Dark Hunter (A Zeta Cartel Novel Book 4)

by AJ Adams

  He shook his head and put a finger on my lips, silencing me. “I have my orders. I’m off on a job tomorrow.”

  My heart stopped. I couldn’t breathe. All the things I’d said about better them than us went out of the window. A job meant that Rip was about to hunt down his prey. The predator would be merciless, unstoppable, and it was going to be bloody.

  I wanted to beg him not to go. But it was too late. “Don’t try and stop me, Morgan.” The blue eyes were blank, glittering with dark purpose. The man had vanished. I was gazing at the monster.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven: Rip

  There was blood everywhere. Up the walls, over the desk, and thanks to the upright fan, splatter had even reached the ceiling. Meme Pastor, meth distributor for the Gulf, was sitting in the middle of it.

  I tucked the rose behind his ear. “Bye, Meme.” A final cut on his neck was all it took. The light went out of his eyes, and I was alone in the room.

  The photos winged their way to Arturo, and within seconds he was calling me. “Amazing! Well done. Perfect.”

  He’d said the same about Rulo Duran, the Sinaloa hitman and John Burton, who, despite his name, was not an actor. I bet Burton wished he were playing the humble Father Brown instead of killing for the Gulf, though. He’d screamed so much when I carved him up that I’d plugged my ears with cotton wool.

  Yes, I know. I should have revelled in his terror, but it had only irked me. My monster was still letting me down. I felt a couple of sparkles when I’d started with Rulo, but then the joy of it had just fizzled. It had been the same with Burton, and then Pastor.

  Of course it hadn’t stopped me. The results were gorier than the Texas Chainsaw Massacre, and the jefe was loud and happy. “Brilliant, Rip! The Gulf and Sinaloa are ready to go to war. Their relationship is totally fractured.”

  “Thanks.”

  “How did you get to Pastor? The fucker has snuck out of six assassination attempts in the last three months alone.”

  “He wanted news of his son.”

  “But he died of an overdose a year ago,” Arturo said amazed. “He knew that. He identified the body.”

  “The coroner’s report said the face had been eaten by rats. I lured Pastor in by telling him it was a case of mistaken identity.”

  Arturo was silent a moment. He valued family ties highly, and I knew the patriarch in him was outraged. But it was the cartel boss who won the struggle. “Excellent strategy. I’m impressed.”

  I wasn’t feeling it. The blood all over the walls was beginning to get to me a little. Oh, I wasn’t feeling guilty. I knew Meme deserved what he got. I was just his bad karma manifested. But something about the gore and slaughter just wasn’t sitting right with me.

  I wasn’t going to let on, though. “Thanks, jefe. That means a lot to me.” Because he meant well, and I needed him to safeguard my girl.

  “Morgan is fine but missing you.” I swear Arturo has ESP. “Come home, okay?”

  “Of course. I’m on my way.” And it was true. I couldn’t do anything else.

  When I’d left four days earlier, leaving Morgan asleep in the predawn hours, I was uptight again, agonising over whether I should disappear from her life. I could stay in the States, clean up the Templado business in a couple of weeks, and vanish.

  As an option it made sense, but within an hour of my hitting Halford she’d sent voicemail. “When you’re done with business, come home.” I’d just stood there, not knowing what to think, when another clip came in. “No messing around, Rip.” The growly Texan drawl floated out strong and clear. “Promise me you’ll come straight home.”

  My fingers had texted back before I could think, Promise.

  A third voicemail floated in, relief in every syllable. “Good. Call me once a day, just so I don’t worry. Love you, Morgan.”

  I’d played that clip over and over again, not believing it. But there it was. “Love.”

  I played it again. Yes, it was true. She’d really said it. I thought for a moment, and then texted her, “On my way home.” And then, after a year’s debate, “Love, Rip.”

  “Rip! You’re home early.” Ginny was taller every day. Her eyes were almost at my own level as she hugged me. “Isn’t it great? Mum let me come home early so I can come and see your Macbeth.”

  The blood was pooling around my shoes. “Who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?” I quipped at the dead Meme. But my prey never haunted me; only the innocent came knocking. Poor Ginny. My heart ached for my little sister. All that life and love, snuffed out.

  Driving home over the quiet Texas highway south, I considered the ironies of my situation. I was losing out on all sides; my hunts no longer fulfilled me, but I couldn’t quit. I had to keep going, and when it was done, I would lose my only love. On top of it, I was dreaming about my family every night. The memories were crowding in by day too.

  By the time I drove down the potholed lane, my gut was in knots. My head was telling me that Morgan wanted me back home, but my fear was screaming that she hadn’t meant it. I might have done a u-turn and blasted off, except that the second I was in view of the house, I spotted her.

  She was diving under an SUV with the joyous abandon of a dolphin jumping in the surf. Dark fluid was spilling out from underneath, pooling swiftly and then just as suddenly ceasing. From the way her boots wriggled, she was humming along to the cantina pop blasting out from the radio as she stopped the deluge. My girl was in her element.

  As I rolled up, she recognised the sound of the engine and came rolling out from under. “Rip! You’re home.” She came straight over, leaning into the open window. She was wearing overalls smeared with oil, and she’d run a mucky hand through her hair, but to my eyes she was beautiful. “I won’t kiss you,” she giggled. “Teo forgot to close the oil valve.”

  I’d only had eyes for her, but now I saw the garage was a hive of activity. Three lanky teens, all in a similar state to my girl, were crowded around a big bike while several more were working on a familiar-looking SUV. Gear cluttered up all available space and spilled out into the drive as well.

  “We’re having an intensive workshop,” Morgan explained. “And Rafa’s SUV hit a pothole and needs a bit of love.”

  It suddenly came to me that I had my kit in the boot. I’d dumped the blood-stained clothes and shoes, but the files, disguises, and other gear were all there. I didn’t want anyone getting too close a look.

  Either Morgan shared Arturo’s gift or she spotted my glance to the rear. “Right, best leave the Cayenne here.” She gulped, swallowed, and then shot a worried look at the youths in the garage. “We’re just finishing up for the day. They’ll be off in half an hour.”

  No questions about where I’d been or what I’d done. Just a warm, accepting homecoming. My girl was in her element in more ways than one. She’d gone back to her roots, accepting the good while determinedly ignoring the harsh realities of our circumstances.

  Half an hour later, having watched the apprentices truck off, Morgan floated in and out of the shower and into the kitchen. “Drinks by the pool?” She was smiling, and the sunlight was dancing over her hair. “I fixed dinner. Beef stew.”

  She was everything that was good in the world. I was seeing Pastor as I’d left him, planted in his own gore with the pristine rose tucked by his ear. I had no right to be around this sweet girl. It was obscene.

  “Oh no.” Morgan was holding on to me, her face determined. “You’re not running, Rip.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  The ash-coloured eyes were sad. “You think I don’t?” Her arms were around me, ruthlessly cradling me. “It’s all over the news.”

  Christ! As if it were yesterday, I remembered chortling as they’d featured my kill on CNN. She’d been terrified then.

  “Don’t run away.” Her whisper went straight to my heart. “Don’t leave me alone, please.”

  God knows how, but I found myself holding on to her as if she were a lifebelt.
“I’d stop if I could.” Her scent, fresh and invigorating, floated around me. “I wanted to walk away.”

  She had tears in her eyes. “Oh, poor Rip.”

  “You shouldn’t be around me. I’m a monster.”

  She was holding me close to her, the love flowing from her. “No, you’re not. Monsters don’t have a conscience.”

  “But Morgan—” She needed to be protected from herself. “You deserve better.”

  “We both do,” she said soberly. “No running, now. It won’t help you.”

  She sat with me on the kitchen doorstep, just holding on. Gradually the peace of my home sank into me. The river flowed, the birds sang, and the sunlight danced on the leaves of the garden that was blossoming. The darkness retreated. An iron band around my chest that I hadn’t even noticed was there, vanished. I could breathe again.

  “You’re back again.” Her lips were on mine, soft and gentle. At their touch, I was solid. The gentle swell of her breasts pushed against my chest. My hands were tracing the sweep of smooth back down to the sweet bottom.

  Her hair was still damp from her shower. “Come upstairs, sweetheart,” she whispered.

  We made love on the sun-dappled bed. I was in a dream, tangled in soft silken limbs, drowning in her sweetness. When I came to, she was sleekly satisfied, nestling into me. A wave of tenderness consumed me. I was wrapped around her, clutching her, loving her with all my heart.

  “Missed you,” she murmured.

  I stroked the soft hair noting the smudges under her eyes. Her cheekbones were too tight under the skin too. “Did you sleep? Eat properly?”

  She chuckled. “The day you left, Chumillo, Rafa and the halcones all brought me fresh bread and milk. The apprentices have been gifting me with honey and vegetables from their gardens too.”

  “So you didn’t sleep?”

  The gold flecks set in the grey were sparkling at me. “You never miss a thing, do you?” She kissed my cheek. “I will tonight.”

  Maybe I should have left. But I couldn’t. Call me selfish, but I wanted her, needed her. So I stayed, determined to enjoy every second of my time with her while I was able to.

  It was heaven. We went to Arturo’s for dinner, but after surviving that, we were left to our own devices. To my relief, Morgan was rapidly establishing herself as chief consultant mechanic to the Zetas. She arranged car seats for the young mums, talked beginner rides with the teens, and charmed the men with her encyclopaedic knowledge.

  I spent my time in the garden, making sure my hunts in Templado were watertight and working out how I’d take out Morgan’s enemies in Dawson Heights afterwards.

  The cartel boss was wily and rarely left his house, but Don Valentine had a weakness for modern art. I’d get him to come running to me with the lure of a stolen Picasso.

  Neto, the master chemist, had been lured from Los Osos to the Gulf by the promise of respect. An offer from the Zetas to make him a lieutenant would bring him running.

  Mitch Cortez was a piece of cake. All I needed was to promise money, a cache of drugs, or even beautiful twins. The man was out to take what he could get.

  Although the plans flowed easily, I couldn’t help going over the Cortez file again and again because I couldn’t figure out what Morgan had ever seen in him. He had surface charm, but in truth he didn’t give a damn about anyone. Filled with ambition, he walked over everyone who stood in his way and he had left more than a few corpses in his wake. His friends were entirely disposable as were his women. Cortez was totally ruthless.

  Just considering how he’d treated Morgan had me dig over the entire wasteland by the river. I was boiling with rage. My monster was in hiding, but I’m telling you: there was plenty of satisfaction in imagining how I’d slice, dice, and crucify the fucker.

  Morgan found me wielding an axe in order to dig out a rotten tree root. “Got issues?”

  I had the presence of mind to answer, “I’m working up an appetite.”

  “Terrific! I’m done for the day. Want me to fix dinner?”

  “No! I mean thanks, but it’s under control.”

  The slate eyes were laughing at me. “I could make you canned beef stewed in cream of mushroom soup.”

  “Really. It’s fine.”

  Morgan collapsed in giggles. “Ohmigod Rip! You actually shuddered!”

  “Minx!” I couldn’t help but laugh with her. The one and only meal she’d cooked had been an inedible, flavourless mush. “I’ll eat it, but not even my love for you can make me say I like it.”

  It was out before I could stop myself. The world stopped spinning. I was hanging in space, gasping between fear and hope.

  But Morgan danced over, throwing her arms around me, exclaiming, “My love for you is rooted in chicken fried steak and hot spinach salad.”

  She’d thought I was joking. Perhaps it was better that way. Even so, with a double armful of sweet girl, scented with soap and shampoo, I couldn’t help myself. “Morgan, what did you see in that bastard Cortez?”

  She just sighed. “I was lonely.”

  I was staring at the burned-out shell that had been our home. It was gone, and everyone I loved had gone with it. I was alone. Lost in bleak emptiness.

  “Rip?” Morgan was pulling me back from horror into the sunlight. “You were lonely too,” she said.

  There was a thin white line that ran from her ear to her neck. A souvenir from the beating. It had taken twenty stitches, that cut. He’d scream for that. He’d pay for every stitch with a bucket a blood.

  “I don’t hate him, you know,” Morgan said quietly. “I don’t have any feelings for Mitch at all.”

  There was no understanding it.

  “I can see you’re pissed enough for both of us.” Morgan smiled. “Well, thank God Templado and Dawson Heights are too far away for the Zetas to bother with.”

  I was silent, telling myself that she didn’t know of the plan, but I should have remembered that Morgan was beginning to read me. Now something about my stillness was alerting her.

  “Rip,” her voice was trembling with fear as realization set in. “Oh no!”

  “Morgan, let’s not do this.”

  She was shaking, and it was my fault. My joy in being near her shrivelled. She deserved so much better than me.

  She was hanging on to me, pale and shaky. “You’ve had orders?”

  “You know I can’t talk about it.” I should go, leave her in peace. The Zetas would look after her. They liked her.

  “Rip, no!” Morgan snapped. She could see right through me. “Don’t you dare run off.”

  “Just being near me is hurting you. You need a fresh start.”

  Her eyes widened. “Ohmigod! You’re going to leave me?”

  She was so close to me that I could feel the heat of her body. The words tore from me. “You can’t change the past, Morgan.” The pain cut like a knife. “But I can give you a future.”

  “What?” she cried. “I don’t understand.”

  Time stretched. Maybe it was easier for her if she knew. So I told her about the project. “When I’m done, Arturo will have a territory that will make him the biggest player in North America.”

  “Oh Jesus,” Morgan whispered. “You’re not just a secret. You’re a weapon of mass destruction.”

  “More strategic than mass, but I take your point.”

  I’d been right. Morgan was now understanding the big picture. “But the Zetas won’t go for Dawson Heights, will they?”

  “No, we stop at Templado.”

  “A-anyone I know?” Morgan asked fearfully.

  “Nobody from Dawson Heights.” I stroked her arm. “But Morgan, when we’re done there, I have permission to take care of your enemies.” I shushed her. “They’re too dangerous to leave in place, love.”

  She was silent, those big grey eyes staring into mine.

  “With Arturo on top, you’ll be safe here. But I can’t stay.”

  “No!”

  “Sweetheart, I can’t le
t my past endanger you. When it’s done, I’ll go, and the Bratva will follow me. You’ll be safe. Free to live your life.”

  “But you’ll be alone.” She was hanging on to me. “Rip, no! They’ll kill you!”

  “If they catch me, Morgan, I won’t be the one dying.”

  “You stupid macho asshole!” She thumped me on the arm. “Do you want to leave me?” I didn’t speak, but she was reading me easily. “You goddamn noble fool.” The grey eyes were steel. “I don’t want you to go. You make me happy.”

  I made her happy. Me. Just hearing it made me choke up. I couldn’t speak for the lump in my throat.

  She was hugging me, her body soft against mine. “I know it’s difficult, but please listen. You’ve got it all wrong.”

  “If I weren’t here, you could be free.”

  “Alone, you mean,” Morgan answered bitterly. “I tried that back home, and it was lonely as hell.”

  Then she told me what her life had been like. “But you had friends, Emma and Lucy.”

  “Yes,” Morgan agreed. “But I was out of it for everything else. No parties, no dinners, nothing.” She swallowed. “I tried my best, but when Mitch came along, I was at the point where I knew I’d never marry, have kids, or even have someone to be with.”

  She wanted a normal life. I couldn’t give that to her.

  “Since I’ve been here, I’ve been thinking,” Morgan informed me. “Even if Don Valentine wasn’t after me, I’d still have trouble being Jane Q Public. Growing up in the cartel left a mark on me.”

  “You fit in here. They like you.”

  “They tolerate me,” Morgan corrected me. “If you leave, I’ll be alone.”

  “Not for long. I’m sure of that.”

  “Rip, none of them would take a Gulf girl,” Morgan said. “The others would never trust them again, not a hundred percent. And anyway, the women in their families would probably kill me the moment they saw a man taking an interest.”

  Christ. I’d forgotten about the women again. “I thought you’d marry Chumillo or Rafa.”

  “Believe me, they won’t be allowed to.”

  “But Morgan, think of what living with me would be like. You know what I do. And you know I can’t stop. I won’t be allowed to.”