Blurred Red Lines: A Carrera Cartel Novel

by Kenborn, Cora

  Unable to look at her, I dressed quickly, and moved off the bed, desperate to be anywhere else. She lay there naked and silent, her breathing shallow.

  Picking up the fork that led to the fuck, I shoved it in my back pocket along with my gun. Without a word, I reached for her hands and unlocked the handcuff. After what just happened, I couldn’t bring myself to recuff her.

  “I’ll have Mateo bring you something to eat later.”

  Keeping my eyes focused forward, I closed the door to the sound of the metal cuffs hitting the wood with force behind me.

  Chapter Sixteen

  EDEN

  They sounded like fireworks popping off in the distance—rhythmic in their cadence with an echoing thunder that seemed to immediately follow each one.

  The moment I cracked an eyelid, darkness enveloped me. For a moment, irritation convinced me I’d left the television on full blast again. Groaning, I reached for the remote to quiet the intrusive sound when a jolt of lightning shot up my arm. Confusion set in as my limbs itched with stiffness.

  Then it all came rushing back in a hot haze of defeat and submission.

  The finality of what happened, and my resolve to see everyone involved, including myself, dead for causing it, flashed through my head. Tears clouded my vision, and I curled up on my prisoner’s bed, mulling it over. Night had fallen, darkening my already burning self-hatred.

  Not that the fire needed much stoking.

  I just hoped that somewhere Nash turned a blind eye to the way I’d pissed all over his name.

  Flinging myself onto my back, I counted eighteen water-stained dots on the ceiling before visions of Val’s body slamming into mine had me squirming in place.

  I knew it was wrong. Every bone in my body knew it was wrong, but my mouth refused to say ‘no.’ Powerful physical attraction, coupled with admitted defeat, broke me. But what tore me up inside the most was that I wanted more than anything to hate him for it.

  Instead, I hated myself because I didn’t.

  The only time I didn’t feel like drowning was when I was with him. The correlation between the two made no sense, and I didn’t care to think about what kind of fucked up Stockholm Syndrome I’d developed long enough to figure it out.

  My father used to say that mistakes were life’s necessary evils. Without them, there’d be no way for a person to see the error of their ways and know the right path for the next time.

  Val Carrera was an evil mistake, but far from necessary. Righteousness wouldn’t be a moral dilemma again. There wouldn’t be a next time.

  Rubbing my tender wrist, I thanked small miracles that Val didn’t cuff me before he left. I had no concept of time without my phone, but I guessed it to be sometime after nine or ten. Refusing food and water had been a stupid move. All my body wanted was sleep to conserve energy after my pathetic attempt at utensil retaliation.

  My whole life had been a psychiatrist’s wet dream. At fourteen years old, I’d gotten caught with a senior behind the football field. My therapist called it “Impulsive/Undisciplined Child Therapy” and shoved antidepressants in my face. I didn’t need drugs. I was just pissed I’d found out my father had been lying to me my entire life about my mother. She hadn’t died. Three days after my birth, she decided being a mom was too much of a hassle and took off.

  I didn’t need drug therapy. I needed dick therapy.

  Then, when I was twenty-four, after three years of changing who I was to conform to someone else’s ideal, my husband sank a knife into my back and his dick into my best friend. I swore the day I found them I’d never put my trust in another human being and slept with as many men as possible. My therapist called it “Detached Overcompensating Behavior Therapy” and shoved antidepressants down my throat.

  I didn’t need drug therapy then either. I needed dick therapy.

  Lying in the small prison with four walls and a mattress, a sadistic chuckle fell from my chest. The one person that meant anything to me was gone. There was no therapist here to label me or shove pills at me, yet somehow, I’d still managed to find dick therapy.

  Running my hands down my face, my eyes landed on small droplets of blood on the floor. I knew they weren’t mine and reminded me that once Val’s post orgasmic sex high wore off, he probably spent the afternoon figuring out the best way to kill me with the least amount of exertion.

  A full body shiver ran through me. Even after sleeping for an hour, exhaustion had permanently set in. My body ached, and the pain in my arm radiated up my shoulder. Cradling my elbow against my chest, I cleared the few steps from the bed to the door. Logically, I knew it was pointless; however, I still closed my fingers around the doorknob, jerking furiously.

  Nothing.

  “Val! Open the door. You can’t keep me in here. Val!” Releasing the knob, I slammed my hand against the wood. “Val!” Pounding until my palm stung, a strangled cry tore from my throat as I slid to the floor.

  Touching the St. Michael medallion, I closed my eyes, and leaned my forehead against the doorframe. Heaviness gathered in the corners of my eyes as a wave of fatigue threatened to pull me under again. Haze clouded my vision, and I welcomed the blackness, surrendering to it.

  The peaceful calm had almost claimed me under when a pop pop pop from outside the bedroom wall jolted me back into consciousness. Fear paralyzed me as I recognized the sound. They weren’t fireworks. I’d heard the same sound in a pantry closet while Nash took his last breath. Peace flew out the window and panic overtook me.

  “Val!” Scrambling to my knees, I pounded on the door with renewed force. “Val, open the door! Please!” Tears ran from my eyes as I beat the door with both fists.

  Several blasts ripped through the house, and the force knocked me back onto my palms. Within seconds, the door flew open, and Val burst in, his eyes wide and wild. Dressed in black athletic pants and a thin white t-shirt, his unkempt hair dusted over his eyes as he bent down and hooked a muscular arm around my upper back.

  “Get up!” he hissed. “We have to go.”

  “What’s happening?” I felt myself panicking.

  “We’re under attack, no time!” Jerking me up, he pushed us both toward the door. In a daze, I resisted, staring blankly back into the bare room. “Eden!” he commanded.

  He never used my given name. That got my attention.

  I stumbled into the hallway, and Val’s hand braced the base of my spine as men dressed in black clothing flanked us. It was too dark to get a look at their faces, and honestly, I didn’t care to see them anyway. Val’s hand tightened around mine as he dragged me through the house.

  He moved his hand to my neck and shoved my face toward his chest “Keep your head down!”

  My stomach twisted in knots. “Where are we going?”

  “Somewhere else.” He sounded calm, and I desperately wanted to look in his eyes to make sure his eyes matched his voice. But his hold tightened, keeping me literally and figuratively in the dark.

  “We’ve got you covered, boss. There are four out front and two in the house. Stay down around the next corner. On my command, dive low and to the right into the car. I’m right behind you.”

  Ignoring instructions, my head popped up. “Emilio?”

  Cursing, Val gripped my hair and bent me forward. “Cereza, get down!”

  “Stop yelling at me!”

  “Stop trying to get us killed!”

  Heated taunts echoed from inside the house. “Where are you, you chickenshit? Face us and bring that puta too, La Muerte!”

  My heart pounded as he expertly maneuvered us around the corner and out a side door. Once outside, a blast exploded beside us, and Emilio let out a low groan.

  Val paused, turning around. “What happened?”

  With a hand on both of our backs, Emilio shoved us toward the car, his face twisted in pain. “Go! It’s just a nick.”

  “Emilio…” Val called behind him, a sheen of sweat coating his forehead.

  “Get in the fucking car before I
kick your ass, Carrera.” Clenching his teeth, Emilio held his side as his tanned skin turned a grayish-white color.

  Without another word, Val picked me up at the waist and threw me in the back seat of a dark colored sedan. The pain on my boss’s face etched in my mind, and despite the disdain I felt for him, I crawled toward the door. “You can’t just leave him!”

  Planting one foot inside the vehicle, Val propelled himself forward, knocking me onto my back. With the door closing behind him, the car lurched forward and peeled away from the house.

  “Get off me!” I screamed, beating my fists against his chest.

  “Stay down and shut up.” Covering my mouth, he pressed his full weight onto me, pinning me where I lay.

  As gunshots popped off in the distance, a tear rolled from each corner of my eyes.

  I hated Emilio Reyes.

  But even I knew that wasn’t a nick.

  * * *

  The buzzing became clearer as the room came into focus. Blinking repeatedly, I swallowed, my mouth feeling like I’d stuffed a bag of cotton balls down my throat. I attempted to find my voice as the buzzing morphed into voices.

  “How the hell did they find us?”

  “Don’t know. Only the top level knew the safe house location. At this point, the only logical explanation is to start looking for a mole.”

  The sound of sloshing liquid filled the room as the voice switched back. “Fucking hell. I want everyone’s house searched. No one is excluded, is that understood?”

  “Si, boss.”

  With a fully functional brain, I shifted a gaze around the unfamiliar room. The guy who’d brought me food at the other house, Mateo, nodded as he exited the doorway, his eyes sagging from fatigue. A concentrated stare fell to my left, and with one glance, I quickly averted my eyes to the floor.

  Val.

  He sat in a chair four feet away from me, his hair disheveled, and a heavy five o’clock shadow covering his face. His hands cradled a half-emptied bottle of tequila between his legs. My lips twitched as multiple conversations ran through my mind regarding his disdain for assholes who drank tequila out of the bottle.

  I guess desperate times call for desperate assholes.

  Remembering the frantic exit from the safe house, I stretched, attempting to sit up and get a handle on my new surroundings. A sharp burn in my right arm caused me to cry out as I realized I was, once again, cuffed to the bedframe.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me…”

  Val steadied his eyes on the closed door in front of him and turned the bottle up, taking a generous drink. “Nope.”

  Drawing in a deep breath, I released it before speaking, reigning in deep rooted anger. “Val, in the last forty-eight hours, I’ve been kidnapped, drugged, restrained, held prisoner, and shot at. Where the hell would I go?”

  He shrugged, twisting the bottle in his hands. “Don’t feel like getting stabbed with any more forks, thanks.”

  I darted my eyes to his bandaged arm and offered a fake smile. “You deserved it.” Glaring at me, he took another gulp from the bottle and resumed his stare at the wall. Realizing the defensive approach was getting me nowhere, I tried another tactic and softened my tone. “After what happened in that room, I didn’t think we needed restraints anymore.”

  His eyes darkened as the muscles in his jaw tightened. “That was a mistake. It won’t happen again.”

  While I’d already made the same promise to myself, somewhere inside it still cut deep to hear the words come from his mouth. What we’d done had been born out of wrongness and hate, yet I’d never felt so alive. The guilt I’d felt afterward had been too overwhelming at the time to consider exploring what that meant.

  Sex had always been on my terms since Davis left. For some reason, Val dismissing what we’d done pissed me off and immediately set me on the defensive.

  I jerked on the cuff again, to express my irritation. “Then why bring me here at all? Why keep me alive? Obviously, I’m trouble for you and your little operation. You could have let them kill me back there and be done with me.”

  Val cocked his head to the side, assessing me. “I don’t know. It’d make sense for a man in my position to have been done with you. It’s not like I haven’t killed before.” He sat back in his chair, seeming to mull over his answer. “But you’re different. There’s always been something about you. Maybe I see myself in you.” In a sudden shift of questioning, he pointed the mouth of the bottle in my direction. “What happened to you, Cereza, to make you so hollow?

  Taken aback by his personal question, I pressed my medallion between my finger and thumb, rubbing it while I stalled for time.

  “Eden?”

  “I’m nothing like you.”

  He chuckled and drank from the bottle again. “We’re still alive, aren’t we?

  Alive and alone.

  Sighing, I turned my back to him. His penetrating stare heated my skin just a little too much and confused the hell out of me. My whole world had tilted on its axis and spun in the opposite direction. Somehow, I’d landed myself front and center in the middle of the entire Carrera operation—the same men I’d believed were responsible for murdering my brother. For hours, I’d wanted nothing more than to escape their hold on me. As I sat with the pathetic excuse for a weapon, waiting for the kingpin to get close enough to cause damage, a plan had started to formulate.

  But maybe escape wasn’t the answer. I’d sworn to Nash and my father I’d find the men responsible and see them dead. What better way to do that than in the lair of the snake himself?

  Val Carrera swore a rival cartel held the smoking gun. Did I believe him, or had a moment of sexual weakness blinded my judgment of the truth? I had no idea. But one thing was for sure, I’d never find out standing outside the lines of their inner circle.

  Knocked out of my internal tug-of-war, the mattress dipped with weight as Val’s hand dusted over my cheek, gently turning it to face him. “I promise not to let anything happen to you, Eden.” His slightly slurred voice washed over me with a deep cadence. Immediately, images of being together in the basement of the safe house raced my pulse as my body flooded with warmth.

  His lingering touch quickened my breath, and I centered all thought on that one point of contact. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

  The words seemed to resonate something deep within him. Furrowing his brow, he dropped his hand back to his lap and nodded softly. “You’re right. I’ll never make that mistake again.”

  “There’s always been something about you. Maybe I see myself in you.”

  I wanted to ask him what he meant, but a wall blanketed his face, ending any further communication. Somehow, I’d touched a nerve without knowing it.

  Sighing, I reached over as far as the restraint would allow and grabbed the bottle from him. Silently, I drank long and steady. The warm liquid burned a trail of fire down my throat, and I welcomed every drop. Wordlessly, we traded the bottle back and forth until only a sip remained between us.

  Enough time and alcohol had passed that liquid courage built inside of me. Draining the last of it, I tossed the bottle across the room and turned to face him, my head wobbling heavily on my neck. “Is Emilio dead?”

  Running his hand through his hair, Val raised an eyebrow, smirking with delivered intent. “Do you care?”

  “What kind of ridiculous question is that?” I moved to punch his chest, forgetting my arm was cuffed and performed a slingshot back against the bedframe. “Ow.”

  “Watch out for that.”

  “Wow, thanks for pointing out the obvious.”

  “It’s a valid question.”

  I scrunched up my nose. “Huh?”

  “Your question.”

  “What question?”

  Groaning, he scraped his hand down his face. “The one you asked, Cereza.”

  “You asked me a question.” I had no idea what we were arguing about, but my stubborn streak kept giving me the thumbs-up and a high five.


  “I didn’t ask you any fucking question. This is why I should’ve left you there.”

  “A-ha!” I screamed, pointing my free finger in his chest. “I knew it! See? I told you that you were trying to kill me.”

  Val wrapped his fingers around my wrist and held it in a strong grip between us. “I never said that. Stop putting words between my mouth.”

  A loud snort rolled off my tongue as I fell backward against the bedframe again. “Ow!” I rubbed the back of my head and bit my lip to keep from laughing. “Oh, my God, you’re drunk. I think you meant ‘stop putting words in my mouth.’ If I put words between your mouth, I’d be connected to it.”

  His fingers tightened against my wrist, and he pulled me flush against him. Danger glinted across his darkened eyes. “That could be arranged.”

  Overwhelmed at the intensity in his stare, I focused on the hold he had on my arm. Licking dry lips, I said the first thing that popped into my head. “Is Emilio dead?”

  “No,” he smiled knowingly. Releasing his hold, he sat back like I’d just jumped from his fuck list to his shit list in two-point-oh-seconds.

  Story of my life.

  Since the first flame had been doused, I might as well dance in the ashes.

  “But I saw him get shot. You can try to tell me otherwise, but I saw it. I know what I saw.”

  “I’m sure you saw what you saw.”

  “So?” I waited for confirmation.

  “So? We all get shot from time to time. He’ll be fine. It was a flesh wound.”

  My mouth dropped open. “Do you realize how asinine you sound right now? People just don’t get shot from time to time, Danger. Not normal people, at least.”

  He wiped a hand across his mouth as if to hide an emerging smirk. “Danger?”

  Shaking my cuffed wrist, I narrowed my eyes to hostile slits. “Don’t get cocky. It’s not a term of endearment. I can’t stand you.”

  “You’re not exactly my favorite person either, you know,” he offered quickly.

  The alcohol bottomed out in my system, and my mouth claimed the throne, taking ownership of my better judgment. “Then why don’t you get out of here and go fuck yourself? At least you’d satisfy one of us.”