by LP Lovell
Rafe goes to the bathroom and comes back with a glass of water. Placing two pills in my hand, he makes me take them. The night catches up on me all at once, and I lay back on the bed as my eyelids feel suddenly heavy.
He pulls me against his chest and strokes his hand over my hair, lulling me into sleep. Maybe this will all seem better in the morning.
I’m standing in the darkness again, and my pulse races as my lungs frantically reach for air. Closing my eyes, I try to calm myself, even as I wait for The Master to make his grizzly appearance. A hand touches my arm, and I flinch.
“Anna.”
I open my eyes and find Lucas standing in front of me. He’s illuminated as though he’s standing under a stage spotlight. “Lucas.”
“It’s okay. I’ll protect you,” he says, holding his hand out to me. I take it, and he smiles wide, but then the smile fades, and a tiny mark appears on his forehead, growing bigger until it’s the size of a quarter. His eyes go wide, and blood pours down his face like a tap being turned on.
“Lucas!” When I reach for him, I see the gun in my hand, my finger on the trigger. I blink, and the boy standing in front of me is no longer Lucas, it’s the boy I shot.
He collapses to the ground at my feet, and I fall to my knees, tears pouring down my cheeks as my chest aches.
I jerk awake and sit bolt upright, dragging precious oxygen into my lungs. My eyes sting, and the saltiness of my tears lingers on my lips.
Rafael reaches for me, his hand stroking over my hair and down my back. “Anna?”
I can hear him. It’s faint and unclear, but I can hear him. The ringing in my ears has lessened, but the throbbing pain is still present. “I’m fine,” I whisper, not wanting to raise my voice in case he hears how hoarse it is. I swallow around the lump in my throat, choking it down. The room suddenly illuminates, and I squint against the light. Rafael sits up and grabs my chin, forcing me to look at him. His brows pull together in a frown, and his thumb swipes below my eye, wiping away tears.
“Talk to me. You fucking scared me earlier.” His voice is muted, as though he’s underwater, but at least I can actually hear him now.
“I couldn’t hear you,” I say.
He tilts my head to the side, glancing at my ear before pulling my gaze to his again. “Another nightmare?” I nod. “You were saying Lucas’s name.”
I open my mouth to explain, but quickly close it as a broken sob threatens to tear up my throat. “I’m fine,” I say again.
“You know I hate that word.”
I close my eyes and immediately the image of Lucas’s face with a bullet hole in his head appears behind my lids. Then like a faulty film reel, the image flits between Lucas and the dead boy. “Talk to me, Anna.”
The dam bursts and all the emotions I’m trying so hard to keep bottled explode. The sob breaks free, and the tears follow. I know it’s weak. I know I should feel nothing, but I do. Rafael’s arms come around me, and he tugs me into his lap, pressing his palm to my cheek. “Shhh, it’s okay.”
“I killed him,” I cry, trying to breathe through this...whatever this is. Guilt. I think that’s it. Just the sheer weight of unimaginable guilt.
“Who?”
I turn my face into his chest, wishing he could protect me from myself, from my own egotistical need to try and be something more than a slave. “A boy.” I sniff. “He was going to shoot me. And…I pulled the trigger. I didn’t look.” My voice grows more hysterical as I speak.
“It’s the cartel, avecita,” his knuckles stroke down my cheek, “It’s kill or be killed.”
“He was just a boy,” I say. “Younger than Lucas.”
“He would have killed you.”
“But he was too young to know…”
He kisses my forehead. “I know you think that, but that’s not the way it works in Mexico. If he’s old enough to kill, he’s old enough to be killed.”
I sniff back the tears, trying to be strong, but I know that the boy’s death will stay with me, possibly forever. It’s the first time that I’ve really weighed the gravity of taking another life. The first time that I’ve stopped and thought about all that was lost with the simple pulling of a trigger. “I should be harder.”
He huffs a small humorless laugh. “No, little warrior. You shouldn’t. I’ve been telling you, you aren’t your sister. You feel because you’re good. You shouldn’t want to change that.”
“I hate this.”
“You hate that you killed him? Or you hate that you can’t stomach it?”
“Both.”
“That’s okay. Killing is never easy, but it’s harder when they look young and innocent. I’ve killed more innocents than I care to remember.”
“Do you ever feel bad?”
He sighs, his chest expanding under my cheek. “Honestly, no. I grew up in Juarez, avecita. I used to catch the bus to school and drive past bodies in the streets every morning. People die. It’s the way it is.”
“Do you believe in heaven and hell?” I whisper.
He stares at me for a moment and sighs heavily. “I’m Catholic, so yes.”
“Do you think you’re going to hell?”
He huffs a small laugh, his warm breath blowing over my scalp. “I told you I’m not a good man.”
I pull back so I can see his face. “Do you believe in confessing your sins?”
His lips twitch. “It’s been a long time since I confessed, avecita.”
“Do you truly believe that if you confess, then you are absolved of your sins?”
“Honestly? No. I think that’s too easy, that a man must truly want to repent his sins in order to confess and be freed of them.”
“Is that why you haven’t confessed?”
He scrubs a hand over his jaw. “I do what I feel I must. In another life, a man might pass by a homeless person or judge his neighbor harshly. One man’s sin is not another’s.”
I nod. “If there is a God, do you think he would forgive me?” I ask, my voice hitching as I fight yet another wave of tears.
He cups my cheek and forces me to look at him. “Avecita, no one has suffered more or fought harder than you. The very fact that you feel so bad about killing someone who would have killed you… it proves just how good you are.”
“Una would think I’m ridiculous,” I sniff.
“She just doesn’t understand you, little warrior. Your kindness isn’t weak because after all you’ve been through you shouldn’t have a shred of kindness to give anyone.” He studies my face. “This...” he swipes his thumb beneath my eye, catching a tear and holding it up in front of me. “Is what makes you so strong.”
I don’t feel strong. I feel fragile. Pressing my face into his throat, I let it go. I cry for a young boy, for a mother without a son, for the loss of even more of whatever small amount of innocence I had left. And Rafael simply holds me, providing that ironclad strength of his.
17
Rafael
I’ve watched Anna go from strength to strength. From the abused girl to the fierce woman I fell in love with. But for the first time, she looks truly lost. She sits with her back to the headboard, staring absently at the wall across from her.
Pushing to my feet, I leave the room, pulling the door closed behind me. I’m seething fucking mad, but I’m trying to keep a leash on it around her. She went behind my back into Dominges’ compound, but I know it won’t have been Anna’s idea.
I descend the stairs and find Samuel waiting for me at the bottom. His arms are folded over his chest, his expression stern as he falls into step beside me. “We lost eight men, and Dominges escaped,” he says.
Eight. Too many. These were good men, closely trusted men. Trust is hard to come by at the moment. “Where are Una and Sasha?”
“He left. She’s…”
The words have barely left his mouth when I spot Una walking down the stairs from the upper level. Her body language is tight and aggressive. She strides towards me, her hand on the hilt of her gun.
I’m done pandering to her though. Pulling my gun, I point it at her as I stare down the barrel of her raised weapon. We’re both right there. Either of us could pull the trigger, and end the other and yet neither of us does.
“You fucked up my operation,” Una growls.
“You went after Dominges without telling me.”
“For good reason. I had it until you turned up.”
“You were outnumbered, and he had more men stationed nearby.”
“How do you know that?” she snaps defensively.
“Because I have rats everywhere. I’ve been tracking Dominges for weeks. I knew exactly where he was.”
She narrows her eyes. “We nearly had him. We could have ended this, and you fucked it up. Not to mention, you nearly got my sister killed.”
On a growl, I lower my gun and take a step towards her until there’s barely an inch of space between us. “No, Una. You are the one who will get Anna killed. You’re trying to turn her into you, but she’s not, and she never will be.”
“I’m trying to give her some purpose that doesn’t involve you,” she sneers, flicking her eyes over me.
“This isn’t purpose, you’re just adding fuel to an already raging fire.”
“Anna is my sister. You were just her glorified babysitter. She doesn’t need you anymore, so stop trying to keep her here.”
“You have no idea what she needs.” If she could see her sister now, maybe Una would finally start to understand. Anna is not cut out for this. She’s not a ruthless killer, and she never will be.
She squares her shoulders, sliding her gun back into the holster. “Anna and I will handle Dominges. We didn’t come here for your help, so back off.” My jaw clenches so hard that my teeth grind against each other. Arguing with Una is pointless. She knows she has me cornered to a degree because really she’s accountable to no one and she has the weight of the Italian mafia behind her. I take a conscious step back, biting my tongue as I turn away from her and walk towards the office. I wave for Samuel to follow and he does, closing the door behind him as soon as we’re inside.
“I need you to track Dominges,” I say.
“Okay. I think I have a source on him already.”
“Good. And then I need you to either kill him or bring him back. No long, drawn out plans this time. You find him, you move. Take all the men and weapons you need.”
He narrows his eyes. “You’re going up against Una?”
“This is my cartel, my city, and my war. Una is here for Anna, and Anna can’t handle this.” He watches me for a second and then nods. “Just keep me informed, and try to avoid Una.”
His face pinches in a frown before he turns and walks out of the room. This is all such a shit show.
There’s a knock on the door before it’s pushed open and Carlos appears, crutches in hand. “I’ve organized the meetings you wanted in Miami and Chicago. We fly in a couple of hours.”
“Okay.” I push to my feet, and Carlos hobbles along beside me as I move into the factory and check the packaged stock we have. It’s being loaded into vans so it can be moved into one of the spare aircraft hangars. There’s not enough room in the warehouse to store tons of coke. “How much can we have ready to go immediately?”
“We’ll have two metric tons by tomorrow.”
“Good. Prepare to ship to Miami and Chicago.”
He smirks. “You’re confident.”
“I trust that you’ve found me enterprising men, Carlos. How can they say no?” I flash him a wry smile. The fact is, cocaine is the lifeblood of the big American cities. With Dominges’ supply dwindling and his distributors being murdered, it’s down to a few ambitious men to see the writing on the wall. And that writing says Juarez Cartel in big red letters.
The wheels of the jet bump over the runway, jostling the glass of whiskey on the table in front of me. As soon as we stop moving, Lucas pushes to his feet. Carlos scowls from his seat, unhappy about being benched.
“It’s just a meeting, Carlos. Don’t sulk.” I smirk.
He looks at his brother. “You take a bullet for this fucker, you hear me?” Lucas nods nervously. “Anything kicks off, shoot everyone and get out.” He pretends that he doesn’t care for his little brother, but I know differently. Lucas nods and steps off the plane. I follow him down the steps, casually fastening the buttons on my jacket as I do.
A limo sits on the tarmac, the black paint gleaming in the Miami sun. A guy in a black suit opens the back door with one hand whilst clutching his gun in the other. I slide into the darkness of the back seat and am immediately surrounded by the poignant scent of weed. Lazy clouds of smoke linger in the air between me, and the man I’m meeting.
“Rafael D’Cruze,” he says in a drawling accent with an African edge. He flashes me a smile, his pristine white teeth a stark contrast to his ebony skin.
“Diabolo,” I say, and his smile widens.
“So, you want to make a deal with me?” he asks.
“No. I have cocaine, and I’m generously offering you the option to purchase it before someone else does.”
He taps his finger over his bottom lip, the gold rings adorning it glinting in the low light. “Is that so?”
“I know Dominges is faltering on shipments. The supply in Miami is drying up.”
“Not true.”
I laugh. “You consider that shit from the Colombians cocaine?” Reaching into the inside pocket of my jacket, I take out a small baggie of powder and hand it to him. He eyes the bag before popping a small tray out from a side panel in the car. He pours out the cocaine and scoops a small amount under his fingernail before snorting it. His eyes squeeze shut, and he shakes his head before a grin morphs his features.
“Well, well, well…” He holds the little bag of remaining powder up, inspecting it as though it holds the answers to all life’s problems. “How much?”
“Fifteen million per ton and I only work in metric tons.” This is risky, but all business is really just a game of whose balls are bigger.
“I pay ten grand per kilo, and I can’t shift a ton of product.”
“Those are my terms.” I know this product is likely the best he’s ever seen, and I also know he’ll shift it, as does he. Sure, I could sell him less, but when setting up a new distributor, I find it helpful for them to take you seriously, especially when you know they want what you have. I can see him thinking about it. “I can have it here in Miami in three days. First payment a week later. You’ll sell it for double what you pay, and you know it.” He doesn’t answer straight away, so I throw the door open. No sooner has the close Miami heat surrounded me than he speaks.
“Done. Send it.”
“You sure?” I ask. “If you can’t pay…”
“I know the consequences,” he says.
“I am not Dominges. You may call yourself Devil, but even he won’t save you from me if you disappoint me.” I step out of the car and slam the door. Lucas falls into step behind me, and I climb the steps of the plane.
Carlos stares at me the second I drop into the seat across from him. “Well?”
“Call Sam. Get him to ship a metric ton of product to Miami as fast as possible.”
Carlos’ eyes go wide. “A ton?”
“Did I stumble?”
“Can he pay for that?”
“Oh, I’m sure he will.” I smile.
Carlos rolls his eyes. “You’re insane.”
“Perhaps, but soon I’m winning. All I need now is for Chicago to play ball and Dominges to die.”
“Good luck with that. He’s like a damn cat.” Yes, he is, but perhaps Una is onto something in that I just need to take him out. You can plan for every eventuality, but sometimes you need to just jump the gun. He’ll be on the defensive now, but we also killed a lot of his men last night, and he’ll be scrambling to replace them. Meanwhile, his brother is dead, his lieutenants are scattered. The Sinaloa is hanging by a thread, but it is still hanging.
I check my watch. “Let’
s get Chicago first,” I say.
18
Rafael
By the time I get back to the compound, it’s late. Chicago fell in line even easier than Miami. And so I take the prize jewels in the Sinaloa Empire. Of course, Dominges still has some of his distributors, but it’s only a matter of time before my coke is flooding the streets. It seems that he’s all but defeated, but I always worry about a man with his back to the wall. He has very little to lose, and therefore his actions cannot be predicted because they aren’t rational.
As soon as the plane comes to a halt, all the lights cut out. Outside it’s pitch black. Think of it like the blitz, a complete blackout makes it invisible to anyone who might fly overhead. Call me paranoid, but if I lose this compound, I lose everything. All my eggs are very much in one basket.
Lucas shines a torch, leading the way back to the warehouse. Inside, it takes my eyes a moment to adjust to the bright light. Carlos limps along behind me, his crutches clicking over the ground rhythmically.
“Get those shipments organized, Carlos,” I say before heading for the stairs that lead to the living quarters.
I fully expect to find Anna in the bedroom, but she’s absent. I trek the length of the warehouse looking for her until I finally ask Enrique, one of Carlos’ Lieutenants.
“She went with her sister,” he says.
“What? Where?”
“I don’t know boss. Angel de la Muerte didn’t look in the mood for questions.”
I can’t even be mad about it. Braver men have shied away from the tiny Russian. Taking my phone from my pocket, I use an app to track the GPS that Carlos installed on Anna’s phone last night. I felt like a dick taking her phone while she slept, but I wasn’t going to risk her running riot with her sister again. Last night was lucky. I knew exactly where Una was going. Next time I might not be, and the thought of Anna that close to Dominges and that outnumbered…it’s not a risk I can take.
The little blinking red dot flashes up on my screen, showing her in a bar in Juarez. I dial Samuel’s number and place the phone to my ear.
