Dark Hunter (A Zeta Cartel Novel Book 4)

by AJ Adams

  “There but for the grace of God,” I told myself.

  I was examining the torn seat and wondering if I could lever it off when I heard footsteps.

  “I don’t understand,” a whining voice rumbled outside the garage. “Why are we doing this?”

  “Jefe’s orders.” That was Chumillo.

  “Is it really true she’s Gulf?”

  “Yes.”

  “We should kill her. And that English fuck too.”

  “That English fuck saved our jefe, and it’s the jefe who says the girl is to be left alone.”

  There was a moment’s screaming silence, and then the whining voice was crawling. “Of course I’m not questioning the jefe.”

  “Then shut the fuck up and get on with your work.”

  That was an eye-opener. Rip wasn’t just a hitman; he’d saved Arturo’s life. No wonder he was top dog. At least, he had been. I was remembering that barbeque when the Zetas had been all over him. They’d still come running when he’d been threatened, and they were here now, but their burgeoning distrust was clear.

  Rip had pretended that stepping up for me had cost him nothing, that it had simply turned contract work into a fulltime position, but I knew that wasn’t true. By taking my side, he had put himself in deadly danger. That’s the cartel for you: you have to be 100% part of the team.

  “Hold her up!”

  “Puta!”

  I shook away the chills that ran down me. I was all too aware of what could happen if the cartel decided Rip didn’t belong. “You couldn’t just piss off Mitch, Don Valentine, and Los Osos,” I grumbled at myself, “but you have to fall in with the damn Zetas and pull Rip into your shit too.”

  Not only was I feeling guilty, but I knew Rip wouldn’t be able to cope. He’d been great at the barbeque, but he’d made a mess of practically every other encounter I’d witnessed. If I left it to him, the Zetas would be boiling us both. Somehow, I had to fix it so we’d both be safe.

  With my hands busy, at least the panic was under control, but I was really wishing Rip would come back. With the Zetas roaming around outside, I felt exposed without him. On cue, just as I was draining the oil and looking through the stocks for the right filter, there was a roar of engines. I recognised the cavalcade instantly: Solitaire.

  “I thought I’d drop by.” Her cool beauty knocked me sideways again. She was dressed in simple black slacks and a blue blouse that highlighted her graceful curves and violet eyes. She really was stunning. “Arturo told me what happened yesterday.”

  Time to crawl. “I’m sorry. You were so kind, and I was too much of a coward to tell you how it was.”

  “I see.” If it had been Nats or Chloe, I might have wept, but those violet eyes were a little like Rip’s. “Arturo wants this to work out.”

  “Me too. I’m so very sorry.”

  The grovelling worked. “Well, I guess you didn’t ask to come here,” Solitaire sighed. “Unfortunately, we can’t keep your past a secret. You were seen and heard yesterday by one of the house staff.”

  In the world of crime, gossip is broadcast swifter than on CNN. By now the entire cartel would know who I was. My heart sank. This was going to be bad.

  “We’re thinking you need to integrate.” Solitaire was all business. “Given that you’re a qualified mechanic, I have work for you.”

  I thought she wanted me to look at her ride. I was nodding faster than a jack pump. “Sure. Anything you like.”

  “I have some teens who need training.”

  That set me on my heels. “Me? Train?”

  “Nothing formal. I just want you to show them the basics and then give me a confidential report as to whether they have aptitude.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” And that was me, signed up to help with her foundation.

  “Helping me will connect you to us without compromising business,” Solitaire continued. “Also, many of the men remember your father from his racing days.”

  It was clever, and it would work well. I blessed Papa for teaching me my trade. It had kept me within tolerance levels with the cartel back home, and now it’d work for me again with the Zetas.

  “Give me a list of the equipment you need.” Solitaire looked around, frowning slightly. “I know nothing about this kind of work. I’ll send someone who you can talk to on your own level.”

  I was so grateful that I would have agreed to having my teeth drilled without anaesthetic. “Thank you.”

  “You’ll be paid, of course, but it won’t be much. I may ask you to set up some short courses too. Tell me what you can cope with so I have an idea of where to start.”

  Solitaire was laying it out, and by the time she went off, I felt as though I’d been steamrollered. She wasn’t just a beauty; the woman was sharp as a razor. But although she’d made it clear she was on my side, I still didn’t feel safe.

  It was an hour later, just as I was checking and servicing the cable housing, that there was another roar. This time I froze; I recognised the Blackbird right away.

  “Solitaire asked me to drop by.” Kyle the enforcer was looming over me, silver eyes raking down me and the SuperLow in one efficient sweep. “I’ll be liasing with you.”

  I swallowed the “Oh dear God, please don’t kill me!” that lay on the tip of my tongue and went into apology mode. “I’m sorry for not coming clean earlier.”

  He knew full well I was an inch away from bolting in sheer terror. “You told Rip your history.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Of course you did.” The voice was gentle, insistent. “How else could he have known who you are?”

  “Because he can read goddamn minds!”

  Okay, that wasn’t going well at all. I tried to push the screaming fear away but it wasn’t working. I was scared witless.

  “Is that so?” The enforcer was looking me over. The silence stretched. “You said you’d step away from his protection and accept the consequences,” he said slowly. “Did you mean it?”

  I must have certifiable. Just looking at this colossus made me sweat. “Yes,” I heard myself squeak.

  “Really?” The eyes were boring into me and I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. “Do you love him?”

  That was a facer. “I’m grateful,” I whispered. “And I pay my own debts.”

  “And you take care of the family retribution too.”

  Oh hell. “Yes.”

  “You did Don Valentine a solid, your family died for him, and yet he doesn’t like you.”

  “He thought I went against him.”

  “Because you turned your back on the cartel.” He was thinking, and I had that same feeling when watching Rip mull things over. This man was fiercely intelligent and as feral as a tiger. Now he was evaluating me. “Even handing him Los Osos’ territory on a plate wasn’t enough to make up for turning away.”

  “Yes.” And it was coming home to me that Los Osos had often partnered with the Zetas. I was thanking the lord that I hadn’t killed anyone. At least I was clear of that. Then I said another prayer, hoping the Zetas hadn’t had a tonne of gear in that warehouse.

  The enforcer sighed. “Lucky for you, Los Osos are now allied with the Gulf. So blowing up the treacherous fucks is perfectly good with us.”

  Oh dear lord, I wasn’t made for this! “Look, I pissed everyone off because I wanted away from the cartel.”

  “Except for dating Mitch Cortez.”

  “I thought he was in construction.”

  “Is that what he calls it?” he asked ironically.

  I kept my trap shut, determined not to ask what Mitch had been doing. But unbidden, I saw that fist coming my way again. “For thinking you’re better than me!”

  Kyle sighed and looked rather human. “I guess you pissed him off too?”

  “You’ve no idea,” I replied ruefully.

  “Then I can see why you’re grateful to Rip.” He gestured at the SuperLow. “If you hand me that wrench, I’ll help.”

  “Erm, okay.” />
  I didn’t want him around but the Zeta was determined to stay. “Solitaire wants to start up an apprentice programme,” he explained. “I volunteered to help her scope it out.” It seemed way beneath him, being the chief enforcer and the jefe’s brother, but he was deft with the wrench and asking questions.

  “You got into this because of your papa, right? He was into stock car racing?”

  “Rallycross mostly but also into motorcycle speedway and motocross.”

  “Right. Is it true he was once charged by a wild mule?”

  “A wild bull. That was fifteen years ago, in Floresville,” and before I knew it, I was gossiping away.

  “You were there when he won Templado Masters in 2008? Amazing!”

  “Yeah, but it was in 2006.”

  “I remember his mechanic, Jimmy Angelito, retired the year before, didn’t he?”

  “The year after, actually. He was great!”

  “I think I met his nephew, Ben. He was trading coke in Houston a while back. Drives an old Caddy.”

  That was a surprise. I’d known Ben since we were knee high, but I’d never known about the coke dealing. Still, discretion being the better part of valour, I didn’t let on. “Ben’s his nephew but he drives a 1965 Mustang. A real beauty.”

  “You got to maintain it? Pedro Rojo’s brother has one, too.”

  The questions flew about and it wasn’t long before I was repairing the rip in the seat and talking personal. “I loved working at Roberto’s. Most shops specialise. Nobody else would let me work on both bikes and classic cars.”

  “Did he hire you because he knew your papa or because of your connections?”

  “A bit of both,” I said frankly. “I was out of the cartel by then but there was enough history to be good for business.”

  “Until you fell for that construction line.”

  “I should have known. I mean, I thought he was just chatting, but all the time Mitch was pumping me about Papa and all the guys I grew up with.”

  “He was getting background.”

  “Yeah. I feel like such a damn fool.” The seat, repaired and sleek once again, slid back on smoothly, and at that the world shimmered and snapped back into place. “Ohmigod, just like you’re pumping me!”

  He was unapologetic. “I had to know.”

  My stomach did a flip-flop. I’d been yapping away, reliving the past, and like a damn fool, letting him see exactly how much I’d loved Papa and our life together. And this man was the enemy.

  To my surprise, the Zeta was smiling. “You’re obsessed by your work, and you know fuck all about the cartel’s daily doings.”

  “Told you.” But I was wondering how the hell he’d figured that out.

  “Ben Angelito does drive a 1965 Mustang, but he never dealt coke in Houston.”

  “Oh.” It didn’t seem significant.

  “Chica, you corrected me on every single detail when it came to cars, bikes, and who’s related to whom,” Kyle said gently, “but you’re clueless when it comes to knowing who was involved with what business.”

  It seemed simple, once he’d explained. Maybe I should have been happy, but all I felt was tired. Rip had played those games too. I just wasn’t up to it.

  “Sneaky.”

  “Part of the job.”

  At that point Chumillo walked in. “All done?” The words were simple, but he sounded uptight.

  “Absolutely,” Kyle said easily. “All taken care of.”

  The charged air vanished and although Kyle was his impenetrable self, Chumillo looked relieved. A shiver went right down my spine, landing in my belly.

  “So I pass?” My voice sounded steady but my stomach was doing flips.

  “Aw, chica! What are you saying?” Chumillo was on it straight away, smiling and looking right into my eyes with utmost sincerity. “There’s no test. We’re all friends here!”

  I wasn’t fooled for a second. In their minds I was Gulf and their enemy. If I hadn’t passed, the Zetas would’ve taken care of me, all right. The six-feet-under type of care.

  Kyle just shrugged. He didn’t even bother denying it. “I’ll arrange for extra tools and gear,” he rumbled. “Solitaire wants to start right away. Can you take a group in the morning and teach them how to do an oil change? I’ll bring a couple of bikes.”

  “Sure.”

  “The CCTV is in, and the dog patrol is set up.” Chumillo was pointing at cameras lining the potholed road. “You don’t need to do a thing. It’s all taken care of.”

  Meaning I was inside a fortress, and they had the keys. I’d passed, but they’d keep closer tabs than a Jefferson Country penitentiary jailor. I felt like a mouse in a trap.

  Still, there was no way I was going to show them I was shit scared, so I smiled and pretended I was relieved. “No more camo kids sneaking up on us? Terrific!” And then I waved them off, standing in the driveway as if we were pals.

  The second they were gone, though, I was inside, away from the spy cams and collapsing on the sofa. I was shaking, knowing full well I’d spent the afternoon brushing with death.

  “This has to stop,” I moaned. “How the hell did my life get to be so fucking complicated and scary?”

  But I knew how, and I had only myself to blame. There was no way out and nowhere to go. I was stuck and I’d have to make the best of it. Because of Rip, the Zetas were willing to cut me some slack. But I’d have to watch my step. If these people decided I didn’t fit, I’d be a dead duck.

  That night I stayed in the house, watching the dog patrol walk the perimeter and feeling trapped. I went to bed, wedging a chair under the door handle, and it was no surprise to be plagued by nightmares again. But I held it together, and when a Zeta flunky turned up with a vanload of gear and four teens, I was ready and waiting.

  “The jefa says you know what to do.” He was offhand, and the tone was hard.

  “Yes, thanks.”

  “Dirty Gulf bitch,” he muttered.

  I pretended I didn’t hear, and later, when the guard came round for a gossip and grumbled, “Pinche loba,” as he gave me the evil eye, I ignored that too. Thankfully the kids were keen and oblivious, so we got on with our work and enjoyed ourselves. Either I was a natural teacher or they were talented, but it went with a swing.

  “Solitaire will be pleased.” Kyle turned up at the end of the day. “We’ll look at the feedback and come back with a plan in a few days.”

  “Glad to have them. Erm, any news from Rip?”

  “He’s on a job. Incommunicado.” There was another one of those silences. “Everything okay here?”

  “Yes, of course.” Because whining wouldn’t get me anywhere.

  Maybe I should’ve said something, though, because the second he and Chumillo left, the guard let his dog loose. I was just exiting the workshop when the damn thing came rushing right at me. I slammed the kitchen door shut just in time, feeling the breeze of its teeth as it snapped at me.

  As I stood in the luxurious house and shook with reaction, I could hear the guards laughing.

  “Did you see her run? Fenomenal!”

  “Yeah, serves the dirty bitch right.”

  I’m telling you: I had never felt more alone. Their hate paralysed me, and of course it brought back flashbacks galore.

  “Hold her up!”

  “Puta!”

  For a moment I almost gave way to despair, but that’s when I discovered Rip was right about my survival instinct. “They won’t dare kill me, jefe’s orders,” I comforted myself. “And I’m Papa’s daughter. Whatever these lowlife Zeta fucks deal out, I can take it.”

  While I planned to walk with my head held high, ignoring the whispered obscenities, it didn’t work out that way. The next day nobody came near the house and with the dog running loose, I had to stay indoors. With no work to keep me busy, I got more and more uptight.

  On the third day, I was going round the bend. I ate the last of the eggs, bread, butter and cheese, glad at least there were half a dozen
tins of soup in the cupboard. Then, restless to the point of screaming, I was cleaning furiously, dusting every inch downstairs, and finally finishing up in the bedroom.

  That’s when I heard the two guards talking underneath the open window.

  “She still locked up tight?”

  “Yeah, the little Gulf tramp ain’t going nowhere.”

  “I don’t get why the jefe hasn’t bumped her off.”

  “He will. In a day or so, she’ll have an accident.”

  “Think so?”

  “Sure. That’s why jefe sent the Englishman away for a few days.”

  “Right! She’s trouble, but he saved the jefe.”

  “My thought too. Once that filthy Gulf puta is gone, the Englishman will come back, and the jefe will probably send him another girl.”

  “Yeah, a decent one.”

  At that, I really got the creeps. I tried to tell myself they were just mouthing off, but I couldn’t help but remember the past. We never talked about it, Papa tried his damnedest to hide it from me, but I’d heard the whispered stories all my life.

  There was Jimmy Ortega who’d become a DEA snitch. He attended an extra special birthday party and then vanished on his way back from Vegas. Lost in the desert, the wags claimed.

  Then there was the time the cartel had pretended to embrace Alonzo Gonzalez, an undercover cop. He’d been treated like a brother for a year, and then found dead of a massive drug overdose. Because totally clean jock types mainline heroin the first time they try it. Right.

  Totally freaked, I had another hideous day and night filled with terrors. I don’t remember even sleeping. Being surrounded by hostile Zetas, I was simply exhausted.

  God knows what day or time it was, but I found myself in the kitchen, holding a pack of milk that had gone sour, when the roar of the Blackbird came floating through the window. Looking out, I saw the enforcer was flanked by a silver Lexus NX. Chumillo was driving, and Quique was with him.

  “Your murderers come with smiles. They come as your friends.” The quote from Goodfellas screamed into mind. The guards had been right; they were coming for me.

  “Chica! You here?” Chumillo was walking to the door. Like a fool, I didn’t hide. He was looking right at me through the glass. “Hey, hi.”