The smug look drained from his face, only to be replaced by darkened fury. Before I could blink, his palm engulfed my cheek, bending me backward until our mouths and lips bruised in a punishing kiss. His free hand buried in my hair, twisting with a need barreling from somewhere deep within.
Once my alcohol-infused brain caught up with what was happening, my libido went into overdrive, kicking what reservation wasn’t slovenly drunk behind locked doors. Wrapping my unrestrained arm around his neck, I pulled him closer, lost in the feel of his hardness pressing heavy against my curves.
Rage and passion ran parallel with Val and me, and as we frantically groped each other, I wondered where the line lay between manslaughter and sex. As his hands ran down the length of my body and his lips whispered dirty Spanish in my ear, I questioned both our sanity.
Trailing his mouth down the hollow of my neck, he dove his fingers under the waistband of my shorts. “Esta panocha es mia.” This pussy is mine.
“Who’s La Muerte?” The words came out of nowhere. From behind the locked door where I shoved her, my subconscious stood on the headboard, hands on her hips, eyebrow cocked, and armed with three words I had no clue I’d even verbalized until Val froze.
Swallowing harshly, he dragged his hand from my shorts and sat up, his face twisted with a mix of shock and loss. Pressing the heel of his palm in between his eyes, he inhaled slowly, counting to ten before answering.
“Why do you ask?”
“When we were running…I heard the men who shot at us scream for you to face them. They called me a puta and you La Muerte. I don’t know much Spanish, but I know what a puta is.” Something in his eyes drew me away from him and into the corner of the bed. “What I don’t know is what La Muerte means. Val, I heard the men say it when they killed Nash too.”
Grabbing the empty bottle, Val moved off the bed and stood in the middle of the room, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. A confusing rush of guilt swept through me at the emotion wrestling inside of him. Finally, he dropped his hand and tilted his chin over his shoulder, his face a mask of blank resolve.
“La Muerte means The Reaper. The Reaper is me, Cereza. It’s the name the Muñoz Cartel gave me. Unspeakable crimes have been committed in the name of La Muerte. Some I have been a part of; some I haven’t. Men, who were determined to see me ruined, murdered the wife and child of Manuel Muñoz and carved the name in the foreheads.”
The room felt half its size and lacked air. “Jesus.”
Val’s smile pulled downward. “No, Cereza…Jesus was nowhere near Guadalajara when Manuel Muñoz’s family died. Just as I suspect that he turned a blind eye when your brother took a bullet to the head and had the same words carved in his skin.”
Tears rolled before I knew they’d formed and a wounded cry tore from my throat. My hand clutched the St. Michael medallion hanging around my neck. “No…”
A hint of sadness hung heavy in Val’s eyes as he nodded toward my hand. “I’d hold tighter if I were you, Eden. It’s not over.” Shuffling to the door, he flung it open and paused in the entryway. “It’s only just begun.”
Chapter Seventeen
VAL
Sometimes a man just needs to handle business.
At least that’s what I kept telling myself as I left Eden sleeping in the safe house the next morning and drove to RVC Enterprises. Keeping up appearances seemed a necessary evil and getting out of a house where she proved to be a constant temptation was essential to my sanity.
She knew about La Muerte.
That meant all bets were off.
Indulging in Eden Lachey had been the biggest lapse in judgment I’d ever willingly been a part of. Giving in to her weakened my authority within the entire cartel. Not only had I allowed her to see me lose control, my men could tuck away the dangerous knowledge that I’d protected her with my own life in the safe house.
She had no idea in that unguarded moment in the basement, she’d stolen everything from me. My sanity. My rationality. My indifference. I’d held her in my arms, knowing my world had just ended. I was completely fucked.
Sitting at my desk, I raked both palms down my face. God, I needed sleep. The last time I’d closed my eyes for a substantial amount of time…shit, I couldn’t remember when I’d closed my eyes. Every time I tried, images of her head thrown back as she violently came around me found me in a cold shower at three a.m.
I’d fucked hundreds of women. Not one of them mattered enough to think about after the door hit them in the ass on the way out of my bedroom.
Heartless?
Maybe.
But something in Eden Lachey’s pale blue eyes haunted me. There was a hidden vulnerability that desperately wanted to be needed and needed to be wanted. She floated without belonging—one impulsive act away from self-destruction—and not giving a damn one way or another. She silently screamed for salvation and craved isolation.
She frustrated the shit out of me. Because she was me.
I had to live this way. My life had no choices, but I’d fuck some sense into Eden if it was the last thing I did. Either that, or I’d be the cleanest motherfucker in Houston from living in my goddamn shower.
Scrubbing my face again, I let out a frustrated growl, shaking my head to focus on the problem currently screwing up the pipeline of my organization. Checking my phone, I verified no missed calls from Mateo. It was only a matter of time before the Columbians sent a collector for the eleven million I owed them. With the lost shipment, I had no product to move to compensate for the trade.
Fucked didn’t begin to describe my situation.
The whole operation reeked of Muñoz involvement, but I couldn’t figure out how they’d pulled it off with so many government officials on my payroll. They had a presence in Houston, but nowhere near the reach and infiltration the Carreras had for years. Something else had to factor in. I just needed to find it.
And where the fuck did Nash and Eden Lachey fit into all of this? They should’ve been insignificant to someone like Manuel Muñoz.
Unless Mateo’s theory proved to be right, and a mole had infiltrated my cartel.
The thought sent a sharp haze of red across my vision. I picked up the nearest object on my desk, which just happened to be a coffee mug, and hurled it against the closed office door.
“Fuck!” I’d just reached for my laptop when my phone vibrated. Anxious for an update from Mateo, I accepted the call without hesitation. “You’d better have good news.”
“It depends, son. Is the puta still in your possession?”
I grew up hearing the man’s rapid-fire Spanish barked in harsh commands to everyone from my mother to high ranking soldiers. However, the moment his broken English slithered through the phone, attempting to sound worldly and refined, I found the revolt in my throat almost palpable.
“I know you didn’t cut your happy ending short to ask me that, did you, Alejandro?”
His low chuckle unsettled me. “You get one, Valentin. Another disrespectful comment will cost you a lieutenant. You’re fond of this Mateo Cortes, yes?”
I remained silent. Responding would only jeopardize my crew and my friend. One-upping my father wasn’t worth the risk. Mateo was the closest thing I had to a friend, and in this business, loyalty wasn’t to be taken lightly.
Alejandro took my silence as compliance. “This woman, Valentin…she weakens you.”
“I’m handling her.”
“How? By shielding a cunt while Muñoz bullets hit your men?”
“Don’t call her that.” I gripped the phone, slamming my fist onto the desk with the other as I cursed myself for letting him provoke me into reacting.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk, Valentin. You fucked this woman, didn’t you?”
I had to think fast. The moment Alejandro Carrera knew Eden mattered to me, she’d be a marked target. The words boiled like acid on my tongue as I choked them out. “I wanted it, so I took it.”
His laugh of approval chipped awa
y at my soul. “Bien! This woman…she fought you, yes?”
I pulled at my collar, jerking three buttons loose to breathe as I lied. “Yes, Father.”
“My boy.” The sense of pride in his voice swirled the coffee in my stomach and threatened to bring it back up. “Now, kill her.”
I didn’t cry out or protest. I wouldn’t give my father the satisfaction of my begging. On some level, my subconscious expected the words to come as almost a natural progression of his pride in Eden’s fictional rape. I was literally the son of a sick bastard.
Instead, I placated him as my mind raced a hundred miles an hour crafting different plausible plans to keep her safe. “Fine, Father. But I need you to find out why the Muñoz intel seems to be always ten steps ahead of me, and why they’re so interested in her. Before I take care of her, I need to know how she fits into their plan. Somehow, she’s the key to their sabotage.”
I had no clue what I was saying, but hopefully it bought me enough time to figure it out.
Quiet for what seemed like a lifetime, Alejandro sighed low to show his annoyance. “Very well. Gerardo will see what he can find out.”
“Thanks, Father, I—”
“But, Valentin, there are no promises. I’ll put my top man on this, but whether he finds information or not…the puta has forty-eight hours.”
Before I could respond, the line went dead. As with most conversations with Alejandro Carrera, the last word always began and ended on his terms.
Forty-eight hours.
Grabbing the phone again, I dialed Mateo.
I hoped it was enough to buy a miracle.
* * *
Standing outside the safe house, the gun weighed heavy in my palm as I watched her through the window. Helpless and weak, she lay exactly where I left her six hours earlier on the bed, shackled with a defeated look painted across her gorgeous face.
Up until now, my life held no confusion. I counted clarity among one of my many virtues, knowing exactly who I was and which side of the law my foot was planted on. Gray areas didn’t exist in my world.
Until her.
Flipping the cold metal over and over in my palm, sweat gathered on my brow as her worn tank top shifted and rode up her ribcage. Indecisiveness festered in that gray area the moment Eden Lachey crashed into my life. Clarity ceased to exist, and the cut-and-dried life of a criminal wasn’t as easily separated from a conscience I thought I’d long since abandoned.
Fuck, why didn’t she pull that tank top down?
I closed my fingers around the gun. Alejandro’s voice echoed in my head.
Forty-eight hours.
My father’s orders were never disobeyed. The moment the Mexico contingent of the Carrera Cartel came after Eden, her death would be slow and torturous. They’d violate her in ways that forced crimson streaks across my vision.
If Mateo gave her a loaded injection of M99, she’d peacefully fall asleep within seconds. There’d be no pain—only eternal rest. I’d make sure above all else, no one would take her dignity from her.
What the hell?
Stumbling backward, I fought a wave of nausea that barreled up my chest. Pressing the hand holding the gun against my lips, I puffed out my cheeks, willing the impending dry heaves back down my throat.
I’m a monster.
Did I seriously just contemplate poisoning Eden because it was the humane thing to do?
Unlocking the front door, I pushed my way inside, angry at the world for mind-fucking me. The moment I reached Eden, she sat up, her eyes wide with dark circles lining the bottom. Leaning over with purpose, I tightened my grip around the metal in my hand, knowing I didn’t need forty-eight hours to make this call.
It was going on four days I’d kept her locked up. No one should have to endure that. My father was right. This ended now.
Capturing her wrist, I avoided her stare, as I pinched the metal and extended my arm in front of me. She gasped as one strangled word whispered past her dry lips. “Val...”
“It’s time, Cereza.” With a heavy heart, I inserted the key and unlocked the cuff. The metal clanked against the bedframe as it fell off her wrist and disappeared behind the mattress. We both stared at it, lips tight, the moment taking both of us by surprise. Finally, with no purpose for it, I let the key fall from my fingers and bounce on the floor. “I’m going to check on the stash houses. I’ll be back in a few hours. You can go where you want.”
Unable to take her incessant staring, I swallowed and reached for the door. Before I could turn the knob, she scrambled off the mattress, holding onto my wrist with both hands.
“Eden…” I closed my eyes, willing her to stop this game we’d been playing.
“Val…” Her voice broke, betraying a vulnerability I didn’t expect. “Before you came back, I had a dream that you didn’t…” She paused, her throat working hard to form the words. “I woke up, and no one was here. I was scared. It seemed so real.”
“You’ve been through a lot; that’s going to happen.” I hated how cold my voice sounded, but I had to start distancing myself from her. It wasn’t safe for either one of us to become attached.
A flash of irritation crossed her face. “No, jackass, it wasn’t about me.” As quickly as her anger rose, it faded, the memory shaking her confidence again. “I’m worried about you.”
“Don’t worry about me, Cereza.” A genuine smile crossed my lips. “I’ve been doing this for a lot longer than you. I’ve got a few of my nine lives left.”
Contemplating my dismissal with a scowl, Eden furiously rubbed her forefinger and thumb across the pendant hanging around her neck. Raising a questioning brow, I glanced down at the strong hold she continued to have on my wrist. Still in deep thought, she sighed, releasing my arm and taking a few steps backward, a worried line cresting in the middle of her forehead. Giving her an obligatory nod, I turned once more toward the door.
“Hey, Danger…”
Glancing over my shoulder, I watched as, in a rash moment, Eden slipped the medallion off her neck and pressed it into the palm of my hand.
“Eden…no.”
She shook her head stubbornly. “Take it. It’s for luck. It’ll protect you.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Like it protected you?”
“We’re still alive, aren’t we?” she said, throwing my own words back at me. “Besides,” she lowered her eyes, a smile playing on the corner of her mouth, “it hasn’t been all bad.”
Before I knew I’d moved, I crushed her against me, dragging my lips across her jaw. Closing my eyes, I inhaled the familiar scent of her skin. Fusing our mouths together, I drank from her lips like a starving man. The woman had a way of being my verbal undoing.
And goddamn it, I was keeping her.
I kissed her once more and raked the pad of my thumb over her bottom lip. “I’m coming back tonight. This isn’t over.”
One corner of her mouth curled in a knowing smirk as she walked backward toward the bathroom. “I don’t suppose you have anything I could change into while you’re gone, do you?”
I never turned around as I closed the door behind me. “Why would I do that?”
* * *
“What do you mean the truck never made it?”
The flannel clad warehouse guard shrugged, stopping to take a long drag off his cigarette before answering. “I mean it never made it. It was scheduled to come in off Highway 59 from Victoria, when it just went away.” He waved his hands in the air to simulate evaporating smoke.
I pinched the bridge of my nose, attempting to keep myself from reaching into my waistband and pumping an entire round into this asshole. “Eighteen-wheelers don’t just vanish, Enrique. It’s kind of fucking hard to get rid of an entire truck bed of shark bellies stuffed with cocaine. It’s not exactly underpass transfer cargo.”
He blew another smoke ring before stomping the butt out at the entrance to the stash house. “Don’t know what to tell you. No truck, no coke. You can search the place if you want.”
<
br /> “Odio mi vida!” Fuck my life! Pissed at the second missing Columbian shipment in the past two days, I pulled my fist back and coldcocked the guy in the side of the face.
Knocked into the corner of the stash house, Enrique grabbed his face, wisely choosing not to retaliate. “Jesus, man, what the hell was that for?”
Shaking my fist, I swore as my knuckles throbbed. “For being a useless asshole. You’re lucky I don’t blow your dick off and make you smoke it.”
Muttering to himself, he quickly made his way back inside and closed the door, intermittently glancing in between the blinds to see if I’d left. Just to be a dick, I stood around, sizing up the property, wondering what possibly could’ve gone wrong.
Only one word made sense. Muñoz. The root of all things fucked.
Shit with Manuel Muñoz was escalating, and interference of this magnitude called for a face-to-face meeting. Resigned to what had to be done, I reached for my phone. Instead, my fingers pulled a long chain from my pocket, attached to a small medallion with a porcelain top. Running my thumb over the smooth face, I studied the design. It depicted a scene of St. Michael attacking and defeating the fallen enemy torn. Surrounding the image were written the words:
O St. Michael, give us your strength
To defeat our fears
And rise to any challenge
She’d given me a medallion for protection. The irony wasn’t lost on me.
Here I stood, rubbing the image of an archangel, asking it to give protection to a murderer doomed to hell. On a whim, I brought it to my lips and kissed the smooth finish. No one had ever given me blind faith. I had no idea what to do with it.
Standing outside the warehouse alone, I could be honest with myself. She’d gotten to me a little. Fine. Fuck, she’d turned me inside out. I recognized the darkness inside her, and it called to me. Maybe it was wrong to fan the flame, but I couldn’t stop myself. It didn’t take much for her to transform from a tragic victim who begged for her release, to a cunning warrior, free falling into a world she knew nothing about, yet craved.
Blurred Red Lines: A Carrera Cartel Novel Page 13
