Twisted (A Zeta Cartel Novel Book 5)

by AJ Adams

  "Don't talk rubbish," Colin snapped.

  It was too much. "You threw me at Kowalczyk, remember?"

  "Nonsense." Colin looked affronted.

  "You knew he was evil." I couldn't help it. I was shaking with anger. "You sent me to a mafioso shylock. What did you think he'd want from me? A game of tiddlywinks?"

  "What?" Colin was horrified. "You think I would -? Oh, dear God! Persia!"

  I was instantly ashamed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it," I exclaimed.

  "Persia," Mum asked anxiously. "Are you saying you slept with that man for money?"

  If only the ground had swallowed me up. "It wasn't like that. At least, I didn't mean it to be like that."

  Mum was appalled. "What were you thinking?"

  Dad was pale with horror. "Persia, you're a prostitute?"

  Mortification swept over me. "You can't owe people like Kowalczyk and not pay for it."

  "I suggested you do his publicity, yes. But to sleep with him?" Colin gasped. "I just can't wrap my head around that."

  "Who could?" Dad groaned.

  "We've failed," Mum said hopelessly. "We tried so hard but we failed." Tears ran down her face. "Oh, Persia. How could you?"

  A tight band of horror squeezing my heart meant I could barely breathe. "I did it for the best."

  Dad wasn't interested in hearing any more. "Enough, Persia. Just stop. Can't you see how wrong this all is?"

  I was raging, all the hurt of the years spilling over. "You say I'm selfish, that I don't care for this family. Well, I do. I did it to save us. Without me, we would have lost everything."

  "Some rescue! I might lose Delicious with all those new porno videos of yours coming out," Colin blurted.

  "There are more?" Mum was whiter than her immaculate tablecloth. "Oh, no."

  "Hell!" Colin slammed the table and then hugged her. "Sorry. I should have kept my mouth shut."

  "I did not make those videos. It's all a plot. They kidnapped me."

  "STOP IT!" Dad exploded. "No more, Persia. That's it."

  They huddled together, eyeing me with revulsion. "You never believe me." My heart was breaking.

  "Get real, Persia," my brother sighed. "You've got a hang-up about being adopted. Usually you take it out on Dad but this time you went completely crazy."

  "I didn't," I whispered.

  "Those videos," Colin shuddered. "Really, you make some bad choices."

  I was ready to scream at him. "I. Did. Not. Make. Those."

  "That's enough," Dad said quietly. "Persia, you have to go."

  "What?" I couldn't take it in. "You're throwing me out?"

  His hand was at my elbow, pushing me out of the kitchen, and down the hall. I was so flabbergasted that I was too stunned to resist.

  I was on the doorstep, too shocked to cry. Dad was expressionless, not angry but just making a statement. "When you're ready to apologise to all of us, and tell the truth, we'll think again." His tone was final. "If you can't do that, Persia, don't come back."

  Then he shut the door.

  Chapter Eleven

  Jorge

  "Let's go over the plan." We were in the office, poring over a map. "Okay, in an hour's time, our hackers in LA send a text to Baros, Kowalczyk's senior distribution manager. It will look like an order from Kowalczyk, telling him to collect an emergency consignment of product from the fish processing plant on Wickham Wharf."

  If that sounds familiar, it's because that was where I'd dumped the cricket bat and poncho after killing Jamal.

  "We'll be waiting for them."

  I took in the team. Paco, looking serious, Lencho, frowning with concentration, and James, cheery at the prospect of action. All were looking a little bulky, an effect of the bullet-proof vests they wore.

  "Baros will come with five men, his team of sicarios. This is how it will play out." None of us have military training, but when it comes to ambushes, we've got thousands of hours of hands-on experience. Explaining how it would go down took no time at all.

  "Everyone on board with the plan?" They were all set. "When we're done, we can't have bodies lying about. We don't want the cops to know what's going on, and we definitely don't want their masters giving them funds to take us on. After we're finished, we clean up."

  "Chicken wire and bricks?" Lencho mused. "We can dump them in the river after."

  "We need to be careful about the spot," James pointed out.

  The Thames is only twenty meters deep, which makes it dicey for body dumping.

  "The factory has an industrial bandsaw," I informed them. "We use it to chop small and then we go boating. Nobody can ID a corpse if they've only a six-inch slice of meat to work with."

  "Skulls are a problem," Paco observed. "And finger tips."

  "Hammers will fix that." I made a note. "Also, we buy a wood chipper for future operations." Because there's nothing more efficient than a machine that will dice a body in under a minute.

  "There's also the factory staff," Lencho mused. "How do we get them out of the way?"

  "They're off on a mandatory training course following a complaint about sexism."

  James blinked. "It's an all-male workforce."

  "There has been whistling at passers-by," I paused for effect. "I insisted the men go. I was concerned about our reputation."

  A count of three of silence and then they were grinning.

  "Sneaky," James laughed.

  "Masterly, boss."

  "Fenomenal."

  I was feeling good. The respect was there, but we were pulling together again. "Great. For this operation, we use clean guns and we dump them immediately after. But carry your usual piece in case you need a backup." And, to be sure we weren't identified on CCTV, "Hoodies for everyone and we pick up a car for the job."

  We stole a nice green Audi and ditched it in a parking garage a block away from the warehouse. As our hackers sent out the text, we settled into our roles: Lencho, Paco and James pretending to load forklift trucks outside, and me waiting inside, wearing a high vis jacket, hard hat and carrying a clipboard.

  They came in a black Mercedes Coupe with Baros driving. A white BMW filled with support staff followed. It was a class act. Pulling up in front of the doors, they scanned the area. Seeing nothing suspicious, the security men got out and looked around. Finally, assured it was safe, they signalled their boss.

  We'd planned for Lencho to take out Baros, who should have waited in his Merc with one man for backup. However, the arrogant fuck ignored security protocol and walked straight into the warehouse.

  Seeing him, I knew I had to wing it. His security spread out, with two waiting by the door in line of sight of the transport while the others ventured inside. They at least were pros. But having them all over the place was a problem. Now it was my job to herd them together.

  I waved the clipboard and copied the loud, fussy manner of pencil pushers everywhere. "You're the special order? You gotta sign."

  The bright yellow stripes of my high vis jacket, safety helmet, and bullying ways reassured them. Security wrote me off right away and Baros was loud and arrogant. "Where is it?"

  "Over there." I waved him and his men further in, away from their support on the door. "But you can't have it till you sign." I turned my back on him. "Wait, okay? I'll be back in ten." And then I strolled further in.

  If he'd recognised me, he would have shot me in the back and I would have been out forever. But taking the risk was worth it because the pendejo didn't even look beyond the jacket and hard hat.

  "Hey, wait!" Baros called.

  "In a minute." I sounded bored and kept walking.

  "Hey, stop right there, you son of a bitch!" Baros snapped, but he followed, his security flanking him. "Who the fuck do you think you are, walking away from me?"

  The idiot was so angry at being dissed, that he forgot all his caution. As I turned, I saw James and Paco rolling in, forklifts loaded and providing their cover. Lencho nipped in behind, pulling the lever that shut the doo
rs. The men at the door stepped away instinctively from the swinging steel - and then Baros and his men found themselves sandwiched between two lines of fire.

  "Fuck!"

  Baros tugged at his coat, but my gun was already out. BLAM-BLAM! He took two bullets to the gut. BLAM-BLAM! The man at his side went down. BLAM-BLAM! And the other.

  Paco, Lencho and James were blasting away as well and in seconds, every one of Baros' sicarios was down, and barely a gun drawn between them. As mine were gutshot, I moved in fast. BLAM-BLAM-BLAM. Head shots all round to finish them. Total time taken from the first to the last shot was thirty seconds.

  It was a beautiful operation, and I felt my pride surge. "Well done. Superb job, everyone."

  "Got mine in one!" James grinned with triumph. "A single headshot."

  "Beautiful." But it worried me. Headshots are great because the man is gone instantly, which means no dangerous return fire. However, heads are small and mobile, so they're a challenge to hit.

  A gut shot is not fatal. But it's a big target, practically a guaranteed hit, and if you use a big gun like a Magnum, he'll be in shock long enough for you to stroll up and finish the job.

  Me, Lencho and Paco all went for the gut but James was more of a risk-taker. Funny that, because in his legal work he's as cautious as a snail on razor wire. So, I worried, but I said nothing because we were like brothers again.

  I got us back to work. "Lencho, Paco, go get those cars inside. James, gather their phones. The hacker team will want them. I'll sweep for bullets."

  When you have a massacre you want to keep under wraps, you don't want stray bullets and casings hanging about. As the team worked their jobs, I swept the place with a metal detector, picking up evidence. I had to pry a couple out of the floor and one had gone into a wall.

  Working in a factory made clean-up a snap. We drained the blood from the bodies, sliced them up small and hosed the entire area down to rinse away the splatter. A river cruise took care of the rest. The Thames is big, tidal and as it was raining, we went about feeding the fish, with nobody the wiser.

  It was almost one in the afternoon when we dropped the Merc and the Beemer next to the Audi and alerted our chop shop. There's a great market for luxury cars as well as spare parts, and we Zetas never miss an opportunity to make money.

  Feeling good, I proposed lunch. "There's a pub around the corner, The Fox and Grapes. How about an English style pint and pie? My treat."

  After our busy morning, we had no trouble putting away the rich flaky pies filled with chunks of beef and pints of dark velvety beer.

  Seeing the satisfied faces, I took the time for an update. "Okay, Kowalczyk has no product and we're edging into his territory. He's also taking a hit on key staff, including his best dealers. Yesterday afternoon he realised I have his woman and by now he'll be missing Baros."

  "Joder," Paco laughed. "I almost feel sorry for the bastard."

  "Today and tomorrow we consolidate our new territory and then we take over another slice of his plaza."

  "Why not today, boss?" James asked.

  "Because we don't want to be stretched too thin. We can only advance once we're dug in."

  They accepted it. "Let's see what Kowalczyk is up to," I said.

  Surprisingly, the eyes reported no activity. Kowalczyk was staying home, locked up in his fortress of a mansion. There had been calls to and from Gold Ticket PR though.

  On impulse, I checked Twitter. "Joder! He's made a porno flick of her." I'd known he hadn't loved her, but this was unexpected. "And I'm in it too."

  Paco looked over my shoulder. "That's a deepfake," he said immediately. "They've put your head on his body."

  "So I see." I looked again. "Hey! I'm bigger than that."

  Kowalczyk's deepfake video was up for the world to see. He'd even created a hashtag, #SluttyPersia. Honestly, I was taken aback. Our business is tough and we give our enemies no mercy, but to humiliate an associate publicly is real low.

  "Boss, they're posting more videos." James was on his phone. "Hey, wait. This looks like her but that's not you and I don't think it's Kowalczyk either."

  "This absolutely isn't," Paco frowned. "This is a Japanese. A Yakuza by the tattoos."

  "I've got her with a biker," Lencho said.

  In minutes, over a dozen videos appeared, all with the same hashtag. It wasn't hard to see they were a put-up job. Thanks to revenge and fantasy porn, swapping out one head or face for another is a snap. Kowalczyk's team had created a major league fantasy spread featuring the fresa.

  "Cojeme!" James was awestruck. "He's thrown her to the wolves to save himself."

  He got it exactly right. Kowalczyk had finally tumbled to the fact I had his woman. And, anticipating my next move, he struck first. Now the Net was flooded with sex tapes of Persia, I could release a dozen videos of her in my bed and nobody would care. They would be indistinguishable from all the rest. Strategically, it was superb.

  "I'd not be his girl," Lencho frowned. "He's a nasty fuck."

  Paco sighed. "He should have shot her. It would've been kinder."

  "She's finished," James agreed.

  I took a second to get their meaning. "Come on, it's obviously a personal attack. It's embarrassing, sure. But she's not to blame."

  "Yes," James said. "But that's not how others think."

  "Slutty Persia will stick," Paco agreed. "And as Kowalczyk says she cheated on him too, her rep is in the gutter."

  "He's scum," Lencho reiterated.

  For a second my conscience clicked in. It was my text that had set this off. I'd taped her too, even if I hadn't used it. Perhaps it hadn't been a great idea.

  But then I reminded myself that she had no cause for complaint. If you play with the big boys, you can't squeal when you get hurt. And the Cartel won't hold back because you're a girl; we're not gentlemen.

  "If Kowalczyk doesn't want her, she's useless to me." I was so damn selfish, that all I could see was an upside. "Let's hope he places as little value on his business."

  "I was expecting more resistance," James ventured. "He's made a few good moves but nothing that stands out."

  "We outmanoeuvred him." My pinche arrogance! "He's not in our league."

  "It is strange though," James mused. "He's done well for himself. He shouldn't just fold."

  It sounded like criticism. "He'll kick when I take his horses."

  "I meant nothing by it," James said quickly.

  Knowing I was putting distance between us again instead of mending our friendship, I raised my glass. "Of course not." I drained it. "Let's go tour our new territory. I want to -"

  All our phones went off at once, texts and calls. We were on our feet instinctively. This was trouble.

  Amit hot-lined me. "Zeta Towers is under attack."

  "Fuck! Bad?"

  "Arson."

  A block of ice settled in my gut. I couldn't let the fresa burn.

  "It was just a small petrol bomb," Amit reported. "Lots of smoke and not much else."

  I breathed again. "But?"

  "Someone reported a terror attack."

  Fuck. The police would be all over this.

  "I'm on my way" I sounded cool, but I felt it in my balls. Kowalczyk had stepped back from his lost territory because he was taking aim at my headquarters. He hadn't retreated. He'd attacked. And I was caught with my pants down.

  "Orders, boss?" James asked.

  I had to think fast but anger crowded out reason. I couldn't let that happen. I'd learned that acting hot wasn't good for me. I forced myself to take a breath. I wanted to rush back. That meant it was the wrong thing to do. "If I were Kowalczyk, I'd use this to lure us home and then ambush," I warned the team. "We go in slow and careful. And if you think you see trouble, shoot."

  "Sure, boss?" James said. "Killing's a problem in London."

  "If you get shot, I can't bring you back to life. But I can fix legal issues, especially as we're all licensed to carry."

  "Okay."

>   "It's legal weapons only. Have we ditched all spares and extras?" We had, thanks to our river trip. Then I remembered the headshots. "James, no fucking around. If there's trouble, you put them down fast. Big gut target first, small head target second."

  "Okay."

  We went out the back, and we ran all the way. We were half a block from Zeta Towers when I called a halt. There were cop cars in front of our building but the fire truck was pulling out.

  Amit was standing at the entrance, talking with two uniforms. As if he had radar, he looked up and spotted us. He made a seemingly random hand gesture, secretly waving us off, and pretended he hadn't seen us. Whatever it had been, the emergency was over.

  "Gracias a Dios it wasn't a real bomb." It just came out, and I was thinking of the fresa in my tub, not our property. I was kicking myself. A Zeta does not worry about the health and safety of an enemy. "I mean, we should be careful. Smith will be lurking."

  Paco was red in the face and panting. The three-mile run had taken it out of him. "He can take me in. Interrogation means sitting down, right?"

  "You're a fat lazy bastard."

  "And proud of it." He patted his non-existent gut. "A testament to prosperity."

  I couldn't see Smith. "James, check to see if he got a warrant."

  He made a call and then smiled. "Nope, he's limited to the public area downstairs. The judge cited privacy issues."

  You gotta love those judges. In the US, we'd have had the cops crawling all over us. "He'll bug the office staff, though," I predicted.

  "Shall we go and say hello?" James asked.

  The street before us offered an endless row of doors, windows and cars. There were hundreds of places a sniper could hide. If we walked up to Zeta Towers, he would pick us off one by one, from above and from a safe distance. There might be nobody there, but my gut told me trouble was waiting.

  "With all these cops, they can monitor all the entrances, including the elevated walkways," James frowned.

  Luckily, I had planned for this scenario. "We back up and take the alley. It lets us into the basement carpark in the building next to ours. There's an abandoned security office there. It has a connecting air vent to our building that's big enough to crawl through."