“What are we negotiating?” he asked, tapping his fingers against the booth, just behind her head.
She stiffened at how close his hand was to her hair. Her voice came out sharper than she intended when she spoke. “My home. Your retreat.”
He tilted his head slightly, examining her, eyes appearing to pick her apart. Vee hadn’t taken much when she’d fled her apartment, but she’d taken enough clothes to prepare for every eventuality, whether it was murder or dining with the Queen of England. Tonight she was wearing a light pink silk sleeveless blouse that complimented her pale complexion, a fitted rose coloured skirt and a long-sleeved black leather jacket that fit her like she was born in it. On her feet she wore her favourite pair of steel-spiked five-inch heels.
“I want you to give me my city back. I want you to take your people, turn around and go back to where you came from,” she said, her voice strong and sure though she was quaking on the inside. “No more threats, no more violence.”
He picked up her water glass and drank from it, his lips touching the spot hers had touched. A bolt of pure lightening sizzled through her body. “And what exactly will you give me for such a concession?” he asked, replacing her glass on the table.
She gazed at him, eyes narrowed. “I won’t retaliate, won’t come after you with everything I have.”
“It would be suicide,” he said, his fingers tapping faster. She twisted around to look at them and then shot him a pointed glare.
“At this point what do I have to lose?” she asked heatedly. “You’ve taken everything from me. My city, some of my men, my position, my dignity, even my rivals. Why should I sit back and let you take what’s left?”
The lines around his mouth tightened giving him a foreboding look. “You could lose your life, Vee.”
“And what’s that worth?” she snapped.
His hand moved so fast, so independently of the rest of him that she didn’t know what was happening until her head was slammed back against the seat and his face was hovering inches away from hers. He’d tangled his fingers in her hair and wrenched her backwards against the booth, using the strength in his long fingers to twist her head slightly to the side so she was facing him.
“That is not an option,” he said, his voice colder than anything she’d heard from him yet.
“What?” She tried to focus on what he meant while shafts of pain contrasted with a heightened physical awareness, which ran from her head down the length of her body. What wasn’t an option?
“You don’t get to die, Elvira.” His lips lifted in a slight snarl, giving away some of the emotion he tried so hard to withhold.
“Why?” she demanded, pushing on despite the dangerous aura pulsating from him. It was never a good idea to piss off The Butcher. “I’m nothing to you, expendable. You’ve made my presence in this city pretty much unnecessary. So why do you care if I die?”
He leaned in, so close that she could feel his breath caressing her. It was warm, crisp and smelled like cinnamon, as though he’d been chewing gum or something right before their meeting. Had he anticipated a kiss? And why the fuck did she care. They were talking about her possible death for Christ sakes.
His dark, velvety brown eyes now held fire. He emphasized each word he spoke with a quiet assurance. “You are rare, Elvira. A jewel among rocks. Your death would be blasphemy.”
Her thoughts scattered. His actions were so at odds with his words. His hands hurt and threatened her, but his eyes and voice caressed her, wrapping her in erotic tension. The only thing she could think to say was, “Don’t call me Elvira. I hate that name.”
He chuckled, the sound dark and delicious, sending a shiver right through her. His eyes dropped, chased her shudder from the top of her throat, past her breasts, which were peaked beneath her jacket, right down to her lap. He loosened his fingers in her hair and stroked them through, smoothing the strands.
“You belong to me, Vee. And no one harms the things that belong to me.”
“I’m not a thing!” She jerked her head away from him. “I was boss in this city until you came along.”
He shrugged and allowed her some space. “Regimes fall, my dear. If you’re smart, you’ll follow the path of the victor. Take what I offer and be thankful that staying alive is an option. It wouldn’t usually be under these circumstances.”
“Fuck you,” she snapped, out of options for comebacks.
“You want to be careful what you do and say right now.” His cool mask slipping back into place. “We’re nearing the finish line and it’s just about time to stop playing around. As much fun as I’ve had here with you I need to get back to my home.”
“You’re psychotic,” she hissed. “Has anyone ever told you that?”
“You are acting like a feral cat, Vee, trapped in a corner. You seem to think the only way out is a fight to the death. I can assure you it’s not. I won’t allow anything to happen to you, even if it means hurting you in the short term to ensure that there is a tomorrow for both of us.”
She frowned and pressed her lips together to stop herself from snapping out another clever comeback like the last one. He was right, she was acting like a trapped animal. Every move she made reeked of fear and desperation. She needed to be smarter, think five steps ahead of him. Only who the fuck knew what was going on in his crazy head? “I think we’re done here,” she finally said, her voice colder than her eyes as she stared through him.
He sighed regretfully and moved away from her, standing up. Before he left he pinned her with a heated stare. “Last move, my queen. I’m coming for you.”
Chapter Eleven
Last move…
Vee contemplated Sotza’s words as she laid on an uncomfortable mattress in the dark, uninviting industrial apartment she was using. She really should just go home, back to her small luxuries. The Venezuelan probably knew exactly where she was hiding out and was laughing at her new circumstances. Well… probably not. He seemed to harbour a weird soft spot for her. Despite her constant defiance, he didn’t seem to want her uncomfortable. She shifted onto her back, kicked at the blanket covering her legs and shoved a hand through her hair. She lay like that, hand on her head, staring at nothing.
Whose last move? Hers or his? The thought chilled her to the bone. If it was her last move then she was royally screwed. She had nothing left to negotiate with. Perhaps there were still a few contacts loyal to her, but they would fall. Either by death or switching sides. Most likely death. She couldn’t see Sotza allowing anyone to live who would switch loyalties so easily. The man seemed to have a strange set of ethics, but they worked for him. Far more effectively than hers. She was so busy trying to protect the people under her care that she stopped pushing back lest someone else get hurt. She’d sent most of her backup into hiding. Life was looking pretty bleak.
Tears of hopelessness burned behind her eyelids, but she refused to let them fall. Pressed the heel of her hands hard against her eyes to stop them. She stopped crying years ago. She wasn’t about to let some asshole mobster break her. Even if he’d broken everything around her.
Perhaps it was time to give up the fight, stop acting out of desperation and start thinking smart. Cut her losses and go. Find a place he’d never think to look. Because as much as she wanted to think he would allow her to leave unscathed, she knew better. A man like that, once he stated his intentions, would always follow through. If she stayed it would be just a matter of time until he scooped her up. If she stayed, more people would die. More of her beautiful city would burn.
Tomorrow, first thing in the morning, she would leave.
* * *
“She’s on the move,” Mateo told his boss, watching from a window across the street from Vee’s hiding place. “Taking two bodyguards and a suitcase. Could be moving back home. Maybe she’s done with this low-class shit.”
Mateo cast a scathing eye around the place he’d been calling home since his arrival in Miami. He was not impressed. It was dilapidated, dirty, bu
g-infested and there was no running water. Just a tiny, uncomfortable cot and the nastiest toilet he’d come across in awhile. He suspected Vee’s accommodations were similar and was somewhat impressed that the delicate blond he’d been charged with watching would put up with it.
“Interesting,” Sotza replied. “No, I don’t think she would go back home. It would be admitting defeat.”
“Isn’t running away from the city her way of admitting defeat?” Mateo pointed out. He was in a high enough position within The Butcher’s organization that he’d been invited to submit his thoughts and opinions. No one else could offer such an observation without the boss taking issue.
Sotza chuckled. “Perhaps. But leaving the city to a destination of her choice is admitting defeat on her terms. Staying would be bowing to me on my terms. The lady is far too feisty for that.”
“Sounds complicated,” Mateo said, watching as Vee and her bodyguards drove away. “She’s left the area. Won’t be able to disappear though, I’m tracking all vehicles that’ve had contact with her.”
“I never doubted it,” Sotza said, satisfaction clear in his voice. “That’s the reason I brought you here. Your ability to track is unparalleled.”
Mateo was flattered, the boss didn’t hand out compliments. Still, he felt compelled to respond. “You brought me here to babysit a woman?” Mateo had anticipated war, a bloodbath, standing by Sotza’s side as a powerful regime fell to be replaced by their own command. He hadn’t expected his entire job to be following a woman around. Albeit an attractive, intelligent woman.
Silence on the other end of the phone made him think he was toeing too close to the line. Though he was the right hand to Sotza, they weren’t friends. No one befriended the man. He was cold, intelligent and vicious. Cozying up to the Venezuelan was like an ant wanting to make friends with a shoe. Impossible. Because no matter how close one got within the organization, no matter how high up, one just never knew when that shoe was going to drop.
“I brought you here to track and protect my future wife. The future of my organization. Her life is vitally important.” Sotza spoke with cool authority, but the deadly undercurrent told Mateo that any more sleights against Ms. Montana would not pass.
“Understood,” Mateo said. And he did. Though Sotza hadn’t shown even a fleeting interest in any single woman since Mateo knew the man, he now understood that the dynamic of the Venezuelan cartel had changed. There would soon be a queen at the top, standing next to Sotza.
“Good,” Sotza said, putting the brief but tense exchange behind them and getting back to business. “I want your men on that car. It might have a tracker but that doesn’t mean she won’t slip away. She’s wily.” Sotza’s voice held a modicum of pride and warmth. Another first.
“I’ll get them on it right away, she won’t be able to go anywhere without us knowing her every move. What do you want me to do?” Now that Elvira was leaving, and he was assured she would be tracked, his presence at the warehouse was unnecessary.
“I have an extremely important and delicate task for you. I need you to find Vee’s daughter and bring her to me.”
Chapter Twelve
Raina Duncan studied the fake ID with critical appreciation. She’d just updated it to say she was 22 years old and added a new, more mature picture. The picture was the most important part. It had to match the person holding the ID, but it needed to be just right so as not to draw attention. Hers was perfect. Not too attention-grabbing, nothing suspicious. She’d worn a pink collared blouse and her gold chain. Her blond hair was left to flow in loose waves around her face, spilling across one shoulder. Piercing blue eyes looked back at her from behind a pair of trendy glasses with thick, light pink plastic rims. She’d wanted to look young in the picture, but not too young. She needed to look as though she could be younger than 22 but only thanks to great genetics.
Her eyes moved to the two ID’s next to hers, for her friends, Noah and Cass. They looked just as good as hers, she thought, tooting her own horn. She was damn good at making ID’s, including, driver’s licenses, state identifications and passports. She needed something to supplement her University tuition. Pennsylvania State University wasn’t cheap and her parents couldn’t afford to help her out much. They were farm folk; good, honest and hardworking. And though Raina was willing to put a certain amount of hard work in, she wanted to see big payoffs. Which is why she wasn’t nearly as good or honest as mom and dad.
Raina assumed she got a good portion of her personality and all of her looks from her birth parents. Both of her parents had dark hair and eyes, ruddy complexions and stocky builds. Raina was the exact opposite, small, slim, blond, blue-eyed. Her temperament was much different too. She was headstrong, stubborn, sneaky and smart.
Too often her parents hadn’t known what to do with her. But she loved them and they loved her, unreservedly and unconditionally. They had stood by her side since she was a baby, protecting her through illness and major surgery. Raina had been born with poorly functioning kidneys. The problem had started to make itself known when she was only five years old. She’d had a kidney transplant at thirteen and been relatively healthy ever since, though she had to watch her diet carefully to make sure her one functioning kidney remained that way.
It was Raina’s 19th birthday and she was going to celebrate. Well, it wasn’t actually her birthday. It’d been her birthday five days ago, but she and her friends wanted to wait until the weekend to celebrate. Take their hot new ID’s and hit up a bar, dance and drink until they either got kicked out or moved on to the next party.
A tall, curvy brunette breezed through Raina’s door without knocking and tossed herself onto the bed. She bounced, dropped her purse and then sat up with a grin.
“Hey loser, you ready to go yet?” Cass asked happily. Then her eyes crawled over her best friend. “No, you are not. What the F, Raina? You can’t go bar hopping in your Uni sweater and sweat pants. Those are really ugly pants, by the way.”
Raina giggled at Cass’s refusal to say ‘fuck.’ Like Raina, Cass had grown up in a small farming community. Unlike Raina, Cass took right after her God-fearing parents. She was fun, energetic and generally a good upstanding citizen. It had taken some convincing on Raina’s and Noah’s parts to convince the third in their Three Musketeers group to come out and party. But once she got on board with the idea, there was no stopping Cass. She loved to dress up, wear makeup and have a good time. Raina was convinced once they got a few drinks in her she would be dancing on tabletops and saying ‘fuck’ with the best of them.
Cass dug around in Raina’s closet while Raina checked her emails and Facebook. “What about this one?” Cass twirled around with a dress in her hands. Raina glanced up briefly, saw it was her short skirted, peek-a-boo sleeved blue dress with a pattern of tiny white flowers scattered across.
“Sure,” she replied quickly. She didn’t care much about clothes and fashion, though she had some nice outfits thanks to her ill-gotten money and Cass’s shopping addiction.
She dressed quickly, ran a brush through her hair and turned to Cass. “I’m ready.”
Cass rolled her eyes. “Not even some mascara? I mean you’re gorgeous, girl, but it wouldn’t hurt to give those pale eyelashes a little zing.”
Raina shrugged, grabbed her purse and the ID’s and said, “No one can tell if I’m wearing mascara or not under my glasses. Besides as soon as I take my glasses off I can’t see what I’m doing and end up smearing it everywhere.”
Cass sighed and dug around in her own purse until she came up with some lip gloss. “Put some of this on. It’s got that plumping stuff in it. I love it.”
Raina accepted the lip gloss and put it on, mostly so Cass would stop bugging her. “It tingles,” she said with a frown handing it back.
“It’s working!” Cass explained, grabbing Raina’s arm and dragging her out the door. “Makes your lips plumper.”
“I like my lips the way they are,” Raina complained.
* * *
Raina had a good night. She was still grinning as she got out of the Uber, hugged Cass and Noah good-bye and headed to her dorm. She’d done exactly as she wanted for her birthday. She ate hot wings in a pub, drank a beer, shot some pool. Then the three of them moved onto a nearby nightclub where they did sour whiskey shots, drank rum and coke and danced until 2am. Raina had a good head on her. She knew when to stop, knew she couldn’t push her fragile body past its limits. She stopped at four drinks, but encouraged her friends to imbibe, have a few shots for her. They toasted to her one good kidney.
Raina skipped toward her dormitory, singing the new Cardi B song and two-stepping her way down the walk. She glanced around for security but didn’t see anyone. They were probably around the corner checking on the other building. She frowned, weird though, usually there was always a security guard somewhere in the big square leading to the dorms.
She was rounding the corner of Hastings Hall, stepping through the shadows, when someone grabbed her from behind. She opened her mouth to scream but a hand covered her face and yanked her back against a hard chest. She didn’t think twice; she started fighting for all she was worth. She slammed an elbow backwards as hard as she could. She wasn’t sure what she hit, but her elbow met something solid. The guy ‘oomphed’ and stumbled back a step. He still had a good grip on her though and she wasn’t able to cry out, get someone’s attention.
Raina frantically dug in her purse while her assailant struggled to get a better grip on her wiggling body. She finally found what she was looking for, a can of bear spray. Gripping it hard in one hand she twisted to the side and swung her closed fist down, aiming for his crotch. She missed but got a solid hit on his thigh. He grunted something that sounded like “motherfucker!” and loosened his grip for a second. Just long enough that she was able to slam another elbow into his stomach.
Queen’s Move: Book Two of The Queens Page 6
