Los Zetas Cartel Collection (3 book series)

by AJ Adams

  “I’m waiting, slut.”

  I was terrified. This was going to hurt. Slowly, I put my hand behind my back, looking down humbly at my feet as I braced myself for the first blow.

  “What the hell is going on here?”

  It was Kyle, and by the sound of his voice, he was abso-fucking-lutely furious. And there was me, thinking he didn’t have a temper. Boy, was I wrong!

  Chapter 7: Kyle

  I should never have taken her to Arturo’s, and yet, in a way it was the best thing to happen. I took her because family parties tend to go on until the early hours. Having come home after just a few hours’ absence to find her cowering under my bed, crying like her heart would break, I didn’t want to leave her alone for that long.

  I kept an eye on her at first, but as she seemed to be enjoying herself, I thought nothing of sending her indoors to get Arturo a cold one. He’s got a thing for American microbrews, but he was too drunk to get off his lazy butt and get it himself.

  Normally Chloe’s pretty quick on her feet. I noticed she was taking her time, but I thought she was taking a side trip to the restroom. Then Quique turned up and told Arturo that his guest had arrived.

  “Where is he?” Arturo slurred.

  “Pissing,” Quique said laconically. “And probably prettying himself up. He wears perfume like a girl. A real hueco.” He shuddered and spat. Quique is from Guatemala, and he’s got zero tolerance for fags. He’s so macho that he shaves with a machete and uses diesel as aftershave.

  Arturo usually doesn’t invite business to a family party, but it’s not unknown, so I wasn’t paying much attention.

  Then Quique added, “I hate fucking English hueco!”

  Suddenly I knew the hueco was Chloe’s Him. And the bastard was in the house –where she was.

  I move pretty quickly, too, and within a heartbeat I was flying into the house. Not a moment too soon, either. I could hear her sobs echoing through the hall. When I got to her, he had his arm back, ready to pop her in the face, and she was just standing there, hands behind her back, not even trying to defend herself.

  I grabbed his arm, twisted it high in the air, and punched him in the guts. He was soft, and my fist sank in pretty good. He folded like the sack of shit he is. I was going to give him a good stomping, but before I could work him over, I had Arturo on my back and Quique hanging on my arm. Then Chema and Little Ricky came running in.

  It seems everyone had been a bit surprised to see me take off, and knowing I’m usually pretty cool, they thought it might be trouble. So they’d come to help. Instead of helping though, they stopped me killing him.

  I shook off Quique easily enough, but Arturo had a stranglehold, and he wasn’t easy to shift. While he was screaming in my ear, the other three pulled the bastard out into the hall, out of my sight.

  Arturo was bellowing like a bull, but I was so pissed that it took me a second to hear what he was saying. “For fuck’s sake! You can’t kill him! Not in front of the women! Not in front of Julia and Loli!”

  That stopped me. Julia and Loli are our sisters. Arturo and I made a pact years ago that we would never let them become involved with the family business. They probably knew anyway, but I couldn’t risk them walking in and seeing me slaughter someone in the kitchen. Or being around while we disposed of the body.

  “Technically, they aren’t my sisters.”

  Hearing my voice was calm again, Arturo loosened his grip. “Yeah, ok.”

  “I’m taking that fucker out.”

  “Not yet, bro,” Arturo said quietly in my ear. “He’s been dealing with the Gulf. He might have useful intel.”

  “I’ll get it for you.”

  Slowly, painfully, and I’d enjoy bleeding him dry, too. And I mean bleed.

  “Not yet, and not here. Not in front of the girls.”

  I sighed, and Arturo finally let go. Now I had my cool back, he knew it was safe. He also knew how pissed I was, because I seldom remind him that Julia and Loli aren’t my blood. They are Arturo’s half-sisters, but we grew up together, and I think of them as kin. I’ll never do anything to hurt Julia, Loli or the kids.

  I couldn’t kill Rimjob, so I made straight for the bonus. Poor thing, she was standing there, totally freaked, surrounded by broken glass and beer. She was so scared that she didn’t hear me when I spoke to her. I don’t think she even knew it was me.

  People were starting to come and see what was going on, so I just picked her up and took her out the side door into the rose garden. Luckily, there was nobody in the pagoda. I took her inside, and sat her down on the love seat. When I looked at her face, it was so swollen that I thought he’d hit her, but it was just tears and fright.

  I let her cry for a few minutes, and then I told her to cut it out. I gave her a little shake as I said it. I think if I’d been nice to her, she would have had hysterics. By being the tough guy, I gave her an anchor. I also didn’t want to have to carry a weeping girl out of the party in front of the family. The women were already convinced she was a chiputa, and if she made a scene, I’d never hear the end of it. The men in our family think they are tough, but they’re nothing compared to the women.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

  It was a voice thick with tears, but the words were hers.

  “What are you: a dog or human being?”

  A short silence. “Actually, I think I’m a jelly.”

  Now that was Chloe. The tough courier with the sense of humour; not the fuckbot. This was the girl I liked.

  I gave her a hug. “When we get home, I’ll eat you out.”

  I always carry a handkerchief, mostly for cleaning up blood splatter and polishing fingerprints off crime scenes, but this time it was put to its proper use. Although by the time she’d mopped up, it was so foul that I told her she could put it in her pocket. I didn’t want it in mine.

  “Sorry, Kyle. I’m sorry I smashed that beer.”

  She was apologising for being hassled while she was in my company. She should have been ranting at me, tearing a strip off me for not keeping her safe. Still, it suited my purpose. Now I could teach her a lesson.

  “You should have come to me,” I told her sternly. “I told you I’d deal with him.”

  “Yes. Sorry.”

  “If anyone touches you, you don’t just take it. I expect you to defend yourself.”

  “Yes. All right.”

  “What do you do if this happens again?”

  “Hit back and tell you.”

  “Right.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Tell Arturo you’re sorry. It was his beer.”

  I’m an evil fucker. I knew that Arturo would be torn. On the one hand, he saw Chloe as disposable. If I told him I was bored with her, he’d happily string her up. On the other, I’d brought her as a guest, so he was her host. And Arturo takes that very seriously.

  I guess that’s the difference between us. In many ways, Arturo and I are the same. Hell, we’re half-brothers; you’d expect us to have something in common, right?

  Most people don’t realise at first that Arturo and I are kin. And when they hear we’re half brothers, it still doesn’t tell the whole story. The way we were brought up, you might say that we are true brothers. This is because of Arturo’s father, a big wheel in the cartel in his day. He was in some ways very traditional, but he was also unusual. When his first marriage went sour, he allowed his wife to divorce him. Then, when she moved to the States and met my father, he gave permission for her to remarry. He also let her raise their sons, Arturo and Juan, figuring the American school system to be superior to the Mexican one.

  The man our mother married, my father, was half Irish and half Argentine. He was always a bit intimidated by Arturo’s dad, and he was used to having lots of family about him, so he was happy to take care of Arturo, Juan, my brother John and me. During school time he sent us to a good school in Austin, and in the holidays we were all packed off to Nuevo Laredo to stay at the ranch.

  When
Arturo’s father remarried, and Julia and Loli were born, they lived with him until they were ready to go to school, and then they joined us. They were younger than us, so Arturo and I grew up with the habit of watching over them.

  Ironically, mom and my dad as well as Arturo’s father and step-mother died the same week, both in car accidents, ten years ago. Juan was killed six years ago, gunned down by the Gulf cartel, and John died in Iraq, killed by a suicide bomber, five years ago. So now it’s just Arturo, the girls and me.

  Arturo’s three years older than me, and despite our shared upbringing, Mexican to the bone. He went to Princeton and got a first class honours degree in economics, but then he promptly joined the family business, working first for his father. He became a capo in charge of his own region in record time.

  For the first part of my life I took after my father. I was a patriot, and when I was 18, I joined up. Marines. I wore the uniform for ten years, and then, through one thing and another, it all went sour.

  I came south and joined Arturo. I’m the only Yankee in the outfit, and I have an unusual role. I am what you might call an enforcer. Arturo has plenty of sicarios, squads who hunt down and take out our rivals. I’m different. They kill; I send messages. I run the sicarios for him, too, but frankly, it’s hardly any work at all, so I help out with intelligence, general strategy and so on. I learned from the best, and I like to keep busy, so it’s win-win.

  While Chloe was getting herself together, I was thinking. By now everyone at the party would know something was up. Arturo wanted to pump Rimjob, so he would probably pretend that nothing had happened. With the family watching, I’d have to play nice, too. But not too nice. I’d make it perfectly fucking plain that Chloe was mine.

  I looked at her. She’d stopped crying and was now leaning against me, exhausted but calm again.

  “Tell me his name.”

  She was either too exhausted to protest, or she realised I’d hear it soon enough anyway. “Rajanikanta Chowdhury.”

  Just as well that he had a signet ring. If he’d burned that on her body, he’d have had to go round twice.

  I ruffled her hair. “We’re going to join the others.”

  She shivered. “Yes, Kyle.” Then she looked up at me. “I had the best time,” she stammered. “The best time ever. Thank you.”

  She kissed me and she meant it, but I wasn’t happy about it. She’d seen what I’d done to Rimjob, but she made it pretty clear that she thought I would still hand her over. She had no respect for me.

  There was no point in talking to her. I stood her on her feet and told her to follow me. Show is always better than tell.

  As I expected, Rimjob was sitting at Arturo’s table, and everyone was pretending that nothing was wrong. But I knew all eyes were on us, and I could see Quique and Chema sitting on the edges of their chairs, ready to take me down if I should lose it.

  As if I would. As if they could stop me if I did. Quique’s eyes told me he knew he didn’t have a prayer if I decided Rimjob had to die, and Chema’s lips were moving like he was saying prayers, but they thought they owed it to Arturo to try. They’re good guys. Tough. Reliable. I like them.

  I pulled up a chair, and tugged Chloe into my lap. She was looking at the ground, not looking anyone in the face.

  Rimjob was glaring at her; the look in his eyes said he’d like to kill her. I dropped a kiss on her hair, mostly to annoy him, but also to put a bit of courage into her. It was my fault she’d been in the house without backup.

  Now Rimjob was giving me stink eye. I was happy to see he was looking pale and sweaty. The way he sat, slightly hunched and an arm clutching his belly, I knew he was suffering. It gave me a nice warm feeling. I kissed Chloe again.

  Arturo knew exactly what I was doing. Silently, he handed me a beer. I took a swig, grinned at my brother, stroked Chloe’s hair again, and then gave her a gentle nudge. “You’ve something to say to Arturo,” I prompted her.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m sorry about the beer.”

  As I expected, Arturo struggled for a few seconds, but then he was the genial host. “Forget it! I’ve got plenty more!”

  It was nicely done. Anyone might have thought that Chloe simply had a kitchen snafu.

  “She’s mine.”

  Rimjob was trying to sound cool but it didn’t come off right. I’d only landed one punch but it had been a good one. He was still having trouble breathing. I saw that he really thought he was going to get Chloe. No doubt he thought he could place an order for a few ki’s, and use that as leverage. Normally I’d use that need of his to hike up the price as much as possible, and then hand her over with a smile. But not this time.

  Rimjob also thought Arturo would order me to give Chloe up, but there’s no way the two of us would ever screw with each other. By the way Arturo looked at him and then grinned at me, I knew he’d sit back and let me handle this.

  “She stopped being yours the second you sent her into our territory.” I gave Rimjob my nastiest smile. “I’m keeping her. Call it a tax for doing business with the wrong people.”

  Rimjob thought about challenging me; I could see him size me up. Then he took a deep breath, and something deep inside his belly caught and clenched. Suddenly he paled and sweated. I could see him think that if I could do so much damage with one punch that he wasn’t able to take me on. I could see it in his eyes.

  I grinned at him, reached out and picked up a kebab skewer that was lying on a plate in the centre of the table. Its shiny stainless steel was nice and thick, and just perfect for my message. I took it casually between thumb and forefinger, and bent it into a u-shape. It’s a trick I do that drives Arturo nuts because those skewers are imported from France. Usually he starts yelling, and I have to send him some new ones to make up for it. This time though, he just shrugged.

  Rimjob looked at it and sweated. He now had a very clear idea of what I would do to him if he gave me an excuse. Rimjob swallowed and shifted nervously in his chair. He was all man when it came to beating up on women, but he was shit scared of facing me.

  “Keep her.”

  He tried to speak lightly but his voice shook.

  Chloe’s head came straight up at this. She looked at him, her mouth open wide with surprise. She’d heard the fear. For a moment she stared at him, totally incredulous. She looked at the skewer, then at him, and then she turned to me. She was totally speechless, but I could tell by her huge grin that she was happy. Chloe curled up against me, kissing my neck and nestling comfortably. She made it perfectly plain to every man there that she was going to do me the moment she could get me on my own.

  I didn’t take it as much of a compliment. Women aren’t usually all over me unless I’m paying them to be, but a skunk would be better than Rimjob. Still, Chloe had lots of experience, and I was sure she could figure out something to make me happy. I was rock solid at the thought of it.

  “I’ll be looking for a discount, though.”

  Rimjob was trying to claw back some respect but he was sunk. Everyone knew he was chicken. Quique laughed, took a pull from his beer and spat on the ground. He didn’t say a word, but Rimjob knew it was the opinion of every man at that table. He went white, then red.

  Arturo counted to ten, and then shrugged. “We’ve already made the deal,” he said softly. “Surely you’re not going back on your word?”

  Again there was that infinitesimal pause.

  “Absolutely not,” Rimjob said hurriedly.

  He was shit-scared now and probably remembering some of the things we’d done to people who tried to renegotiate deals after they’d been agreed on. It was before my time, but if I remember right, being boiled alive used to be the punishment for that kind of behaviour. The cartel doesn’t write many contracts and rarely uses lawyers, but if you break your word, enforcement is guaranteed to be a bitch. Rimjob was now back-pedalling fast, but he couldn’t help trying to act tough.

  “I was talking about next time. I’ll be passing throu
gh town again in a week or so.”

  If he thought he was putting the wind up Chloe, he’d miscalculated. She was looking at him as if he were an exotic bug. Chloe was reassessing the situation, and she didn’t seem impressed with what she was seeing.

  Arturo decided he didn’t like Rimjob. My brother usually just says what he means; he’s too lazy and busy to pussyfoot, but when he wants to, he can be very subtle. He was speaking in that flat drawl that he learned at Princeton, knowing it made Rimjob uncomfortable. Rimjob had sounded posh at first – but now his accent had slipped. I think he was expecting Arturo to come across like the Hollywood Mexicans, you know, hello Meester, and instead there was Arturo, sitting in the back yard of a five million dollar home and looking every inch the international tycoon – which he is, in a way – and sounding like he would be at home in the White House.

  Arturo smiled. “The bigger, the better. What were you thinking? Shall we make it fifty ki’s? Or if you can make it a hundred, I can give you a better price.”

  “What sort of price can you give me on a hundred?”

  Rimjob was trying to sound as if he moved that amount of product every day, but we all knew he didn’t have the funds, or the market. His bosses might, but he definitely didn’t. If he had, we’d have known him.

  “We’ll talk when you place the order.” Arturo sounded all happy, as if he was talking to his best customer, but I sensed my brother was disappointed with his new buddy. It suited me. I wanted to work on Rimjob. ASAP.

  “About my current order, can you deliver in London?”

  We all looked at him.

  “I didn’t expect the... tax,” Rimjob said while nodding at Chloe.

  “Hey, no problem! Send someone else. We’ll keep it safe for you.”

  Five ki’s wasn’t worth Arturo’s attention.

  Rimjob smiled. “It’s been a bad month,” he said lightly. “My other two girls are out of circulation. Legal issues.”