Dark Hunter

by AJ Adams

  Of course, it wasn’t exactly Disney. With Don Valentine and the Bratva looming, I was being careful.

  Checking all visitors had her chuntering, but she did smile a lot. I could tell it made her feel secure. Going to the market or for a haircut had me hiring a dozen extra halcones for the day. The moment she saw the bikes and guns assembled by the car she was muttering, “You’re as nervous as a whore in church!”

  “My way or the highway.”

  She grumbled a bit about bullies, but she went with it.

  Two days later I spotted a sail coming over from the far shore. It turned out to be kids messing about on the river, but we didn’t know that until after I’d sunk their craft.

  When she saw them lying on the lawn, being covered by Leo and Vincente while I checked them for weapons, she did kick a little. “Dear Lord, Rip! If you can’t act like a civilized human being, at least do the imitation.”

  By which I understood she was more worried about their feelings than her own safety. Amazing, right? “They’re alive, not even shot.”

  Her eye-roll was worthy of The Exorcist. “Just kick them out, okay? I’m sure they’ve got the message.”

  So our days were sweet and the nights were heaven. Morgan’s trust enveloped me, bringing joy back into my life. I found that the memories of my family were surging too, but even the pain that came with them was bearable. As long as I had her by my side I could cope.

  About a fortnight later we were pulled back into the real world when Arturo called. “We’ve got full control of Modesto,” he crowed. “We’re getting ready to aim at Halford and Templado.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Yeah but thanks to your work, the Sinaloa and the Gulf are duking it out,” Arturo warned me. “They’re killing each other, but it means the fuckers have loaded both remaining territories with extra guns.”

  “Best laid plans, right? Want me to sort it out?”

  “Nah, there’s no need for a specialist. Kyle is sending over a couple of sicarios. That will thin the herd.”

  “Okay.”

  “Of course they won’t be able to reach your targets. So don’t worry, you’ll be let loose soon,” Arturo chuckled.

  That’s when it suddenly dawned on me that I hadn’t thought about hunting. My entire time had revolved around Morgan and everyday satisfactions like my garden. I was forgetting I was a monster.

  Arturo was chatting in my ear. “Come for an update, okay? Bring Morgan and stay to dinner.”

  As it was a Saturday, the apprentices were off, and she was amusing herself by taking apart a motorbike. “Arturo wants us to go to dinner tonight.”

  “Great! I need to report to Solitaire.” Her hair was standing up like porcupine quills, she had an oily streak on her nose, and she looked adorable. “We should bring cabrito and wine.”

  “Okay.” I knew we couldn’t avoid the party, but I wasn’t liking it. I had no desire to mingle; I was bound to fuck up. Grimly, I considered the big picture. Morgan was flourishing, which would please the senior Zetas, but the others wouldn’t be impressed seeing they still thought of her as the enemy.

  I was going over what might be said and how I might deal with it when Morgan looked up, frowning a little. “You’ll be fine. Just talk about the garden and cooking.”

  She was doing that more and more, figuring out what I was thinking just by looking at me. It didn’t worry me; it was actually rather comforting. “Surely they’ll want more than that?”

  Morgan was grinning. “It’s a party. Smile a lot, ask them about their family, and stick to small talk.”

  “Sounds hell.” And suddenly I was back in time, pouring champagne for the guests who crowded in backstage.

  “Darling! You were wonderful.” Mum, of course, bursting with pride.

  “The Guardian calls you a leading light.” Ginny, reading the newspapers and laughing excitedly while rocking little Davy in his travel cot.

  “Congratulations.” Dad, lifting his glass. “Well done, son.”

  I was filled with air, feeling as if I’d float right away. It was pure joy. I could see my future. A golden road of opportunity, rich with exciting work.

  “Rip?” Morgan was holding my hand, her eyes narrowed with concern. “Thinking of your family?”

  Pain lanced through me. I wanted to run, but she wasn’t letting go. “How did you know?”

  “I get it too,” she said softly. “When I lost Aleja and Papa, I thought I’d die. I’d do anything to see them again, but the memories hurt.”

  It was exactly how I felt.

  “Any little thing brings it all back—a scent, a sound.”

  Or the mention of a party. That first night celebration was the last time I’d seen my family.

  “I went a little nuts,” Morgan informed me. “I was so sick of the pain that I tried to bury it. I hurt myself, drinking myself numb and fucking complete strangers.”

  “Better than my approach. At least the moaning you caused was consensual.”

  I froze in horror. I couldn’t believe I’d said it out loud. Fear flooded me. She’d remember what I was, and she’d reject me.

  But Morgan wasn’t going anywhere. “It gets better,” she assured me. “At first it’s awful, just thinking of them, but eventually the pain fades, and then there’s only the love you felt for them.”

  I thought she’d push, maybe ask about my family, and I braced myself. But Morgan went right back to her work. “I’ll finish this tomorrow. Shall we go to the market and buy cabrito?”

  “Yes.” I couldn’t believe she wasn’t running screaming.

  “Go assemble the troops, then.” Morgan was grinning at me.

  “No complaints about me being over the top?”

  “Are you kidding?” She was tidying up, putting her tools away. “I feel special with all the outriders.” Then she was taking my arm. “If I’m not careful, Solitaire will be jealous.”

  “If she complains, refer her to me.”

  “Absolutely not,” Morgan replied instantly. “You leave her to me.”

  “Because I’ll mess it up?”

  “Exactly.” Morgan wasn’t pulling her punches. “You deal with the hit men sent by our enemies, and I’ll make sure we’re not slaughtered by our friends, the Zetas.”

  I just stood there, mouthing at her. “You think about that too?”

  Morgan gave me an old-fashioned look. “Damn straight, I do.”

  “They won’t hurt you. They’ve got a code about hurting bystanders.”

  “I actually like Chumillo and his friends, but I never forget what they are,” Morgan told me.

  Killers, she meant. Like me.

  “They chose the life,” Morgan said. “You got sucked in, Rip. It’s different.”

  She was telling me I wasn’t a monster. I knew she was wrong, but it went straight to my heart.

  “It’s a pity that you don’t seem to be able to have a normal conversation though,” Morgan scolded. “You put up more backs than the Dallas Cowboys.”

  I got my groove back. “You know, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get a line on you.”

  “Told you I’m complicated.”

  “You’d give Lear and Rosalind a run for their money.”

  “Who?”

  “Famously difficult Shakespeare characters.”

  Mum, laughing. I pulled back from the memory and pushed myself back into thinking about the party. I couldn’t predict who would be there, but channelling Arturo would tell me how I might deal with troublemakers.

  “Rip?” Morgan was tugging me gently back into the present. “Is that what you do when you zone out? Pretend you’re other people?”

  “It’s called getting into character.”

  “It helps you say and do the right thing?”

  “Exactly.” As it was also how I lured my prey, I didn’t like where this was going.

  “I guess you’ve not been around people much since you were a kid,” Morgan mused.

  �
��Erm, no.”

  “Except for when you’re hunting.”

  I really didn’t want to go there. “Erm, yes.”

  Morgan sighed. “Well, let’s go buy cabrito.”

  She really was going to drop it. I was completely at sea. I didn’t have trouble getting a line on her; I wasn’t even on the same planet.

  “I don’t like what you do,” Morgan said matter-of-factly, “but if you stop, the Zetas will kick us out, and we’d be dead.”

  “That’s what I figured.”

  I gazed at the sleek blonde hair and the sweetly slanting eyes. I’d lived for the hunt for over a decade, revelling in the thrill of the capture and kill. Now I’d give it all up, just to be with her. Forever at peace.

  “I’ll probably go to hell for this, but the world won’t miss evil fuckers like Navarro or Velasquez Cervantes,” Morgan sighed. “I’m thinking better them than us.”

  Practical to the bone, my girl, but unlike me, she had a conscience. I knew she was hurting but didn’t know what to say.

  “You can’t say anything,” Morgan the mind reader said. “In a dog eat dog world, you’d better run with the wolves.”

  Meaning me. But she was holding on to my arm and smiling. “Come on, let’s buy the jefe a nice present.”

  We loaded up on Napa Valley Cabernet and enough cabrito for an army, which was just as well because Arturo had news. “The Bratva are following the wrong scent,” he chuckled. “They’re running in circles in St Petersburg.”

  “I’ve never been there.”

  “Yeah, it’s great. Hopefully the fuckers will give up after this.”

  We were in his office, having a quick one on one before the other guests arrived. Full of energy as always, Arturo was hauling out a map. “Modesto is working well,” he informed me. “Now this is what’s been going on in Halford.”

  Ten minutes later I was all caught up. “When do you want me to go in?”

  “The day after tomorrow.” Arturo was consulting his notes. “You’ve got the files already: Meme Pastor, he’s a meth distributor for the Gulf, Rulo Duran, he’s a hit man for the Sinaloa, and John Burton, he’s a hit man for the Gulf.”

  I knew them as well as I knew myself—they were cunning, had blown away too many men to count, and taking them down would be a challenge. But none of them would be able to avoid my traps. Looking at their faces, I felt the urge to hunt rise deep inside me.

  “You’re all set?” Arturo asked.

  “Raring to go.”

  “Good.” Arturo was digging in a drawer. “How’s Morgan doing?”

  “Excellent.” I remembered her lecture. “She’s enjoying working for Solitaire.”

  “Good.” Arturo was pulling out files. “After we take over Halford, we go for Templado,” he said softly. “It used to belong to Los Osos. But they joined the Gulf and it’s Don Valentine’s territory now.”

  The man who’d betrayed my girl. Taking their territory from them wasn’t enough. He needed to pay. My hands were curling with rage. “I’ll kill him for you.” And her.

  “Don Valentine stays in Dawson Heights and administers Templado from a distance,” Arturo said regretfully. “He and her capullo ex aren’t on our list.”

  The need to kill was taking over. I was seeing Arturo through a red haze of hate. “They need to suffer.”

  “Absolutely,” Arturo agreed instantly. “First you take their new territory from them. That will make them scream.”

  “They’ll come down to try and stop me.” And then I’d kill them.

  “They might,” Arturo conceded. “But I don’t think so. They’re short of people, and their information system is slow. By the time they realise they’re under attack, it will be over.” He grinned at me. “Give me Templado first, my dear Rip. Afterwards, I give you my permission to go to Dawson Heights and to hunt them down.”

  Morgan, bruises the size of soup plates, and her hands cuffed in the small of her back. I’d eat them alive. I’d make them scream for a year.

  “Don Valentine has made Mitch Cortez a lieutenant.” Arturo knew exactly what I was thinking. “Neto, who was the chief chemist for Los Osos, is climbing high in the ranks too.”

  Neto, the shit who’d raped Morgan’s little sister. The need for revenge was burgeoning. He’d go screaming into the darkness.

  “I can see you’re going to enjoy your work,” Arturo grinned. “By all means have Neto too, my dear Rip.”

  The cartel boss understood the need for revenge. I’d deliver Templado to him on a plate, and then I’d wreak havoc on Valentine, Cortez, and Neto.

  Arturo was with me, as usual. “For every kill you’ve completed for us, we’ve been spreading misinformation,” he reminded me. “The Gulf and the Sinaloa have been fighting for months now. By the time we take over Templado, Don Valentine will be isolated in Dawson Heights. You can take your own sweet time over your revenge.”

  Working with the Zetas really was a treat. My eye fell on the meticulously researched files stacked on Arturo’s desk, and suddenly I had an idea. “Jefe, I was just wondering if maybe you could do me yet another favour.”

  “Ask away,” Arturo said genially.

  A minute later he was smiling. “Rip, you really are a man of parts.”

  “So I’m told.”

  Arturo was getting up, ready to call an end to business. But then he paused. “You know,” he said quietly, “women are strange.”

  The way he said it made my ears prick up. “They are?”

  “I’ve known them to stay with a man who’s beaten them into a hospital bed.”

  He was telling me Morgan might still love her ex. I looked at the files again. He was a good-looking bugger; dark and rugged. Surely Morgan wasn’t stupid enough to love a man who’d tried to kill her? Who would still kill her if he could? Except she’d forgiven me. And if she could do that, she might still love that fucker.

  As Arturo got me what I needed, I reminded myself of the plan. I’d do what was needed. Cortez was a threat, he’d kill my girl if he could, and so I’d dispose of him. It didn’t matter if she hated me for it or not, because when it was over, and the Zetas had their new territory, I’d leave. It would kill me, but I’d do it for her.

  Chapter Twenty-Six: Morgan

  “Face down and wrists behind your ankles.” Rip was staring down at me, the ropey muscles flexing as he moved in closer and that strange glitter surfacing in the narrowed eyes.

  For a moment I thought I had gone totally insane. He was a killer, and he might slaughter me at any moment. But then he was running his hands down my arms, all that strength gentled into a soft touch that sent excited shivers rippling through me.

  “My girl.” His whisper was loaded with lust and longing, his nails running ever so carefully over my skin, tickling and teasing. “Mine.”

  That sense of unearthly strength and beauty swamped me. He’d never hurt me. I leaned into him, drinking in the warm masculine scent and gave myself over completely. By the time I came back to earth, hot, sweaty, and sated, I knew I’d made all the right decisions.

  “Aren’t you afraid, knowing what I am?”

  “It will be okay, Rip.”

  I spoke to reassure myself as well as him, but over the days that followed, I found we were getting along surprisingly easily. He was still the calculating killing machine, but now that I wasn’t terrified of him anymore, the hidden man began to emerge.

  Rip was fierce when it came to guarding me, but I quickly discovered he was a completely different person at home. I have to admit, nice Rip was an eye opener. Papa loved me to death, but he was so macho that he thought picking up a pan or a duster would qualify him for primo position in the Dallas pride parade. After Mama passed, Aleja and I took over the house. There was never even a discussion about it.

  Rip didn’t do job gendering. He cooked me the most amazing meals, and although I was tasked with clearing and loading the dishwasher, he didn’t expect me to wait on him. Actually, he did more in the ho
use than I did. Like when I put his blue shirts in the machine along with my dark tees, I came to haul them out of the dryer and found him ironing his things as well as mine.

  I goggled for a bit. “If the cartel sees you, you’ll lose your street cred.”

  Rip just grinned. “Go sling your wrench, wench.”

  That wit was also new to me. I’m the kind of person who thinks that farting the alphabet is pretty slick. Okay, maybe not that uncouth, but I’m certainly not sophisticated. Rip, on the other hand, was clever with words and he was an Internet Movie Database when it came to film and theatre.

  A nicer person would have taken my hand and shown me the delights of art and culture. But Rip had no problem working his inner monster during our movie marathons. The newly furbished conscience was nowhere to be seen, either.

  On the day he sank a sailboat that came too close to the house, I settled down on the big leather sofa with him. “Pick something fun,” I said, “like a good thriller with a twist.”

  I was expecting Psycho or maybe a classic like Basic Instinct, but he put on Kind Hearts and Coronets, a movie so old, it was in black and white.

  “Is that Obi-Wan Kenobi?” I asked.

  “Well, it’s Alec Guinness,” Rip said as he put up his feet and pulled me into his lap.

  “Is he playing two parts?”

  “Nine.”

  “Like Eddie Murphy in Nutty Professor.”

  “Most certainly not,” Rip drawled. “Sir Alec overwhelms with quality, not quantity.”

  His sarcasm caught me on the quick, like he was insulting Americans, so I snapped back, “Well, the Professor was a huge success.”

  “Proof you are a very kind and tolerant nation.”

  He said it so sweetly that it wasn’t till the next day I realised it wasn’t an apology but another put-down.

  I cracked up laughing, but with the cartel running on respect and Rip having a knack for trouble that bordered on the suicidal, I knew that keeping us safe was going to be a fulltime occupation.

  It reminded me I needed to make friends. After thinking it over, I made my first overture to Chumillo. In terms of influence, he was gold standard as he was the jefe’s cousin. Luckily he also had a soft spot for women.