Twisted (A Zeta Cartel Novel Book 5)

by AJ Adams

  "Lencho," I patted him on the shoulder. "Good work."

  He winked at me. "Thanks. We're on our second Flaming Lamborghini. Want one?"

  "Hell, yes!"

  "Good meeting?" James couldn't resist asking.

  "The best."

  I didn't have to say another word. The others got it straight away.

  "Fenomenal!"

  "Toma!"

  "Success!"

  "What?" one of the blondes asked curiously. "What are we celebrating?"

  "A new contract," Paco said smoothly.

  "Jorge, this is Anette Dubois." James patted the brunette. "She's currently in customer service for British Airways. She wants to meet with the chief producer at the record company."

  We own a small record label, it helps us promote the bands that perform in our clubs, and this girl yearned to be a singer.

  "I've got a demo," Anette was straight out of the gate. "I'd love for you to hear it, Mr Santos." Her hand was on my knee and she let me see straight down her dress. "Maybe afterwards? Somewhere private?"

  Girls using their bodies as lures to get ahead are everywhere. "Absolutely." She had a good face, fancy curves and nice rack but I was cautious in case the princess looks came with a frog voice. "Tell you what, hand the CD to the bartender. If it hits the spot, I'll talk to the producer."

  The tape bombed. The crowd were losing steam before the end of the first verse.

  I signalled Jacko to switch it off. "Sorry, guapa."

  "I couldn't afford decent mixing and mastering," she said desperately. "With some support I could be the next Annie Lennox or Adele."

  Except those girls could wow a crowd, with or without fancy production. But she was pretty. "I'll think about it."

  "I'll do anything."

  As the hand on my knee moved up, I reflected she was an attractive package.

  "It's a good night." James is a dog, he really is.

  "Great." Okay, I'm a dog too.

  A large figure loomed. "Up to no good, Santos?"

  I was up and embracing him an instant later. "Detective Inspector Smith! My dear friend, how are you?"

  He shrugged me off. "Stop that!"

  "Join us for a drink?"

  "No!"

  "On duty?" I commiserated. "You work too hard."

  "Yeah, come and sit with us," James was busy making space. "Ladies, say hello to our very good friend, Detective Inspector Smith from CID, the Criminal Investigation Department."

  "I am not your friend and I am not sitting down." Smith never had learned to deal with us, the poor bastard. "I'm here on business."

  I was helpful, instantly. "Anything. Just ask. Some good tequila? Or you need music for a party?"

  "The policeman's ball, maybe?" James needled happily.

  My wallet was in my hand. "A donation!"

  Smith practically frothed at the mouth. "Two hours ago, the Planning Office went up in flames."

  "No!"

  "Hostia!"

  "Was anyone hurt?"

  "You bastards are having a property line dispute," Smith growled.

  I threw up my hands in horror. "What are you saying?"

  "You did this!" He was incandescent. "You burned the place down, thinking it's cheaper than going to court!"

  I poured out a glass of tequila for him. "My friend, you are in shock."

  He knocked the glass out of my hand. "Put that away!"

  I took in the maddened glare in his eyes. "Ay-yay-yay, you need to calm down. You'll give yourself a heart attack."

  Turning puce, Smith took a deep breath. "You can't get to me," he hissed. "I won't let you push me about."

  Smith had been trying to nail us for months, but with few resources and almost no powers, he didn't have a hope in hell. I didn't mind him because, unlike his colleagues, he wasn't on the take. I admired his honesty, even if was stupid and got him nowhere.

  Still, it didn't stop me from teasing. It drove him insane to have me treat him as a friend which is why I did it. What can I say? I have an evil streak. "You know what, Smith, you need a holiday," I said to him. "How about Hong Kong?"

  He growled, turned on his heel and marched out.

  "What was that about?" Anette was wide-eyed with interest.

  "Beats me. He's a bit emotional." But I was laughing inside. Smith was fuming because the last time we'd had a project, he had been tailing me 24/7. He thought I might shoot him but I'm too smart for that. I'd gotten him out of the country by having him invited to a police conference in Hong Kong. He'd really been proud of being singled out, the hueco, so when he'd discovered my hand in it, he was thoroughly humiliated.

  "Did you really set fire to the Planning Office?" Anette's hand on my cock made it crystal clear she had the hots for a bad boy.

  "No way!" My lips said no but my eyes said yes. With that hand rubbing away, I just couldn't help myself.

  I was considering taking her for a ride when James looked at his phone and recoiled. "Jorge, don't do anything hasty, okay?"

  "What?"

  "Check the news, that YouTube channel run by that rag, the Rampage."

  It took me a second. "What the fuck?"

  Kowalczyk was holding a mini press conference, "Empire is the best club in London." The gut was straining as he had an arm around the witch as well as a blonde who was falling out of her dress. "The place next door is practically empty but we have queues all the way down the street because we've the best music and the best bar."

  "Coño!"

  "Is that Persia York?" Anette was peering at the screen. "God, what's she doing with that creep? He's gross."

  "You know her?" I asked.

  Anette giggled. "Everyone knows Persia. She's got a reputation, that girl."

  The blondes were all over it, too. "She does biker gangbangs, right?"

  "That porn tape of hers is disgusting."

  "I know! I'd die if it was me but she's shameless."

  "Kowalczyk is rich but eeew, yuk!"

  "She's been with him for months. They're inseparable."

  "She thinks she can do what she wants because she's a model."

  "La Perla signed her. Dior as well, and Victoria's Secret."

  "Because she sleeps with all the photographers."

  On screen, Kowalczyk was boasting. "She told him she was way out of his league."

  My breath caught at the insult. The team made sure they didn't look at me but the women were all over it.

  "I wonder who she was turning down," Anette frowned.

  "Bet it was brutal," Poppy sighed.

  "She's such a bitch!"

  As they all stared at their phones, there was a short break in the music. Kowalczyk's voice came out clearly, "Persia recognises a loser when she sees one and Santos is on his way out." He squeezed his girl, practically shoving her boobs into the camera. "Isn't that right?"

  She smiled instantly. "Absolutely."

  There was a split-second silence.

  "Uhm, was that real?" Anette asked doubtfully.

  "It was indeed." I put down my tequila with decision. "Look, it's been great to meet you but I have some business to attend to."

  "Dios, Jorge!" James was on his feet, his face paper-white. "Don't," he said urgently.

  Lencho and Paco were up too.

  "Cuidado!" Lencho.

  "Don't lose your temper!" Paco, begging.

  I took in their worried faces. "You heard him." To my surprise, my voice was perfectly calm. "He wants a fight; he's getting it."

  It was out. We were at war.

  Chapter Four

  Persia

  "He's driving me insane," I tried not to whine. "I honestly can't do this anymore."

  "Keep your voice down!" Colin hissed. He glanced around the restaurant, all twenty tables busy, and dragged me to the back. "I thought you were getting along?"

  "Why the hell would you think that?"

  "It's all over your Twitter feed that you're in love."

  "No!" I whipped out my mo
bile and gazed astonished. Instead of my usual fashion chitchat, it was chock full of stomach-turning posts about my 'love' for 'Jacek'. "I didn't post this crap! Bloody Kowalczyk must have used my phone while I asleep or in the bath. The bastard!"

  "Is it very bad?" Colin asked sympathetically.

  "You've no idea."

  "Is he rude to you?"

  Rude. Ohmigod. That shut me up. "No, not really." If my brother knew his loan had given Kowalczyk license to treat me like a whore, he'd never forgive himself. "But he's a creep." It sounded weak. "And since he got into it with Jorge Santos, he's gone totally over the top."

  "That Mexican? Is he trouble? I thought he was a loser?"

  "Loser is not the word. After Kowalczyk mouthed off, all hell broke loose. When we left the club that night, his limo had vanished. The yacht sank hours later." I couldn't help but smile because the filthy pig had deserved it. "And this morning, Empire's marble walls turned black, and the floor disintegrated. The council have been round, citing some chemical contamination."

  "Good lord. Was anyone hurt?" Colin asked.

  "Thankfully, no. But Empire will be closed for months."

  My brother sighed. "I wondered why Kowalczyk was so shirty."

  Uh-oh. "Trouble?"

  "Not much," Colin soothed. "But the bank transfer hit twenty minutes past noon. Usually that would be okay, but he's claiming a late instalment."

  Hell-hell-hell, utterly buggery fuck. But I tried to be cool. "What does it mean?"

  "An extra three weeks," Colin sighed. "Sorry, love."

  The prospect horrified me. While Jorge Santos driving Kowalczyk up the wall had given me a lot of pleasure, it had also meant extra degradation in the bedroom. Another three weeks sounded an eon.

  I glanced into the restaurant again. "You're so busy, are you sure we can't we pay it off right now?"

  Colin shrugged. "The margins are small. It looks better than it is."

  "But you've got so many home deliveries. I saw three bikes go off as I arrived." I counted the tables again. "You must be making a fortune."

  Colin raised his head, suddenly furious. "You think it's easy to make money. Well, let me tell you, it's not!"

  I was genuinely taken aback. "I know you work hard. But it's been months."

  "For God's sake," Colin hissed. "The setup costs were sky high."

  "Was I that extravagant?"

  "You wanted the best, remember?"

  I wanted to argue, but I remembered deciding that a class act needed the right look. The tables were real oak and the dinnerware prime. Maybe I had spent more than I thought.

  I'd passed on the bills to Colin, but not asked to see the books because I’m awful with numbers. When I was modelling, I'd left everything to Paula, my agent who was a human calculator. I had never learned to cope with paperwork, so when she retired, I'd gotten myself into such a mess with the tax office that my brother had taken over my finances. "Maybe if I ask Paula to look at the accounts? She's fantastic at -"

  He interrupted me in furious tones. "I do your taxes and manage our mortgage payments for mum and dad. And now you suddenly don't trust me? Because I made one mistake?"

  "Of course I trust you! It's just that Kowalczyk is driving me nuts."

  Colin visibly calmed down. "Right," he sighed. "I'm sorry, Persia. I should have reined you in," he admitted ruefully. "I think I wanted to impress you a little."

  "Impress me?" I was dumbfounded. "Really?"

  "You're the successful one," he smiled. "I took that loan rather than confess I was out of my league."

  That made me miserable. It was my spending that had brought us to this.

  "Hey," Colin said suddenly. "I meant to ask, how's your flat? Isn't your rent renewal due soon?"

  Oops. "Uhm, I cashed in the security deposit and gave you the money."

  "What? But where are you staying?" Colin asked astonished.

  "Well, uhm, it's like this, uhm, Kowalczyk thought it would be easier if I was on hand for hostessing parties, and uhm -"

  The temperature dropped. "You're living with him?" Colin said horrified. "Persia, are you insane? What will people think? They'll think you're a -"

  "Slut?" I couldn't hide the pain in my voice. "But they already think that."

  My brother grimaced. "Come now, I didn't say that."

  "But you think it too." I could take whatever Kowalczyk dished out but my brother's disapproval cut me. "Easy Rider Persia, right? The party girl who does them by the dozen."

  "Shut up!" Colin hissed. Then, quick as a whip, he put an arm around me and turned, smiling, "Mum, Dad, hi."

  "We fancied an outing," Dad was smiling as he took in the happy crowd. "You're doing champion, Colin."

  "Persia," Mum hugged me. "Good, we can eat together."

  "We haven't seen you in weeks," Dad grumped. "Where have you been? Your mother was worried about you."

  "Not now, Gavin," Mum pleaded. "Let's have a nice family lunch."

  My heart sank. Five seconds and it was already going downhill.

  "We saw you in the newspapers. At a club in London," Dad said.

  "You looked lovely," Mum interrupted.

  "Who's the man you were with?" Dad rode over Mum's efforts to be nice. "I hear he's a crook."

  Hell. "Uhm, he's just someone I know -"

  "He says you're his fiancée."

  Utterly bloody Kowalczyk. "He was just shooting his mouth off to impress the media."

  Dad shot me a sarcastic look. "Get over yourself, girl. He's a millionaire."

  Great. I wanted to talk back but Mum's worried face stopped me. Deep breath. "I am not his fiancée."

  Colin squeezed my shoulder and stepped in. "You know how it is, every man wants Persia. It doesn't mean she wants them back."

  I breathed again. Colin had always stood up for me. He truly was a brother to me.

  "Persia has to learn actions have consequences." Dad wasn't letting it go. "The neighbours gossip. It upsets your mother."

  "Gavin," Mum begged. "Not now, please."

  "It has to be said," Dad insisted. "Hanging around with crooks affects all of us, Persia."

  "Dad, come on. Let's set up an extra table," Colin soothed. "I have some wonderful wild salmon."

  "I'm an adult. And I don't live at home," I reminded him.

  "You're not too old to take my belt to," Dad said sharply.

  I was in his face before conscious thought edged in. "Just try it and see what happens!"

  "Stop it both of you!" Colin was in between us, growling, "You're upsetting my customers."

  We all stepped back but anger had replaced my guilt.

  "Belting people solves nothing," Colin said quietly.

  "She could damage your business, son," Dad insisted. "She almost destroyed you, remember?"

  It shocked me. "What do you mean? What are you talking about?"

  "Oh lord," Mum said helplessly.

  Colin couldn't look me in the eye. "It was nothing."

  "Nothing?" Dad hissed. "Remember what the kids at school did to you?"

  "Gavin." Mum was tugging at his arm. "Don't."

  "Why can we never talk about it?" Dad asked. "Because of Persia's damn sex tape, they beat Colin up. They bullied him so badly that he almost dropped out. As for you, Faith, you couldn't show your face in the pub for a year."

  The ground opened up underneath me. "Ohmigod. I didn't know. You never said."

  "You never thought to ask," Dad laid into me. "You just swanked about, plastering pictures of yourself half naked in magazines, taking drugs, too, and never thinking about your family."

  I felt sick. "I'm so sorry."

  "Persia York?" An excited diner was holding out his phone. "Mind if I take a selfie? I'm your biggest fan."

  "Of course." The reflex came from habit; being popular helps a modelling career. "I'd love to."

  "See?" Colin grinned. "Having a famous sister has benefits, Dad." He nodded at me. "I'll put you on a window table, show you off a l
ittle." Then he beetled off.

  The camera flashed but my fan stayed put. "That's your brother?" He was eyeing Colin who was serving wine, and then Mum and Dad.

  "Yes."

  "Amazing. You don't look alike, do you?"

  I winced, it always hurt to know what they saw. Mum, Dad and Colin had fair straight hair and blue eyes, whereas I had inherited a vixen combination of russet curls and hazel eyes.

  "Are you adopted?" The fan was laughing.

  "Yes."

  He sobered abruptly. "Sorry, no offence."

  The awkward silence was canyon deep. Mum's face was pure misery. Time to crawl. "I'm not offended. I'm very lucky. I have a great family."

  "Right." He was edging off. "Thanks for the selfie."

  "Any time."

  Dad was on me right away. "Why did you have to tell him?"

  "Sorry, it just came out."

  "Now he'll gossip."

  "Sorry."

  "You only ever think of yourself, Persia."

  I wanted to get away. "I should go."

  "Persia, no!" Mum was clinging to my hand. "He didn't mean it that way. Dad's a bit poorly today, that's all."

  My anger died. Dad had been in a car accident a year before, not his fault, and it had shattered his hip and ended his job as a courier. He claimed he'd recover, but we knew differently. So, me and Colin paid off the mortgage, and Mum worked a part-time job in a supermarket. Dad hated it, his pride was hurt, and we all knew it.

  "There's nothing wrong with me," Dad maintained.

  "Of course not, Gavin," Mum soothed automatically. "But it's cold today, and you said you felt it." She turned to me, "You understand, don't you, Persia?"

  Maybe it was the pain. Maybe he didn't hate me. "I know, Mum. It's okay."

  "Please, stay for lunch."

  I couldn't resist her pleading. "Of course."

  "Good." Mum was determined to be cheerful. "We love coming here because the restaurant looks gorgeous, Persia. Your work, isn't it?"

  "People come for the food, not fancy furnishings." Dad grumbled. "Colin should have saved his money."

  I should have left because that was just the opening salvo. As Dad powered up, the soup course became a verbal and emotional minefield.

  "Is there any future in fashion design? I hear it's a useless qualification."

  "Modelling spoilt you. Working for your living is hard, you know."