Carrera Cartel: The Collection

by Kenborn, Cora

A gravelly clanging had me swallowing the panic growing in my throat. I couldn’t find my hand. It was tied above my head, along with the other one over a support beam with the floor barely dusting underneath my feet.

  They’d hung me from the rafters by a chain.

  Rope and metal cut into my already scarred and mangled skin so tightly that blood ran down my arms in wet trails. In a futile attempt to loosen the ties, I tried wiggling, which only twisted the chain. The chain’s length had been carefully measured during my unconsciousness to make it short enough to restrict my movement, but long enough to prevent my arms from snapping.

  The pain of everything I’d been through hit me in the awkward position, amplifying my injuries. Logically, I knew calling for help would be useless. However, regardless of how remote I knew the location had to be, I did it anyway.

  “Is anyone out there? I’m an innocent American! Anyone? Help!”

  “You’re far from innocent…Cereza.”

  I froze at the hateful snarl of Val’s private nickname for me. My eyes followed the voice to the far-right corner as a light flickered against a short, fat cigar. Thin lips wrapped around the end and sucked hard, puffing on smoke as the orange ember lit up his face.

  Manuel Muñoz.

  I’d never seen him in person, but Val had shown me pictures on the plane to Mexico City. He’d fought me on the issue, but I’d been adamant on knowing the face of the man who’d ordered my brother’s death. Yet, seeing his picture, and seeing his face in person evoked two entirely different responses.

  Val and Manuel grew up in the same country and were around the same age, but that was where the similarities ended. Manuel Muñoz’s shaved head depicted scenes of war and bloodshed, with tattoos covering most his scalp. A dusting of facial hair hid what was probably once a handsome face, only now, it scowled with evil and hatred beyond anything anyone could imagine. But it was his eyes that turned my stomach. They were coal black and void of a soul or anything salvageable as a human being.

  “You,” I breathed with contempt.

  A cruel smile teased his lips as he rose to his feet and stood in front of me. Inhaling a long puff from his cigar, he blew the smoke in my face and licked his lips. “We finally meet, Eden Lachey.”

  “Go to hell.”

  “In due time; first thing’s first.” Holding the cigar in between clenched teeth, he curled his hand and attempted to reach underneath my dress.

  Screaming, I jerked and twisted as best I could, revolted at the thought of his touch, but also realizing they never checked my thigh holster. I needed to keep my only chance for survival hidden from view. “Don’t touch me, asshole!”

  “Calm down,” he laughed, releasing me and returning to his cigar. “I just wanted to feel the pussy that rendered Valentin Carrera’s balls useless.”

  With my blood boiling, I forgot about my burning arms and swung my leg, landing a light kick straight to his dick. His face twisted in tortured pain, and he moved out of my trajectory, his body bent over and heaving. After moments of labored breathing, he straightened with a furious roar, and barreled toward me with a clenched fist. Holding my breath, I braced myself as bone cracked against bone, his knuckles driving into the side of my face with brutal force. Upon impact, my head snapped back as the chain swung above me. Spitting blood, I’d barely recovered, when he landed an even harder blow to my ribs, a sickening crack echoing in the silent room.

  Coughing wetly, I held his stare. “You killed my brother, you son of a bitch.”

  “Not personally.” He smiled, licking my blood off his fist. “That part, I regret.”

  I tried to hold in my rage like Val had taught me and stared at him with a cold eye.

  “Never show your hand, Cereza. Your next move is the only thing you have that your opponent doesn’t know.”

  Returning my stare, Manuel paced around me like a wolf stalking its prey. “You’ve caused quite the international shit-storm, Eden Lachey.”

  “Well, as they say, go big or go home.”

  He laughed, baring his stained teeth. “I see why Carrera likes you. American women are—how do you say—lively.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “And then you say things like that and ruin a good conversation. Crudeness isn’t attractive in a mate, Eden.”

  “Why don’t you let me down from here and fight me like a real man?” I taunted, hoping to get a rise out him. Without many options left for escape, I grasped at straws.

  He laughed again, waving the cigar in the air. “I have no interest in fighting. I’d just put a bullet in your head and be done with you.”

  “Then why am I still alive?”

  “You’ve amused me.” Taking another puff, he pointed the lit end of the cigar at me and raised a thick, black eyebrow. “I also know Valentin has a soft spot for you. We all knew you’d be the one to lead us to him. I enjoy torturing Carrera, and I love a good show. But, then again, this isn’t my show.”

  That caught my attention. “No?”

  “No.”

  “I didn’t take you for a yes man, Manny.” I managed a grin, despite my cracked and bleeding lips.

  Returning my smile, his lips curved into a knowing smirk—as if he held a secret weapon about to be unleashed on the world. “Not a yes man…a partnership, puta.”

  For the first time, Manuel’s eyes lit up with an emotion I could only describe as giddiness. I opened my mouth to ask him to explain when the door to the dank room opened, and a faint click of a light switch filled my ears moments before brightness flooded the four walls.

  “Hello, Eden.”

  The moment my eyes adjusted to the shock of the light, they settled on the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen in my life. Almost as tall as Manuel, but with legs that seemed to extend well beyond her waist, she glided into the room, a halo of thick, shiny black hair flowing down her back. Her skin stretched flawless across her face, framed by deep set, penetrating, brown eyes that captivated me from the onset of their glare.

  Her familiarity unnerved me. “How do you know me?”

  “Marisol, this is Valentin Carrera’s whore.” Manuel motioned dramatically from the woman, back to me, then gave me a wink. “Eden Lachey, meet the beauty and brains of this operation—Marisol Muñoz, my sister.”

  * * *

  After our little introduction, Manuel and Marisol literally left me hanging while they called a family meeting in the corner of the tiny room. Satisfied with their communication, Manuel nodded and pulled out his gun, shooting through the chain above me. I cried out in relief and pain when I hit the floor. Without a doubt, I knew I had a few broken ribs and most likely a cheek fracture. The way my chest rattled from the wet cough, I wouldn’t be surprised to find a collapsed lung.

  If I ever made it to a hospital.

  A heavy boot in my stomach had me flipping onto my back with stars in my eyes. “Get up.” Manuel’s hand jerked me roughly off the floor and onto my feet. “We’ve got a party waiting for you downstairs,” he snarled, freeing my hands.

  Val.

  The logical part of me prayed I was wrong, and he was safe and out of their sadistic hands. Yet the weak and needy part of me ached to hold him again.

  Turning over my shoulder, I threw a cold stare at Marisol Muñoz as her brother dragged me down the darkened hallway. “Why are you doing this?”

  She looked at me as if I’d just asked her to explain quantum physics. “Money, darling. Valentin Carrera has it; I want it. You think I spent six years studying with my nose in a book at the University of Guadalajara to be stuck in an office somewhere?” A high-pitched laugh bounced off the walls. “Hell no. What this cartel has lacked since my father’s death has been intelligent direction. No offense, dear brother.”

  Manuel shrugged and raised a quick eyebrow in her direction before snapping my arm toward a closed door.

  “The Muñoz Cartel could never overtake Alejandro Carrera because the men in my family lacked strategic planning and intricate follow-thro
ugh—something that required the long-term patience of a woman. You understand; right, Eden?”

  “Sure,” I replied, rolling my eyes in the dark.

  As all three of us reached the closed door, the smile on her face morphed into an arrogant sneer. “The men in my family have always lacked patience for anything. They want everything now, now, now. But I told them, ‘bide your time and watch Carrera. He’s not as inhuman as you think. Eventually, we’ll find his weakness. When we do, take it. Carrera will come to us.’ You’re his weakness, Eden. We women, we’re powerful creatures. In our lifetime, there will always be one man who will die for us.” She stared at me and ran a painted red nail down my tangled hair. “No man is immune to our power—even the almighty El Muerte.”

  “I told you, Valentin Carrera—”

  “Congratulations on being the woman who brought down the giant.” Opening the door, each Muñoz sibling grabbed one of my arms and faced me forward. With a shove from each of them, I didn’t even have a chance to touch the first few steps before I tumbled head first.

  My toes barely grazed the tip of the fifth or sixth stair as I fell down the entire flight, darkness and light intermingling with intolerable pain. After what seemed like a never-ending fall, my broken body hit the concrete floor with a sickening thud as they slammed the door.

  “Help…” It was all I could manage as the wet cough overtook me again, my mouth filling up with so much blood, I had to turn my head so as not to choke.

  I have to get out of here or I’m going to die.

  Crying out with every move, I dragged myself into a kneeling position, every pull of breath into my lungs, feeling like a hundred daggers stabbing me at once. As I crawled toward the center of the room, a voice broke the ragged silence.

  “Eden…”

  It took every concerted effort I had to lift my head and focus. The moment I did, the pain in my chest and limbs dulled compared to the searing, ripping apart of my heart.

  “You,” I whispered, wishing Manuel Muñoz had killed me when he had the chance.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Valentin

  After pacing for twenty minutes in an alley behind the district attorney’s office in Houston, my phone finally rang. “Harcourt, tell me you have it.”

  “I can do better than that,” he replied, his voice anxious and short.

  I rolled my shoulders in a futile attempt at releasing the knot of tension in my back. “I don’t have time for this, Brody. I’ve been trying to find this house myself all fucking day, but according to everything I’ve researched, the damn thing doesn’t exist.” Glancing at my watch, I cursed the late hour. “Give me Eden’s location and get the hell off the phone.”

  From five-hundred feet in front of me, the door swung open to a gray BMW. Black slacks emerged, followed by a crisp white shirt, a red power tie, and a pressed black suit jacket. A self-satisfied smirk planted across his face as he brushed back his annoying mop of dark blond hair. “How about I take you there myself?”

  Gritting my teeth, I stomped past him. “How about you don’t?”

  Slamming his door, Brody shed his suit jacket as he raced to catch up with me. “You need me, Carrera. I know where she is, and I need you. I can’t go in there alone. I’ll never make it out.”

  “You’ve got that right.”

  “Look,” he said, placing a hand on my shoulder and stopping our movement. “She doesn’t want me, man. I don’t know what you’ve got going on with Cherry, but it’s obvious you care about her. I may not like you, but that’s enough for me. I just want her safe.”

  “She’s mine.” After his proclamation, I had no idea why I felt the need to stake my claim like a goddamn caveman, but the words just slipped out.

  “Fine, she’s yours. Can we go get her now?”

  I narrowed my eyes, suspicious of his motives. “If you have no interest in her, why are you so dead set on walking into a massacre? You do understand this isn’t the movies, right? These men are real. They have real guns with real bullets and a lot of people will die. I can’t guarantee you won’t be one of them. My only concern will be Eden.”

  Much to my surprise, he didn’t flinch. “You think I haven’t talked to Manuel Muñoz one-on-one, Carrera? I know exactly what kind of sick fuck he is. Let’s just say, I’m hoping if I do this, you’ll owe me one.”

  “How so?”

  “If Muñoz makes it out of there, and I don’t, I need you to promise me something.”

  “I don’t make promises, Harcourt.”

  He continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “I’ll protect Eden with my life, no matter what. I’ll even accept that she’s yours, but you have to promise me, if something happens to me, you’ll make sure nothing happens to my sister.”

  “No way.”

  “Please, Val,” he begged, his eyes reddening with remnants of hidden fear. “She’s an innocent. Her name is Leighton Harcourt. She’s a senior at Texas State, and that bastard threatened to gut her like a fish.”

  “Boss, my bartender is an innocent. When I went back out, her car was gone. If they have her, you know what will happen.”

  “It’s a shame he had to rip that sexy, little black number to shreds when he gutted her.”

  Two separate moments in time collided with two different conversations from two different men as Brody Harcourt stood in front of me begging for his sister’s life. Eden’s face flashed before my eyes, and I knew I couldn’t deny him or cause him the same fear I held in my heart.

  Turning around, I motioned for Mateo. “Drive fast.”

  * * *

  “Are you sure this is it?” Rubbing my palm across my chin, I stared out the window at the modest half-brick, run-down house that sat in the middle of fifteen acres off Highway 90 and Lake Houston Parkway. I had my doubts Brody had tracked the correct address.

  “Carrera, did you know I’d been working behind your back this whole time?”

  The reminder pissed me off to the point of snapping his neck. “No,” I bit out.

  “My point exactly. I find out shit because people underestimate me. I made a call to the Texas Housing Agency. It seems that only structures with physical house numbers show up in a search.” He held up his phone for emphasis. “No building permit, no house number. It doesn’t actually exist per the state of Texas.”

  “So, how did you find it?”

  Waving the gun Mateo gave him in his other hand, Brody flashed a wide smile. “Let’s go get your girl.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Boss!” Mateo broke in, wiping a layer of sweat off his brow. “Are we going to sit here debating how the gringo charmed some virgin receptionist in the attorney general’s office, or are we going to go kick some Muñoz ass?”

  Glancing at them both, I gave Mateo a quick nod, and we made our way to the door. No surprise, it was locked.

  Mateo gestured toward the back while nodding to Brody. “We’ll go around to the back and see if there’s a rear entrance. You head off to the side and see if—” A loud crack broke our whispers as his side erupted in a mushroom of red. With his face twisted in pain, he waved his gun around the corner of the house. “Go! Jesus, go, now!”

  My feet felt molded to the concrete landing. “Mateo, no!”

  With mustered strength, he shoved me backward. “I said, fucking go! I’ve got this.”

  As I rounded the corner, more gun fire exploded. Mateo’s voice screamed curses at Brody as he unloaded his weapon at the approaching forces.

  Everything inside me told me to turn around and back up my friend. Then I heard it.

  Her scream.

  Cereza.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Eden

  There’s a fine line between love and hate.

  I’d heard that cliché all my life thrown around by half-interested adults who gave few fucks about either one. The idiom du jour served to placate me enough to remove my adolescent angst from blocking Monday night football and return to my room, where I bel
onged.

  It wasn’t until my heart blackened to a charred void that I understood the true meaning of the phrase. I found it amazing how much that fine line thickened while sweat dripped from the brow of someone I loved as I aimed a gun at his heart.

  “Eden, you don’t know what you’re doing.”

  His image blurred although my hand held steady. “Yours is the betrayal I never saw coming. Congratulations.” In my head the words sounded cold, despite the wetness that trailed from the corners of my eyes. Crawling to my feet, I paced the small space in front of him before I realized I’d uprooted from my spot. Keeping my breathing shallow, I focused on inhaling only when necessary. The run-down house reeked of dank mildew and death.

  The number of deaths that would be added to the stench remained to be seen.

  “I never wanted to hurt you,” he implored, begging me to recall what we’d meant to each other. When I stared vacantly at him, he licked his lips and attempted to reach me on another level. “After all we’ve been through, it ends like this?”

  “You’ve left me no choice.”

  “There’s always a choice.”

  Hatred burned my eyes, incinerating the man reflected in them. “Fuck you.”

  His sigh turned into a cough, rattling his chest. A knowing smile curved his lips. “There’s my feisty girl.”

  I waved the gun in the air—a stupid move on all accounts, but his play on my emotions ripped at my soul. “I’m not anything of yours. You sold me out. You made me believe we were on the same side.” Tears rolled harder, ignoring my commands to stop and pissed me off. “The whole time you had an end game, you son of a bitch!”

  One step. Two steps. Three steps.

  If I pulled the trigger now, it’d be point blank range. I couldn’t claim self-defense. True, it hadn’t been his hand that’d pushed me off the step and sent me careening down a flight of stairs. But, in the end, it was his actions that brought me here.