Glitter and Greed (Brooklyn Brothers #4)

by Melanie Munton

  They just screamed danger.

  Today was meant to be a happy day, filled with sunshine and good memories. It was supposed to offer an escape from the mourning my family had been in for the past three months—ever since my mother’s brother Hector was killed during an armed robbery.

  I didn’t want these strange men ruining everything.

  They needed to leave.

  Heading toward my group of friends, my gaze caught on one of the dark-clothed men who was leaning against the side of the house.

  Watching me.

  Arms crossed over his chest and one foot propped against the stucco siding, he stared at me through cold, flinty eyes. He attempted a smile when we made eye contact, but it didn’t look right. It was as if he had never smiled in his life, and that forced expression stuck out like a sore thumb here.

  Pushing off the house, he walked toward me. I didn’t want to engage him—or any of them, for that matter—but my feet were inexplicably rooted to that spot on the ground. As he neared, I realized he was much younger than the rest of the men inside the house. Probably no older than twenty. And if it wasn’t for his stony features that were set in such a severe expression, he would likely be very attractive. Short, spiky black hair, strong jawbone, and a straight nose. His tattooed biceps were on display in his fitted black t-shirt, along with the rest of his muscled torso. The way he walked was more like a prowl, which I had to admit was intimidating.

  All in all, he was just too threatening to be good-looking.

  “For a birthday girl, you don’t look very happy,” the Walking Frown said.

  “Hard to be when a dark cloud is blocking my sun,” I retorted.

  I immediately clamped my mouth shut as Papí’s constant admonishments about my loose tongue reverberated in my head.

  Instead of acting offended, the Walking Frown actually smiled, though there was an air of condescension about it. “Has anyone ever told you that the sun is always shining, you just can’t always see it?”

  “The only ones who say that are the clouds themselves because they have the best view.”

  When he grinned this time, he seemed surprised by it. “Interesting perspective you have for someone so young.”

  “A person’s perspective is usually shaped by one’s environment.”

  I ran my eyes around the dusty ground surrounding my childhood home. Grass could never grow here, and our garden was hard to maintain in such a dry climate. As hard as I knew my parents worked to keep us sheltered, clothed, and fed, our existence could get a bit depressing if I let it.

  “And I’m afraid the sun hasn’t shined here for some time,” I added forlornly.

  When I moved my attention back to him, I jolted at the intensity marring his face. His heated gaze raked down my body in a distinctly predatory way. Especially when his dark eyes focused intently on my adolescent chest that had only just entered into the pubescent stage within the last year. The growth of my breasts had happened at such a rapid rate that my body was now a little disproportioned. It was as if my chest had decided it wanted to become a woman, while the rest of me was still a young girl and needed to play catch-up. In fact, a local seamstress even had to let out my dress a little in order to accommodate them. And they were still spilling out the top.

  “If you were my queen,” he rasped, “you would never see another cloud for the rest of your life.” Then under his breath he whispered, “Hermosa.”

  I wanted to run from this man.

  Not only had he just called me beautiful with more familiarity than was appropriate for someone he’d just met, but the tone of his voice spoke of me belonging to him like it was a matter of certainty. A foregone conclusion.

  Something was deeply off with him and his ratpack crew of armed thugs.

  I pointed in the direction of my friends. “I should get back to my party. I think we’re about to cut the cake.”

  His face didn’t change. I wasn’t even sure he heard me. His demeanor was wildly unnerving. Because while his body might be still and unmoving, it wasn’t calm. I could sense his restraint bubbling just under the surface. There was something unstable about his presence—almost volatile.

  When he still didn’t respond and awkwardness crept in, I began to walk away.

  “My name is Javier Ortega, by the way,” he called out.

  I peeked at him over my shoulder, committing the name to memory.

  He smirked. “You might want to remember it…because you’ll be hearing it a lot.”

  My life was never the same after that day.

  I’d soon learned that those men had been members of the Garcia cartel. They had shown up that day because Papí had been desperate, in debt, and had impulsively borrowed money from one of the cartel’s associates. My quinceañera dress had been paid for with blood money, making me despise what I’d once loved. And when payment came due, Papí hadn’t been able to pay back the full amount.

  My quinceañera had ended with the sound of my father’s screams from inside the house.

  They’d chopped off two of his fingers with a machete.

  He’d been two hundred pesos short.

  So, they’d made him two fingers short.

  Despite my initial opinion of Javier, he had managed to alter it. After that day, he’d started coming around more often to “court” me, as he’d playfully called it. I couldn’t understand how a person’s demeanor could change so drastically because he hadn’t even acted like the same person. He’d smiled easily, joked often, and doted on me like I was the most precious thing in the world. He hadn’t pressured me for anything, had showed incredible patience over my distrust of him, and had admittedly, eventually wormed his way into my life.

  He had just been so damn convincing.

  When I’d asked about the horrific incident with my father at my party, Javier had claimed that he’d had no idea that was going to happen. He’d played the victim card. That he’d unknowingly joined the cartel with the promise of earning piles of money in order to take care of his ailing parents. He’d sworn to me that they would kill his entire family if he left, but that he was determined to break free of his membership because a life of crime wasn’t what he wanted for himself. He wanted a comfortable home with a loving wife and many children. Eventually, he wanted to become a police officer. All in all, a simple life.

  Complete and utter bullshit.

  Yet my young heart had fallen for it.

  Which just goes to show, the first impressions are always correct.

  At first, he’d seemed too good to be true—as long as I ignored his cartel connections, that is. He’d been a gentleman when he came to collect me for our dates. He’d spoiled me with lavish gifts. He’d even treated my family with the utmost kindness and generosity.

  In the beginning anyway.

  Things changed once he joined the police force. He became more secretive, more possessive, jealous, and controlling. One day when I was seventeen, a young man had openly flirted with me in the town market, in plain view of all of our friends and neighbors. A completely innocuous conversation. An entirely normal moment between two young people.

  I saw that same boy a few days later from across the street, hobbling into a café with the help of his parents. Both of his legs were in casts.

  Then, when I was eighteen, I decided to go out dancing in the city one night with my friends. It was the first time I’d ever tasted alcohol or did anything spontaneous. And I’d had a blast. At one of the clubs we hit, a man had paid me particular attention and we’d danced for several songs. It was nothing sexual, nothing that had crossed any lines. We had both just been having fun in the moment.

  That man’s body was found in a ditch two weeks later.

  And that was where my social life began and ended. Other than Javier, I had avoided the entire male population after that. I’d suspected his involvement with those two incidents all along, but I’d never been able to prove it. The whole thing had boiled down to a gut feeling, and I’d event
ually convinced myself it was all in my head.

  It had helped that Javier had returned to the person he’d been at the beginning of our relationship. The attentive, affectionate boyfriend. He took me on trips and gave me glimpses of a life that had only existed in my dreams. I cannot express enough how good the man was at playing a part. At lying.

  But the truth always comes out eventually.

  After the night of Luciana’s birthday when he’d blown up, I’d kicked him out of my life. Told him to never speak to me again or I’d report him to his commanding officer. In hindsight, I realized that wouldn’t have done any good. It wasn’t until then that I realized how deep his obsessive attachment ran. When he just couldn’t accept that we were over. When he refused to let me go. Because, in his words, no one else was going to have me. He’d make very sure of it.

  Then Luciana disappeared. And my life got turned upside down and dropped on its head.

  A month after that, I’d fled to Brooklyn in search of her.

  Now, I was back in his clutches.

  More specifically, in the dungeon beneath what I could only assume was his palatial mansion outside Mexico City that very few people knew he owned. I wasn’t even sure how I got here—by ground or by air—because I’d been trapped inside that tiny wooden box for who knew how many hours. The bastard had basically stuffed me inside a wooden coffin and shipped me back to Mexico.

  Those were the worst hours of my life.

  Blind, in a cage, with nothing but darkness and little air for company.

  Now, I was tied to a goddamn chair that sat under the single hanging light inside the small cell. It was obviously used as a torture room to hold prisoners. There was a large wooden table against one wall that held many medieval-looking weapons and a drain in the center of the floor. For blood?

  Undoubtedly.

  The room’s door opened with a whoosh of stale, musty air.

  And in walked El Escorpion.

  Don’t show fear. Don’t show fear.

  “Where is Luciana?” were the first words out of my mouth.

  Javier sighed, like a teacher impatient with his pupil. “She’s not far, mi reina. Confined, but being left alone as you wished. And she will remain that way as long as you are a good girl and take the punishment you’ve earned.”

  I was ashamed to admit that ice cold fear shot down my spine at those ominous words, but I refused to let it show on my face.

  He must have seen something there, though, because he smirked as he casually approached the table of weapons. “Surely, you didn’t assume that your little stunt of running away would be forgiven so easily? You caused me pain when you left, Catalina. It is only fair that I return the gesture.”

  I released a shaky breath.

  He’d spent years with the cartel, learning their methods of torture. You grew up hearing the horrific stories, ones that needed no embellishment. The worst possible ways a person’s life could end…they did it.

  Please, please, no acid. No burning tires.

  “After you see what happens when you disobey me, you won’t be tempted to ever leave again. I’ll make it hurt enough that you won’t be able to comprehend going through the pain a second time.”

  I scowled, relieved I still had some fight left in me. “Beating up an unarmed woman? What a pussy you are, Javier.”

  His backhanded slap snapped my head to the side, flinging my hair across my face.

  It hurt like a son of a bitch, but it surprised even me when my mouth curved upward in a sneer. “And you’re just proving my point. You might want to work on that limp wrist.”

  His fingers gripped my hair tightly and yanked my head back. My scalp screamed in pain, but I made no sounds. “You won’t keep up the bravado for long,” he snarled. “You might be tough, but everyone caves in the end. Everyone cries for the pain to stop. But it won’t, not until your screams for mercy echo off these walls. Not until I have your submission.” His revolting tongue traced the shell of my ear. “I will taste your sweet surrender on my tongue, mi reina. And it will be so delicious.”

  If he was trying to scare me, he was failing. The promise of pain might have made me nervous, but he didn’t. In fact, his words only served to fortify my resistance. He wanted to break me? He could try. Because even if my bones shattered beneath his fists, my resolve would remain impenetrable.

  “Good luck with that.” I chuckled. “Try not to break a nail.”

  Maybe I shouldn’t have challenged him.

  But the look of pure, undiluted rage that overtook his face at those words filled me with so much pride, I couldn’t regret them. I’d hit a nerve, and it felt ridiculously good. After all, my cutting words were the only weapon I had to wield in this decrepit room of death.

  The next hit that came was with his closed fist.

  My jaw immediately ached as stars spun in my blurry vision. But I forced my head back up, forced my eyes to meet his again, forced my lungs to suck in air.

  “You think you are brave, but bravery only earns you an early grave. Make things easier on yourself and relinquish that pride.”

  My entire face throbbed as I pushed out, “I would rather perish with pride than rot as a coward.”

  Another blow to my jaw, this time on the other cheek. Squeezing my eyes shut, it was a battle to not groan and whimper. I didn’t want to gratify him with my sounds of anguish. The headache was already becoming unbearable, and I worried it wouldn’t be long before I passed out if my head kept receiving all the blows. My jaw was likely to break too.

  “How much courage will I have to beat out of you?” he yelled. “How long before that insolent will of yours crumbles?”

  Until your muscles grow weak and tired from fighting my spirit.

  My head lolled back on my shoulders. “I hope…your fists aren’t…made of glass.” I winced when a sharp pain sliced across my jawbone. “Because…my má…always said I had…a stubborn jaw.”

  Blessedly, he took a break from my face and drove his next punch into my stomach. It knocked the breath out of me, and I thought I might vomit. But I’d still have rather endured that pain than receive more to my battered jaw.

  My ribs took the next blow.

  And the next.

  And the—

  Yeah, that was a crack. At least one was broken. Maybe more. It was hard to tell where the pain was originating from because now it was everywhere. My breaths sawed in and out erratically. If I’d had anything in my stomach, I would have thrown it up all over the floor. Instead, it was just a bunch of dry heaving, which felt like fire lancing my lungs with every desperate gulp of air.

  “You are mine, goddammit!” he bellowed. “Mine!”

  Never.

  Another backhand.

  Black spots danced behind my eyelids as the room around me turned fuzzy.

  “No one will take you from me!”

  Too late.

  Another jab to my stomach.

  That’s when I started coughing up blood. What did that mean? Had one of my broken ribs pierced a lung?

  “BELONG TO ME!”

  It took many greedy breaths as blood dripped down my chin before I was able to gather the strength to raise my head and stare my demon in the eyes. The look in them was deranged. If he hadn’t snapped before he’d entered this room, he well and truly had now.

  My head was yanked back again as he gathered all my long hair in his hand. “All this beautiful, beautiful hair,” he purred, stroking the strands. “Everyone in your village used to comment on how lovely it was. All the girls were envious. All the men dreamed of running their hands through its silkiness. Even I can admit it has bewitched me ever since I laid eyes on it. The fantasies I have about it drive me wild.”

  My scalp burned as he pulled hard on the strands. I heard a distinctive snipping sound, and suddenly, the pressure on my head eased.

  He held inches and inches of my chopped off hair in front of my face.

  “I told you I will make you mine,” he hisse
d in my ear. “Every single part of you. I’ve already claimed your virtue. Your sister is in my possession. Now, I’ve stolen your most prized feature. What shall I take next?”

  As I watched strands of my glossy black hair drift to the floor, I didn’t have it in me to shed a tear. Once upon a time, I might have been devastated. I had never cut my hair in my entire life. Not once. My má had never wanted to take scissors to mine or Luciana’s hair. But in light of my circumstances, I couldn’t give a shit about the loss of it. What did vanity matter when I was about to lose everything I’d ever cared about?

  I was in so much pain that I was starting to go numb in certain places. It was finally sinking in that this was my fate. This was where it would all end for me. I refused to be this man’s slave, which meant he was just going to have to kill me in this room. Even if I capitulated now, I would never be what he wanted me to be. He would just keep punishing me like this, over and over, and I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

  I prayed Luciana was saved somehow.

  I prayed Luka would find a way to end Javier’s reign.

  And I prayed that after my death, Luka would be able to find peace. I could at least die knowing that I had fallen in love with a deserving, worthy, brave man and that same man had fallen in love with me. Despite how short our time together was, I’d experienced a great love. Not everyone could say that in their lifetime. I had somehow managed to scrape out a little bit of happiness in this life before it was stolen from me.

  I could go with a smile on my face.

  Because Luka Rossetti had put it there.

  Javier bent down in front of me. “You will belong to me, Catalina. Our fates have been entwined for eternity.”

  I spat blood in his face.

  “I belong…to someone else,” I wheezed. “And always have. My fate…is with him. Yours is…in Hell. Joder tu eternidad.” Fuck your eternity.

  The last thing I saw before I blacked out was his fist reeling back—

  And Luka’s face in my mind’s eye.

  I love you, corazón.

  “Target spotted in southeast window,” I murmured as I looked through the eyepiece of my scope.