Twisted (A Zeta Cartel Novel Book 5)

by AJ Adams

  "I agree." The trainer was white-faced with horror. "I have never seen anything like this. Steward, my stables are my life. I swear, none of this is my doing."

  "Everyone knows that," the steward assured him. "But we must go by the book."

  "I agree, and I'll have our vet send you our pre-race blood samples," the trainer promised. He turned to Kowalczyk. "You owe me a month's fees. I'll send you a bill. Find another trainer."

  Kowalczyk was stunned. "What? You can't do that!"

  "I can," the trainer socked it right to him. "Both your horses are here today. In five minutes, my staff leave. You're on your own."

  "What the fuck am I supposed to do with two horses? I can't just pack them in the car."

  "It's not my problem."

  "Kurwa mac! You're shitting me! How the hell am I going to find a stable to take them in at this time of day?"

  "You'll have to do it by phone." The steward piled on the bad news. "Defying my authority is an offence, and so is brawling. You are banned from Ascot."

  "You can't do that!"

  "If you wish to throw away your money, it is your right to appeal," the steward informed him coldly. "Security, please escort Mr Kowalczyk to the gate."

  I didn't need to look; Jorge was delighted. The crowd were enjoying themselves too. This live drama was better than Netflix.

  The steward turned to Jorge. "Sir, I believe you are Mr Santos? You have Sir Ferdy's box for the day?"

  "That's me," Jorge stuck out his hand and his American drawl became much more pronounced. "Man, I wouldn't have come if I'd known it would cause all this trouble. I'm truly sorry. But you handled it like a pro."

  The stuck-up steward melted. "They attacked you and your guest. Would you like to lodge a complaint?"

  Jorge was magnificent. "Nah, we'll leave you to take care of him."

  "I'm so sorry this happened. And to a good friend of Sir Ferdy's, too."

  The steward was obviously wondering who Jorge was, but he didn't get very far. "We're just business acquaintances," Jorge smiled. "He lent me his box because I wanted to see Ascot."

  The steward recognised a stone wall when he heard one. "Well, I hope you enjoy the rest of the day."

  "Sure, we will!" Jorge put his hand in mine. "Come on, Persia. Let's go check out the next race."

  Then, all of us stepped out, Isa and Orabelle linking their arms with Paco, Tazanna with Lencho, and me with Jorge. Word went around faster than a viral Tweet, and so everyone stared. Even the posh folk were craning their necks and levelling their binoculars, pretending to be on the lookout for their friends, but really to get a good gander at us.

  Tazanna's phone rang as we got back to the box. "It's my agent," she giggled. "She says the fight is going viral and we're all getting a profile boost."

  Jorge didn't blink. "Enjoy it, guapa."

  As the girls fixed their makeup and gossiped, I cornered Jorge. "Now Kowalczyk knows I'm here, maybe I should leave."

  He poured himself a glass of red. "You're safe with me."

  He'd plucked me away from the cruising fist. Also, that big public statement would make Kowalczyk think twice before trying it on. "Do you think he'll back off?"

  Jorge checked his phone. "He's cancelled the hit," he informed me.

  "Really?" A surge of relief rushed through me. "Thank God!"

  Jorge shook his head. "Fresa, it's temporary. He knows that if anything happens to you, he'll get the blame. He can't risk that. But in a few weeks, he'll be arranging an accident."

  And there it was, that fleeting twitch again. It came to me in a flash. "Wait a minute, Kowalczyk has already tried to knock me off. If it hadn't been for you, I'd be dead and he would have the police all over him."

  Jorge shot a glance at the others, growling, "Not here, Persia."

  This was too important. I got in close and whispered. "You saved me. You're at war but you gave up an advantage. Why?"

  "I'm damned if I know," he said morosely. "I fucked up, that's for sure."

  Dark, twisted, vengeful Jorge Santos had gone against all of his principles to save me. It was unbelievable.

  I stood closer and kissed the hard corner of his mouth. "Thank you."

  Instantly, the steel turned to warmth. "Ay, Persia. You're welcome."

  I was grateful, and so I planted another one on him – right on the lips. We'd fucked and made love, but I'd not kissed him before. The hard mouth softened, and his arms closed around me, holding me in tender embrace. I sank into him, captivated by the promise of the caress.

  The pop of a champagne cork brought me out of it. The girls were celebrating, sharing a bottle of bubbly. The way they kept their backs towards us made it clear they knew we were smooching, but, most unusually, they weren't teasing.

  Jorge eyed my empty water glass. "Want some wine, fresa?"

  Such a little thing, but the question brought the recent past into focus. Vengeful Jorge was death on wheels, a devil bent on destruction. But otherwise, he was decent. More than that: he treated me with respect. For the first time in months, I didn't have to worry about pinching, humiliation or even being sworn at.

  I was getting my mojo back, and I was thankful for it. "You're a hero. That fist was coming right at me. I was really scared."

  But Jorge was turning the wine glass around and around in his hands. He'd piled in without a thought and even now his knuckles were cut and swollen. Yet he looked troubled. "Chica, I'm so sorry. I should have looked after you properly."

  "You did look after me!"

  He shook his head. "He almost got to you. I should've been more careful."

  It was nuts. He'd saved me from broken bones and now he was beating himself up over it. "But Jorge, how would you have guessed that would happen?"

  He didn't even blink. "Losers deal with trouble as it comes; winners anticipate and prevent it."

  I was totally gobsmacked, but all argument died because there was a knock on the door.

  "Mr Santos?" It was Lord Grandville, peering in and smiling. "I just wanted to say hello."

  The troubled air vanished. "Hello! Come in!"

  "I couldn't talk earlier." The lie was smooth as butter. "I was caught up in a business discussion."

  "No problem!" Jorge didn't believe it either but he was as polished as the politician.

  "This box is lovely, isn't it," his lordship observed. "Ferdy inherited it from his grandfather."

  "He's a nice bloke but I don't know him well," Jorge said instantly. "We've done a little business together, that's all."

  Lord Grandville grinned. "Ferdy said he was caught in bed with the hottest dominatrix in the country and her friends."

  No wonder the man was so friendly. To bury a juicy sex scandal involving a peer of the realm was one thing, but I'd not caught on to the connection between the playboy and the politician.

  "You fixed it for him, and not a whisper since," Lord Grandville exulted.

  "Course not," Jorge smiled.

  Talk about smooth. Perhaps I should have been horrified, but I admit, I was impressed. That's what all the nervous glances had been about earlier. If it had been Kowalczyk, he would have blackmailed them all with it forever. But Jorge had kept his mouth shut and now the posh crowd understood the Zeta was discreet, they would take him into the fold. And not one of them realised it was a setup.

  Jorge just smiled and acted the good host to perfection. "Lord Grandville, I know you and Persia are old friends. But have you met my associates and my other guests?"

  "Not yet." The blue eyes coasted from Isa's boobs to Tazanna's legs with lecherous appreciation. "What a jolly party you have here, Mr Santos."

  "Call me Jorge, Lord Grandville!"

  I stood back and marvelled. In thirty seconds, Jorge shifted the old man to the front of the box, sandwiched between Orabelle and Isa, while Paco passed him a G&T. With videos of the fight trending globally, and the Minister on public view, we were suddenly the flavour of the day.

  As the next race
was gearing up, Ferdy Firth came staggering in, "thought we'd crash", bringing in lots of his Hooray Henry mates.

  "Come in! Good to see you!"

  The billionaire walked in ten minutes later, with a party of fellow bankers and an excellent excuse, "can't see without my specs", and was similarly greeted with open arms.

  In short, our box was the centre of Ascot. Frankly, I enjoyed it.

  Ferdy was over in a flash, commiserating. "You're Persia York, I've lusted after you forever."

  "Thanks!"

  "I heard you were in hot water. Never mind, it will blow over." And with an eye to Jorge who was chatting to Lord Grandville. "Jorge Santos is a miracle. If he's in your corner, you're okay."

  "I hope so."

  "And if it helps, I'm going to tell all my mates how gorgeous you are." He was swaying on his feet, certainly pixelated, but determined to be supportive. "You're in fashion, right? Next time you do a show, is it okay if I come?"

  "I'm off the catwalk," I said regretfully. "I'm hoping to be a designer."

  "Brilliant! Tell me when you have your first show. I'll get everyone to turn up." Ferdy weaved a little. "I'm not much good for fashion," he confided, "but my cousins are always being photographed for the Tatler and they hang out with the Palace crowd."

  I was trying not to slaver. "Thank you! Yes, PLEASE! I'll give you ringside seats."

  Ferdy giggled, "And an introduction to more of your beautiful friends."

  I put an arm in his. "My dear, you can meet all of them!"

  When Lord Grandville said pretty much the same thing, I got my bounce back. If these people would overlook the scandal, surely my family would forgive me. I dared to hope again. If Jorge beat Kowalczyk, I could get on with my life. I would go back to work, and with a bit of luck and influence from London's richest individuals, I'd be better off than ever.

  Jorge was having a blast as well. He was schmoozing away with the billionaire and his bankers, talking stocks, shares and all things financial. I didn't understand a word of it, and so I smiled, nodded, and quietly sloped off to try my family - just in case.

  That was a mistake.

  "Nothing yet?" Isa put an arm around me.

  "No." I blinked rapidly.

  "They're abroad," Orabelle comforted me. "Roaming charges are hell and Colin will have left his mobile at home."

  Tazanna popped up. "Girls, you've got to come and see the hat that just walked past! Dior, I'm sure of it."

  They pulled me out of it, bless them. Pushing my worries away, I emerged myself in Ascot fashion. Also, I don't normally drink, booze just packs in too many empty calories, but I had a glass of champagne. It went straight to my head, I have zero tolerance for alcohol, and after that, I drank a second one. The rest of the afternoon passed in a lovely haze.

  It was way past dark o'clock when Jorge announced, "Let's go Bubbles!"

  I found myself in the back of the limo, ensconced in leather luxury. Taking off my shoes, a feeling of comfort ran through me. "I had the best time, Jorge, thanks."

  His arm came around me. "Yeah, it was a good day."

  Half sloshed, I snuggled up to him. "I'm just going to rest my eyes."

  I was jolted awake by a bump in the road.

  "Yes, I did think of killing him, I could have claimed self-defence," Jorge was on his phone, talking softly.

  He was speaking of Kowalczyk. I kept my eyes shut, and my ears wide open.

  "But we still lack manpower. Better to stick to the plan. His plaza will be ours soon enough."

  I'd known the Zetas were intent on taking over his territory but not that they were short on men.

  "We're doing well. Today was a complete success," Jorge exulted. "Kowalczyk's rep took a dive, and Sir Ferdy put in a word for us with Lord Grandville. He doesn't suspect a thing. It's just as we planned."

  That was interesting.

  "I sent Dolores to LA. I don't want Ferdy Firth hooking up with her, just in case she spills the beans."

  He was covering all his bases.

  "His lordship was all over me today," Jorge said happily. "When the time is right, he'll put in a word for us with the Home Office. And, he's introduced me to his trainer. I talked to him five minutes ago; he says he'll bid for Kowalczyk's horses tonight."

  Jorge had ensnared the playboy to get to the politician. With a flash of insight, I saw it had all been carefully arranged, from the 'rescue' to the borrowed box and exclusive passes, right down to the initial humble self-effacement and the triumphant public party.

  In Jorge's hands, the politician was a weapon of mass destruction. With Lord Grandville's trainer fronting for him, Kowalczyk would never guess Jorge was behind that offer for his horses. Also, that mention of the Home Office meant he had big plans, the type that involved mega bucks.

  The whole plot staggered me. I'd known he was devious and determined, but the extent of it shocked me. Jorge Santos would do anything to reach his goals. The man was unstoppable.

  "James, I have to go. See you tomorrow." Jorge put away his phone and ruffled my hair. "Wake up, Persia. We're almost at Bubbles."

  I didn't bother to hide I'd been listening. "You're buying Kowalczyk's horses through his lordship's trainer?"

  "Exactly." Jorge was cheery. "It's going well, Persia. Pretty soon, we'll have Kowalczyk six feet under."

  I took in the saturnine face and decided that all was well. I needed might on my side, and Jorge Santos was the devil himself. As for the Home Office, I decided I'd rather not know. Being an accessory to Zeta plots was bound to be dangerous, and I was in enough trouble.

  Jorge handed me my heels. "We'll dance and afterwards, we'll work on that wish list." He ran a finger down my cheek. It was a simple touch but my breath caught with excitement. At the end of the night, that hard body would be on mine, knowing hands and lips teasing me into melting pleasure.

  Jorge, the bugger, knew. "Ay, fresa. Isn't revenge sweet?"

  Definitely a devil.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Jorge

  I didn't get to enjoy my triumph at Ascot for long because I was woken the next morning by a raft of messages flooding in. As I picked up my beeping phone, my heart almost stopped on the spot. An attack on our people in Nuevo Laredo followed by two bombings and a slaughter across the border. It was mayhem in Texas.

  I was up and calling headquarters immediately. "Kyle, what the fuck?"

  "Jorge," he was brisk and cool as ever. "We got hit but we're taking countermeasures."

  "What can I do to help?"

  "Hold London." He replied instantly. "We can deal with things here, but we sleep better knowing you are covering for us over there."

  "Okay, but anything you need, just call."

  "Thanks." A click, and he was gone.

  It was past midnight in Nuevo Laredo, but I texted home. My sister called me instantly. "Jorge," she was fighting tears. "Did you hear? Carmen's brother is gone, shot in his car, and they ambushed Lina and Diego at a restaurant. It was their anniversary dinner."

  "Corazón, I heard. I'm so sorry."

  "The jefe had Lina brought home by chopper." Her voice hushed. "We're at the hospital," she whispered. "Jorge, those animals! They shot Diego in front of her, dragged her into an alley, and then -"

  I shut my eyes, trying to stop the images crowding into my head. "Will she live?"

  "Yes," my sister sobbed. "But, Jorge, they beat her so badly! I didn't recognise her! And she's all torn up inside. The doctor says she'll never have kids."

  What can you say? I wanted to run home, to help them but I had my orders. "Come to London. Pack for you and Mama -"

  "No," she interrupted me. "We need to be here. Lina needs us, and Carmen. And there's cousin Lola, she almost got snatched yesterday, right off the street."

  "What the fuck? How?"

  "She went to see a boyfriend," my sister sighed. "She slipped away, Jorge."

  I wanted to curse, but at sixteen, Lola was just a kid. "I hope she's learned to sti
ck with her protection."

  "Oh yes," my sister said instantly. "And you should know, Jorge, that me and Mama always take our people with us. A driver and an escort, both armed, just in case."

  I knew it, we'd been hot on security protocol ever since Papa was killed. But hearing it was a relief. If only I didn't need to be in London. I wanted to be home, guarding my family. For the first time, I was regretting my promotion.

  My sister, bless her, knew. "Don't you dare come home," she lectured me. "The jefe himself told me he relies on you." Her voice rang with pride. "You're spearheading our operations in Europe."

  "Very true, corazón." I reminded myself that they were safe, surrounded by guards. All their friends were in Nuevo Laredo too; they had none in London. In fact, they hadn't come with me because they didn't speak English. But I felt guilty, anyway. "Now listen, the second you feel the need, you call. Or, you get on a plane. Quique or Kyle will arrange it. Or ask the jefe."

  "Of course." My sister grew up with the cartel, and for a moment, she sounded as brisk as Kyle. "And you keep your eyes open and your gun close."

  "Si, jefa!"

  The moment she hung up, I was dialling again. "Rovero, I'm calling to thank you. You did a great job."

  "Gracias, patrón." His growl was rich with satisfaction. "And thank you for the gift."

  A bottle of vintage wine and a wad of cash, hand delivered by a leggy brunette, because a good bonus means party time. By the muted giggle in the background, the girl had stayed overnight.

  "Listen, do you still have that cousin back home who wants a job?"

  "Yes."

  "Tell him to go to the hospital, and to find my mother and sister. They have protection, but he's to be their personal runner. I don't want them out of the house paying bills and getting groceries until the trouble in Texas is over."

  "Si, patrón."

  Once again, I was listening to a dial tone. It occurred to me that we Zetas shoot the breeze all day long but the sicarios are a case apart. Getting Kyle or Rovero to chat was harder than getting blood out of a rock but I decided it was probably best, considering their work.