“Boss?”
Bile rose in my throat as fear conjured my mother’s screams from a place in my mind I never allowed myself to revisit. Eventually, her voice became Eden’s, and I had to forcefully swallow vomit.
“They have Eden.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
EDEN
The gun shook as I pressed two fingers against Joaquin’s neck.
Dead.
The bartender from Houston in me wanted to scream and cry as I stood over the young man whose throat had been slit. His only crime was protecting me.
However, the kidnapped woman in me, who’d lived through my brother’s execution, endless days of captivity, shootings, bombings, and a volatile affair with the drug lord who arranged it all, shut my fucking mouth and took his gun.
I had no clue what happened inside the house, but common sense told me it had Muñoz written all over it. No civilian would have the balls to set foot on Carrera grounds, much less touch one of their men.
Pressed up against a corner wall, my breath came hard and heavy. Sweat rolled down my temples, and I forced myself to calm down enough to think when the realization hit me.
I was completely alone.
Joaquin was dead, Val and Mateo were God knew where, and I’d crossed the border into a nightmare.
“Eden Lachey…”
Squeezing my eyes shut, I crossed my arms against my chest with a gun in each hand and a layer of sweat building between the grips and my palms. The thick accent snarled with contempt as heavy footsteps moved around the living room.
“Come out, Eden Lachey. The longer you make me chase you, the worse it’s going to be for you.”
Stifling a scream, I pushed myself farther into the wall. As the footsteps moved closer, I opened my eyes and scanned the alcove for an escape route. Near panicking, I finally located a cracked door that led to a pantry the size of my dad’s entire house. I’d run into it earlier in a self-guided tour of the estate.
Five hundred feet was all that stood between life and death.
I was prey, hunted in a fatal game of cat and mouse.
I wonder if this is what Nash felt like before he died?
Leaving the security of my dark alcove scared the shit out of me, but logic told me I was seconds away from being found. Needing a free hand, I shoved my gun back into my thigh holster and held the grip of Joaquin’s with a sweaty grasp. Giving the Santa Muerte pendant a rub for good luck, I counted to three and pushed off the wall. My chest burned as I ran like hell toward the door, keeping a straight-line focus with a prayer on my lips.
With no footsteps behind me, my heart beat wild with adrenaline.
Holy shit, I’m going to make it.
Just as my fingers closed around the corners of the open door, my phone rang.
The phone I’d left in the pantry down the steps in front of me rang loud and repeatedly.
No!
Rapid footsteps pounded behind me.
Tearing the door open, I took one step when a rough hand grabbed me by the hair and jerked me backward until I lost my footing and tumbled against a hard chest. Terror shot through me, and I managed one scream before a dirty and calloused hand clamped hard against my mouth. Out of nowhere, his other hand ripped the gun from my hands the moment I took aim.
“Going somewhere?”
When Emilio took me outside my father’s house, it was from behind. I never saw it coming and was unprepared for the attack. I never had a chance to defend myself or fight back.
If death came for me tonight, it’d be with blood under my nails.
Opening wide, I bit down as hard as I could on his fingers, immediately tasting blood on my tongue. Yelling loud, he shook his mangled hand, as droplets of blood splattered across the white walls. Seizing the opportunity, I quickly turned around and raised a knee, grazing the side of his nuts. It was enough to double him over and draw out a tortured groan.
With no time to wipe errant tears, I took the pantry stairs three at a time, praying I didn’t stumble and fall. Part of me wanted to stop and look for the incessantly ringing phone to call Val, but I knew there wasn’t time. Once my eyes landed on the door leading to the courtyard, I broke into an all-out sprint.
Almost.
Every Thanksgiving, Nash would invite his buddies over to play tackle football after dinner. Every year, I’d beg him to let me play. Every year he’d give me the same answer.
“No, Edie. You’re too breakable. Girls don’t play rough sports like this.”
The year I turned sixteen, I’d had enough. Dressed in my sluttiest outfit, I talked Nick Tunstall into letting me play on his team, in exchange for letting him see my boobs. It wasn’t my proudest moment, but I had a point to make. I rationalized that the ends justified the means.
Nash had been half-right. It wasn’t that girls couldn’t play football; it was that they didn’t play with huge, two-hundred pound men. The first hit I took felt like what I imaged hitting a concrete wall at two-hundred miles per hour would feel like.
That tackle felt like a massage compared to a direct hit from a Muñoz henchman.
Catching me around the waist, the impact threw us both into the door. With his momentum behind me, I hit first, my chin smacking against the glass as it shattered. I didn’t hesitate to turn, kicking my legs wildly in the air and searching out any part of his body to connect to.
“Stupid bitch!” With a roar, he swung his arm out and backhanded me across the cheek. The impact sent me sprawling against the door again. This time, the back of my skull connected with the glass with a sickening thud. As blurry vision clouded my line of sight, nausea crawled up my throat.
I’m going to die right here.
Clawing at my own leg, I blindly reached for my last hope. My fingers brushed the leather as he braced his forearm against my chest and pinned my arms in place. His gun settled against my temple and smiling a wicked grin, he cocked his finger. Shutting my eyes tight, I held my breath as he pulled the trigger.
Silence.
His grin widened. “Oops. No bullet in that chamber.”
Tears rolled down my face as clarity came to me full force.
All the times I begged Val to kill me, I didn’t want to die.
Readjusting his hold on the gun, the man with dead eyes and a thin mustache pressed harder against my chest. “I have a surprise for you, Eden Lachey. We’re going on a trip…one that’ll lead the rat to the cheese.”
“A trip?” I croaked the words roughly, my voice hoarse from screaming. Before he could answer, the meaning of his words hit me.
They were setting a trap for Val.
“You’re wrong,” I swore, shaking my head as much as I could under the pressure of the gun. “Valentin Carrera doesn’t give a shit about me.”
Laughing, he adjusted his hold on the gun once more. “Nice try, bitch.”
With brutality I’d never experienced in my life, he pistol-whipped me until I blacked out.
* * *
Gasoline.
The stench of petroleum filled my nose way before sound did. It burned my throat and coated my stomach with a scent I could taste. Low conversation from above my head buzzed in my ear. The words sounded clipped and garbled as if I were in an alternate universe.
They were different. They were unrecognizable. They were Spanish.
Immediately, my body stiffened, and a searing pain shot from the base of my skull to the top of my head. Something inside of me warned my eyes not to open. It didn’t matter if they listened or not, because they felt glued shut.
My wrists hurt with a familiar ache that reminded me of my arm being shackled to a metal bedframe. With concerted effort, my brain instructed my arms to move, only to be met with resistance.
Understanding the reason I couldn’t move my limbs took too much effort to care.
Everything seemed to move in slow motion, swimming underwater and against a strong current. Wherever I was, we were moving. With every jerk and jostle, I felt myself bei
ng transported from one place to another.
Soon, a loud rumble roared in my ears, followed by the sensation of going up…up…up…
Then, complete weightlessness.
I should’ve fought to wake up and look for landmarks. With all the transporting, I needed to remember useful information to give my location to someone who could help me.
But the harder I fought to open my eyes, the deeper I sank to the bottom of the ocean, the murky water closing in on me as the darkness claimed me once more.
* * *
“Wake up, you Carrera puta. It’s time to get on your knees. Surely, you’re used to it by now.”
Strong hands dug into my upper arms and dragged me across rough flooring. Bright light shone in my eyes, first forcing them open, then immediately commanding them closed.
My head.
Where the hell did they take me?
“Where…” Licking my lips, I tasted blood as they cracked and split from tension and dehydration. “What time is it? Where are we?”
“We’re going on a boat ride, now shut up and walk.”
The light extinguished, shrouding everything in an ominous cloud of darkness.
The hell I was going anywhere with these people. Digging my heels in the soft sod, my sudden movement caused a couple of them to stumble. Curses flew and another blow landed across my face. A new man grabbed my hair and dragged me across a river bed. The soft slosh of small waves crashing against the bank greeted us as my eyes landed on a small yellow blow-up raft.
“Oh, hell, no.” Digging my heels in again, I shook my head violently. “I’m not getting in that thing. We’ll sink.”
Rough hands twisted in my hair, jerking it backward until I stared perpendicular to the night sky. “The only thing that’ll sink is you when I shove this gun down your throat and throw you in the river. Now get in the fucking boat!”
As I stepped into the raft, a hard shove from behind had me sprawling face first onto the bottom. With my hands still bound behind me, I had nothing to break my fall but my already bruised jaw. Blood filled my mouth again, the taste almost becoming comforting.
At least I knew I was still alive.
Two men climbed in after me, and the rest pushed the boat away from the embankment. As the current took us away from civilization, Val and Nash entered my mind.
Regardless of what happened, I knew I’d see one of them soon. Which one depended on what happened in the next few hours.
Chapter Thirty
VAL
The car had barely broken twenty miles per hour heading up the driveway to the estate when I couldn’t take it anymore. Throwing the door open, I tumbled out, hitting the concrete with a jarring force that rattled my brain.
Once I caught my breath and got my footing, I took off on a full run toward the house. I knew Mateo called my name a few times, watching the movement of his mouth from my peripheral vision as he parked the car, but it didn’t matter. The roar in my head took up all the space reserved for sound.
I reached the front door and prepared to kick it down, when I noticed it standing halfway open.
They’re already inside.
Pulling my gun, I called her name the safest way I knew how. “Cereza? Where are the cans, baby? I can’t see the posts, so you need to tell me.” I waited for a response, listening for any signs of movement. “Cereza?”
Farther into the house, a metallic smell hit my nose, sending a violent chill up my spine.
No.
Out of the corner of my eye, a body lay on the floor swimming in so much blood, there couldn’t have been any left inside of it. Instinctively, I closed my eyes, willing it not to be Eden. The moment I opened them and saw the militant style black pants and heavy black boots, I let out a sigh of relief, then felt like a shit for being happy about the death of one of my men.
But between one of my men and Eden, I’d choose death for my men over and over.
Leaning over him, I recognized Joaquin Salazar. Barely an adult, the loyal member of my father’s personal team had proved his honor and willingness to protect our cartel with his life. It was the whole reason Mateo chose him to stay with Eden.
If a man like that had been gutted like a fish, what the hell had they done to a woman who’d been at the center of an international drug war?
“Manuel Muñoz has probably slit her from throat to pussy by now.”
Within seconds, Mateo appeared by my side, gun in hand. “I’ve searched the upper floors and the pantry, boss. They’re not here.”
“Where the fuck is she?” Conflicting emotions raged through me: relief at not finding her lying in a pool of blood and fear at what was happening to her at the hands of Manuel Muñoz.
“I don’t know where they are, but come with me. I think I know how it went down.”
Moments later, Mateo led me down into the cook’s pantry. Shattered glass on the panes of the door indicated multiple locations of impact. They were too small to belong to a man. Blood splatter across the walls and the floor indicated a hard-fought struggle.
Sudden pride filled my hollow chest. She didn’t go quietly or shaking with fear. Eden fought like a hellcat with everything she had inside her.
That’s my girl.
Bending down, I traced a smear of blood that beaded on the cold tile floor. Somehow, I knew it was hers. Rubbing it between my fingers I brought my index finger to the left side of my white button down shirt and drew an ‘x’ over the muscle. Glancing down, the red from my fingers soaked into the white thread, staining the tiny lines a deep crimson color.
X marks the spot.
Cross my heart and hope to die.
Imprinted in blood.
Eden Lachey had branded her name on my heart and her soul in my blood for the rest of my life. However long that life lasted depended on the shape I found her in.
* * *
Mateo hadn’t said a word when I refused to leave the pantry. Leaving momentarily, he climbed the stairs, retrieving his phone, and a few more guns. While out of sight, he’d called for a cleaner to remove Joaquin’s body from the estate.
For the first time in a long time, a stab of remorse slashed a hole in the heart I couldn’t believe still existed. Maybe it stemmed from the fact that Joaquin Salazar didn’t hesitate to shift his alliance to me the minute I stepped off the plane in Mexico City. Maybe it came from his willingness to protect Eden with his life without any question.
Or maybe, the woman in question had managed to stitch together what had been destroyed for a lifetime.
When I first saw her, I thought Eden had been sent to save my soul. Losing her made me realize why I’d pushed her away. I was drowning in her, and she’d suffocate beside me. For the first time in my life, I’d put someone else’s needs first and tried to do the right thing. Eden was no angel, but she was the closest I’d ever get to heaven. Marking her and caging her light had made me hate myself to the point of letting her go.
As her blood dried on my fingertip, I realized how blind I’d been. Eden Lachey had marked me long before I touched her. She’d branded me more than any tattoo and cut deeper than any blade ever had. She calmed my killer’s soul and had become the bandage to a lifetime of chaos. The minute they took the woman I loved, chaos would be all they’d breathe until I had her back in my arms.
Regardless, I instructed Mateo to have Joaquin buried properly, instead of our usual destroy and dispose method. Eden would have my ass if she found out I’d done anything to the contrary.
I’d take whatever she had to dish out, just to hear it in person.
Two hours later, I still sat in the pantry, my eyes glued to the phone in my hand. Demanding all lieutenants abandon anything they were working on, I ordered them to pull all their best sicarios and disperse them to Guadalajara, Monterrey, Matamoros, and any other fucking place I could think of that they’d take her. Giving shoot to kill orders, I ran a hand over my wild hair, secretly hoping my men kept Manuel Muñoz alive long enough for him to beg me for
death.
“Why hasn’t anyone called?”
Mateo looked up from his phone, the lines in his forehead deepening. “They will, boss. It’s only been an hour.”
“It’s been two.”
Turning my head away from his relentless stare, a glint from the overhead light caught a reflection from something shiny a few feet away. Pulled out of my destructive thoughts, I walked on my haunches over to it, and picked it up. Breath hitched in my throat as I recognized the top gold piece of the Santa Muerte pendent I’d given Eden back in Houston. It was jagged as if it’d broken off in a struggle.
Closing my hand around it, I brought it to my lips, praying it held enough power to still protect her.
And if we were lucky, Santa Muerte would answer a prayer and lead us to her.
Lead us to her.
A jolt of electricity shot through me as the fake metal all but burned my hand with the answer. Climbing to my feet, I pulled my phone from my pocket and activated the GPS application I’d installed days before.
“What are you doing, boss?”
For the first time in hours, something besides loss occupied my soul, and I could feel my eyes flash with excitement. “Activating the tracking device.”
“Uh, you destroyed it, remember, sir?”
“Not that one, Mateo. Santa Muerte.”
“I’m not following, sir.”
An actual smile tugged on one corner of my mouth, struggling to break free as I furiously punched numbers onto the keypad. “When Eden demanded that we take her to Mexico, I had a feeling she’d end up getting herself into some shit like this, so I pulled a trick out of Muñoz’s own play book. I had one of your men implant it into a cheap ass Santa Muerte trinket he picked up at a street fair.” I tapped it with my fingernail. “It isn’t even real metal.”
Mateo ran his hands over the top of his long hair. “Jesus, so you’re saying…”
Blurred Red Lines: A Carrera Cartel Novel Page 22
