Dirty

by Stevie J. Cole

  His lips quirk as he glances at the book. "Your brother requested you call him."

  "Okay." He offers me his phone and I take it, dialing my brothers number.

  "Si," Gabe answers.

  "What's wrong?" I ask.

  "Don!" He huffs. "Fucking puta, he's been picking off my men. I was supposed to meet with him the other day and it was a fucking set up."

  "For fuck's sake, Gabriel. I can't deal with this right now," I snap. "Just—"

  "He's fucking everything up. He strung fucking Miguel up by his testicles over the Los Pollos Chicken Hut," Gabe spits. "The fucking chicken hut! He's lost his fucking mind, Mila, I know we have an agreement, but if he's not holding up his end I'm going to take a shit on his forehead. He says he'll only deal with you, I guess his fucking balls are backed up and he needs something to rub one off to."

  Oh my god. I love my brother, but when it comes to cartel politics he's volatile at best. "I'll deal with Don. In the meantime, scout his inner circle, find their families. Wait for my word."

  "I'm already ahead of you."

  "Good." I hang up the phone and hand it back to Ronan, dragging a hand through my hair. "Thanks." I turn from him and walk to the window, staring blankly through it. I need a plan. If I were in Mexico there's no way I'd hand over territory to Don, but he knows Gabe can't hold our territory and Jésus' alone. We don't have the men. So I can either go back and hold it—

  "We're having veal for the dinner," Ronan says from behind me, sweeping his fingers along my neck.

  "Okay." —or I order Gabriel to come to an agreement and give him land. Fuck, I hate negotiating. I don't negotiate. It makes me look weak, but truthfully, I'm not in the best position right now. I agreed to stay here with Ronan but I will not watch my business turn to shit for those fucking Los Zetas pricks.

  "As much as I'd love to extend an invitation to your enchanting brother, I think it's best that we not."

  "Sure," I say, my mind swimming with tactics and acts of war. His hand creeps down my back, hitching up my skirt. I grab his wrist, halting him. "Ronan," I say sharply, pushing him away. I need a minute to figure out what the fuck to do about a situation that doesn't involve him or his mad wedding. "Just give me—"

  He grabs the back of my neck, quickly spinning me around to face him. "Do not deny me," his eyes flash, "little kitty."

  My temper fires from zero to a hundred within a heartbeat. "Or what?" I growl at him.

  His fingers slide to the front of my throat, tightening as his hard body presses me into the window.

  "I thought we cleared this up." I shove against his chest hard but he doesn't move. "I didn't stay to be your whore," I snarl under his tightening fingers.

  Laughing, he shoves me away. "You are so easy to anger."

  "I'm not in the mood, Russian."

  "To be angry, or to be fucked?"

  I quirk a brow at him. "I'm always angry."

  "And you always want to be fucked." He smirks.

  I roll my eyes and his fingers play over my waist. I can't deny it. Without warning, he fists my hair and slams his lips over mine as he kisses me, hard and brutal. That unrelenting possession winds through me with every breath until I'm buckling beneath his dominance. And that's exactly what he wants and all because I denied him. He may look refined, but he's a Neanderthal like any other man. As soon as he feels me beginning to sway, he pushes away from me and walks out of the room. Asshole.

  ______

  It's been two days since I've heard from Gabe. I'm in Ronan's room when Igor brings me a phone, shoving it into my hand without a word. I put it to my ear fully expecting it to be Ronan.

  "Hey."

  "Camilla," Gabe groans, "what the fuck did you do?"

  "What? I did nothing."

  "Fucking Russians attacked Don's men on our border last night. We are fucked in the ass because now everyone thinks we work with fucking Russians! You let him get involved in our business!"

  "Of course I didn't. You got him involved in our fucking business if I recall, Gabriel."

  He growls. "We look like a shitshow which is making it ten times worse. Why is that Russian fuck sending help, Camilla? What are you doing for him?"

  "Nothing. I didn't even—"

  "I swear to fucking god, if you are fucking his shriveled Russian cock..."

  "Don't act so damn righteous, Gabriel," I say, rolling my eyes.

  "Oh, I swear to..." There's a rustle over the line. I can hear one of Gabe's men speaking to him, but can't quite make out what they are saying. "Fuck!" he shouts, coming back on the line. "Tell me this is a fucking lie!"

  "What?" I ask cautiously.

  "This!" I hear paper's rustling. "This sick fucking pile of steaming shit right here!" He spits, not once, not twice, but three times.

  "I can't see you, Gabe, you fucking dick!"

  "You..." He breathes heavily over the line. "You..." Another deep breath. "Traitor!"

  "What the fuck are you talking about?" But my heart already pounds in my chest because he's right, isn't he?

  "You're marrying the Narnian King? You are marrying the fucking Russian? The one who stole our cartel? The one who took a shit all over our family's name!"

  "It's not what it looks like."

  "Oh, it's not? I just received an announcement." He laughs and I hear the paper crinkling again. "So, is this some fucking master plan to overthrow him? Is that what it is?" I glance over my shoulder towards the door expecting Ronan to be standing there like a creepy apparition. "Because I'll tell you what I think, that fucking dickless bastard is meddling in our business to make you fucking happy because you're sucking his cock! Are you on your knees right now in front of him, huh, Camilla?" A string of Spanish insults fly over the line.

  "Gabriel, shut the fuck up. Yes, I fucked him so I could get close enough to kill him. Trust me, there is no other way!"

  "Is he dead yet? No!"

  "I..." Why isn't he dead? Why am I still here? "It's more complicated than that."

  "There's a goddamn picture of you with him and you're looking at him like he's your fucking god, Camilla."

  "Fuck you, Gabriel!"

  "No! Fuck you, Camilla. You stay in Narnia. Don't bother coming back, there is no room for traitors among the Juarez cartel. You know that." And with that he hangs up. Fucking asshat of a brother. I try to call him back, but it simply cuts off. Not even a voicemail. I stare at the phone and my chest squeezes painfully before the shock and hurt morph into raging anger.

  I storm out of the room and down the hall.

  "Ronan!" I shout, heading toward his office. Oh, I want him to know I'm coming for him.

  I shove his office door open and he just sits there behind his desk, fingers steepled in front of him and a grin on his face like he's ready for bloodshed. "You sent men to Juarez?!"

  "You were distracted." His grin deepens.

  "I was handling it." I turn and pace in front of his desk. "And to top it off, you had to make a wedding announcement?"

  Ronan laughs before clapping his hands like he's just seen a grand performance on a stage. "You handle nothing, Camilla, and yes, I made an announcement. It's tradition."

  "Stay the fuck out of my cartel. As for your tradition... This is not a fucking traditional wedding by any stretch of your wild imagination."

  The smile fades from his face, his expression growing unreadable. A wave of unease rises in my chest. "Why do you lie to yourself, Camilla?"

  "Don't." I point at him, dragging my hands through my hair. "Don't do that. This is a mess," I mumble more to myself than anything. All I can hear are Gabe's words in my mind. You look at him like he's your god. It's ridiculous, but my brother knows me. Have I fallen so far under the devil's spell that I've lost all sense of loyalty? I would never betray Gabriel, but he called me a traitor.

  "You say you have control," Ronan says, "when you have none. You feign not to love me, when you do." A slow smirk inches over his face. "Stop lying to yourself."

>   His words tear me from my own thoughts until I'm whirling to face him. "I do not love you, Russian. Now who's lying to themselves?"

  He grabs his cigar from the ashtray and takes a long drag. His eyes lock on me, picking me apart bit by bit. "Really?" he asks, pushing up from his chair. My body bristles with awareness when he circles behind me. "You don't love the power?" he whispers, sweeping the hair away from my neck. "The way I fuck you?" His teeth nip at my throat. "The way I protect you?"

  "Even if I did like those things about you, people like us do not love, Ronan," I say, my voice sounding stronger than I feel.

  "Even monsters love, Camilla. As you said, nothing about this is traditional, but..." He grabs my shoulders, spinning me around. His cold eyes bore into me and I feel them tearing at my soul. "I'd chase you the way the darkness chases the light. Even if I could never quite catch you." He tucks a piece of hair behind my ear and I close my eyes.

  I don't even know what to say to that, especially with it coming from him. This is what makes me want to forget Mexico, my business, everything that I've ever known and stay right here in his arms. Because when Ronan Cole tells me he wants me, it's as though nothing else in the world matters. Enemies or lovers, friend or foe, it simply doesn't matter. I know without a doubt no one else would ever make me feel so ruthlessly cherished, so utterly priceless in a world where money is no object.

  "Now, tell me you don't feel this." He kisses my lips with such reverence that he seems to touch my very soul and make me question everything I ever was or ever will be other than his. "This pull, this need... tell me you can't feel that, krasaviya?"

  I do. I always have with him and I hate it. I hate that I'm weak for him, even if he's weak for me as well. "I don't want to feel it," I say honestly.

  "But these things are beyond our control."

  Perhaps he's right, but as I stare into those cold, beautiful eyes of his I have to wonder whether I could have done more. Could I have fought this harder? In this moment, I feel like I chose Ronan over Gabriel, and I don't think it's a decision I can live with. I am a traitor—my heart is a fucking traitor because my head, my head has always known that Ronan is the enemy. "My brother is cutting me off," I whisper, struggling to say the words aloud. Gabriel is my little brother. He's always followed my lead and I've protected him my whole life, and now...

  Ronan cocks a brow. "What do you mean, cutting you off?"

  I drop my gaze to a button on his jacket. "He called me a traitor and told me not to come back." It hurts, and what's worse is that I'm telling Ronan this when he is the cause. No, I am the cause. My choices.

  "But you don't want to go back."

  I glance up at him. "Of course I want to go back. It's my home. He's my brother."

  "But I'm soon to be your husband."

  I roll my eyes. "I'm aware, Ronan."

  "Gabriel holds no power..."

  "You speak of love and yet you understand it little, Russian," I say, stroking my fingers absentmindedly down the front of his shirt. "He's my brother and he hates me."

  I feel his muscles tense underneath my palm. "He makes you weak, little kitty." I glare at him, and amusement dances in his eyes. "Anger is so much prettier on you," he says, pressing his lips to my forehead.

  I step away from him and turn on my heel, walking out the door without another word.

  Backwards and forwards. Backwards and forwards. Ronan and Gabriel. My head goes round and round in circles until I'm dizzy. My loyalties have never been so torn, but they shouldn't be. Ronan is what tears them. Ronan is what has made me a person I never wanted to be. I try to pinpoint the exact moment when he stopped being the enemy but I can't, because truthfully, he's still my enemy. The hole in my arm is perfect proof of that. But fuck, I crave that volatile pull between us. I lust after the power and the violence. Maybe it changed when he killed for me the first time, or the second. It definitely changed when he brought Sebastian to me, or if I'm honest, it changed when he demanded I marry him for protection. He makes me weak while strengthening me in ways that no one else can.

  Groaning, I drag both hands through my hair. I was fine before I met him. I had my business, my brother, my life. Within that life I held power and I was happy. And then he had to fuck it all up. If he'd just taken me and used me to get to my brother, I'd have dealt with it because it's easy to guard against the known enemy, but he didn't. He engaged me in this toxic fucking dance, making me lust for power until I literally questioned my own motivations, my loyalties. Everything. Rational and reasoning just doesn't seem to matter anymore.

  But at some point, I thought this would end, didn't I? Surely it has to? Even agreeing to marry him...I never truly intended to ever go through with it. It's all just been buying time, playing along while accidentally falling into my own trap.

  I stare through the window at the frozen wasteland so different from my beloved Mexico. I crave the heat, the wildness, the barbaric nature of Juarez. If there's one thing I know, it's that I have to go home.

  18

  Ronan

  I glance up from my spreadsheet as Igor slowly pushes my office door open, stepping inside. He stands there like a buffoon, his chest all puffed out, his forehead wrinkled.

  “What?” I glance back at the screen, tracing wire transfers.

  “Interpol is here.”

  I arch my brows. “What?” I say in a hiss, shoving my chair away from the desk. “Interpol?”

  He nods. My pulse ticks up, an anxious heat creeping beneath the collar of my shirt. I take a moment to collect myself, brushing my hand over the front of my shirt before I step toward the door. I’ve barely made three steps into the foyer before I see two men in uniform standing next to Donovan. “Offer the gentlemen some tea, Igor,” I say as cross the foyer with a fake smile.

  “That’s not necessary,” one of them says dryly. “I’m Agent Renwolf and this is Agent Malcom.”

  “Ronan Cole.” I extend my hand and they reluctantly shake it. “Won’t you come in?” I say, motioning toward the sitting room to the left. Their expressions remain staunch as I lead them into the room and take a seat. There are a million reasons they should be here, but I’ve paid hefty fees to ensure they never are. Unfortunately, I can’t exactly buy the Interpol off, just the people who report to them. “Now, what can I help you with?” I grab a cigar and light it.

  “You attended President Derivichi’s funeral dinner, correct?”

  I frown. “Yes. Sadly, yes. It seems no one is safe these days.”

  They glance at each other. “Did you see any suspicious activity?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know anything about why the building was evacuated?” Malcom whips out a notepad.

  I shrug a shoulder, puffing on my cigar. “I’ve seen the news, they said something about a biological agent of some sort, I believe.” I furrow my brow. “May I ask, why are questioning me?”

  “Standard procedure,” Malcom says, and scribbles a note.

  “Well, I am sorry, but I don’t know I’ll be of any help. I was rather distracted with my fiancé.” I study them, gauging if there is a reaction. “She is rather stunning.”

  The glance at each other and nod before standing. “Thank you, Mr Cole. If you think of anything out of the ordinary, please let us know.”

  “Of course.” I stand to show them out.

  When we reach the entrance, Malcom turns to face me. “There may be further questioning,” he says. “But I’m sure that won’t be a problem?”

  “Of course not.” I smile, and Igor opens the door. The second the door closes, I storm to my office, fuming.

  This is not coincidence. Something is not right. I pace in front of the fireplace, going over the possible traitors when Igor shows himself in. “Boss,” he says and I turn quickly to face him. “This is serious.”

  “Don’t you think I know that, Igor!”

  “The Italians, The Horseman… now the Interpol, no one has ever come against you like this.” He
takes a breath. “With all due respect, you’re losing sight of things.”

  I glare at him, my nostrils flaring.

  “The woman, it’s like she possesses you. You killed two of your own men.”

  “Out, Igor!” My voice echoes around the room.

  “I am only trying to do my job, sir,” he says as he retreats from the room.

  What have I done? I’ve lost myself in a game of cat and mouse, consumed with the animal magnetism that radiates from her. Had she been any other person, I would have killed her. No questions. No hesitations, but instead, I kill for her. I brought Sebastian here. I’ve involved myself in silly cartel wars to appease her—dare I say, to win her affection.

  A fissure of anger ripples through me. I’m disgusted with myself. I may feel for her, and while she may be strong in her own right, she only weakens me. I said I would chase her as the darkness chases the light, but therein lies the dilemma, when the darkness catches the light. It consumes it.

  Dark and light can never co-exist.

  Dragging in a heavy sigh, I resign myself to what I must do. While I enjoy this little game immensely, it’s run its course. I open the door and call for Igor as I head toward the stairs.

  “Yes?”

  “I’ll need my brandy, and bring the special bottle of vodka for Miss Estrada please. You were right, this game has gone on far too long.”

  ______

  Camilla is standing in front of the fire when I enter my bedroom. The glow of the flames silhouettes her body, accentuating her curves. How tantalizing it is that I was enamored with a woman I should have long ago killed.

  She turns around when I place my suit jacket over the chair beside the dressing table, and I spot a flicker of vulnerability in her eyes.

  "Ronan," she says, her voice wavering slightly. She's still upset about Gabriel. Love truly does nothing but make the strong weak. Even as I think this, my chest tightens against my will—a show of my own developing weakness. I watch the way the flames dance over her face, the way she looks at me as though she's not fully sure whether to trust me or not. The thought of losing her causes me pain. It makes me weak. And why give into a weakness such as love when you know, at some point, you will lose it? The strong know when to cut their losses, and while this may pain me, it is for the best to lose her before I lose myself.