Carrera Cartel: The Collection

by Kenborn, Cora

  Instead, I placated him as my mind raced a hundred miles an hour crafting different plausible plans to keep her safe. “Fine, Father. But I need you to find out why the Muñoz intel seems to be always ten steps ahead of me, and why they’re so interested in her. Before I take care of her, I need to know how she fits into their plan. Somehow, she’s the key to their sabotage.”

  I had no clue what I was saying, but hopefully it bought me enough time to figure it out.

  Quiet for what seemed like a lifetime, Alejandro sighed low to show his annoyance. “Very well. Gerardo will see what he can find out.”

  “Thanks, Father, I—”

  “But, Valentin, there are no promises. I’ll put my top man on this, but whether he finds information or not…the pinche puta has forty-eight hours.”

  Before I could respond, the line went dead. As with most conversations with Alejandro Carrera, the last word always began and ended on his terms.

  Forty-eight hours.

  Grabbing the phone again, I dialed Mateo.

  I hoped it was enough to buy a miracle.

  * * *

  Standing outside the safe house, the gun weighed heavy in my palm as I watched her through the window. Helpless and weak, she lay exactly where I left her six hours earlier on the bed, shackled with a defeated look painted across her gorgeous face.

  Up until now, my life held no confusion. I counted clarity among one of my many virtues, knowing exactly who I was and which side of the law my foot planted on. Gray areas didn’t exist in my world.

  Until her.

  Flipping the cold metal over and over in my palm, sweat gathered on my brow as her worn tank top shifted and rode up her ribcage. Indecisiveness festered in that gray area the moment Eden Lachey crashed into my life. Clarity ceased to exist, and the cut-and-dried life of a criminal wasn’t as easily separated from a conscience I thought I’d long since abandoned.

  Fuck, why didn’t she pull that tank top down?

  I closed my fingers around the gun. Alejandro’s voice echoed in my head.

  Forty-eight hours.

  My father’s orders were never disobeyed. The moment the Mexico contingent of the Carrera Cartel came after Eden, her death would be slow and torturous. They’d violate her in ways that forced crimson streaks across my vision.

  If Mateo gave her a loaded injection of M99, she’d peacefully fall asleep within seconds. There’d be no pain—only eternal rest. I’d make sure above all else, no one would take her dignity from her.

  What the hell?

  Stumbling backward, I fought a wave of nausea that barreled up my chest. Pressing the hand holding the gun against my lips, I puffed out my cheeks, willing the impending dry heaves back down my throat.

  I’m a monster.

  Did I seriously just contemplate poisoning Eden because it was the humane thing to do?

  Unlocking the front door, I pushed my way inside, angry at the world for mind-fucking me. The moment I reached Eden, she sat up, her eyes wide with dark circles lining the bottom. Leaning over with purpose, I tightened my grip around the metal in my hand, knowing I didn’t need forty-eight hours to make this call.

  It was going on four days I’d kept her locked up. No one should have to endure that. My father was right. This ended now.

  Capturing her wrist, I avoided her stare, as I pinched the metal and extended my arm in front of me. She gasped as one strangled word whispered past her dry lips. “Val...”

  “It’s time, Cereza.” With a heavy heart, I inserted the key and unlocked the cuff. The metal clanked against the bedframe as it fell off her wrist and disappeared behind the mattress. We both stared at it, lips tight, the moment taking both of us by surprise. Finally, with no purpose for it, I let the key fall from my fingers and bounce on the floor. “I’m going to check on the stash houses. I’ll be back in a few hours. You can go where you want.”

  Unable to take her incessant staring, I swallowed and reached for the door. Before I could turn the knob, she scrambled off the mattress, holding onto my wrist with both hands.

  “Eden…” I closed my eyes, willing her to stop this game we’d been playing.

  “Val…” Her voice broke, betraying a vulnerability I didn’t expect. “Before you came back, I had a dream that you didn’t…” She paused, her throat working hard to form the words. “I woke up, and no one was here. I was scared. It seemed so real.”

  “You’ve been through a lot; that’s going to happen.” I hated how cold my voice sounded, but I had to start distancing myself from her. It wasn’t safe for either one of us to become attached.

  A flash of irritation crossed her face. “No, jackass, it wasn’t about me.” As quickly as her anger rose, it faded, the memory shaking her confidence again. “I’m worried about you.”

  “Don’t worry about me, Cereza.” A genuine smile crossed my lips. “I’ve been doing this for a lot longer than you. I’ve got a few of my nine lives left.”

  Contemplating my dismissal with a scowl, Eden furiously rubbed her forefinger and thumb across the pendant hanging around her neck. Raising a questioning brow, I glanced down at the strong hold she continued to have on my wrist. Still in deep thought, she sighed, releasing my arm and taking a few steps backward, a worried line cresting in the middle of her forehead. Giving her an obligatory nod, I turned once more toward the door.

  “Hey, Danger…”

  Glancing over my shoulder, I watched as, in a rash moment, Eden slipped the medallion off her neck and pressed it into the palm of my hand.

  “Eden…no.”

  She shook her head stubbornly. “Take it. It’s for luck. It’ll protect you.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Like it protected you?”

  “We’re still alive, aren’t we?” she said, throwing my own words back at me. “Besides,” she lowered her eyes, a smile playing on the corner of her mouth, “it hasn’t been all bad.”

  Before I knew I’d moved, I crushed her against me, dragging my lips across her jaw. Closing my eyes, I inhaled the familiar scent of her skin. Fusing our mouths together, I drank from her lips like a starving man. The woman had a way of being my verbal undoing.

  And goddamn it, I was keeping her.

  I kissed her once more and raked the pad of my thumb over her bottom lip. “I’m coming back tonight. This isn’t over.”

  One corner of her mouth curled in a knowing smirk as she walked backward toward the bathroom. “I don’t suppose you have anything I could change into while you’re gone, do you?”

  I never turned around as I closed the door behind me. “Why would I do that?”

  * * *

  “What do you mean the truck never made it?”

  The flannel clad warehouse guard shrugged, stopping to take a long drag off his cigarette before answering. “I mean it never made it. It was scheduled to come in off Highway 59 from Victoria, when it just went away.” He waved his hands in the air to simulate evaporating smoke.

  I pinched the bridge of my nose, attempting to keep myself from reaching into my waistband and pumping an entire round into this asshole. “Eighteen-wheelers don’t just vanish, Enrique. It’s kind of fucking hard to get rid of an entire truck bed of shark bellies stuffed with cocaine. It’s not exactly underpass transfer cargo.”

  He blew another smoke ring before stomping the butt out at the entrance to the stash house. “Don’t know what to tell you. No truck, no coke. You can search the place if you want.”

  “Odio mi vida!” Fuck my life! Pissed at the second missing Colombian shipment in the past two days, I pulled my fist back and coldcocked the guy in the side of the face.

  Knocked into the corner of the stash house, Enrique grabbed his face, wisely choosing not to retaliate. “Jesus, man, what the hell was that for?”

  Shaking my fist, I swore as my knuckles throbbed. “For being a useless asshole. You’re lucky I don’t blow your dick off and make you smoke it.”

  Muttering to himself, he quickly made his way back inside an
d closed the door, intermittently glancing in between the blinds to see if I’d left. Just to be a dick, I stood around, sizing up the property, wondering what possibly could’ve gone wrong.

  Only one word made sense. Muñoz. The root of all things fucked.

  Shit with Manuel Muñoz was escalating, and interference of this magnitude called for a face-to-face meeting. Resigned to what had to be done, I reached for my phone. Instead, my fingers pulled a long chain from my pocket, attached to a small medallion with a porcelain top. Running my thumb over the smooth face, I studied the design. It depicted a scene of St. Michael attacking and defeating the fallen enemy torn. Surrounding the image were written the words:

  O St. Michael, give us your strength

  To defeat our fears

  And rise to any challenge

  She’d given me a medallion for protection. The irony wasn’t lost on me.

  Here I stood, rubbing the image of an archangel, asking it to give protection to a murderer doomed to hell. On a whim, I brought it to my lips and kissed the smooth finish. No one had ever given me blind faith. I had no idea what to do with it.

  Standing outside the warehouse alone, I could be honest with myself. She’d gotten to me a little. Fine. Fuck, she’d turned me inside out. I recognized the darkness inside her, and it called to me. Maybe it was wrong to fan the flame, but I couldn’t stop myself. It didn’t take much for her to transform from a tragic victim who begged for her release, to a cunning warrior, free falling into a world she knew nothing about, yet craved.

  If we burned…now we burned together.

  Swinging the medallion around my neck, I glanced at my watch and sighed. Ten-forty-seven p.m. It’d been a long drive to Corpus Christi, and it’d be a long drive back to Houston.

  And there was still unfinished business waiting for me at the safe house.

  Smiling to myself, I shook my head at the empty stash house and turned toward my Lexus. Lost in thought, I’d just reached for my keys when the ground shook beneath my feet and an explosion lit up the night sky, knocking me airborne.

  I remembered feeling weightless before a searing pain crushed my skull and silence echoed into a dark hum of nothing.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Eden

  Mateo and Emilio sat at the small, wooden kitchen table, huddled together well after midnight. Their brows alternately raised and lowered as they talked in hushed tones. Occasionally, they’d glance over at me. Whether it was out of suspicion or concern, I had no idea, and, honestly, I didn’t give a shit. My mind raced, trying to catch every third word that passed between them.

  Mateo’s hand brushed his mouth, as his other palmed his long dark hair. “Crew…there…now.”

  “Flames? Any survivors?” Emilio shifted positions, still holding his bandaged ribcage.

  It didn’t take a genius to figure out their conversation. Only one person’s whereabouts would have their phones ringing off the hook and hands scrubbing their faces every ten seconds.

  Val.

  My eyes closed, attempting to block out what had been unfolding. As they whispered, I paced, absent-mindedly rubbing the tender ring around my wrist where the handcuff used to rest against my skin. A war raged inside of me, and with every stride across thread-bare carpet, I chewed my nails to slivers.

  Out of nowhere, a horrifying thought gut punched me. “You think he’s dead.”

  Mateo raised an eyebrow, taking in my hardened stare. “We didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t have to.”

  A tightened squeeze on his phone was his only response as he lowered his eyes.

  From what I’d gathered in eavesdropping from my curled-up seat on the couch, a neighboring textile factory called in an explosion to the Corpus Christi Fire Department concerning an abandoned warehouse five miles off Highway 59. Mateo got the call from one of his crew members two hours ago, causing chaos to erupt at the safe house.

  Within minutes, Emilio arrived and men came in and out, all eyeing me up like I was some kind of black widow.

  Maybe I was.

  If the rumors were true about Val, the last two men I remotely had any sort of relationship with had been murdered. I’d never recover from losing Nash. The memory of being in that kitchen would haunt me until my last breath, but the thought of Val walking into an explosion forced a reaction out of me I didn’t expect.

  He’d made me his prisoner. He indirectly had a hand in my brother’s death. Yet, I found myself clawing at my neck for my St. Michael medallion, offering up a prayer for his protection. Of course, my fingers scraped nothing but bare skin.

  “Hey, Danger…”

  “Eden…no.”

  “Take it. It’s for luck. It’ll protect you.”

  “Like it protected you?”

  “We’re still alive, aren’t we?”

  I just hoped it’d done its job. With Nash gone, and my father on the run, I realized the man who’d initially held me against my will had become all I had left. Whether morally right or wrong, I needed him. I didn’t give a shit what anyone else thought. I never did.

  Mateo’s phone rang again, knocking me out of my introspective revelation.

  “To the ground?” The lines in his forehead deepened. “How many bodies?”

  Reality slapped me cold in the face. “Bodies?” Running to the table, I braced my palms against the edge. “Whose bodies? How many?”

  Mateo dismissed me with a wave. “How long before the medical examiner can identify?” With a slow shake of his head, he sat back in the chair and raked a hand over his sparse goatee. “Send extra men and call me the minute you find anything. Search the car, search the area…fuck, search within a ten-mile radius.” Ending the call, he cursed under his breath.

  “Is he dead?”

  A deeper voice called out to me. “Sit down, Eden.”

  Panic shifted my attention toward Emilio. “What do you know?”

  “Don’t stick your nose into business you know nothing about, Eden O’Dell,” he bit out, refusing to look at me.

  “Lachey.”

  “Whatever.”

  It took me half a second to lose my shit.

  Nine days of physical restraint, fear, and hunger strikes simultaneously set me off. Pushing off the table, I lunged at him, my fists curling into his dirty white button-up shirt as I shoved my nose against his in a bold move.

  “My last name is Lachey. You remember it, don’t you, boss? You said it enough when you beat the shit out of my brother.” Bottled up anger and grief exploded into an uncontrollable verbal tirade.

  Val explained that their rival cartel orchestrated Nash’s execution, and for some fucked-up reason, I believed him. Emilio didn’t kill my family, but when I didn’t know if the man I needed more than I cared to admit was alive or dead, rationality wasn’t a high priority.

  Emilio’s eyes widened. “Get the hell off me, you crazy bitch!”

  “Wrong answer.” Letting go of his shirt, I slapped him hard across the face.

  “Eden!” Mateo called my name as Emilio blinked rapidly—frozen—as if he literally couldn’t process the concept a female had just assaulted him.

  Fuck, that felt good.

  I took a swing at Mateo and he caught my fist midair, curling his fingers around its momentum.

  “Tell me what happened, goddamn it!” I screamed, struggling against his hold.

  “We don’t know! A bomb went off at the stash house, leveling everything. The building is gone. A few beams are standing, that’s all. We don’t know if he was inside or not. All we know is his car was there, and it’s fucking barbecued.” Grunting, he grabbed my other hand as I fought against him. “Jesus, will you calm the hell down? Why do you even care?”

  “I don’t!”

  “Could’ve fooled me. You’re acting like a destroyed lover.”

  “Piss off, Mateo.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “What’s with you and Val? He’s never given two shits about witnesses before. The man is cold as
fuck. Who are you?” Without warning, he jerked me to his chest, his breath fanning my cheek. “Are you working for the Muñoz family?”

  I pushed my forearms against him, digging my elbows into his sternum. “What? No! Get off me, Mateo. What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “He’s got a point,” Emilio offered with a raised brow as he leaned against the table, his face darkening. “You conveniently get a job at my bar under an expired name, somehow escape a Muñoz hit, end up our prisoner—live better than our men, I might add—and the boss refuses to let anyone get near you but him.” A sneer coated his weathered face. “Either you’ve got a magic cunt or you’re a Muñoz pump.”

  The room organized against me in a move I never saw coming.

  Me? Muñoz? They had to be kidding. Still, their leader and friend was missing and, for all they knew, presumed dead. Clear thinking didn’t seem to be taking precedence now.

  I’d unknowingly become the third contestant in the Blame Game, and the two main contestants played rough and dirty.

  Well, game on.

  Dipping my chin, I bit down hard on Mateo’s left wrist. Cursing at a deafening level, he released his hold and stumbled backward. “You fucking bit me!”

  “Don’t call me a cunt. Ever.”

  Shoving a finger past my face, he pointed toward Emilio. “I didn’t! He did. Christ, you’re insane, you know that?”

  “I’m not a Muñoz anything. I’m a miserable bartender whose life got ripped out from under her by your cartel bullshit.” I resumed pacing, as if I hadn’t just turned Rottweiler on a drug runner. “I thought my life was shitty before. God, it was a goddamn Hallmark card compared to this. So, my husband stuck his dick in my best friend, and my father blew all our money on coke…sucks, right? Right. But this?” I threw my arms out, indicating the insanity of the situation. “This elevates suck to a whole new realm. This is…this is suck, blow, and swallow. This is a whole face fuck of fuck.”