Dark Hunter (A Zeta Cartel Novel Book 4)

by AJ Adams

Like a fool, that hadn’t even occurred to me. I’d seen the possibility of my being too much trouble to keep around but not as an active threat. I was fucking up again. Quickly I began channelling Arturo, seeing what he saw.

  “Don’t zone out, Rip. Stay with it, okay?” Morgan begged. “And don’t lose your temper!”

  “Of course not.” I was lying. If anyone crossed her, I’d eat him alive.

  I really thought I was hiding my true thoughts, but Morgan had no problem reading me.

  She put the truth to me in no uncertain terms. “If you lose your temper, you die, and I’ll be lucky to get a bullet in the head.”

  That got to me. “All right! I hear you.”

  “Be the unemotional, calculating Rip,” Morgan urged me, “because I have the feeling this is going to be difficult.”

  When we got to the mansion, I knew straight away that Isabella Maria Franco, daughter of the cartel, had been right on the button, because Eduardo, Campello’s cousin, was on the gate.

  He was all business, but from the tight lips and frowns and the careful way he made both of us go through the scanner twice, I knew I was on a sticky wicket. Even though they knew I’d saved Arturo’s life, they were edgy because of her presence. I found myself wanting to belt the bastards, but heeding my girl’s advice, I played it cool.

  Arturo was sitting at a large table on the terrace, flanked by Chumillo, Kyle, Quique, Rafa, and Pedro Rojo.

  Seeing us, the jefe got straight to his feet. “Rip.” He embraced me. “Morgan!” And she got one too. Then, clearly making a show of approval for his senior team and the guards watching from the gate, he was holding her at arms length. “Chica, you’re looking prettier every day.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Morgan’s Texas drawl floated clearly into the air. Somehow she managed to stand tall but look humble at the same time. “We brought you some lettuce. Home-grown and just picked.”

  It wouldn’t have occurred to me in a million years to give a multi-millionaire cartel boss vegetables, but Arturo fussed over the gift as if it were gold. “Terrific! Home-grown? No pesticides? I love it!”

  Solitaire appeared, managing to smile at Morgan and glare at me.

  My girl instantly handed her a bag of fruit. “Jefa, from our garden.” And a folder. “I brought the reports too.”

  “Ah yes,” Solitaire said loudly. “You did a great job for the foundation.” Having made it clear my girl was welcome, she whisked her off with, “Come and sit with me by the pool. I want you to take on more apprentices.”

  Arturo got right down to business. “We’re talking big-picture strategy.” He indicated a map, the same one he’d shown me when he’d outlined his plan. “Thanks to your work, the Gulf have lost Modesto. We moved our people in, and we’ve secured the area.”

  “Glad to hear it.” It was a huge relief because it kept my value to them fresh.

  “It’s great for us,” Arturo said seriously, “but I’m afraid it’s why we dropped a loop on your security.”

  The tension was visible. The entire senior team was uptight.

  “We should’ve been checking in on your place,” Kyle rumbled apologetically. “But we had some last-minute issues setting up the new territory.”

  His fucking around had caused my girl trouble. I was going to blast him, but Morgan’s advice kicked in and I thought again.

  The security chief was moving carefully, and I could see he was hurt. For the first time I noted that Quique had a black eye, and Chumillo’s wrist was bandaged too. Taking over Modesto hadn’t been trouble-free.

  So I smiled. “I totally understand. I overreacted, too. I’m a bit overprotective when it comes to my girl.”

  It was a complete and total success.

  “Of course you are.”

  “Sure! Who wouldn’t be?”

  “You’re a man, not a fucking pussy, right?”

  And suddenly it was all okay. Arturo was back at the map, explaining what moves they’d made, what was coming next, and how my work had fit in with theirs.

  “We’re on schedule,” he finished up. “In a few weeks’ time you go into Halford, Rip. Once you’re done, we move in. We take a month to establish complete control, and then you hit Templado. The whole project should be complete in another three months.”

  “They’ll be voting on the zoning laws for the casino then too,” Chumillo grinned.

  “Aren’t American politicians a bit difficult about casinos?”

  “Usually, yes,” Arturo conceded, “but it’s a committee decision, and we control the vote.”

  I blessed myself for being in with the best. The Zetas combined boardroom strategy with Machiavellian politics in an irresistible punch.

  But it wasn’t all roses.

  “The Kiev Bratva are making connections faster than a drunk divorcee on Tinder,” Arturo informed me. “They’re onto you, Rip, and it won’t be long before Nuevo Laredo is on their radar.”

  I’d expected it. Even so, my eyes went to Morgan.

  “Rip, the Gulf know Morgan’s alive too,” Arturo continued. “One of the photos we circulated when we were trying to ID her reached Don Valentine.”

  “He’s put a contract out on her,” Kyle said quietly. “Just five thou, but it’s enough to tempt the kids down here.”

  Knowing my girl was a target for every wannabe in the country was a knife in my gut. “Will removing Don Valentine fix it?”

  “No,” Kyle said. “His people will follow through, out of respect. Only he can call it off.”

  Fuck. They were all gathering now. My enemies and hers.

  At the poolside, Morgan was waving her hands and looking intent, clearly trying to explain some mechanical mystery. The sunlight was dancing on her hair, giving her a halo.

  “She can’t know.” I’d put her through hell, and I was determined to protect her. “I’ll keep her home safe.”

  Kyle was speaking carefully, reminding me of realities. “The Kiev Bratva aren’t the only problem. Your cover is crumbling. Eventually, they’ll all be after you.”

  We all knew what it meant. The Sicilians, Camorra, Gaxhai, Tbilisi, Caran—I’d hunted their best for a decade. Being out in the open would bring them all in seeking their revenge.

  I’d known it might happen one day, and it had never worried me. But now Morgan was vulnerable, and I was terrified.

  Thank God, the Zetas would provide backup. At least, Arturo and his team would, but the men downstream would be less than enthusiastic. They had no idea of my role and would see me as a simple liability.

  I looked over at the gate. I could see Leo the dog handler and Vincente the guard had pitched up. They were talking to Eduardo. All three would try and get rid of me if they could. They’d be riling their friends up too.

  “We’re on it,” Arturo assured me. “And there will be no more fuck-ups, promise.” He was looking over to the gate, eyes narrowing as he spotted the new arrivals. “Leo is the district’s top halcone, or rather, he was. Vincente was marked for fast-track promotion too.”

  The jefe raised his hand, telling the men to come up to the house. The way he looked at them told me he was planning retribution. Arturo was furious at the men for having sullied his reputation.

  I had the feeling they were about to pay for their persecution of Morgan with their lives, and it made me happy. They deserved it, and as they would be working actively against me, removing them would help me too.

  At that, my girl was sitting bolt upright and staring back at me. She was too far away, but I swear I could see her eyes warning me to be careful.

  Her warning came flooding back and I found myself saying, “Jefe, I don’t want to deprive you of your men. We can work it out.”

  “Really?” Arturo was amazed.

  “Absolutely.” I meant it but my hands were curling into fists as the guards marched up. The dog handler’s eye was swollen shut, and there was a cut on his lip that was bleeding sluggishly. Chumillo had gotten him good. The one I’d beaten was hi
s mirror image.

  “What do you have to say for yourselves?” Arturo’s voice was ice.

  “Sorry, jefe.”

  “Lo siento, jefe.”

  They shuffled their feet, and even the dog looked embarrassed.

  “It was seeing the Gulf woman,” one whispered.

  “We lost it,” the other mumbled.

  “Vete a la verga, cabrones!” Arturo screamed. “You’re questioning my fucking orders?”

  “No, jefe!”

  “Ay, jefe, no!”

  As a scene, it belonged in a soap opera. Benson would have adored it. Me, I was noting everyone’s eye on us. The guards, the girls at the pool, and even the maids were sneaking looks out of the windows.

  “Tell me why you shouldn’t be eating a fucking bullet!” Arturo was ripping the men to shreds, shutting down their pleas with explosive, “Me vale verga!” and “Hijo de la chingada!”

  When he eventually quieted down, they were white and shaking.

  “Well, what do you have to say for yourselves?” Arturo snarled.

  There was a dead silence. Then the dog looked at me and whined. As one, the two turned to me.

  “I apologise,” Leo was crawling.

  “Me too,” Vincente was right there with him.

  “You’re fucking lucky,” Arturo growled. “He’s already spoken for you. If not, you’d be fucking dead.” Then, with a flourish, he produced a gun that had been hidden by the table. As the guards watched, he holstered it. They knew they’d escaped death. Then it was all eyes on me.

  “You can thank Morgan,” I told them coldly. “I’d bury you and dance on your graves, but she asked for your lives.”

  That left a shocked silence.

  “What did you expect?” Arturo spat. “He saved my life, and her family served with El Padrino in the old days, for fuck’s sake. While you two disobey my fucking orders, their only concern is that I was stupid enough to tell them I once valued your services.”

  The men were abasing themselves, crawling.

  “Forgive us.”

  “We’re fools.”

  “Get out of my sight before I change my mind and shoot you both!” Arturo yelled.

  They crept away but had the sense to pause by the poolside.

  “I understand completely,” Morgan’s words floated over to us. “I appreciate the difficulties.” Her hair was sparkling in the sun, still absurdly short and spiky where I’d trimmed it. “Rip saved my life, you know. And then the jefe saved it again. I’m so grateful to be here.”

  “The right words in the right way,” Arturo said appreciatively.

  I was watching Morgan. She was managing beautifully, so much so that Solitaire as well as the two men were nodding approvingly. It was a relief. Now they’d do their jobs properly.

  “She’s a nice girl,” Pepe Rojo murmured.

  “I hate to say it, but she is,” Chumillo agreed, quickly adding, “Sorry, Rip. Old habits, you know.”

  “She’s brave,” Kyle was paying his respects.

  “Her father was loyal and fearless,” Arturo added. “Don Valentine really fucked up.”

  “That ungrateful capullo needs a bullet in the head,” Quique growled. “Her entire family went down while fighting for him, and he has no respect?”

  “Her double-crossing ex needs taking out too,” Rafa said. “He’s got no history, and he’s fucking her over?”

  They were all on her side now. I wasn’t sure how. All I felt was relief. But with trouble looming, it was a temporary victory. I needed a permanent solution.

  “Stay for dinner,” Arturo smiled. “It’s a barbecue, nothing fancy, just a few friends.”

  I’d learned my lesson. “Thank you, we’d love to.”

  It came to me as I helped set up the charcoal. I would finish the job for Arturo, settle Morgan firmly into the Zeta family and then leave. My enemies would follow me, which would relieve the Zetas, and Morgan would be safe.

  I looked back at the poolside. She was nose to nose with Solitaire now, both of them smiling. It was all good. Morgan was pure cartel, and the Zetas would embrace her as one of their own.

  “She’s guapa,” Chumillo grinned at me. “You’re a lucky man, Rip.”

  She’d be happy, and it wouldn’t be long before she’d find someone who could love her as she deserved to be loved. Chumillo, maybe. Or Rafa, who was also smiling at her.

  “Absolutely,” I said. “She’s a treasure, all right.”

  I spoke lightly, but all I felt was the pain surging back. Without Morgan I’d be dead again. Only this time I’d know. There would be no burying the pain of losing her. It was ironic. I’d rediscovered my heart, and now it was breaking.

  Chapter Twenty-Four: Morgan

  I was in a quake about going to Zeta central, but Rip didn’t bash anyone, and by the way the jefe and his men were all over him, he said all the right things for once. It meant we lived but also that we stayed for the party and dinner that followed.

  It was predictably hideous. The men sat to one side of the pool and the women to the other. Solitaire made sure I sat at her table, which meant the jefe’s sisters, Loli and Julia, as well as their cousins, Maria and Gina, joined us.

  As senior Zeta women, they were spitting at the mere sight of me.

  “A Gulf reject? Here? So hell’s freezing over?”

  “Looking at that Gulf loba turns my stomach.”

  Solitaire stood up for me. “Morgan is welcome in my house, and Rip saved Arturo’s life.”

  That took off some of the heat and repeating, “Rip saved my life, too. And then the jefe saved it again. I’m so grateful to be here” seemed to help a little. At least after I grovelled over and over again, they decided they would ignore me. So I sat there, pretending to be invisible while they talked around me.

  Chloe and Nats didn’t show, and from the chitchat, I gathered they were still at home because the security lockdown Kyle had mentioned had only just been lifted. Apparently it had been a wild week, and the women were full of news.

  “God, it’s boring to have to stay in. I missed a fashion show.”

  “There was some trouble over the border.”

  “The Gulf and the Sinaloa are killing each other.”

  “I hear the Sinaloa started it by killing that enforcer, Navarro.”

  “And then the Gulf hit back. It’s been a bloodbath.”

  “That scandal with Angelita Romero didn’t help. Imagine her doing the Sinaloa lawyer and the Gulf police chief at the same time!”

  “I heard they were so busy fighting each other that they lost Modesto.”

  Sitting with the men, Rip was helping the jefe brush marinade over chicken. I didn’t need a crystal ball to tell me Rip was behind it all. I remembered that other barbecue when he’d told the story of getting stuck in the lift as the condo was on fire.

  The makeup kit and outfits in the wardrobe made sense now. I’d been a fool not to see it before. Fiendishly clever Rip who reached the hardest targets was a chameleon. He could be anyone he wanted, walk through any doors.

  He was a major Zeta asset and a secret one. From the way the sisters and cousins gossiped, they thought Rip was just an English visitor, a man who happened to accidentally save their jefe. They had no idea how absolutely lethal he was.

  “You okay, Morgan?” Rip was standing next to me, hand protectively on my shoulder as he took in the jefe’s nearest and dearest. From the unloving look in his eye he’d noticed they were giving me the cold shoulder. “Want to go home?”

  Terrific. Rip would happily raise two fingers at the lot of them, and leave Solitaire fuming at being walked out on before the first course was even served. He really was the limit.

  “I’m good,” I smiled at him, “and that chicken smells amazing.”

  “Yes, Arturo’s an excellent cook.” Then Rip was zoning out again.

  “I love your accent.” The jefe’s sister Loli was drinking in the narrow hips, broad chest, and finely chiselled featu
res. Putting her elbows together and giving him an eyeful of lush cleavage, she purred, “Where in England are you from?”

  Rip tuned back in and frowned at her. “Berkshire.” Then he was turning to me. “Yes, okay. But we’re leaving after dinner. You’re still fragile.”

  And then he marched off.

  “Well!” Loli was gasping. “Que maleducado!”

  Like I said, it was a difficult evening, but we walked out of there in one piece. Rip was silent on the way home, zoned out in his own mind space, and I was so tired I was half asleep.

  The second we got into the house he was giving me orders. “Go up to bed, Morgan. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “You’re going out?” I was instantly wide awake.

  “No.” He was pushing me away gently. “Go and sleep.”

  I was hanging on to him. “Don’t leave me!”

  “Of course not.” The scent of him, earthy and richly masculine, enveloped me, exuding the promise of safety. “I’ll be right here.”

  “But I want you to come with me.” Memories of lying safe in the arms of my guardian angel surfaced. “Please,” I whispered.

  “How can you say that?” He was moving away, the words tearing out of him. “After all I did to you?”

  So Rip had a conscience. He’d not killed the camo kid because I’d reached the man deep inside him. You made your bed, Morgan. Now you have to fucking lie in it. He’d run because I’d rejected him. And yet, he’d returned.

  He stood there, the stark cold beauty of him dominating my senses. The gold hair was burnished bright, the hard, chiselled jaw and cheekbones jutting fiercely alongside the sculpted lips and nose. But the eyes were dark with exhaustion and his skin as pale as snow.

  He’d never had a chance, and my heart went out to him. “Never mind, Rip. It’s okay.”

  “Morgan, for God’s sake,” he whispered. “You know what I am.”

  I’d been so frightened of him yet all I could think of now was how he’d held back. Another man would have hurt me, just for the fun of it. “Hold her up! Don’t let her pass out!” Even when he’d been raging, Rip hadn’t raised a hand to me.

  “When I hit bottom, you were there for me.” I took his hands, my fingers running over the bruised knuckles. “You’ve saved me again and again.”