Blurred Red Lines: A Carrera Cartel Novel

by Kenborn, Cora

  If we burned…now we burned together.

  Swinging the medallion around my neck, I glanced at my watch and sighed. Ten-forty-seven p.m. It’d been a long drive to Corpus Christi, and it’d be a long drive back to Houston.

  And there was still unfinished business waiting for me at the safe house.

  Smiling to myself, I shook my head at the empty stash house and turned toward my Lexus. Lost in thought, I’d just reached for my keys when the ground shook beneath my feet and an explosion lit up the night sky, knocking me airborne.

  I remembered feeling weightless before a searing pain crushed my skull and silence echoed into a dark hum of nothing.

  Chapter Eighteen

  EDEN

  Mateo and Emilio sat at the small, wooden kitchen table, huddled together well after midnight. Their brows alternately raised and lowered as they talked in hushed tones. Occasionally, they’d glance over at me. Whether it was out of suspicion or concern, I had no idea, and, honestly, I didn’t give a shit. My mind raced, trying to catch every third word that passed between them.

  Mateo’s hand brushed his mouth, as his other palmed his long dark hair. “Crew…there…now.”

  “Flames? Any survivors?” Emilio shifted positions, still holding his bandaged ribcage.

  It didn’t take a genius to figure out their conversation. Only one person’s whereabouts would have their phones ringing off the hook and hands scrubbing their faces every ten seconds.

  Val.

  My eyes closed, attempting to block out what had been unfolding. As they whispered, I paced, absent-mindedly rubbing the tender ring around my wrist where the handcuff used to rest against my skin. A war raged inside of me, and with every stride across thread-bare carpet, I chewed my nails to slivers.

  Out of nowhere, a horrifying thought gut punched me. “You think he’s dead.”

  Mateo raised an eyebrow, taking in my hardened stare. “We didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t have to.”

  A tightened squeeze on his phone was his only response as he lowered his eyes.

  From what I’d gathered in eavesdropping from my curled-up seat on the couch, a neighboring textile factory called in an explosion to the Corpus Christi Fire Department concerning an abandoned warehouse five miles off Highway 59. Mateo got the call from one of his crew members two hours ago, causing chaos to erupt at the safe house.

  Within minutes, Emilio arrived and men came in and out, all eyeing me up like I was some kind of black widow.

  Maybe I was.

  If the rumors were true about Val, the last two men I remotely had any sort of relationship with had been murdered. I’d never recover from losing Nash. The memory of being in that kitchen would haunt me until my last breath, but the thought of Val walking into an explosion forced a reaction out of me I didn’t expect.

  He’d made me his prisoner. He indirectly had a hand in my brother’s death. Yet, I found myself clawing at my neck for my St. Michael medallion, offering up a prayer for his protection. Of course, my fingers scraped nothing but bare skin.

  “Hey, Danger…”

  “Eden…no.”

  “Take it. It’s for luck. It’ll protect you.”

  “Like it protected you?”

  “We’re still alive, aren’t we?”

  I just hoped it’d done its job. With Nash gone, and my father on the run, I realized the man who’d initially held me against my will had become all I had left. Whether morally right or wrong, I needed him. I didn’t give a shit what anyone else thought. I never did.

  Mateo’s phone rang again, knocking me out of my introspective revelation.

  “To the ground?” The lines in his forehead deepened. “How many bodies?”

  Reality slapped me cold in the face. “Bodies?” Running to the table, I braced my palms against the edge. “Whose bodies? How many?”

  Mateo dismissed me with a wave. “How long before the medical examiner can identify?” With a slow shake of his head, he sat back in the chair and raked a hand over his sparse goatee. “Send extra men and call me the minute you find anything. Search the car, search the area…fuck, search within a ten-mile radius.” Ending the call, he cursed under his breath.

  “Is he dead?”

  A deeper voice called out to me. “Sit down, Eden.”

  Panic shifted my attention toward Emilio. “What do you know?”

  “Don’t stick your nose into business you know nothing about, Eden O’Dell,” he bit out, refusing to look at me.

  “Lachey.”

  “Whatever.”

  It took me half a second to lose my shit.

  Nine days of physical restraint, fear, and hunger strikes simultaneously set me off. Pushing off the table, I lunged at him, my fists curling into his dirty white button-up shirt as I shoved my nose against his in a bold move.

  “My last name is Lachey. You remember it, don’t you, boss? You said it enough when you beat the shit out of my brother.” Bottled up anger and grief exploded into an uncontrollable verbal tirade.

  Val explained that their rival cartel orchestrated Nash’s execution, and for some fucked-up reason, I believed him. Emilio didn’t kill my family, but when I didn’t know if the man I needed more than I cared to admit was alive or dead, rationality wasn’t a high priority.

  Emilio’s eyes widened. “Get the hell off me, you crazy bitch!”

  “Wrong answer.” Letting go of his shirt, I slapped him hard across the face.

  “Eden!” Mateo called my name as Emilio blinked rapidly—frozen—as if he literally couldn’t process the concept a female had just assaulted him.

  Fuck, that felt good.

  I took a swing at Mateo and he caught my fist midair, curling his fingers around its momentum.

  “Tell me what happened, goddamn it!” I screamed, struggling against his hold.

  “We don’t know! A bomb went off at the stash house, leveling everything. The building is gone. A few beams are standing, that’s all. We don’t know if he was inside or not. All we know is his car was there, and it’s fucking barbecued.” Grunting, he grabbed my other hand as I fought against him. “Jesus, will you calm the hell down? Why do you even care?”

  “I don’t!”

  “Could’ve fooled me. You’re acting like a destroyed lover.”

  “Piss off, Mateo.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “What’s with you and Val? He’s never given two shits about witnesses before. The man is cold as fuck. Who are you?” Without warning, he jerked me to his chest, his breath fanning my cheek. “Are you working for the Muñoz family?”

  I pushed my forearms against him, digging my elbows into his sternum. “What? No! Get off me, Mateo. What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “He’s got a point,” Emilio offered with a raised brow as he leaned against the table, his face darkening. “You conveniently get a job at my bar under an expired name, somehow escape a Muñoz hit, end up our prisoner—live better than our men, I might add—and the boss refuses to let anyone get near you but him.” A sneer coated his weathered face. “Either you’ve got a magic cunt or you’re a Muñoz pump.”

  The room organized against me in a move I never saw coming.

  Me? Muñoz? They had to be kidding. Still, their leader and friend was missing and, for all they knew, presumed dead. Clear thinking didn’t seem to be taking precedence now.

  I’d unknowingly become the third contestant in the Blame Game, and the two main contestants played rough and dirty.

  Well, game on.

  Dipping my chin, I bit down hard on Mateo’s left wrist. Cursing at a deafening level, he released his hold and stumbled backward. “You fucking bit me!”

  “Don’t call me a cunt. Ever.”

  Shoving a finger past my face, he pointed toward Emilio. “I didn’t! He did. Christ, you’re insane, you know that?”

  “I’m not a Muñoz anything. I’m a miserable bartender whose life got ripped out from under her by your cartel bullshit.” I resumed
pacing, as if I hadn’t just turned Rottweiler on a drug runner. “I thought my life was shitty before. God, it was a goddamn Hallmark card compared to this. So, my husband stuck his dick in my best friend, and my father blew all our money on coke…sucks, right? Right. But this?” I threw my arms out, indicating the insanity of the situation. “This elevates suck to a whole new realm. This is…this is suck, blow, and swallow. This is a whole face fuck of fuck.”

  I had no clue what spewed out of my mouth. Fear for Val and rage toward their accusations, afflicted me with a sudden case of panic-laden Tourette’s.

  “Look, let’s just all calm down, all right?” Mateo sighed, running his hand under the faucet. “My men will call back with an update, and then we can decide what to do.”

  I shot him a look. “What to do? Don’t you mean, ‘what to do with the pain in the ass, rabid bitch’?”

  I had a million and one questions, and even more smartass remarks to back them up, but an impending breakdown shut me up. My nerves had fried to a crisp, and I’d worn a hole in the carpet with over four hours of pacing. Honestly, I had no clue why either of them didn’t just cuff me back to the bed and be done with it.

  I would’ve.

  I’d just shoved my fingers back in my mouth—going for round seventeen on what was left of my nails—when I heard the lock turn. If a sound existed of breath lodging in one’s own throat, it exploded in my ears.

  No one moved, as all eyes focused on the doorknob. My heart pounded so hard I could see the thin fabric of Val’s black button-up shirt vibrate against my chest.

  I had a fingernail sandwiched in between my teeth as the door opened.

  The minute he stepped through it, all the air in the room seemed to suck out with the momentum of his steps, choking the breath out of me. He paused in the entryway, our eyes connecting with a ferocity that almost knocked me off my feet.

  He was dirty—filthy, actually—covered in soot and ash. His pants leg flapped open, torn up the side with a jagged rip. Blood poured down his tanned leg as well as both exposed arms. His t-shirt had burn marks, stained with the same scarlet patches as his limbs. The always-perfectly-styled midnight black hair fell shaggily over his ears and forehead. Cuts and gashes marred his perfect face, his bottom lip sliced at the corner, and a trickle of dried blood trailed from his right ear.

  He was fucked up, but he was alive.

  And we all stared at him as if a ghost walked straight through the front door.

  Chapter Nineteen

  EDEN

  I opened my mouth, but no words came. In the distance, I vaguely recognized Mateo calling his name, demanding to know what had happened and that he see doctor. However, the noise faded into the background as his lips parted, and a labored breath fell from his chest.

  The relief I felt scared me.

  I’d always shook my head at the concept of Stockholm Syndrome. Who the hell could fall for someone who’d kidnapped and kept them prisoner from their friends and family? Those women were weak and stupid.

  I rationalized that this wasn’t Stockholm. Val had uncuffed me and walked out. I could’ve escaped. Why didn’t I?

  Weak and stupid…party-of-one, your table is now available.

  Obsession was a nasty little word.

  I’d been obsessed with being who Davis always expected me to be, no matter how much it went against everything I believed. I swore after our divorce, I’d never allow myself to fall that deep under someone’s control again.

  “Val…” Before I knew it, I’d cleared the room. Flinging myself into his arms, I wound my hands around his neck, desperate to reassure myself he was real, and that I wasn’t imagining him out of desperation.

  As I clung to him, he stiffened, his eyes trained across the room. Eventually, he dusted a hand across my lower back, giving it a light pat.

  A pat? He freaking patted me like an obedient puppy?

  Slowly releasing him, I swallowed hard, my face flaming with embarrassment. Risking a glance up at his face, something shattered inside as I took in his tightened jaw, cold eyes, and emotionless expression.

  How could I have been so wrong?

  Backing up as if he were fire, and I’d just blistered a finger, I suddenly wished for my own clothes and a blanket. The inherent chill in the room froze the life out of me, and I folded my arms across my chest in self-preservation mode. I had no clue what I hoped to accomplish with it now. I’d already tipped my hand.

  “You look like shit.”

  There we go. Change the tide with flattery.

  “Long day.” With a quick nod of acknowledgement, he moved stiffly toward the kitchen table. “What do we know?”

  A flicker of emotion clouded Mateo’s face before official business wiped it clean. “Waiting for a report now, but it looks like a bomb. How about you tell us?”

  “Hell, if I know,” he said, palming the back of his neck and wincing. “One minute I was threatening to blow Enrique’s dick off, the next I was eating asphalt. I blacked out and woke up three hundred feet away from my car…or what the hell was left of it, anyway. Two steps to the left and I’d probably fit in a Ziploc sandwich bag right now.” His laugh came off dry as he eased himself onto the chair next to Emilio. “One of your men gave me a ride. I think it’s a given where this is coming from. It’s the second shipment in days to not make it to a stash house.”

  Emilio sat up, his hand still pressed to his side. “You’re shitting me? Another Columbian drop is gone?”

  Val nodded, his eyes glazed and tired. “I don’t know how those assholes are getting inside information. They seem to know exactly when and where the drops are going to be made, and not only that, how the hell did they know I’d be in Corpus Christi tonight? For that matter, how’d they find the other safe house?” He glanced at Mateo. “Did you search for a leak?”

  “Everyone checks out, boss. Every lieutenant went to extremes too.” Mateo shot a glance at me before lowering his voice. “They went old country persuasion, if you get what I’m saying.”

  I got exactly what he was saying. You didn’t live in Houston your whole life without knowing a little drug cartel folklore. They were as much of an urban legend as Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy. Except, these legends didn’t just come down your chimney and take your teeth. They also took your family and life, splattering both across all four walls of your bedroom.

  Old country persuasion meant the soldiers under each lieutenant most likely had a family member on their knees with a gun to the back of the head as incentive.

  Nothing prompted action quicker than watching your flesh and blood die.

  I knew that first hand.

  “What about outsider infiltration, boss?” Emilio mumbled with a sharp side-eye in my direction.

  I held my breath. I could hold my own with Dumb and Dumber; however, as confusing as my feelings were for him, Val Carrera was a volatile man. By the way he shoved me aside like an outgrown pair of shoes moments before, that much was clear. If his lieutenants convinced him I’d somehow betrayed him, the consequences could be deadly.

  Val caught my eye and held it far too long for my liking. “Impossible. I screen all outsiders personally. No one has access to that information.” He shook his head, effectively dismissing their suggestion. “From now on, no phone conversations about anything, am I understood?”

  “Yes, boss.” Both men agreed.

  “We communicate in person or not at all. No one gets shipment details but the three of us, or any details of my location. The next attack won’t be a close call. It’ll be an exact hit from either a Muñoz or a Columbian bullet.” A strange look crossed Val’s face as he directed a stare at Mateo. “If they succeed, by two witness rule, you’re to take control of this cartel.”

  Mateo’s eyes widened with dark undertones. “Boss, that’s not going to happen—”

  “Yes, or no, Mateo? Do you accept, or do I need to find someone who can make a decision?”

  Evidently, rank presided over friendshi
p in cartel warfare.

  “Si.”

  “Bien.” Seemingly overpowered by sudden fatigue, Val rose from his chair and nodded to the two men. “That’ll be all.”

  “But, boss,” Emilio protested, gesturing to his bloody limbs. “You need to see the doc.”

  The doc? Who the hell was the doc? Did they have their own?

  Must be the shithead vet with the endless supply of M99.

  “Yes, Emilio, I realize that,” he commented, glancing at his tattered clothing. “But not today. It’s got to be close to four o’clock in the goddamn morning, and I’m exhausted. It’s nothing that can’t be tended to in a few hours.”

  “Boss…”

  “Now!”

  With a dip of their chins, both men rose from the table, and keeping their heads down, exited through the front door without another word.

  Interesting.

  I would’ve fought harder for him to see the doc.

  Of course, after the cold shoulder and brush-off I got at the door, I was hardly in any position to push for a ‘how do you do,’ much less demand medical attention for a drug lord.

  “Well, glad to see you’re alive and in one piece.” Antsy and awkward, I rubbed my damp palms down my legs. Risking a glance up, I caught Val eyeing my bare thigh.

  In a bold move, I’d showered in his bathroom. Stealing his razor, I’d attempted to get rid of the small forest that had grown on my legs during my imprisonment. Rummaging through his bag, I chose a pair of black boxers, rolled down until they hung low on my hips, and a black button-down shirt that smelled of his cologne.

  As pissed as I was right now, I’d kill for a parka and a poncho.

  “Are you?”

  “What kind of question is that? You think I want you dead?”

  “Not many people would blame you.” Pinning me with a deadly stare, he grunted as he reached behind him and grasped his t-shirt, pulling it over his head in one swift jerk.