece of glass I tightly fisted dug into my skin.

  I didn’t mind. Blood reminded me I was still alive, and pain was fleeting. I’d felt less. I’d felt more. None of it mattered. All that mattered was who was on the other side of that door and how close I could get to them.

  I waited. I forced everything out of my head except the turning of the doorknob. I learned the hard way that letting my guard down was a mistake, and emotions had no place in cartel life. So, I shifted on the balls of my feet, my knees protesting my crouched position against the far corner wall. No pain, I reminded myself, squeezing harder, blood now dripping off my fingertips.

  The door cracked, and I clenched my teeth.

  Why didn’t he just come in and get it over with?

  Finally, it swung open and a muscular figure stepped inside the now barely-lit room. I saw nothing at first but an outline of a soon-to-be dead man. However, the closer he came, the more the remaining overhead light swung, illuminating the shadow hiding his face.

  The more the shadow lifted, the harder I squeezed, and the thicker the river of blood ran.

  The permanent scowl he wore was dangerous, remorseless, and calculating. Tall and muscular, with skin dark enough to earn a rank but light enough to raise an eyebrow. He looked more like an underwear model than a ruthless killer.

  And underestimating him had been my downfall.

  “Cristiano,” I breathed, venom lacing my voice.

  His icy blue eyes turned toward the corner. “Mari, thank God!”

  I let out a low laugh. “Not God. Thank your papá.”

  He froze, emotions spinning across his face like a roulette wheel. Finally, the ball settled in the resigned slot, and his smirk fell. “You know.”

  “Oh, your father and I had a very eye-opening chat.” Standing, I moved toward him. “I learned so many things about you.”

  “What did he tell you?”

  “Enough for me to know every word out of your mouth since the day we met has been a lie.” Adrenaline pumped through me, fueling my anger. “Brody tried to tell me. He said you were dangerous. He told me I was blind, and you were giving me just enough information for me to hang myself.”

  “Mari…”

  “I defended you! I told him he was wrong, and I knew you. I knew you wouldn’t hurt me. God, I was a fucking idiot.”

  “Brody was wrong! I would never hurt you! I was trying to protect you, but you ran off to Houston, and…”

  The jagged piece of glass I’d been holding clattered to the floor as my fist connected to his nose. “Don’t you dare say his name. You will never be the man Brody Harcourt is!”

  Cristiano swore under his breath. “Will you fucking listen to me? Brody and I—”

  “Did you and Ignacio get a good laugh after you sent your text?”

  He held his nose, blood pouring between his fingers. “What text?”

  “Don’t play dumb. I’m not in the mood. I was worried about you, and this is what I get for it.”

  “I didn’t send you a text, Mari!”

  “Adriana!” I screamed.

  “Adriana, whatever he told you, he’s lying. He took me from the club and held me in this warehouse. But I got away, and I’ve been trying to tell you Brody is the one who sent me here.”

  “Do I look like an idiota to you? Brody doesn’t trust you. He’d come for me himself.”

  “He did! They all did. Brody sent me because I know this place.”

  “Right.”

  Sighing, he walked toward me, and I backed up. Without taking another step, he lowered his chin, shaking his head as if reveling in a private joke. “He said you wouldn’t believe me, so he told me to tell you not to make him come all the way
in here just to force you to tell him everything that came after te amo.”

  The words were both a jolt of lightning and a bullet to the heart. I love you. They were the words I said to Brody after we made love. The only ones he understood. There was no way Cristiano could’ve known that.

  I stumbled backward. “No…”

  “That man loves you, Mari, and it’s written all over your face how much you love him. I know you don’t trust me right now, and I’ll explain everything to you, but you have to come with me. If not for me, then for him.”

  The room spun, and my heart thundered in my ears, the constant pounding way too fast and loud. I needed time I didn’t have. My hand hurt. My head hurt. It felt like the world pressed down on my shoulders, driving me into the waiting arms of hell, and all I wanted to do was spend my last few moments in Brody’s arms.

  I was weak, so I nodded.

  “Thank God,” he breathed. “Come on, there’s a back way out of here. It should be clear, but if we come across any lingering sicarios, I brought a friend.” He nodded toward the doorway where a shotgun leaned against the wall.

  Something slowed my steps as Cristiano wrapped an arm around my waist and guided me toward the door.

  Santiago.

  “No!” Jerking away from him, I spun around, my back toward the exit. “I can’t leave without Santiago.”

  “Are you crazy?” he hissed. “Val is looking for him. Besides, you’re Ignacio’s prisoner. The two of us wandering around this place would be a flashing red sign. We’d be shot on sight.”

  He was right. We would be shot on sight.

  We would.

  We.

  I had no idea if he was telling the truth, but I hoped if he was, he’d forgive me.

  With my last bit of strength, I spun around, and grabbing the barrel of the shotgun, I swung. All Cristiano got out was my name before the stock slammed into the side of his skull, and he hit the floor.

  Stepping over him, I crouched where I dropped the shard of glass. Holding it against the inside of my left wrist, I took a deep breath.

  No one would suffer because of me again.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Brody

  “Brody, behind you!”

  Spinning around, I saw a flash of metal pointed at my chest and pulled the trigger. I had no idea who I just shot, but as long as it brought me one step closer to Adriana, I didn’t care.

  “Bet they didn’t teach you that in law school.” Mateo grinned, blood soaking his right arm.

  “You okay?”

  His face pinched as if he were offended that I asked. “Fucker had shitty aim. Too bad for him, I didn’t.”

  We turned as a darkened hallway to our left lit up with gunshots, along with Val’s very detailed instructions for the dead men to fuck their own mothers in hell.

  Mateo’s brow knitted. “I’m going to help him. Go find Vergara.”

  He didn’t have to tell me twice. Staying behind to clear the field while Cristiano played the hero ate at me until my skin felt like it had turned inside out. Now I knew exactly how Val felt when we rescued Eden from Manuel Muñoz. I got why it bothered him that I was the one to find her. I understood why he left us outside and risked everything to walk into a trap.

  Facing death was easier than facing a life without the woman you loved.

  So, I ran. Hallway after hallway. Shot after shot. Body after body. I felt like a machine running on rocket fuel. Adriana’s name rested on my lips when I collided with another sicario.

  I raised my gun, my finger on the trigger.

  “Harcourt!”

  Seconds away from pulling it, I paused. “Vergara?” I lowered the gun and stepped closer. “What the hell happened to you? You look like shit.”

  I was being nice. Shit would’ve been a step up. The side of his head looked like roadkill, and somebody busted his pretty boy nose until it pointed west.

  Cristiano closed his eyes, blood dripping off his chin. “I’m sorry. I tried.”

  My blood froze in my veins. “Where is she?”

  “I said what you told me to, and it seemed to get through to her. She agreed to come with me.”

  “What happened?” I bit down on the words.

  Frowning, he stepped backward, which was smart, because I was five seconds from putting him through the wall. “She remembered Val’s kid. She refused to leave without him, and we argued. Next thing I knew, she was swinging my shotgun, and the lights went out. When I woke up, she was gone.”

  My breath came in short spurts, and a buzzing noise filled my head. One minute I stood there, and the next I had him pinned against the wall by his throat. “Where did they take her?”

  He wrapped both hands around my wrist, but he didn’t fight back. Didn’t kick. Didn’t try any low blows. He just stared at me, a strange sympathy in his eyes as if he were preparing me. “I don’t know, but she’s a fighter, Harcourt. If anyone can make it, then—”

  Fire burned me from the inside out. Releasing him, I stumbled backward, shaking my head. Then I noticed the trail of blood.

  Adriana was meticulous. Most everything she did had a purpose. Cause and effect. Dominate and ruin.

  Sleight of hand.

  “Things at first glance are rarely what they seem. Dig deeper, and you’ll find the truth lies more in what you don’t see than what you do. Arrogance is the eye’s worst enemy, Brody. Men always make the mistake of looking at what’s in front of them instead of watching out for what’s behind them.”

  “Things are rarely what they seem.” I repeated the words, the beginnings of a smile forming.

  “Agreed, but what does that have to do with Adriana?”

  “Is that the room she was in?” He nodded, stepping out of the way as I bulldozed past him. The tiny room was barely lit with nothing but an overhead light.

  One overhead light.

  The other had been busted, the remnants of the bulb lay scattered all over the concrete floor. There was more blood in the room, and I followed the trail back out the door and down a long hallway to the right.

  So, I turned left, my smile now wide and splitting across my face. “Instead of looking at what’s in front of you, watch out for what’s behind you.”

  Horizontal lines sank deep into Cristiano’s forehead as he turned to face me. “Why? What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “I’m too arrogant.” I laughed, dropping my chin.

  “I could’ve told you that.”

  I met his eyes. “And I know how to find her.”

  “Well, then let’s go get her—”

  “Sorry, Vergara. No hard feelings, but I’ll take it from here.” Drawing my arm back, I punched him and watched him hit the ground.

  Adriana only needed one hero, and he’d waited long enough to save the queen.

  Adriana’s reverse trail of breadcrumbs led me into a labyrinth of twists, turns, and dead ends. I blindly followed a maze with no beginning and no end, and what pissed me off the most was that I had no doubt Ignacio was somewhere watching all of it.

  Adriana and Santiago were running out of time, and I was done indulging Vergara’s mind games. If Ignacio wanted to play in Valentin Carrera’s league, he needed to stand at the plate and swing instead of hiding behind the batter.

  So, I tightened my grip on my gun and did the one thing that went against everything I’d been taught. I stepped in front of the bullet instead of firing it.

  “Adriana!” I called out, my voice echoing in the dark and deserted hallway. Pausing, I waited, listening for any sign of a response.

  Nothing.

  “Adriana!” This time, I didn’t hold back, running full force while yelling her name over and over. “Fuck!” Turning around, I took two steps back down the same hallway I’d walked half a dozen times when the cold barrel of a gun pressed against the back of my head.

  “You look lost, pendejo.” One of Ignacio’s followers ripped my gun from my hand and pressed it against my back.

 
“What can I say? The service around this place sucks.”

  “Walk,” he commanded, pushing the muzzles of both guns against me.

  I tried to pay attention to each twist and turn, but every wall looked the same. By the time we came to a stop in front of a large steel door, it felt like we went in another damn circle. He knocked twice, and a gravelly Spanish accent sounding like rusty nails on a bullet-ridden chalkboard answered.

  “Tráemelo.” Bring him to me.

  My brain fired electric shocks at the familiarity I knew shouldn’t be there. I knew the voice. I’d heard it in person. On the phone. Enabling me. Pushing me.

  Informing me.

  As soon as the guard opened the door, I took the steps on my own, my fists clenching. No one had to force me inside. I didn’t care if I walked straight into a bullet. I knew exactly whose gun waited on the other side.

  And after all he’d done, that Colombian motherfucker had better shoot to kill.

  He stood behind a metal chair at the back of a simple folding table. I didn’t know what I expected, a throne maybe? Definitely not some back-alley thrift store setup.

  However, my mouth went dry the moment my eyes landed on what was in front of him.

  “Brody…”

  Adriana sat in the chair, with what looked to be a nine-inch blade pressed against her throat. She was pale and covered in blood, but she was here. I wanted to close my eyes and savor the sound of my name on her lips, but I couldn’t show weakness. So, I held her eye, making sure she felt what I couldn’t say.

  I raised my eyes to meet the man holding the knife, his top lip curled up, his gray goatee framing a smirk I’d wanted to punch off his face for weeks. “Harcourt, I’d welcome you, but it seems you’ve welcomed yourself, not to mention made somewhat of a mess in my warehouse.”

  I shot him a deadpanned look. “Carlos, or should I call you Ignacio? Which name do you prefer these days?”