Los Zetas Cartel Collection (3 book series)

by AJ Adams

  “When you take money under the table, you’re selling yourself. And there’s a word for that.”

  He went white and red, missing only patriotic blue, and stormed off. I took one look at her and knew why the bruja was so different: this was a woman who could never be bought.

  I know you’re thinking that’s not so special, but you’re wrong. Most people can be bought. I know, because I do it all the time.

  A fee to a cop will get him to turn a blind eye to your double-parking; a tip to a bartender gets you a double for the price of a single. Small potatoes, but that’s corruption. It starts with a ticket or free tequila, and before you know it, you’ve sold your soul.

  Natalia wouldn’t sell herself or anything else for a million bucks. That’s rare.

  “What are you looking so serious about?” Natalia was closing the till. “Are you in trouble, love?”

  “No, just thinking you’re an interesting woman.”

  You know, she blushed? It was cute as hell! The cheekbones slanted sleekly, the eyes bright and sweet, and the curved lips were enchanting.

  “Come on,” I said. “Let’s go clubbing.”

  Chapter Eighteen: Natalia

  If I had to use one word that describes a date with Quique it would be blast. The man knows how to party. When I locked up, I was tired and stressed. Half an hour later, ensconced in a booth in Café Bohème, clutching a huge glass of red, the good stuff, not vino collapso, I began to unwind.

  Quique was drinking red, too, and despite the quiet way he sat, he radiated power and confidence. I’d heard the Zetas had taken out the Peckham Knaves practically overnight, and from the gossip, the new team were kind to old ladies and puppies.

  It was better than before, and I hoped it would last. “Did you establish your property empire?”

  “Yeah. Completed all the buys the day before yesterday.”

  “What? All of them?”

  “Uh huh.”

  He tried and failed to look cool. Smug satisfaction oozed out of every pore.

  “Quique, you’d better tell me everything, mate, because I’m dying to hear, and you’re going to explode if you don’t boast a bit.”

  It was quite a story.

  “Ohmigod, it sounds so simple, but I never would have thought of that!”

  “Yeah, it worked out pretty good.”

  “And you’re so modest!”

  He just grinned at me. “I’m not the saintly type.”

  I had a sudden memory of how he’d leaned over me, laughing as I was squealing away. My breath tightened again. The sinner was looking good enough to eat.

  He knew it, too, because he put an arm around me and shifted closer. I felt the warm strength of him against me. It seemed a natural thing to lift my face to his.

  The kiss was sweetly soft, his lips brushing mine, exploring leisurely. It was just like the first time; that floating feeling came rushing back. I was free, ready for delight.

  “Want to go dancing?”

  We drifted into a club with a forties theme. We play Glenn Miller, Artie Shaw and Tommy Dorsey in the pub at Christmas, but usually I clump my way around the floor. This time either lust or Quique’s expert leading meant I swung and dipped effortlessly. There were other people there, there must have been, but I didn’t notice them.

  After an eon of dancing left me breathless with excitement and anticipation, he swept me down the road, into a tiny supper room with dark red walls, crystal chandeliers and the most exquisite champagne and oyster supper.

  We probably took a cab to my place, but it might have been a flying chariot. All I remember is smooching in the backseat and wafting up the stairs, pausing to kiss on every floor.

  “Come in and stay the night?”

  “Brujita preciosa, if you hadn’t asked, I’d be on my knees, begging.”

  “Let me find my keys, and you can do that in a minute.”

  Bed was heaven, and like last time, he slipped out at dawn, lingering to kiss my hair.

  I was half asleep, feeling buttery delicious. “You’re off, love?”

  “Ay, Natalia, I have an early start.” Another kiss. “Querida, your door is trashed. Put in CCTV.”

  “Yeah, okay.” But I wasn’t really listening.

  Another kiss. “Dinner tonight?”

  My head told me that seeing him too much would lead to trouble. I was having too good a time. I reminded myself of the reasons I couldn’t give my heart to him. I struggled to be sensible. “I’m working again.”

  “I like to eat late.”

  What the hell. “Yes, please.”

  That date was as good as the others, and we ended up in bed again, which was better than chocolates filled with fresh whipped cream.

  After that, we fell into a routine. I worked my shifts, then Quique would swing by and pick me up. We mixed it up, with fine dining one night and a kebab supper the next, long walks along the river when it was balmy and rushing home for pie and chips in front of the box when it was wet.

  Frank sulked, and the rest of the family alternated between Millie’s “Good for you! Enjoy yourself, love!” and Great-aunt Sharon’s “You can’t trust foreigners!” I ignored them all: evenings out with Quique were fun and the nights rapturous.

  Scott was in a full-fledged snit. “You chose him over me? He’s a thug!”

  That had me bristling protectively. “Scott, it’s really none of your business.”

  “For God’s sake, think!” Scott wailed. “We are the same kind of people. Just think of the life we could have together! You could get out of this awful bar and run a nice little bakery. We could invest my bank salary in a new, snug property and rent out your place. We could have the total package!”

  I just stared at him. “How romantic! But I’m not up for a merger.”

  Then he went on and on, completely hysterical, ending with, “It’s not funny—you must be out of your mind!”

  You know, I felt sorry for him? “I guess I am. Shandy or gin and tonic?”

  Scott stomped out, which I didn’t mind, but he kicked poor old Angus on the way. It was probably accidental, but he didn’t stop, the louse.

  “He’s okay,” Sly was cuddling Angus. “Bloody man should be more careful, shouldn’t he, Angus?”

  “Frosty had better watch out, too,” Mo said, giving Angus a beef and onion chip as compensation. “That’s an angry man.”

  “He’ll get over it. Anyway, we had one date! It wasn’t a promise of marriage.”

  Mo shrugged. “Sure, but he’s a nasty piece of work. He bad-mouths more people in a day than I do in a year.”

  “Because you’re a good bloke, Mo.” I handed him an extra pack of crisps. “On the house.” And like I thought, he shared them with Angus.

  "You know, I haven't ever seen Scott sweet on a girl," Sly mused. "I thought he was gay."

  "God, don't say that!" Mo was definitely one of the world's homophobes. "He did have a crush, years ago. Liz something. She worked with him."

  "The one who was caught dipping into the till?"

  "Yeah. He never looked at anyone else. Well, till he saw you, Frosty."

  "I'm touched." Actually, I thought it mawkish. It's okay to be a bit heartbroken for a while, but to throw away your entire love life over one lousy crush seems daft to me. But I knew Mo and Sly would repeat what I said to Scott, so I was careful. "He'll find someone. There's plenty of sweet, datable girls around."

  "Sure," Mo said, "but be careful, Frosty. Angry men can be dangerous."

  "Absolutely!" But I wasn’t fussed about Scott, and I wasn’t worried about having fun with Quique, either. I’d decided it was time I enjoyed myself. I’d not worry about the future. And anyway, both of us were sensible.

  “Jorge will be out soon,” Quique said every now and again.

  “And when you go back to Mexico I’ll miss you,” I’d say.

  So we both knew it was a fling. Talk about lying to yourself, right?

  It was two weeks later and anoth
er Disney morning, with me dancing around the bedroom, dithering between a violet scoop neck top and jeans or a soft indigo silk blouse and a black maxi skirt, when Millie rang.

  “Nats, love, guess what? Bobby’s home!”

  All the air whooshed out of me. I felt an awful foreboding. Then I felt guilty. The man had a right to resent me; I’d rejected his son. Now I’d helped save his business, though, we’d be fine. It was time to forgive and forget.

  I deliberately sounded upbeat. “That’s great! But how?”

  “He got an early release!”

  “I’m so glad.” I looked at my watch; it was ten o’clock. “Lunch party at the pub?”

  “Yes! Delicia’s calling everyone. She’s so excited to have him back!”

  Bless the little thing. This would give her a real boost. She and Bobby adored each other. “Tell her I’ll have a special treat for her and her cousins after school.”

  Millie laughed. “They’re all taking the day off! They’ll be at the lunch.”

  Typical Truelove! Family over everything else, right? It gave me a warm feeling, being part of it. When Rovero and I arrived at the Black Horse, Rose, Amber, Sadie and Suzie were waiting, their arms filled with bunting. Delicia and Johnathan appeared ten minutes later.

  “They’ve gone to bed,” Delicia said matter-of-factly, “so we thought we’d come here and make a banner.”

  Johnathan was hovering protectively. I saw with amusement that he agreed with everything she said, only taking out time to tell her she was brilliant. It was working nicely; Delicia was blossoming.

  The regulars were delighted by the activity and the free food that was bound to come their way, so after they settled in and texted around, the place really filled up. When Millie pitched up with Bobby on her arm, the party kicked in.

  After a rendition of “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow” and a speech—“It wasn’t me, guv. It was a set-up”—by Bobby, we tucked into sausage rolls, beef pies and chicken masala, typical British junk food.

  I was able to sneak away for a second to telephone Quique.

  “Natalia,” his voice was warm. “Good news, huh?”

  Right, Rovero had been gossiping. “It’s a huge party, love. Want to join us?”

  “Sure. But I’ll be a couple of hours.”

  “We’re not going anywhere.”

  With the crowd there, I worked the kitchen and the bar, but at two, when the flow of orders ebbed, I took a breather and sat down with a beef pie.

  “Nats!” Frank was well gone, in his merry stage. “It’s like old times, isn’t it? We’re finally together again.”

  “Great food, Frosty!” Bobby looked his old self—tall, broad, with the same narrow jaw and dark blue eyes as Frank and Roger. Only his hair was turning silver. “Love the sausage rolls.”

  He sounded cautious but friendly enough. It was the first civilised words we’d said to each other since I’d kicked Frank out. Millie was looking apprehensive, sheer habit from years of hostility, I thought.

  “There’s a trifle setting now. Strawberry jelly, your favourite.”

  “Nats has been wonderful!” Millie was chattering nervously. “A real life-saver.”

  Bobby nodded half-heartedly. “Right. Well, the Black Horse is still here, I guess. We can set everything straight tomorrow.”

  Oh great. The pie turned to ashes in my mouth.

  “It’s not personal,” Bobby said, “but I don’t see why you got involved in our business, Frosty.”

  “The pub was going under!” Millie wailed.

  Bobby shrugged. “Frank and Roger would’ve fixed it, Millie. You just panicked.”

  “That’s what I said!” Frank agreed loudly.

  “I built up a man’s pub,” Bobby bitched, “and now it’s a family place. It’s ruined the brand.”

  I got up and took my plate to the kitchen. I was so angry that my hands were shaking. I took a cube of ice and rubbed it over my temples. It didn’t help to cool my rage.

  “Hey, bruja!”

  Quique was in a grey suit and purple shirt, looking like a banker with a silver and purple tie. He took one look at my face and straight away gave me a hug. “What happened?”

  “I worked my arse off, and he threw it back in my face!”

  “Que pendejo!” He smelled good, like lemon and grass—the green kind, not the stuff you smoke. “Querida, he’s back so your job is over, no?”

  “I guess.”

  Quique hugged me tightly. “Then we go out there, make small talk with the rest of your family, and then we walk.”

  “What?”

  “Bobby can do his own dishes.”

  I lifted my face out of his neck and saw he was a bit grim. Quique was definitely in my corner. That cheered me up. So did the advice. “The books are up-to-date. And I am owed eighteen months of leave. Minus the one day I took with you.”

  “Okay, let’s do it.”

  Of course everyone knew instantly who Quique was, and so the whisper ‘Mexican mafia’ went round. He acted like he didn’t hear it or see the nudges, so I introduced him as if he was just a casual friend. “This is Quique. He’s visiting from Mexico.”

  Everyone from Aunt Sadie to Donald nodded and smiled, so that was cheering.

  When I got to Bobby’s table, I added, “Quique’s company holds our liquor licence.”

  Bobby showed hackle straight away. “That might change.”

  Quique shrugged. “Sort it out with my associates.”

  “Aren’t you the boss?”

  “Nah, my position was strictly temporary.” Quique was smiling, but there was an edge to his voice that was unmistakable. “I’m special projects.”

  There was a dead silence, and I mean dead. From Frank’s, Roger’s and Millie’s faces, they were suddenly totally convinced they knew who’d taken out the Peckham Knaves. They looked frightened.

  I didn’t care. I was raging. I had done my best, and it still wasn't good enough. I'd walk, and they could solve their own problems.

  The frightened hush was broken by Delicia, coming over hesitantly, Johnathan glued to her side. She looked at Quique and said, “Erm, I think, were you…?” She remembered him but was too shy to say so.

  Quique smiled at her. “Chiquitína! You look beautiful! Who’s your friend?”

  “My cousin Johnathan.”

  It broke the tension. Quique said something nice, and I took the opportunity to kiss Millie on the cheek, a prelude to saying goodbye.

  “Nats, I’m so sorry!” Her frantic whisper went right through me. Millie was a doormat when it came to Bobby, but she wasn’t a bad person. There was no point in being mad at her. “Don’t listen to him!”

  “Course not.” I handed her the pub door keys. “You’ve got the books, Millie. Ask me anything, any time, okay?”

  “You’re going?” Frank was staring. “You can’t be serious!”

  “Of course she is, seeing you’ve been bloody ungrateful.” Amazingly, it was Roger.

  I saw Bobby’s face, set in hard lines and going red. The old bugger hadn’t changed. Anyone who crossed him was an enemy. I’d been a target many times, and now Roger was going to get blasted.

  I decided I’d had enough. “Come on, Quique, let’s go explore London.”

  “Yeah, we’ll go on a bender.”

  That made me smile. “Wow, you’re picking up the lingo!”

  Quique gave me an evil smile. “I guess it’s all the pillow talk.”

  At that, Frank gasped, Roger laughed and Bobby geared up for action. We were walking out as it started.

  “How dare you cheek me, boy!”

  Then the door slammed shut behind us, and we were out in the cold, damp street.

  Quique took my arm, tucking me against him as we took off. “Never mind, Natalia. It’ll blow over.”

  I wasn’t so sure, but there was nothing to say, so I agreed. “Sure.”

  Friendly brown eyes were looking into mine. “Jorge, the local boss, came back toda
y. We’re both free. Let’s party!”

  I thought I was too wrought up for a bender, but Quique fixed that by walking me to his office. It was a two-mile hike, so by the time we got there, I had walked off the worst of the anger and was feeling better.

  Zeta International had been deserted when I dropped off his watch, but now it was bustling. Quique whisked me right past reception and into a plush office, filled with an oak desk, leather chairs, potted ferns and four men, including the brief, James. The designer suits and silk ties didn’t fool me: I was looking at the Zeta senior management.

  “Jorge, this is Natalia.”

  A thin, pale-looking bloke with the Zeta signature dark eyes and hair got up from behind the desk and gave me a hug. “I’ve been dying to meet you.” He then inspected me, holding me at arms’ length. “Que guapa! Quique, cabron! She’s too good for you!”

  Nice guy, Jorge. And clearly a man of good taste.

  “You know James already. These are Lencho, Paco and Matu.”

  “Madre mia, que linda!”

  “Encantada, guapa!”

  They kidded about, and then Quique said seriously, “Natalia’s ex suegro is out.” There was a blast of Spanish. “I told him to call here.”

  Looking at the dark eyes go flinty, I suddenly worried for Bobby. He was an unmitigated arse, and I wanted to cricket bat him, but Millie and Delicia loved him.

  “Bobby was just mouthing off. The deal’s a good one. He’ll see that soon enough.”

  “Of course!” Jorge was nodding and smiling, but the eyes said otherwise. “It’ll be okay. Don’t worry.”

  “Don’t bullshit me, Jorge!” I just went for it. Despite everything, Bobby was family. “This is London, not Nuevo Laredo. This is not something you solve with a punishment beating. Give the man a few days to see reason!”

  There was a second’s silence, a tipping point where they were deciding what to do. From the eyes, it was a toss-up between murder and a kicking. I suddenly wondered if I was totally bonkers. Reaming Zetas really isn’t a healthy occupation.