Dark Hunter (A Zeta Cartel Novel Book 4)

by AJ Adams

  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.

  With him popping in and out every day, it wasn’t hard to ambush him. I simply called out to him one morning as he passed the garage and asked him how Kyle’s Blackbird was.

  “You were right,” he said instantly. “Your repair held till he got home. He got a new wheel for it yesterday.”

  “Terrific. I’m sorry I could only do a patch.”

  “Hey! You’re an awesome mechanic.”

  “Thanks. I’m hoping that Solitaire likes my work too.”

  Chumillo was smiling. “Sure she does.”

  “She’s generous. Actually, you all are, considering my background.”

  For a moment the Zeta struggled with himself. Then he sighed. “Chica, let’s be honest. It’s not easy.”

  “Absolutely. I get it.” I was working on the Cayenne, fixing the oil leak, so my hands were busy. I told myself it was because it looked casual, but actually it was because my hands were shaking. “I loved Papa, but I never liked Don Valentine, you know.” My head was telling me that the cartel boss was a million miles away, and I was already on his shit list, but just saying it made me sweat.

  “Who would?” Chumillo replied. “He’s a double-crossing capullo.”

  “Yes, I get that he was angry with me for walking away, but I never worked for him.”

  “That’s true.”

  “He shouldn’t have believed the lies Mitch told him.”

  “Exactly. Not after your family’s sacrifice.”

  “He gave permission for Mitch and Neto to beat me to death.” Hold her up. Careful! Don’t let her pass out. I was sweating with the memories.

  Chumillo was all over it, exclaiming, “The miserable fuck should rot in hell!”

  I shook away the fear coursing through me and stated my case. “Although Papa might be rolling in his grave, I have no loyalty to his boss.”

  “He’d be with you one hundred percent,” Chumillo assured me.

  “I hope so.” I gave it to him both barrels. “I’d be dead without the Zetas. I want you to know I’m grateful.”

  “Ay, preciosa!” I got a crushing hug, three kisses, and then Chumillo was reassuring me. “It will all work out, you’ll see.”

  I know. It was manipulative, and I’m a bitch. But when you’re in the cartel, managing your rep is the number one survival skill. I was fighting for my life as well as Rip’s, and I was taking it seriously. Dead seriously.

  To my immense relief, Chumillo added, “Hey, I was wondering, can you take a look at my Italika? I took it out day before yesterday, and now it won’t start.”

  “Absolutely.” Doing a favour is the best way to make friends. I’d give the bike all my love, and if the damn thing was busted beyond repair, I’d quietly replace it, just to get in the Zetas’ good books. Yes, I was that desperate.

  It earned me another hug. “You’re the best.”

  As Chumillo rushed off to get his ride, part of me was relieved, too, because putting my case to Chumillo had been easy. I wasn’t kidding myself about why that was: despite the fractured history, we were both coming from the same place.

  As the knowledge sank in, it brought me some peace. All those years of trying to force square peg me into round hole Dawson Heights just washed away. I was free to be myself again. No double thinking, no worrying I was too loud, too angry, too in-your-face.

  The quiet voice in my head reminded me that playing with monsters rubs off, but I focused on the positive. With Chumillo in my corner, I knew he’d tell the other Zeta senior crew. I was optimistic because they were generous with women, very much like Poncho back home. If the inner circle accepted me, many of the Zeta soldiers would follow their lead. For every man who did that, Rip and I would be safer.

  Feeling secure and having work made me happy, so over the following week I was feeling good as I fixed the bikes, serviced the Cayenne, and taught the apprentices. Crazy, right? To be content in the middle of a nightmare? But after all the worries, it was a welcome change.

  It was a Saturday morning, and I was humming as I finished Chumillo’s Italika. It had quit because of a fuel line issue that was hard to spot but easily fixed. I was just giving it a finishing polish when Rip rocked up.

  He wasn’t exactly the kind of man who showed his feelings, but I was getting to know him, and I could see he was uptight. “Arturo wants us to go to dinner.”

  I have to say, I was worried too. It’s always dangerous to be near a cartel boss. Still, when he summons you, you jump to it. I made sure we brought the right gifts, and on the way up I tutored Rip on what to say and do. By the time we got to Zeta cartel headquarters, I don’t know which of us was more edgy.

  “The jefe says you’re to go to the office,” a gun-toting guard growled to Rip.

  My stomach clenched instantly, but much to my relief, Nats and Chloe were at Solitaire’s table, waving me over.

  Rip gave the three women a long, cool look, muttering, “Double, double toil and trouble.”

  I recognised that from the witches in Macbeth; we did it in theatre class one year. Rip’s suicidal streak was shining brightly. I gave him a hug and hissed in his ear, “Go see the jefe and remember to play nice.”

  “Yes, Mum.” Rip was laughing at me, letting the mask slip for a moment. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

  “Yes. Go on. I’ll see you later.”

  Solitaire was her usual self, cool and elegant. “Morgan, love the dress.” It was the blue floaty one, and I admit, I felt like a princess as it fluttered around me.

  “Jefa, thank you for inviting us.”

  At that the purple eyes were smiling with real warmth. “Morgan, what will it take for you to call me Solitaire?” She put an arm around my shoulders and added quietly, “For God’s sake, relax. We’ve got your back.”

  Under all that detached efficiency, the woman had a heart of gold. I don’t know what I said to her, but I was teary as she pushed me into a seat.

  “How’ve you been, love?” Nats asked. “I like your dress.”

  I hadn’t seen Nats and Chloe since the day they’d come to the house and offered to send me back. They should have chewed me out for not telling them the truth, but from their smiles, I knew they’d forgiven me.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t straight with you,” I started, but the girls were waving off my apologies.

  “Forget it,” Nats said.

  “Totally understandable,” Chloe shrugged.

  “Sorry we haven’t visited.” Nats was sitting with her feet up and her hands on her baby bump. She waved at her ankles, swollen and puffy. “I’ve been taking it easy.”

  “We’ve been hearing all about you,” Chloe said sagely. “Solitaire says you’ve been working miracles with her foundation kids.”

  “Can you advise me on baby seats?” Nats smiled.

  “And help me buy Kyle a birthday present?” Chloe asked. “He wants biker gear, and I’m clueless.”

  And just like that, I was drawn in. It was a relief to sit there and just chitchat. And when Chumillo and Rafa stopped by the table and included me in the hugs and hellos, I breathed again.

  Throughout the conversation though, I was aware that the girls didn’t like Rip. They were super careful to avoid mentioning him. I knew why too—unlike the other senior Zeta women I’d met the other time, these three knew the score.

  Even more eerie, everyone around us was aware that there was a quiet meeting going on in the mansion behind us. Rip was the only guest who’d gone into the house, and the jefe’s absence was notable. Nothing was said, but there was a watchful expectancy. I was also clocking a lot of curious glances. I was just glad I couldn’t hear the whispers that went with them.

  Sitting at Solitaire’s table meant a lot of traffic with the more junior wives coming by to show respect. They sat
down, gossiped a few minutes, and then moved on. We had just been joined by Carmina and Isa, two very pretty girls and clearly young relatives of the jefe, when the house doors opened.

  Like a staged performance, Arturo and Rip came out together. They made a beeline for our table with the jefe laughing and pushing Rip my way, saying, “Go on, show her!”

  There was a complete hush as everyone stared. Rip was rigid and impenetrable, zoning out in that weird Terminator way that meant he was stressed and figuring out what to do.

  I stood up instantly, “Mr Vazquez—” but before I could say another word, he was hugging me. “Morgan, I swear, if you don’t call me Arturo, I’m going to call you ma’am!” Then he was elbowing Rip again. “Go on, give it to her.”

  Rip was back on planet earth, frowning with concern. “You said you’d do anything to see them again but I’m not sure—”

  Then he was holding out a folder. When I opened it, I could barely breathe. It was a photo of Papa, holding a racing cup. Underneath was a photo of Aleja, cheerleading. Then a photo of the three of us, taken at the Templado Masters.

  They were press photos. Back home, I had framed copies on my bedside table. I thought they were gone, burned up in the fire. Now I had them in my hands again, their faces right in front of me, every loving line as I remembered them.

  “Morgan?” Rip’s eyes were narrowed with worry. “Is it okay? You said you would do anything to see them. Was I wrong?”

  I couldn’t see because I was totally tearing up. “I love it. Thanks. You’ve no idea—”

  To my immense relief, Rip just hugged me and I heard the jefe move away, telling everyone, “She’s Louis Franco’s daughter, you know. The rally champion?”

  “Here.” Nats was pushing a sheaf of tissues into my hand. I was blowing my nose, feeling a complete idiot when my ears caught up with the conversation.

  Carmina was updating Solitaire on her love life. “Raymundo was always cheating on me, so I dumped him,” she confided. “I’m dating Justino now. He’s much nicer, and he’s got a Mercedes.”

  “Exchanging the man who’s been had by all for the one who has it all,” Rip drawled.

  I kicked him on the ankle and hoped nobody would work out what he’d said by rushing in with, “I love Mercedes! What model?”

  “Blue,” Carmina replied triumphantly.

  An elbow in the ribs shut Rip up, but Solitaire and Nats were giving him hard looks while Chloe was covering her giggles by pretending to cough. I was terrified. Don Valentine had once blown away a server who’d laughed at him, and I had little doubt that silly little Carmina was dating a hot-blooded Zeta who’d be the same way.

  “Chumillo is waving at you.” I set Rip on his way, and luckily for me, Carmina hadn’t understood a word he’d said. The others had, of course. Being English, they had taken it all in.

  “He’s a handful, isn’t he?” Nats grinned at me. “Got a tongue like a razor.”

  “I thought it was hysterical.” Chloe was unrepentant. “Blue!” she giggled.

  To my surprise, Solitaire was handing me a small gift box and an envelope. “I opened a local bank account for you and deposited your pay.”

  Having money again felt good, but when I opened the envelope, I was open-mouthed. “A passport? Ohmigod!”

  “It’s genuine.” Solitaire smiled.

  Inside the box was a phone, a snazzy Galaxy S8. “Thank you so much! I don’t know what to say.”

  Typical Solitaire, she was hugging me and pretending she hadn’t just handed me my independence. “The phone is for my own convenience,” she said. “I’m planning on giving you a lot more work.” And being super efficient, she added. “The tech team will call you tomorrow. They’ll help you access your money in the US secretly and safely.”

  I was staring at it, totally taken aback. I had a life again. “I can?”

  “Our tech team monitor it, so if someone tries to hack in, they’ll cut in,” Solitaire said.

  “So I can use it, and Don Valentine won’t find me?” The way Solitaire hesitated revealed the truth. “Oh, he already has?”

  “Rip didn’t want you to know.”

  He was protecting me again.

  “Do you want a place of your own, here or somewhere else?” Solitaire asked quietly. “My offer stands. And I can arrange for security.”

  I looked over at Rip who was sitting with Chumillo and Rafa. From the way he was nodding and smiling, he was following my advice and keeping his trap shut. I was still clutching the folder with photos of Papa and Aleja. Clearly he’d asked the jefe for another favour.

  A wave of emo swamped me. “Thank you, but I’m happy where I am.”

  Solitaire sighed. “Arturo thought you’d say that. Let me know if you change your mind.”

  Hours later, driving back down the dark road, I was sneaking a sideways look at Rip. He was off-planet again, no doubt going over the night’s events with his Terminator chip working overtime.

  Back home I’d longed for a nice, normal man. Someone decent, loyal, kind, and hard-working. Rip was absolutely none of those things. So why was I staying with him? Because he’d fought to keep me. The answer just popped into mind.

  I’d not had a man in my life who’d wanted me before. In my wild days it had been sex with no connection whatsoever. There was only Mitch who’d just tried to use me, thinking my heritage would give him some nice background because he was new to the cartel.

  That very same history made me a liability to Rip, and he didn’t care. He fought for me, defended me, and—my hands were clutching the folder of photos—he went out of his way to make me happy. Rip might have rescued me for his own needs but now he wanted me purely for myself.

  “Rough night?” He was back on planet earth, pulling up in front of the house and checking me over. “Are you upset? What did those cats say to you?”

  Dear Rip. He was bristling at the mere thought of anyone saying a cross word to me. He really was my guardian angel. Well, considering everything, guardian devil, perhaps.

  I was leaning over and hugging him, feeling the solid strength of him. “I’m good. Really, I am.”

  “I don’t care what you say, you’re not going back there,” Rip grumbled.

  He really did care. Without conscious thought, I kissed him.

  We’d fought and fucked, but I’d never kissed Rip before. At first he froze, completely astonished, and then his arms were around me, pulling me close. His lips were warm, firm, and sweetly exploring. It felt absolutely, totally right. I sank into that kiss, feeling as if I’d come home.

  We fell out of the car, into the house, and then we were ripping each other’s clothes off. We made the bed, just, and without games or fanfare, we came together.

  Even now, I just remember it as a series of snapshots: the gentleness of his hands running down my back; a flicker of tongue on my nipples; his body, heavy on mine; then finally, a fierce surge of need, drowning out mind and body, leaving only our souls.

  I don’t know if I came, or if he did. All I remember is our being perfectly at one with each other.

  “Morgan.” It was a million years later. We were entwined, my body and his, in a comfortable curl. His hand was in my hair, softly stirring. “Mine,” he whispered fiercely.

  Sleek and sated, I snuggled into him. “I’m claiming you,” I yawned. “And don’t you forget it.”

  I fell asleep, feeling him shake with laughter.

  But the following morning he wasn’t amused when he saw the phone and heard the news about the tech team. There was nostril-flaring, twitching, and then, “Throw it away. I’ll give you money.”

  Seeing through him was easy. “Don Valentine already knows where I am.”

  Rip was tensing. “Who told you?”

  “I guessed.” I was hugging him. “You were trying to protect me.”

  “It was my fault he found you.” The conscience was flaring again. “We took photos of you, handed them around, and one found its way to the Gulf.�
��

  It was bound to happen. Nothing stays secret for long. Cartel gossip is Perez Hilton league. But from the blank look I gathered Rip was trying to figure out how I was feeling.

  “I guess Don Valentine is pissed?”

  Rip shrugged. “Incandescent is the word on the street.”

  “So there’s a contract out on me?” Rip’s tense face told me I got it in one. I was hugging him right away. “I’m not worried because you’ll keep me safe.”

  The strong arms were cradling me protectively. “He won’t get near you. Promise.”

  “I know. You’re a Dodge Tomahawk compared to Don Valentine’s Vespa.”

  He was laughing. “I have no idea what that means, but I’ll take it as a compliment.”

  “It’s a biker thing.” I gazed into the smiling eyes. “Now, seeing I’m rolling in money, how about we go out? I want to buy photo frames, and we can try out that restaurant by the butcher. My treat.”

  “You’re inviting me out for lunch?”

  He was so taken aback that it almost broke my heart. Poor Rip, he was so cut off from everyday human contact that a simple invite set him back on his heels.

  To cover it, I was cool. “Well yes, but I will expect you to put out afterwards.”

  He was grinning, “I’d better go and put on my sexiest undies then.”

  We had a nice lunch, with the restaurant owner being philosophical about the guards dotted around us, but Rip was uncharacteristically on edge. He was his usual fierce self about making sure we sat in a safe corner instead of a vulnerable window, but he seemed almost shy of me.

  When we got up to leave, I took his arm. Rip just stopped dead. “What is it?” He was pushing me behind him, and on full alert.

  Poor Rip. “I just want to be close to you.”

  The automaton was recalibrating. Then Rip was back. “Morgan,” he said softly. “Don’t do this.”

  “Do what?”

  “I’m too far gone. You can’t save me.”

  The world around us faded, leaving just the two of us. He was gazing at me, the softness clear in his eyes. I knew he had feelings for me. This was the man underneath the monster.

  “We’ll be okay.” I was picking my words carefully, knowing that every syllable counted. “Rip—”