Bleacke Spirit

by Lesli Richardson

She had noticed her own hearing was better than it used to be. Likely an effect of being mated to Beck. She washed and dried her hands and hurried outside.

  Dewi, Ken, Badger, and Duncan had arrived tonight in Ken’s SUV, but he sat in the front passenger seat, and Dewi acted growly and fussed as Ken tried to get out and she tried to help him, despite Beck offering to help.

  “What happened?” Nami asked.

  “I tripped over a tree root,” Ken said. “I’m fine.”

  “You’re not fine,” Dewi insisted. “The doctor said keep your weight off it. Let me carry—”

  “Dewi, no, you are not carrying me.”

  Nami wondered if that was the whole truth or not. As they stood there, watching Dewi helping Ken with his crutches and fussing over him, Joaquin and Malyah arrived in a separate car, with Martin literally seconds behind them.

  Martin was another wolf Enforcer who’d recently been assigned to the area. He was single, and a nice guy. Nami had insisted on him being included at their Sunday dinners, because he was as good as family, as far as she was concerned.

  “Is that what really happened?” Nami asked Badger after he hugged her hello.

  “Actually, yeah.” The old wolf laughed. “We were on our way back to the house when it happened. Mean ole’ tree took the poor lad totally by surprise.”

  “I’m fine,” Ken insisted as Dewi still tried to practically carry him inside. “Hon, please give me my other crutch.”

  “I don’t want you falling.”

  “I won’t, if you give me my other crutch.”

  “Dewi, honey, let the boy do it.” Nami realized that was fine advice, coming from her, and she sighed before turning to hug Malyah.

  Yes, and Joaquin.

  “We goin’ to look at houses tomorrow after you get off work?” Nami asked her.

  Malyah eyed her with a little suspicion, and Nami knew she deserved it. “Why?”

  Nami also realized Beck was watching her. “Because I’m going to start working on going back to college, too, so I guess we need to find you two a house. Sorry I’ve been so stubborn.”

  Finally, Malyah smiled and hugged her again. “I love you, Sis. Yes, there’s a couple I’d like to go see.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s hard to let go.” Nami even hugged Joaquin again. “Sorry.”

  The handsome wolf smiled. “I don’t mind,” he said. “I might not be the smartest man, but even I am smart enough not to piss off my big sister.” He did have a sexy voice, just the hint of a Spanish accent, barely noticeable.

  And he had been remarkably patient with Nami’s threats to neuter him.

  Malyah could’ve done a lot worse than the devoted wolf.

  Nami poked him in the shoulder. “Just you remember that, mister.”

  Chapter Three

  Manuel Segura fought the urge to nervously look around as he maintained an average walking speed down the sidewalk. This meeting could either get him what he wanted, or get him killed.

  There would be no in-between, of that he was certain.

  Unfortunately, he was well aware of the fact that the two options weren’t mutually exclusive, either.

  Three weeks since the clusterfuck in Idaho, and he was no closer to answers. It wouldn’t be long before questions were asked and his people—the ones who were left, anyway—started looking to him for answers he couldn’t give.

  He’d already killed the pilot who’d flown him back to Mexico from the States, because that was one loose end he could not afford. The man had been the only other witness who could definitively say that he’d landed in Spokane with ten men—not counting himself or the pilot—but boarded the plane in Spokane alone and in a frantic rush to get in the air as soon as possible after telling the pilot the others were dead.

  This was his entire world on the line now.

  As he reached the large, heavily reinforced compound on the outskirts of Tlalpan, he swallowed hard. The ten-foot tall concrete walls were painted a faded, pale yellow, and topped with old and new coils of razor wire. The tops of leafy, green trees were barely visible over the top, but none so close or overhanging as to provide entry. If his memory served him, somewhere along the back of the compound was a gate wide enough for vehicles to drive through, but it was heavily fortified and consisted of a two-part inner and outer gate system to help prevent anyone on foot slipping inside the compound with a vehicle.

  As Manuel stepped up to a heavy iron gate along the front of the house, he took a deep breath. With thick metal mesh welded to the inside of the gate, covered by another, overlapping layer of metal mesh besides that, it meant it was nearly impossible to see through the gate and into the compound’s interior. Still, despite how his hand trembled, he rang the buzzer on a keypad set in the wall next to the gate.

  The man who answered in Spanish sounded very gruff and irate, even with only one word spoken. “Yes?”

  “I’m here to see Abundio. It’s Manuel, Berto’s son.”

  Manuel heard the speaker cut off. So he stood there to wait, all while fighting the urge to nervously shift from one foot to the other. He wouldn’t ring again, and he’d wait fifteen minutes. If there was no further reply, he’d leave and pray he made it back to the rental car alive.

  He hadn’t seen the man in years, since the funeral of his own father. Abundio had cut himself off from the rest of the family almost immediately following the death of their father. Abundio was the eldest of four children, three brothers and a sister, and six years older than Manuel’s father, who’d been second-oldest. Of the four siblings, only Abundio still lived.

  Abundio had wanted nothing to do with the cartel their father had built, or anything illegal.

  Ironic, because the man had made his fortune in mining and logging, which was pretty much the same thing as a cartel, only government-sanctioned. Manuel knew he could easily list about twenty things off the top of his head that Abundio’s company had done that were unethical or outright illegal…

  Except that’d be stupid and deadly.

  If Abundio’s line of work allowed the man to fool himself that his soul was clean, so be it. It wasn’t Manuel’s business to challenge him on that point.

  Not when he himself currently was—for now—the head of a drug cartel.

  While Manuel didn’t see a camera, he knew just from the high-tech look of the keypad there had to be one somewhere.

  Thus, he stood.

  And waited.

  After a few minutes, he heard the sound of shoes on a sidewalk inside the compound, like they were approaching the gate. He heard the metallic noise of another gate being opened and closed just inside before the outer gate opened, revealing a huge man wearing a tactical vest and holding a handgun pointed at Manuel. The man had short, dark blond hair, broad shoulders, and stood probably six-five, at least.

  “Inside,” the man ordered in Spanish.

  Manuel stepped inside, and the man glanced around before closing the outer gate behind Manuel and verifying it locked. The small vestibule between the two gates had a tin roof over the top of it and was likely where they had packages deposited.

  Manuel also realized the man held a white bathrobe in his other hand. He shoved it at Manuel.

  “Strip. Put that on.”

  Manuel didn’t bother arguing, or even ask useless questions. He’d left his gun locked in the car’s trunk because he knew damn well it would have been taken from him anyway.

  The fact that he came completely unarmed would, hopefully, buy him a few points with his uncle.

  Or at least not get him killed.

  If he was lucky.

  Once he was completely naked and had donned the robe, the man pulled a plastic garbage bag from his back pocket and handed it to Manuel to put his clothes in, the man’s nostrils briefly flaring, as if sniffing the air. “Everything in there, including phone, watch, and jewelry.”

  Manuel complied without argument or debate. That he was being allowed inside at all, frankly, still astonished him.


  The man took the bag from him and set it aside before pressing a button on another keypad set next to the inner gate. The inner gate was actually formed from a solid plate of metal. At least, that’s what it looked like on this side. Manuel assumed they were still being watched on cameras.

  “Ready,” the man said.

  A buzzer sounded, and the man opened the gate.

  Three more armed men, all wearing tactical vests over their shirts, stood there with their handguns trained on Manuel.

  Instinctively, Manuel raised his hands and waited.

  “This way,” the first man said as he closed the inner gate behind Manuel. “Hands down, keep them at your sides.”

  Manuel followed him, the other three falling into step behind them. He was convinced the first man was an American, based on his looks and accent. He had dark blond hair with barely any grey. Despite the man’s tan, Manuel spotted the pale areas around his blue eyes that were likely usually shaded by sunglasses. Most likely former military. He knew his uncle liked hiring mercenaries and former US military for his highest-ranking security positions. He thought they were less likely to have family beholden to any cartels or politicians.

  Manuel didn’t need to look behind him to know the other three men kept their guns trained on him and wouldn’t hesitate to shoot him if he made any sudden moves.

  Trees shaded the front and sides of the house that Manuel could see, and the concrete sidewalk under his bare feet felt comfortable in the shade compared to how hot it’d been out on the street.

  The house wasn’t exactly as Manuel remembered it from his youth. It’d been upgraded, the windows likely blast-resistant and now all sporting bars over them, even upstairs. Inside, air-conditioning dropped the temperature to around seventy, making Manuel shiver a little as the sweat on his body evaporated. Inside it was also darker, quiet, and the tactical boots the other men wore barely made any noise as they ushered him through to his uncle’s study.

  The large, ornate teak desk was as Manuel remembered it. It had belonged to his grandfather, who’d previously owned this house. As the oldest child, Abundio had inherited the house, as well as control of the family’s business, which at the time had mostly consisted of drugs and bootlegging. He’d taken his share of the money, and this compound, and handed everything else over to his other two brothers and their brother-in-law, since their sister wasn’t involved in the actual operations of the cartel.

  In exchange for that, Abundio told them he wanted no part of their illegalities. Their familial relationships had become strained, eventually breaking completely soon after.

  The tall leather chair behind the desk sat facing the windows behind it.

  The man who spoke couldn’t be seen, but despite how age had weakened his voice, Manuel knew that was extremely deceptive. “Carl, stay with us. Everyone else wait outside, please.”

  The other three men silently let themselves out, closing the door behind them. Manuel now had a name to put to the face of man number one. Carl took up a position against the inside of the door, his gun still in his hand and pointed at Manuel.

  The chair slowly swiveled, revealing Abundio Segura. For eighty-one, the man looked incredibly well-preserved. Had Manuel not known the truth, he would have put the man’s age closer to sixty. Only his voice belied his real age.

  Abundio sat back and laced his fingers together, resting his hands on his stomach as he studied Manuel with the same hazel eyes Manuel’s father had, and had passed on to himself and Raul. He wore a perfectly pressed pale green linen guayabera, unbuttoned at the collar and revealing a delicate gold chain around his neck. He wore a plain gold wedding band on his left ring finger, and a tiger’s eye cabochon ring on his right ring finger, along with what looked like a Montblanc TimeWalker on his right wrist.

  Abundio left Manuel standing there and uncomfortably waiting for at least a minute before finally speaking.

  “So. What brings my nephew to see me today without so much as the courtesy of a phone call beforehand after decades of silence, hmm?”

  “It’s…complicated.”

  “I’m not loaning you money, so don’t waste my time or yours.”

  “I’m not here for money.”

  Abundio tipped his head to the side, a slight furrow appearing in his brow. “Is this about Raul? I heard he met with a…messy end a few weeks ago.”

  “It involves that situation, yes.”

  “How is your mother doing? I haven’t seen Lucia in years.”

  It felt weird to be engaging in idle chatter, but Manuel didn’t try to rush his uncle. It also didn’t surprise him that his uncle knew about his mother’s medical condition.

  “She is still holding on, but the doctors aren’t sure if she’ll ever speak again, or recover any more than she already has. She will probably never walk again. The shock of his murder triggered a stroke.”

  “Ah.” His uncle softly chuffed. “Murder. Interesting choice of words considering the activities Raul has been up to over the years, hmm?”

  Manuel felt heat fill his face but didn’t rise to the bait. Yes, he should have taken his little brother tightly in hand the first time he’d heard about the man’s proclivities, but that was water under the bridge now.

  Abundio leaned back in his chair but didn’t unclasp his hands. “Anything you need to say can be said in front of Carl. He’s worked for me for over ten years. I trust him completely.”

  Manuel wished he had a glass of water, because his mouth felt incredibly dry. “I don’t know where to begin.”

  “I would suggest the beginning. I shall help you out. Why was Raul killed?”

  Lying would get him nowhere. “Apparently, as part of the bachelor party festivities before his daughter’s wedding, he abducted a fifteen year-old girl off the street, raped and murdered her, and then dumped her body. The man who killed Raul mentioned something about ‘taking blood.’ We assume he worked for or with the girl’s family.”

  “And did you seek them out?”

  “They’d already been removed from the country by others before we could reach them.”

  “Where are they now?”

  “I don’t know. We cannot find them.”

  “Are they part of another drug cartel?”

  “No, sir. We don’t know who they are. Her family does not have money, so we do not understand what the connection is…”

  He told the story about tracking Joaquin Carlomarles, the animal who killed Raul, back to America, the Idaho shell corporation who’d owned the man’s apartment here in Mexico, and the ill-fated journey there and back.

  He left out the parts about the wolves, but did tell his uncle about the wood-chipper.

  Carl had remained silent throughout the entire narrative, until that point, when he softly chuffed in what Manuel assumed was amusement.

  Abundio had not yet invited Manuel to sit in one of the two chairs in front of his desk, so Manuel remained standing.

  Abundio addressed Carl. “What do you think?”

  “Frankly, sir? I think it’s a fairy tale. If he is telling the truth, then I think they have style. They’re apparently used to disposing of threats. They sound like organized and well-armed people capable of defending themselves.”

  “Hmm. Excellent points.” He finally unclasped his hands and pointed at Manuel, leveling a dark glare at him. “Now tell me what you’ve left out.”

  He’d hoped to avoid this but should’ve known he wouldn’t be that lucky. “You won’t believe me if I do.”

  “Try me.”

  He finally filled in the gaps about the wolves, and Abundio started chuckling, accompanied by more amused snorts from Carl.

  “What, you think they’re chupacabra, or werewolves, or something ridiculous like that?” his uncle asked. “Superstition? Children’s stories? Come now, you’re better than that. Or, I thought you were smarter than that, at least.”

  “I-I honestly do not know what they were. All I know is that I swore to seek vengeanc
e for Raul’s death, and these people are not…human. I don’t know what they are.”

  “And did you get any proof of this? Cellphone video? Pictures? Anything?”

  “No. Everything happened too quickly.”

  “Because you couldn’t be bothered to plan.” After staring at him for a few more seconds, Abundio finally waved at one of the chairs. “Sit.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Manuel walked over to the chair and lowered himself into it. “I lost ten of my best men to those people. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “You don’t know for certain they’re all dead, though, do you? Didn’t you say some of them went after the man and the woman in the car?”

  “They would have been in touch by now. Their phones are off.”

  “You’ve lost eleven men, then, including your pilot?”

  Manuel nodded. “Yes.”

  “Well, this is a very interesting situation you find yourself in, nephew. You are, what, looking for my help?”

  “I need men. Good men, trusted men.”

  Abundio’s expression grew hard, cold. “You had good men, it would appear. You wasted their lives.”

  “I went in unaware of what we were going up against, yes. I was reckless and rushed it, yes. But now I know. If I had skilled men—”

  “Who would still be at a disadvantage,” Abundio noted. “And you apparently still know nothing. It sounds like any strangers would immediately be noticed. Especially now, after your sloppy storming of their town. They will be on alert.”

  “Carlomarles went to Florida first, then flew out of there. I believe they have a group of them there. They might not be expecting anyone to find them there. If I track them down there, I can use them to get me to Carlomarles.”

  “That is a lot of ifs and maybes, nephew.” He leaned back in his chair again and coolly studied him. “Once again, what are you looking for from me? And, more importantly, why should I give it to you?”

  “I need men. Resources. I swore an oath to my mother and to Ra—”

  “Your brother was a worthless piece of garbage. What kind of man kidnaps and rapes a little girl? Your father wouldn’t have put up with that, were he still alive. And it’s not the first time, is it?”