Los Zetas Cartel Collection (3 book series)

by AJ Adams

“We should call a doctor, we need this documented.” Dwayne was furious, frightened for his boss. “This isn’t fucking Russia! This is assault and battery! Smith ought to be banged up for this!”

  “His word against mine.” Her voice was tired. “Dwayne, it’s over. This was his revenge.”

  “But—”

  I could see she was too close to the edge and pitched in. “Dwayne, leave it to me, okay?”

  “He had her picked up three days in a row! He had her banged up without charges!”

  “Yes, but that’s cops for you. Look, can you take care of the place? Rovero will help. I’ll take care of her and Smith.”

  He went, reluctantly, and I examined the bruja. She looked like a train wreck but was holding it together like a pro. If the Kaibil ever take in women, she’d be top of the list. She wasn’t cool under pressure; her self-control was purest steel.

  “I’m perfectly fine so don’t bloody fuss, Quique.”

  “Sure, I can see that. You look terrific.” I got a teacloth, filled it with ice cubes and held it against the bruises on her arms. “Querida, what happened?”

  “The interrogation didn’t work, so Smith took me for a drive. He had a taser.”

  Fury ran through me. “I’ll fucking kill him!”

  “No, you don’t. The wanker’s given up. I beat him.”

  “You mean, you should see the other guy?”

  “Hmmm.” She was shivering, reaction and delayed shock. “He had nothing on me. This was his last effort. He’ll give up now.”

  If the boss and jefe heard her, they’d be panting to employ her. Me, I was worried she was concealing some other hurt.

  “Bruja, was it just the taser?”

  “A punch or two. Nothing major.”

  Definitely Kaibil material.

  “What’s going on?” Her ex was swaying in the doorway. “Where the fuck have you been? Out partying with the dago again?”

  “Quique, no.” Her voice was a thread, but it held me back from killing the disrespectful fuck. “Please, just ignore the silly sod and get me out of here, okay?”

  Two can be cool, right? “Of course, bruja.” I’d have a word with him later. The breaking his teeth kind of a chat. Calling me a dago, the hijo puta! But like I said, I acted like he wasn’t there. “Can you walk?”

  “Of course.”

  It was pride that had her on her feet and me who kept her upright. I wrapped my jacket around her, put my arm around her waist and walked her out to the car. Her ex was just standing there, swearing and whining about her leaving him.

  “What the hell did you see in him?”

  “Beats me. I must have been certifiably insane.”

  I handed the bruja into the seat and took her home.

  Chapter Fourteen: Natalia

  Smith was in a filthy mood, and that cheered me up no end. He’d had me pulled in three days on the trot, and now he was holding me without proper charges. What with having me strip-searched, I could sue for harassment. Although I had a record, he had one, too, complaints for harassment, so I was gaining the upper hand with every hour he kept me.

  He was trying to intimidate me, but it was a last ditch effort. “I’ll have you for murder.”

  I didn’t say a word. If you keep your trap shut, there is nothing to dispute or discuss.

  Smith was fuming. “You were in neck-deep with the Peckham Knaves, and now they’re having a civil war. Somehow you and Ramas started it. You murdered Stinky, then Sooty took revenge on the kid, and then you and those Mexicans took out the top dealers and money men.”

  Actually that made a lot of sense as a story, except that it hadn’t happened.

  I tried to be reasonable, “You’re barking up the wrong tree. All I want to do is run the pub and be left alone.”

  “If you cooperate, I’ll make sure you get your own licence. I’ll guarantee protection. You won’t even have problems with the Department of Health.”

  You know, if he’d stepped up when I’d begged him to help Delicia, I might have gone for the deal. But he’d made his choices and I’d made mine. It was too late.

  “Smith, you’ve lost it, mate. Look, I’ll be generous. I walk right now, and there will be no comeback.”

  “You murdering bitch! You won’t get away with it!”

  Smith totally lost it at that point, but I was beginning to feel better, not just because I was away from the screaming druggy and the spewing drunk, but because it looked like Smith had to let me walk. So I was cheery, and it really pissed him off.

  “I’ll catch you in the end,” Smith snarled. “Your kind always trip up.”

  “My kind?” Then it was my fatal mouth. “You’re no different from me, Smith. You’re just a thug in uniform.”

  That’s when he slapped me in cuffs, bundled me out into his car, and we ended up in the alley behind the Black Horse where he punched me in the kidneys so I hit the deck, and then he tasered me. He didn’t say a word, either. It was just zap, pause, zap, pause, zap, pause.

  Me, I didn’t make a sound. Not because I was brave, but because I couldn’t catch my breath. It hurt like hell, as if fire ran through my bones. I couldn’t see, couldn’t hear and certainly couldn’t think.

  I didn’t even twig when Smith stopped, took his cuffs and scarpered. I just came to, gradually aware of lying on a wet, cold pavement, and realised my own kitchen door was just a few feet away. It’s funny how attacks happen so close to home. I mean, I got raped in my own hallway, too.

  It took me about a week to get to my feet, lurch to said door and knock Dwayne out from behind the bar. He was predictably concerned.

  “Bloody hell, Nats! What the fuck? Was it the Peckham Knaves?”

  “No, it was Smith. Get me some ice and make me a cuppa, would you?”

  Dwayne got the ice but panicked when he saw my wrists were torn up and got Quique instead. That pissed me off at first; I didn’t want anyone seeing me when I was low, but he wasn’t bothered. Come to think of it, he probably dealt with much more revolting objects than me every day.

  Frank pitched up, too, and as usual he was a complete waste of space. Apart from standing about and moaning, he almost got himself killed. Calling a Zeta a dago is as lethal as pulling a mamba’s tail. I had just enough strength and presence of mind to put prevent a murder in my kitchen, and then I was wiped.

  Quique knew it, too. “Come on, bruja,” I wish the bugger would stop calling me that, “on your feet.”

  He practically carried me out, and then he whizzed me home in leather luxury. I could have slept in that car, it was so comfy, but I kept my wits about me.

  “Thanks for the ride. I’ll sign those papers tomorrow.” All I wanted was a shower and a million years of sleep. “Goodnight, Quique.”

  He completely ignored me. “Ay, bruja! You can’t walk up three steps, never mind three floors!”

  He was right, too, and if I hadn’t been so tired, I would have been annoyed at being a complete dweeb. As it was, I was grateful for the arm around my waist for the first two floors and too dizzy for emotion during the remaining one. In fact, I kind of zoned out a bit when we got there, and for a moment I was lost in space and time.

  “Get away from me!”

  It was my voice, but totally panicked.

  Hot breath in my face, hands tearing at my clothes.

  “Don’t you fucking touch me!”

  “Tranquila preciosa.”

  The soft words yanked me back to the present. I was sitting on the stairs, looking into concerned brown eyes.

  He was hunkering in front of me, speaking gently. “It’s okay, chiquitína. Nobody’s going to hurt you.”

  “I’m not two years old!” Rage ran through me, powered by shame. “I’m fine!”

  I got a grin. “Hi, bruja! Welcome back.” He looked at my front door, then at me, and he frowned. “One of the locks is smashed.”

  Oh great. As if the vandalism wasn’t enough. Of all the times to be burgled.

  Quiqu
e pushed at the door. “It’s jammed. Do you have keys?”

  “In a past life I had a handbag.”

  He shrugged. “I’ve got picks in the car.”

  He flashed off and back with a briefcase, fiddled with the door and had us inside in minutes. “The locks are busted. I’ll make a call and have them replaced.”

  It was a hassle, but I wasn’t too fussed because I was happy to be home. Well, kind of. My stuff had been pulled out of every drawer and cupboard and left on the floor. The pictures had been taken off the walls and were out of their frames, too. It was total chaos.

  “Size ten boots. You weren’t robbed. This is Smith’s work.” Quique was looking around. “Very little damage. It’s mostly just mess.”

  “Really? I thought this was how I left it.”

  Quique laughed. “Definitely Kaibil material!”

  “What?” I assumed it was an insult, like another word for witch. One with a b.

  “Guatemalan Special Forces. We’re nicknamed Kaibiles.”

  So it was a compliment. And it explained why he’d acted like a one-man army. “I’m not joining up. I hate taking orders.”

  “Five minutes and you’d be running it. Come on,” he steered me to the bedroom. “You go have a shower while I straighten the place out.”

  I’d been trying to get rid of him, but by the time my bum hit the bed, which was intact but with sheets all over the floor, I felt dizzy again. “I don’t care about the mess, but I would kill for a cuppa.”

  “Okay. Lie down a minute.”

  The one-man army went off, and five minutes later there was tea, in a mug, with milk and two sugars. As I sipped and revived, he was walking about, holding what looked like a remote control.

  “Phasers set on stun?”

  “It’s clean. No bugs.” He looked at the windows. “Double glazed? Good, that takes care of laser taps.”

  The taser had catapulted me into a James Bond flick. Hopefully not as the kinky love interest. They always kick the bucket in the most unpleasant ways.

  Quique came over and sat on the edge of the bed. He was looking very human, not at all his usual black-eyed incandescent self. “Listen, querida, you have to tell me,” his voice was very gentle. “What exactly did Smith do?”

  “I told you already.”

  “Your tee is ripped and your jeans too.” He was very calm, his hand patting mine. “Natalia, did he force you?”

  It took me a sec and then I got it. “No, he didn’t. He was mad at me, and he wanted to hurt me, but that was as far as it went.”

  “Good.” He was relieved. “I thought maybe it had happened again.”

  He knew. For a moment the breath caught in my throat. Shame flashed over me.

  “It’s the locks,” he sounded almost apologetic. “Five of them are a hint.”

  “It was a long time ago.” My voice came from ten miles away.

  “He still around?”

  “No.” Except in my head, sometimes. “He’s dead.”

  “Good. So, with Smith, you won, huh? What was he after?”

  No questions about that night, just acceptance and a change of focus. I was so relieved that I was talking without even thinking what I was saying. “He wanted me to confess to killing Sal, Sooty and the thirty Peckham Knaves.”

  “He’s got a wild imagination! Why pick on you?”

  He looked totally casual, the Zeta, but now I was certain he’d been behind it. “Because the Twittertons were shot at the same time.”

  He blinked, that was all. “Unfortunate.”

  “Bloody unlucky for me! If I’d known what you were up to, I would have timed it better!”

  That got me a grin and another apology. “I should have included them but it didn’t occur to me.”

  “Yeah well, it’s just one of those things.” I drank my tea. It was heaven in a cup. “So the Zetas are moving in?”

  “We have some local investments. Is that moving in?”

  “Jesus, you sound like a politician. If you don’t want to say, just say so!”

  “Ay, bruja!” Quique was laughing. “Yes, we moved up our plans a little, okay?”

  “Fine by me. As long as you keep it civilised, I think we’re all ready for a change.”

  “Civilised?”

  “No raping. No bashing of kids and old ladies. No kidnapping and hacking bits off people. And if you want money from businesses, you’d better provide a service, and I don’t mean refraining from breaking their windows.”

  It was one of those moments when you know something important is happening. Quique thought for a while and finally said, “Generally speaking, we don’t bother civilians. But if you’re in, you play by our rules.”

  “Fair enough.”

  For us, that moment was about coming to an understanding. We recognised each other, not as kindred souls, but certainly as people with similar attitudes. In a perfect world there are no gangs, but as things weren’t exactly heaven in south London, I’d rather have Zetas who are pros than Peckham Knaves.

  Our understanding was also personal. He’d not bothered to lie about his activities and neither had I. Effectively we’d exchanged secrets and established a pact of trust. There was liking, too. That came with the similar attitudes.

  We were gazing at each other, and for the first time I saw him looking awfully tired. I also realised that I hadn’t eaten since I’d been arrested. It seemed a decade ago. It was no wonder I was dizzy and hollow.

  “Quique, you look shattered. How about I shower and cook us some eggs?”

  It earned me that flashing smile that lengthened his eyes. “Sounds great.”

  The bathroom wasn’t too bad. All Smith had done was toss my towels to the floor and empty the shampoo down the drain. He’d overlooked the drawer built in under the bath, so I had spare soap.

  When I stepped out, wearing a towel and still dripping, Quique was making the bed. Amazingly, the room looked tidy. Either everything was back in the cupboard or in the dustbin. A quick decko revealed a stack of undies neatly stacked on a chair. “Is cleaning a Kaibil superpower?”

  “I can’t answer that,” Quique deadpanned beautifully, “because I’d have to kill you.”

  “Well, you’re certainly making that bed to professional standards. Do you do laundry?”

  “Bruja, it’s a wonder you made it past childhood. You’ve got an evil tongue.”

  I had to laugh, which made my towel slip. You know, it hadn’t occurred to me that I was standing there practically naked. For a second the fear throttled through me. I shook it off. Quique was okay.

  “Here, take these.” He chucked the flowered jammies my way. “They were under the bed and survived. Smith didn’t find the money under the loose floorboard, either, and he didn’t get into the safe.”

  “The man’s an amateur.”

  On that happy note, we had scrambled eggs and toast, a lake of tea, and some fruit compote with ginger, an experiment that had gone rather well.

  When we were done, we were looking at each other again. There was another of those moments. I could feel the breath catch in my throat; my heart beating a rapid tat-tat-tat. For a second, I was imagining that muscled body hard against mine.

  Before my brain had finished going through the motions, I was on my feet. “This is where we say goodnight. I’m going to hit the hay.”

  “Okay. If you hear a noise, it’s a locksmith fixing the door.”

  “Thanks.”

  We got as far as the hall. He was standing so close to me that I could smell the fresh aftershave he wore. He was wearing black jeans and a silk shirt, sky blue this time. There was a little streak of blood on the sleeve. Mine.

  I remembered how he’d helped me up the stairs, how gentle he’d been when I’d freaked and the casual way he’d let me know I was perfectly safe with him. Quique might wring my neck, but that would be it. I was probably nuts, but he made me feel safe.

  I put a hand on his arm, feeling the muscles move under the war
m skin. “About hitting the hay. Want to stay?”

  Those dark eyes were looking straight into mine. “Yes.”

  My heart was crashing against my ribs. “I, erm, it’s been a while.”

  “I understand.” He put his arms around me, folding me in a gentle embrace. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” My hands were slick with nerves, and I couldn’t breathe right, so I put my face in his neck and breathed in his warmth. “I’m okay. Honest.”

  As an answer, it wasn’t my best effort.

  Quique was hugging me, and by the feel of it, he had a truncheon in his jeans, but he wasn’t about to jump me. “You understand that I’m turning into a woman as I say this, but if you’re asking me to stay because you’re afraid to be alone with that broken door, I can sleep on the couch.”

  My fear vanished. It just boiled away, leaving me free and clear. This was utterly right. I looked into his eyes, warm, friendly and tired. “I’ve been waiting three years for the right man to come along. I reckon you’re him.”

  The arms tightened as the grin lit up his face. “Ay, brujita preciosa!” He lifted me off my feet, muscles hard against my body as he swept me round in a half circle. We were leaning against the wall, his hands travelling down my back as he leaned in and kissed me.

  And what a kiss! Soft lips, warm and sweet against mine. A delicate touch, exploring slowly. I sank into it, closing my eyes as a flush of sensuous pleasure took hold of me. I’d forgotten what it was like, that simple touch that precipitates the blending of souls. I know, me being all romantic probably sounds a bit odd, but that’s how it was.

  His simple caress sparked a wave of rose champagne bubbles deep inside me. We floated into the bedroom, sinking onto the bed and giggling as it took two of us to rip down Quique’s iron-hard hospital corners. The silk pyjamas slid off easily enough, and I was still laughing as he held me close and tipped me onto my back before kissing me again.

  “The laugh is everything I hoped.” He was smooching away, in no hurry to get down to business. “Amorcita!”

  I put my arms around him, revelling in the contrast of the soft shirt and words with the muscles and the truncheon. More kisses and the shirt came off, revealing a powerful chest, richly carpeted with dark fine hair. The jeans followed, taking his boxers with them.