Carrera Cartel: The Collection

by Kenborn, Cora

  Clenching the sink harder, I squeezed my eyes shut. No, this was some kind of cruel coincidence. One person couldn’t gamble twice in her life and end up with the same hand. The odds were impossible. The universe didn’t work that way.

  I’d put that part of my life behind me. When the memories escaped their confinement, I’d let them hurt, only to remind myself to never allow it to happen again. Until today, I’d never lost my way. Even through the hell of the last twenty-four hours, I’d kept it together under the most extreme of circumstances.

  I’d shot and killed a man and kept myself from falling apart. I’d been threatened by government agents with a life behind bars, and I’d stood my ground. I’d learned the man I’d thought was the most honest, upstanding person to ever walk the earth was a criminal. I’d eavesdropped on a high-ranking cartel member, got caught, and lied my way out of it without breaking a sweat.

  But nothing could’ve prevented me from coming unraveled the moment I saw him. Four years wasn’t a lot of time in the grand scheme of things, but in a young girl’s memory, it may as well have been twenty.

  He’d changed. The shiny, coal black hair that had once grazed his chin, now hung to his shoulders in unruly waves. The sparse dusting of facial hair I used to love to touch now looked thicker, covering his chin and upper lip as if hiding a dangerous secret. He was more muscular, obviously putting hours of effort into building strength and power. I’d felt it in his touch—no longer gentle as much as demanding.

  But it was his eyes that held me captive. The same ones that snuck into my dreams in the middle of the night and robbed me of peace. They were smoky, like a freshly-extinguished campfire and just as suffocating. However, unlike the ones from my dreams, the ones today never warmed with a smoldering ember underneath the char.

  Today’s version was so cold, I could’ve seen my own breath.

  My dad used to tell me that a person’s eyes were the window to their soul.

  “A man can change everything about himself, Lil’ Bit, but his eyes will always tell you the truth. They’re the one thing he can’t control or alter. Look long enough into a man’s eyes and you’ll know his real intentions.”

  My father was rarely wrong. Also, if that was the case, then Mateo Cortes’s real intentions were worse than anything Luis Delgado or Alex Atwood could ever do, and all the stars in the sky couldn’t save me.

  “No,” I repeated, shaking my head harder as my fingers went numb. “I’m just paranoid. That was a long time ago, and it’s not him. It’s definitely not—”

  The rest of my affirmation was cut off by a rattle on the bathroom door.

  “Just a minute,” I called out, releasing my hold on the sink and shaking the feeling back into my hands. Turning on the faucet, I’d just cupped my hands to clean the blood from my cut when the locked doorknob rattled again. Irritated, I tilted my chin over my shoulder. “I said I’d be out in a minute. Jesus, impatient much?”

  My answer was a series of random clicks then one pop. I froze as the knob turned and the door swung open. I should’ve been shocked. I should’ve been offended, pissed, outraged, and whatever other highly emotional adjective applied for such an invasion of privacy. Instead, I felt faint, my peripheral vision darkening until nothing remained but him.

  The wicked curve of his lips stole my breath as he closed and locked the door behind him. Stepping backward, he reclined into it with one foot braced against the wood. Moody eyes stared me up and down.

  “Hello, Star.”

  Even to my own ears, my gasp sounded pathetic. “Do I know you?”

  He raised one dark eyebrow. “Once? Yes. Now? No, not at all.”

  When I inhaled to show my annoyance, I caught the scent of caramelized leather and almost crumbled. Gripping the sink again, I forced myself to face him with all the conviction I could muster. “I’m sorry, I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else. Besides, I’m sure the owner wouldn’t appreciate his patrons breaking into the ladies’ room.”

  He chuckled at my challenge. “Oh, I know exactly who you are, and you know who I am so, cut the shit. And just so you know, I don’t take orders from the owner.”

  “Well, don’t we have a high opinion of ourselves.”

  “I’ve earned the right.”

  Maybe I hadn’t changed as much as he had, but I wasn’t stupid. From his cheap shots and short answers, I knew exactly what he wanted. Even through this new exterior, I could still read him, and the message was loud and clear. He wanted a reaction. Perhaps one that gave him justification for leaving me when I needed him the most. Well, tough shit. He wouldn’t get one. I missed the boy, but I’d be damned if I’d let the man provoke me into opening old wounds.

  “Well, I’ll just leave you and your ego to whatever pressing business it is you both have in the ladies’ room and get back to work.” I pushed away from the sink until we stood so close, the top of my head slid right under his chin. “If you’ll excuse me.”

  He didn’t touch me. Instead, he took a step forward. Then another one. Then another one. Startled, I moved with him, backing up to counteract his advances.

  Step. Shift. Counter. Shuffle. Twist. Dip.

  We were poetry in motion, and if I hadn’t forgotten how to breathe, I might have marveled at how quickly we’d fallen in sync. However, the reminder that our fluidity was just an illusion came rushing back as soon as my ass hit the edge of the sink and he blocked me against it, an inked arm on either side.

  “Settle down. You’re not going anywhere.”

  “Really? Who’s going to stop me? Are you going to manhandle me now too?”

  “I don’t have to touch you, Star.” As if reading my own salacious thoughts, he pressed his hips dangerously close to mine. “You’re not going to leave because you don’t want to.” On the last word, his breath fanned across my cheek, blowing my hair and igniting a firestorm. Shifting his stance, he closed the remaining distance between us, the swell of his bottom lip brushing against the shell of my ear. “Although, leaving is your specialty, isn’t it?”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I snapped, although it came out more like a moan.

  He pulled back and stared at me. “Walking away, mi amor. We all have our strengths and weaknesses. Turning your back on those you profess to love is yours. Of course, I suppose Luis found that out firsthand.”

  Oh, God, he knew.

  How could Brody have told him? Everything I thought I knew just exploded in my face, so I did the only thing I could to cover the pain in my voice. I masked it with rage from opening an old scar.

  “Are you insane or just plain cruel? You left me, you selfish dick!”

  He tensed as he pulled back, his eyes burning into mine. “Women’s tongues are bathed in lies. I’d watch yours, little lamb, before someone decides to relieve you of it.”

  I didn’t pause to think. My hand flew on its own, ready to strike. Inches before my palm connected with his cheek, his fingers wrapped around my wrist and held it with enough pressure to show me he was in control.

  A delicate balance of pain and pleasure. So familiar, yet so foreign.

  I flinched as he raised his other hand to my face, the lines in his forehead deepening as he studied me. Opening his palm, he ran it down the length of my hair, his fingers stopping at the barrette to release the clasp that held most of it back. As my straight blonde hair tumbled around my shoulders, he hummed his appreciation, continuing his path until he rubbed the ends between his fingers.

  “You cut your hair.”

  “I had to,” I whispered. “It was just more practical for...” I sighed and shook my head. “...it was just more practical.”

  His serious expression faded as a self-indulgent smirk settled across his mouth, he wound a handful around his fist and gave it a tug. “Still enough to grab.”

  He had me at his mercy. Words were my only weapon.

  “You’ve become quite crude.”

  “Being sent to prison does that to a
man.”

  I stared at him, openmouthed and wide-eyed.

  He cocked his head and rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know what happened that night.”

  “I didn’t. I—I don’t.”

  “Well, you didn’t wait around to find out, did you, Star?” He paused, pressing our hips together again, causing me to bite back a groan. “Or should I call you Leighton? That is your name, isn’t it? Leighton Harcourt—the woman at the root of an international war. How does it feel to have so much blood on your delicate little hands?”

  “Why are you being so cruel?” I fought his grip and dropped my chin forward, but he tightened his hold on my hair, pulling it back up.

  “I’ve always told you I was cruel. You just didn’t divulge the same, Star.”

  I jerked against him. “Stop calling me that!”

  “You really are still an innocent little lamb, aren’t you?”

  As I’m discovering, more like a sacrificial lamb.

  “I’m far from innocent,” I hissed. “And you’re one to talk. Don’t hand me that ‘shareholder of RVC Enterprises’ bullshit my brother tried to sell me. I know exactly who you are.”

  He didn’t react to my taunt like I thought he would. On the contrary, he angled his nose between my earlobe and the top of my jaw, tracing a line down to my chin. “Still believing there are only shades of black and white? Didn’t what happened prove to you there’s an entire gray area between the two? Your moral codes and government laws won’t save you here. You’ve stepped over the line and crossed into my world. Welcome to the den of depravity, little lamb.”

  I shivered at his touch and his words. “Has this always been your world?”

  Without warning, he dipped his nose into my neck and inhaled hard. “You still smell like a meadow,” he groaned. “You have no idea how frustrating it is to smell wildflowers and have your cock and your heart ache at the same time. You broke me, Star.”

  His admission gutted me, and although I wanted to hold onto my anger, I couldn’t. Just as I started to tell him I’d been in irreparable pieces for four years, he released his hold on me and turned around.

  Shocked, I watched as he reached for the door. “You’re just leaving me?”

  He paused but never looked over his shoulder. “I want to see if it’s as easy for me as it was for you.”

  “You don’t know anything about me or what happened.”

  “You’re right. I don’t,” he said quietly. “I trusted the person I thought I knew.”

  “Well, I trusted everyone,” I seethed, betrayals I’d sworn to never speak of again filling my head. “I’ll never make that mistake again.”

  That got his attention, and he twisted at the waist, the earlier heat in his eyes now dull. “You have no choice, Miss Harcourt. You’ve gotten yourself into a mess I have to clean up. From where I’m standing, I’m the only one you can trust.”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “Interesting. You don’t want me to call you Star or Leighton or Miss Harcourt. I’d call you mi amor, but that term was used out of affection, and we both know that’s long gone. However, I’m sure there are a few names more fitting to your behavior I could come up with if you prefer.”

  “Don’t you dare get self-righteous with me, Matty,” I warned, pointing a shaking finger at him. “You want to talk about trust and promises, but you didn’t show up that night, and you never looked for me. Why?”

  I waited. For vindication. For healing. For an answer to the question that kept me awake night after night. Instead, he ignored me and turned to leave.

  Something in me snapped.

  “Answer me, damn it!” Grabbing the metal soap dispenser next to the faucet, I hurled it across the room. It slammed into the door inches from his head, denting the wood and crashing to the floor.

  “My name is Mateo,” he said, staring at the pink ooze spilling from the cracked top in the dispenser. “And life is sacrifice, Leighton. Let this be a lesson—the only person you should ever trust is yourself.” Kicking the dispenser out of the way, he flung the door open and slammed it behind him.

  With the weight of our confrontation hitting me, I slumped backward, sitting on the edge of the sink again. Balling my fists, I pressed them against my eyes and let the tears fall. The more I cried, the more I shook.

  Damn him. Just...damn him.

  When I got in my car yesterday, I planned for Brody’s reaction when I eventually told him about my deceit. I planned for my family to eventually hate me when they learned of all the sins I’d committed in the name of love. I planned for a life of continually looking over my shoulder, wondering when the Carrera Cartel would take their revenge on me. Not once did I plan on the only man I’d ever given my heart to showing up after four years and blowing everything to hell.

  We were supposed to be the perfect love story. Instead, we ended up a tragedy that broke every rule.

  I touched the path his thumb had traced down my cheek and closed my eyes. Broken rules and tragedies had done nothing to dull my ache for him. The heat between us burned as strong as ever, and the strength in his touch proved it. Whatever we had was still there, buried under a debt of secrets.

  Dad was right. The eyes were the window to the soul. And despite what his mouth said, my Matty’s soul still shone through the faded gray line he’d left behind at our railroad trestle.

  Chapter Eight

  Mateo

  Seeing Star again fucked with my head so much, I finished my conversation with Brody and hit an Irish pub three blocks from RVC Enterprises.

  Leighton. Star. What-the-fuck-ever.

  “Another one, bartender.” Sliding the empty glass across the scratched wood, I watched it tumble onto its side and roll toward the edge. I would’ve been happy to hear it shatter on the floor, but a pair of red painted nails caught it and held it up like a trophy.

  “That’s four in the last fifteen minutes, honey. Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”

  I tried ignoring her, but she kept standing there. Obviously, she wasn’t going to move until I answered her, which was a stupid move on her part. The more I drank, the higher the tab.

  And I was a big tipper.

  “I’ll tell you what...” Pausing, I searched her chest for a nametag. “...Megan. You keep pouring, and when I fall off this fucking barstool, we’ll both know I’ve had enough.” Lowering my eyes, I went back to the task at hand, clicking repeatedly as picture after picture flashed on the screen. Luis wasn’t an idiot. There wouldn’t be anything substantial I could pull off his computer, but sadistic jealousy had gotten the better of me.

  There was an old saying, Be careful what you wish for...you just might get it.

  Old sayings existed for a reason.

  Pictures of Leighton and Luis were all over his computer and as if I hadn’t tortured myself enough, I dug through the backpack and scrolled through his phone to analyze more. In each one, her golden-brown eyes smiled at the camera, but his were always focused on her. The more I stared, the more a wave of seething hate clouded my judgment.

  “Try to make this one last more than thirty seconds, okay?” Megan barely had time to slide the new tequila shot toward me before I downed it. The burn in my throat was nothing compared to the one in my chest.

  I recognized the look in his eyes.

  Since finding out who Leighton Harcourt really was, I tried to convince myself she’d been just a job to Luis. Brody had sent him to San Marcos to protect her, and he’d played a role for her. We all played roles. Most of the time even those closest to us had no idea which version of us they faced. But there was no facade on Luis’s face. He loved her. He loved my Star. In that moment, I hated Luis Delgado more than any man I’d ever known.

  Dropping the phone on the bar, I slammed the laptop closed and shoved it back inside the backpack. Thankfully, she hadn’t been staring back at him with the same love-sick look. Otherwise, I would’ve pulled out my gun and put a bullet through the screen, p
ublic place or not.

  “Megan,” I called out, tapping the wood with my empty glass. “We had a deal, and I’m still vertical.”

  “Let’s keep it that way, honey. You’re cut off.”

  Irritated, I picked up Luis’s phone and glared at her. If I didn’t have pressing shit to do, I would’ve gladly argued with one of the three versions of her I saw swirling in front of me. Instead, I scrolled through Luis’s call history.

  There were only five numbers listed, and I recognized two of them to be Brody’s and Emilio’s. That in itself didn’t raise any suspicion. Luis reported to both of them. That left three and I knew one of them was Leighton’s since Brody had given me her number for comparison before I left the cantina.

  I called the remaining two from his phone, and both rang continuously until I hung up. There was no answer, no voice mail...nothing. It didn’t sit well with me, so I pulled out my own phone and dialed a few men who’d been loyal to me when I was the Houston underboss.

  “Hey, it’s Cortes. I need you to put the word out that you’re looking for a couple of soldiers owning these two phone numbers, but keep it quiet.” Glancing down at Luis’s phone, I repeated the numbers. After promising to have the information back to me as quickly and discreetly as possible, we ended the call.

  Hopefully, my contact would get back to me with solid leads. If not, we were back to square one and facing another dead end.

  Just like Luis.

  * * *

  My head pounded by the time I opened the door to the townhouse. Groaning, I flipped on the light and tossed the keys on the floor. When I parked the Tahoe a soldier had delivered to me back in San Marcos, the clock on the dashboard read one-thirty in the morning.

  What a fucking day.

  After four hours of straight tequila, I’d walked from the Irish pub to RVC, so I could sleep it off until I was sober enough to drive back to the townhouse. Now that I was here, I was more than ready to drink a ghost away again.

  Even though this place was our primary safe house, it still belonged to Val’s wife, Eden. After their ordeal with the Muñoz Cartel, she’d tried to sell it, but Val ended up buying it out from under her. Although she was gone, it still reeked of female presence with all the framed artwork, flower vases, and fucking knickknack shit just asking to get demolished.