Carrera Cartel: The Collection

by Kenborn, Cora

  He reared back, a stricken look crossing his face. “So, what if you’d gotten hurt, or God forbid, killed? What would I have done then?”

  I lowered my eyes. “Lived your life.”

  “What life?” he roared, casting his arms out wide. “Christ, Adriana, do you understand I’ve felt more alive in the last five days than I have in the last five months?” He balled his fist, beating it against his chest with each word. “Do you know what it’s like to feel nothing?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  Rough, ragged breathing echoed in my ears moments before strong hands landed on the back of the couch, caging me in. “Adriana, you’re the only light I see. If you die, so does any hope of me living again.”

  He couldn’t say those words. Not now.

  “You’ve been drinking,” I repeated.

  “Yes, but I’m very aware of what I’m saying.”

  I tried to force him to hear words I wasn’t saying. “I’m not light, Brody. There’s nothing but darkness in me. Darkness you couldn’t possibly understand.”

  “I don’t believe that. But you do. So, if the only way for you to accept you’re worth love is for me to accept you’ll never give it, then I don’t care to ever see the sun again.”

  I shattered. A million pieces, broken and jagged.

  There was no thought. No reservations. No hesitation. My hands cupped his face, the now thick growth on his once clean-shaven face brushing against my palms as I pulled him toward me.

  My breath hitched.

  And then I kissed him.

  Reckless and without rules.

  It was everything I never imagined it would be.

  I covered his mouth with mine, sweeping my tongue against his as if I owned it. As if I knew what the hell I was doing. Brody stilled, his eyes open wide with shock.

  This was a mistake.

  Just as I was about to pull back, he let out a low curse and cupped the back of my head, pulling me back against his lips. I started the kiss, but Brody owned it. His hands maneuvered my face, twisting it to his advantage so he could dive deeper, taste more, take as much as I’d allow. His primal groans awoke a dormant fire inside me, and I chanted his name in between kisses.

  A low growl rumbled in Brody’s throat, and I found myself in his arms as we made our way toward the bedroom, hungry kisses now frantic and fevered.

  Once we fell onto the mattress, he leaned back, and the sound of his belt buckle hitting the floor drew my eyes up. He crawled over me and took his time undressing me, revealing each piece of skin as if he were unwrapping a present.

  “You’re so beautiful, Adriana,” he murmured, kissing his way down to my belly button and across to my hip. “So fucking beautiful.” His lips moved inward, his breath hot against my thigh.

  I knew what he wanted, and any other time, I would’ve welcomed it. But not tonight. Tonight, I wanted his tongue inside the one place that only belonged to him.

  “Brody…”

  Hooded eyes gazed up at me, and then he smiled. He knew what I needed, and he waited to give it to me until I understood that asking for it didn’t make me weak. It empowered me.

  His mouth found mine, his cock pressing at my entrance, hesitating as if asking for permission. I nodded, but he just stared at me, the want in his eyes relentless.

  Say the words.

  A surge of courage swelled in my chest, and despite the ruin that awaited us on the other side of that door, I gave him what he needed to hear.

  “Make love to me,” I whispered, brushing a hand through his thick hair.

  He closed his eyes as if soaking them in and then slowly pushed his hips forward, sinking inside me so torturously slow, every inch felt like a mile. When we were fully joined, he stilled, dropping his mouth and taking my lips in a deep kiss that took my breath away.

  Then he loved me.

  The muscles in his back bunched under my fingers as he moved. There was no frantic rush. No punishing thrusts. Just raw connection. We never stopped kissing, our tongues moving in sync with our bodies.

  This was how I wanted it to end.

  I was so lost. Our mouths remained connected, sharing the same breath as the tension peaked.

  “Tell me,” he growled in between pants. “Tell me in Spanish, I don’t care, but tell me.”

  “Te amo. Me hiciste amarte, y ahora estoy perdida.”

  He fell over the edge, dragging me along with him. Our combined groans were only masked by the sound of each other’s names. In the silence, Brody dropped his head in the crook of my neck, his damp hair sticking to my skin as I traced my fingers down the claw marks on his back.

  Tomorrow we’d return to Mexico City, and everything would change.

  Which was why I hoped Brody could only translate the first part of my confession. Even if he asked me to explain the part he didn’t understand, I’d refuse.

  It’d be a blessing when I turned the only ones he did to ash.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Adriana

  Mexico City, Mexico

  We were three hours into the seven-hour drive back to Mexico City the next day when Brody turned to me, a deep line sinking between his eyebrows. “You’re quiet.”

  I drummed my nails against my armrest. “Just thinking.”

  “About what?”

  “What I’m going to tell Val.”

  He reached across the console, gently tilting my chin toward him. “You mean what we’re going to tell Val.”

  I shook my head and faced my window. “This isn’t your problem, Brody. I’m the one who chased a ghost. I’m the one who dragged you to a club and put you in the middle of a massacre. I’m the one who convinced you to hold up a bank. I’m the one who harassed an eighty-year old woman. And I’m the one who went off to see Ignacio alone. I’m not letting you take the fall for my mistakes. Past, present, or future.”

  Dios mío, just saying it all out loud turned my stomach. Was this the person I’d been all my life—selfish without a shred of compassion for anyone but herself? There was no wonder everyone believed me to be the root of all evil.

  That was all I’d ever been.

  Brody sighed, running a hand through his unruly blond hair, the front of it flopping defiantly over one eye. “Adriana, you’re Val’s sister. He’s not going to kill you for acting like a Carrera.”

  Amidst all the lies, my watery smile was genuine.

  Because the irony was too poetic.

  He wouldn’t kill me for acting like a Carrera. He was going to kill me for acting like a Muñoz.

  “Besides,” he said, pulling the car over as he spotted the food cart he’d been looking for. “This isn’t over. Val’s soldiers are searching for Cristiano. Plus, I have another connection looking into it. Once we find him, we’ll shut both of them down.”

  I twisted my fingers together as he pulled off the side of the road, my stomach roiling at the thought of food.

  No, it wasn’t over. Just not the way he thought. The decision I had to make wasn’t whether to fall on my sword and protect Brody or to risk Val’s wrath and be a united front. It was whether to fall in line and protect myself or risk Ignacio’s wrath and be a ticking time bomb.

  “Come on, Carrera. These pambazos aren’t going to eat themselves.”

  I climbed out of the car, trying not to throw up as Brody led me toward the crowded food cart.

  One thing was for sure. I should’ve never kissed him.

  * * *

  We arrived in Mexico City early that evening. I planned to corner Val for some preemptive damage control, but he wasn’t home. According to Leighton, he and Mateo had urgent cartel business and had been gone most of the day.

  So, Brody and I spent the rest of the night pretending each other didn’t exist. Not an easy task when just the mention of his name sent my pulse racing and my hormones into overdrive.

  Considering where we were and the way we left things, we thought it would be best to keep this new development private for the time bein
g. Besides, who would believe us anyway?

  I spent my time alone, waiting for Val to return, lost in my own head until Ignacio invaded it. His gravelly voice echoed as I wandered the halls of the Carrera estate, the war waging inside of me tearing me apart.

  “Val kneels for no one.”

  “He would for his son.”

  The walls closed in, moments away from crushing me.

  “You’re nothing but an afterthought. A useless inconvenience. Reclaim who you really are and stop pretending to be this pathetic shell of a queen.”

  I stumbled as the floor tilted, slamming me against the wall.

  “I have a task for you. Don’t fuck it up, or I’ll kill you. But first, I’ll make you watch everyone you love suffer—including Brody Harcourt.”

  I gripped the wall, tears streaming down my face.

  “I’ll put you back on top and make sure you live to see it.”

  It’d be so easy to fall into old habits. I could never trust Ignacio, but he needed the Carrera name, at least for now. And he offered something no one else had.

  Time.

  But I couldn’t walk down this path and expect Brody to stand by my side. I’d never be his princesa. I’d be his enemy. A pariah.

  There was no way out for me. If I yielded to Ignacio’s demands, I’d lose Brody and destroy Val. If I refused him, I’d still lose Brody and destroy Val. The only difference between the two was with Ignacio, the people I’d come to care about lived.

  A gurgle stopped me in my tracks, and wiping my eyes, I peeked inside the cracked door. A white crib sat against a pale blue wall, and a navy-blue hand-painted crown spanned the area above it. Right below the crown was written, once upon a time, there was a little prince.

  Santiago’s nursery.

  I couldn’t stop myself. I went inside and leaned over the crib. Santiago lay on his back, his tiny hands reaching for the moon and stars mobile hanging above him. As if sensing my presence, his dark eyes turned toward me, and he smiled.

  Leaning down, I smiled back and rubbed his soft cheek. I traced his full lips, the sharp slant of his nose, and his angled jawline. Maybe I just refused to see them before, but they were there.

  Strong Carrera features.

  I saw my own face in this tiny baby. This innocent child whose blood ran in my veins. My nephew. Santiago knew nothing of my past. He was my chance to start fresh without any scars or memories. He was a child whose fate rested in my hands.

  The truth hit me so hard, I gripped the edge of the crib to keep my balance. I was right. Life had come full circle. What was once ruined, now had the power to rectify. Twenty-four years ago, Ignacio was given a choice, and he changed the course of my life. Now, faced with the same one, I had the power to break the cycle or fall victim to it.

  “Familia,” I whispered.

  “My familia, considering he’s the only blood relative I have left, thanks to you.”

  I flinched but didn’t turn around. “I’m not the same person I was back then, Eden.”

  I heard her step farther into the room, and I closed my eyes.

  “Neither am I. Back then, I was just some stupid bartender who watched her brother get murdered in front of her own eyes. I had moments where I wanted to die too. I was weak. But I made a choice when I followed Val to Mexico, and I left that woman behind. Now, I’m a cartel kingpin’s wife.”

  I twisted around, meeting her hardened stare. “You hate me.”

  “Can you blame me?” she asked, silence engulfing the room as she crossed her arms over her long cherry-red hair. “You took great pleasure in telling me how you used me from the beginning to hurt Val. Or don’t you remember?”

  I remembered. I just wished I didn’t.

  * * *

  Houston, Texas

  One year ago

  “Hello, Eden.”

  The moment Eden’s eyes adjusted to the shock of the light, they settled right on me as if in a daze. She recognized me, but her fatigued brain couldn’t put the pieces in correct order.

  She would soon enough.

  “How do you know me?”

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

  Landing a heavy boot to her stomach, Manuel flipped her onto her back then jerked her to her feet. “Get up. We’ve got a party waiting for you downstairs.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “Money, darling. Valentin Carrera has it; I want it. You think I spent years studying with my nose in a book at the University of Guadalajara to be stuck in an office somewhere?” My 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 my direction before snapping Eden’s arm toward a closed door.

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

  “Sure,” she replied, rolling her eyes in the dark.

  “The men in my family 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 are powerful creatures. In our lifetime, there will always be one man who will die for us.” I stared at her and ran a painted red nail down her tangled hair. “No man is immune to our power—even the almighty El Muerte. Congratulations on being the woman who brought down the giant.”

  * * *

  Present Day

  It all seemed like a lifetime ago. In some ways, it was. The woman who took pleasure in inflicting pain didn’t exist anymore. Marisol Muñoz was dead, but I wasn’t sure anything I said or did would convince her.

  “We’ve all made mistakes,” I said, blotting away the memory.

  “And some of us have yet to pay for them.”

  “You’ve misjudged my intentions.”

  “And you’ve clearly underestimated mine.” Her words coiled around the tension in her body. “So let me be clear, I told you to stay away from my son, and I meant it. My only purpose in life is to protect my family from any and all threats.”

  I steeled my jaw at her insinuation. “And that’s me.”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “Is it? You gave the order to have my brother killed in front of me. If you think I’m letting you get anywhere near my son, you’re wrong. Family is the most important thing to Val, and he desperately wants to believe you. He spent his life believing you were dead, and now all he wants is a chance to have his sister by his side. I hope for his sake that you’re being truthful with him.” Eden crowded into me, the corner of her mouth curling up. “Because if I find out otherwise, I’ll show you what kind of puta I really am.”

  Stalking toward the crib, she scooped Santiago in her arms and stormed out of the nursery.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Brody

  It was too late for la comida, so we all sat around the table for la cena which was like appetizers on steroids. It felt as comfortable as jumping into a lion’s den wearing a ribeye tied around my neck. Eden stared at Adriana. Adriana stared at her plate. I stared at Adriana, then stared at Leighton because she kept staring at me staring at Adriana. Mateo stared at Val, and Val…well, Val fucking stared at everybody.

  There was so much staring going on, no one talked. Thank God for scotch because booze was the only thing that kept me from flipping the table and walking away. I needed to either get Adriana alone and fuck this tension out of my system or get Val alone and talk it out. At this point, I didn’t care which one, but something had to give.

  My choice was made for me when Leighton stood, hoisting my sauce drenched niece onto her
hip. “If you’ll excuse me, this one needs to be hosed down.”

  Adriana jumped up so fast, the silverware rattled. “I’ll help.”

  My sister cast a suspicious eye between us. “Are you sure?”

  By the time she nodded, Adriana was already halfway up the stairs. “Definitely. Let’s go.”

  Val leaned back into his chair, watching with a strained curiosity while rubbing the dark hair on his chin.

  Mateo just smirked, raising an eyebrow at his boss. “Want me to stay?”

  Val waved his hand. “It’s messy upstairs.”

  Mateo’s smirk widened. “It’s about to get messier down here.”

  Gold flecks ignited in familiar dark eyes that settled hard on the Carrera underboss. “Mateo.”

  Any time Valentin Carrera spoke, people obeyed, but there was a certain unmistakable tone that he reserved as a snap threat. Like that moment when you stretched a rubber band to its absolute threshold, and you knew you had seconds before it snapped. That was Val’s voice. It was low and clipped, and usually just one or two words that, if not heeded, led to chaos.

  Snap threat.

  And Mateo heard it loud and clear.

  “Right,” he said, pushing away from the table. “I’ll just go help two grown-ass adults give one small girl a bath.”

  Even I caught the sarcasm. Mateo respected Val, but he wasn’t a pussy.

  Val picked up his glass and stood, motioning toward the sitting room. “Let’s have a talk, Harcourt.”

  Gripping my glass, I followed him into the same room we last met in. Val didn’t sit, going straight to the bar to fill up his glass. When I didn’t follow, he glanced over his shoulder, cocking a slanted eyebrow. “I’m not a fucking bartender. If you want a drink, get it yourself.”

  Meeting him at the marble bar, I accepted the expensive bottle of scotch he offered with a low whistle. “Macallan 1926. You don’t play around.”