Carrera Cartel: The Collection

by Kenborn, Cora

  Brody was a top lieutenant, trying cases as an assistant district attorney by day with cartel blood staining his hands by night. Bound by oath and code, he passed killers through the system because they were marked with Carrera ink.

  “Technically, nothing.”

  “What the fuck does ‘technically’ mean?” As Val paced, a vein in his forehead pulsed with rage. I had to take control, or we’d soon have a vacancy in the Houston hierarchy.

  “What the hell is going on?” I asked calmly.

  “Her boyfriend tried to kill her.”

  “So, what, technically, you killed him and turned him into bait?”

  “No, she did.”

  Val’s eyebrows drew up to his hairline. “What was that?”

  “The fucker pulled a gun on her. I guess he didn’t expect her to fight back. They struggled, and it went off. Leighton panicked and called me.”

  Silence engulfed the room as Val pressed his palms together. “I see. Well, what we have here isn’t a Carrera problem. This isn’t even a Houston problem. This, my friend, is a Harcourt problem, and you need to take care of it.”

  “You didn’t let me finish,” Brody insisted. “The guy she killed was one of ours.”

  Shit. Job opening in Houston. Apply within.

  “Hijo de su puta madre!” Son of a bitch.

  “Val...” I tried to intervene as a storm brewed on his face.

  Val’s nostrils flared. “Why was your sister fucking a Carrera sicario?”

  “Whoa,” I interjected. “Brody is familia.”

  For now.

  “Your point?”

  “That means his sister is familia. Whatever she’s done, remember your own code.”

  Val’s face paled. It was a low blow, but his control issues were brewing a war I had no intention of fighting.

  Val’s strict code against any member harming a woman was a hard pill to swallow for a cartel used to fifty years of indiscriminate brutality. Unfortunately, blood was blood in the eyes of the loyal followers of his father. It didn’t matter the gender of the vein from which it dripped.

  “Fine,” he grumbled. Humility wasn’t an emotion he handled graciously. “How did Leslie get mixed up with one of our men?”

  Brody spoke slowly, emphasizing every word. “Her. Name. Is. Leighton.” He let out a long sigh. “Muñoz tried to force me to turn against you by harassing her. After he died, I was still worried, so once I became a Carrera, I sent a soldier to San Marcos to watch over her.”

  Val snorted. “Taking our oath doesn’t give you free rein, Harcourt.”

  “We need a name, Brody,” I asked, trying to maintain control of the conversation.

  “Luis Delgado.”

  I scrubbed my hand over my mouth. “That’s one of Emilio’s men. I remember the name.”

  Which complicated things even more. Emilio Reyes was the head of our Houston operations, the position Val held before his father’s death. Tensions had run high since Val had passed him over for underboss in favor of me.

  “I assume you’ve called a cleaner,” Val conceded, the corners of his eyes pulled tight.

  “Not yet. I wanted to get your approval first.”

  He smirked. “Because that worked out so well for you in the first place.”

  I took over before things escalated. “Your sister had no problem leaving a dead body lying around an apartment?”

  “Leighton is innocent to all we do.” He paused as if saying the words out loud would taint her. “I told her I’d handle it, and she trusts me.”

  Val shifted his gaze to me, but I avoided it. “But do you trust her?”

  “What are you saying?”

  “He’s saying we have bigger issues than your sister’s happy trigger finger,” Val blurted out. “Gunshots aren’t quiet. Someone knows what she did. If she gets picked up, your little phone call implicates you.”

  For a moment, I thought Brody hung up, but then he sighed. “When I said she’s innocent, I meant it, but something isn’t adding up. The ‘why’ is bothering me.”

  Val shrugged. “Innocent and evasive are a dangerous combination in any woman.”

  This time, Brody interrupted. “Luis never struck me as the type to willingly violate our code. It’s why I chose him in the first place. That means—”

  “He was involved in something outside this cartel.” Val finished for him, scrubbing a hand down his bearded face. Turning, he focused his attention on me. “Call for a cleaner then check out Delgado’s place. After that, I want you to go to Houston and keep an eye on Harcourt’s sister. I need someone I can trust.”

  “Wait a minute, having Cortes on my sister wasn’t part of the deal,” Brody broke in. “I can take care of Leighton on my own.”

  “You have no say in it for going outside of rank and sending Delgado to San Marcos in the first place,” Val growled. “Stay put and keep your mouth shut until Mateo gets there.”

  After disconnecting the call, he slouched back onto the couch and stared at the vaulted ceiling. “Tread lightly with Emilio and try not to raise suspicion. Just tell him we’ve lost too many men, and you’re there to work with him to figure this out. Keep your cards close.”

  “You don’t think one of our own is involved in this, do you?”

  “I don’t think our men would be that stupid. However, I’m still alive because I assume everyone has a price.”

  Standing, I gathered my keys as Val called for his private jet. “Not everyone.”

  Chapter Three

  Leighton

  San Marcos, Texas

  Brody said to leave in twenty minutes, but it was an hour later, and I’d scrubbed the bathroom sink in my apartment with bleach four times. It didn’t matter, a faint coppery stain still rimmed the drain from washing my bloody hands.

  “Screw this.” Balling up the rag, I tossed it into the trash bag by my feet. It landed with a swish on top of my sweatshirt, Luis’s hoodie, and the gun. I didn’t want any of it near me, but Brody’s instructions had been clear.

  Do not leave any incriminating evidence behind.

  Tying off the trash bag, I kicked it into the hallway and checked my principles at my bedroom door. The time for right or wrong was over. Everything depended on my ability to act quickly and without emotion.

  Fear did irrational things to rational people. I’d never broken the law in my life. Now I stood over my bed stuffing handfuls of clothing and electronics into an oversized duffel bag, preparing to run.

  Stopping to grab the trash bag, I slung my purse and the duffel bag over my shoulder and

  dove for the doorknob. I gave it a hard jerk and fought for air. Only two steps until the safety of darkness.

  But it wasn’t darkness I ran into.

  “Miss Harcourt. Going somewhere?”

  At first, I didn’t see him. I just felt his hard chest and heard his winded grunt as I fell into him. I reached for the lapels of his jacket, bags tumbling off my shoulder and onto the floor when I smelled it.

  Coffee and cigarettes.

  It can’t be.

  His large hands closed over my shoulders and steadied me in a firm grasp. “Careful there. You rush around like that, someone’s going to get hurt.”

  It wasn’t until I jerked out of his hold that I saw it. Same wrinkled gray suit. Same windblown salt and peppered hair. Same deep dimple in the center of his chin.

  “You,” I breathed.

  “We meet again.”

  But it wasn’t just “we.” Two men flanked him, each one taller and more muscular than the other.

  I jerked out of his hold, the awkward twist of my feet kicking open the trash bag and displaying its damning contents. Four pairs of eyes cast downward, and everyone stared at the sin buried inside, but no one said a word.

  Well, no one except for me—the one who should’ve remained silent. “Stalking is against the law, you know.”

  “So is murder.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”


  He opened his mouth to say something, then stopped and shook his head. “Step inside, Miss Harcourt, or we can have this conversation in a place you won’t find as appealing.”

  Time stood still. My apartment was small—the living room blending into the kitchen in one modest open area. There weren’t many places to run, and with three against one, the odds weren’t in my favor.

  Out of patience, he pointed toward my kitchen table, waiting with his arms crossed over his chest while his two henchmen stayed by the door like a couple of guard dogs. He sighed again, which turned into a rattling cough.

  “You should quit smoking,” I blurted out, dropping into the chair. “Those things will kill you.”

  “Not as quickly as those things.” Sliding into the chair beside me, he tilted his head backward at the open trash bag, the butt of Luis’s handgun sticking out. “Miss Harcourt…”

  The adrenaline that had rushed through my veins all night finally stalled, sending me careening into a wall of sadness and annoyance. “It’s Leighton,” I snapped. “Let’s drop the formalities, shall we? If I’m about to die, I’d rather do it on a first name basis.”

  “Okay, Leighton,” he said, leaning back in his chair. The fact he didn’t dispel my fear of dying didn’t escape me.

  “Don’t I get to know your name too?”

  He held my stare. “Alex Atwood.”

  I continued with my false bravado, motioning to where his men still hovered against my door. “Well, I’d offer for you to come in, but it seems you’ve already—”

  “Drug enforcement officer.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a leather wallet and dropped it open, flashing official looking credentials.

  I gasped. Screw the bravado. “DEA? You’re…you’re a government agent?”

  Brody’s voice echoed in my head.

  Admit nothing. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.

  As he studied my face, I wondered what secret he hoped to find hidden there. I’d never been a particularly good liar. I tended to wear my emotions like a second skin.

  Finally, he rested his forearms on the table and whispered, “I know everything about you and everything you’ve done.”

  He can’t. He couldn’t.

  “You’re bluffing.”

  “Look, Leighton,” he said, watching me closely. “I’m going to do you a favor and spell this out for you. We’ve been watching since you, shall we say, began fraternizing with a known cartel member.”

  “Luis was a student.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Leighton, Leighton, Leighton,” he groaned, drawing my name out like I was a child. “Delgado was never a student. The Carrera Cartel sent him here to keep you in line after the Muñoz Cartel stalked you.”

  My world tilted and spun. I’d convinced myself I’d just been robbed, nothing more. I’d be damned if Alex Atwood would storm in and destroy my perfect lie.

  “A cartel? No, I had a few break-ins, that’s all. As you can see, I don’t live in the best part of town.”

  “You didn’t believe that any more than your brother did.”

  My nails dug into already scratched wood. “My family is none of your business.”

  “See, that’s where you’re wrong,” he corrected. “Everything you do is my business since you just committed a homicide.”

  “No,” I whispered. “It was self-defense.”

  Alex smirked. “It could be. Or it could be premeditated murder. That’s all up to you. Wake up, Leighton. You’re just a pawn in their game. I tried to warn you, but you wouldn’t listen. Now, because of you, the best shot I had of getting anything on the Carreras is in stage two rigor mortis.”

  I shot him a disgusted look, and he sighed.

  “I need you to tell me everything that happened tonight. Did you hear anything? Was there a conversation?”

  “Why should I trust you?”

  “I’m the only one offering you a way out.”

  We stared at each other, a cold sweat breaking out across my forehead. With my back against the wall, I retold what the man in the hoodie had said from my hazy memory.

  “No names?”

  “No, we weren’t formally introduced, if that’s what you’re asking.” He rolled his eyes just before Luis’s voice raced through my head. “Hector,” I blurted out. “Before he saw me, he was talking to a guy named Hector.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing. That’s all I know.”

  His icy blue eyes hardened, and he said nothing. My gaze caught on the bloody rag, and vomit gurgled in my throat. That was the moment I broke. The bravado shattered, and I went with it.

  “Why are you torturing me?” I screamed, launching myself from the chair. Turning both wrists up, I pressed them together and shoved them under his nose. “Arrest me and get it over with!”

  Alex stared at my wrists before lowering them to the table. “Personally, I don’t want to see you pay for ridding the world of scum.”

  “Then what do you want from me?”

  “I want you to help me bring down the Carrera Cartel.”

  “Me? I only knew Luis, and obviously not well. I had no idea he was a criminal.”

  His eyebrows furrowed. “I was sure you were covering for him, but you really don’t know, do you?”

  “Stop talking in riddles and just tell me what you mean for fuck’s sake!”

  “Your brother, Brody, is second in command of the Houston leg of the Carrera Cartel.”

  I couldn’t comprehend the words coming out of his mouth. It was as if wires had crossed in my brain and sent an electrical shock down my spine. I tried to sit down, but it was more of a stumble—a fall from innocence that left me unstable—in more ways than one.

  “No. You’re lying. My brother works for the DA’s office.”

  “Which makes him all the more valuable to a man like Valentin Carrera.”

  I’d heard the name before. No one lived in Houston for any amount of time and didn’t know the legend of the Carreras. However, my big brother would never betray the law he swore to uphold and protect.

  “Fine,” he growled, obviously taking my silence as disbelief. “Some people need to hear shit for themselves—twice.” He pointed a finger at the taller of the two guards. “Play it.”

  I knew the voices immediately and recognized the words. I heard the panic in my own voice, forcing me to hear the iciness in his tone I’d ignored before.

  “Brody?”

  “Are you on your own phone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you called the police?”

  “No.”

  “Good, don’t. Listen very carefully. Don’t touch anything. I need you to get anything out of there that’s yours or that has your information on it. Anything, Leighton. Pack your bags and come to Houston now. I’ll take care of it.

  When it was over, Alex tapped his finger against his dimple again. “Why do you think he was so calm, Leighton? You admitted to murder.”

  “You bugged my phone?”

  “I told you, we’ve been watching you,” he replied impatiently. “Having Swenson over there install spyware on your phone while you daydreamed over coffee wasn’t hard. You don’t pay attention for shit.”

  I covered my ears. “Please stop.”

  But mercy wasn’t on Agent Atwood’s agenda, and he jerked a hand away from my head. “I’m finished with the kid gloves, so here’s how this is going to happen. You’re going to take that bag of shit over there, get in your car, and drive to Houston like Brody told you to. What you’re not going to do is speak a word of anything that happened here tonight.”

  “What? I don’t understand.”

  His eyes darkened. “You’re going to hand me the heads of the Carrera Cartel on a platter. I want Valentin Carrera, Mateo Cortes, Emilio Reyes, and your brother, or we’ll take you in right now and charge you with murder.”

  Sweat trickled down my neck at the thought of being locked away, but my stomac
h curdled at being the cause of damning Brody to the same fate. “No matter what he’s done, I won’t be the one to ruin my brother.”

  He loosened a button at the top of his white collared shirt and cursed under his breath. “What if I arranged immunity for him? He’d have to turn on the rest of them, but if you get me Carrera, Cortes, and Reyes, I’ll go easy on him.”

  I failed to see how this was any better. “You want me to lie to my brother?”

  “He’s been lying to you.”

  I weighed the consequences. “I have family here. How can I be sure they’ll be safe?”

  “We can protect them.” The response came too quickly—as if he’d been expecting it and came prepared.

  “You know about them?”

  “I’ve told you, I know everything about you, Leighton, and that includes the people around you. We can take them into protective custody.”

  The thought ripped me apart. “They’ll never go.”

  “I’m sure you can be quite convincing,” he said, giving me a condescending wink.

  He was right, and he knew it. A couple of promises and they’d do whatever I told them to. Blind trust was deadlier than any weapon.

  “I guess you haven’t given me much of a choice, have you?”

  A slow smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “I knew you’d see it our way.”

  I watched the guard dogs gather the trash bag and my other belongings when my thoughts cleared. “How the hell am I supposed to do this?” I asked, scrubbing my palms down my face. “I’m not exactly on the best terms with my relatives in Houston. What do you expect me to do, just show up and say, ‘Hey everyone! I haven’t been home for four years, but guess who’s back?’”

  Alex rubbed his brow as if deep in thought. “I’m sure your brother has a spare bed.” Stopping in the middle of the room, he cocked his chin at me. “How are your waitressing skills?”

  His question threw me. “Huh?”

  “I’ll explain on the way.” He pointed toward the door. “Time to go, Miss Harcourt.”

  I gaped at him. “If you think I’m leaving without saying goodbye to my family first, you all can go fuck yourselves.”