Twisted (A Zeta Cartel Novel Book 5)

by AJ Adams

  I put my arm around her. "I'll set them straight. Don't worry."

  I got a hug and a smacking kiss on the cheek. "I would never have believed it," Persia giggled. "You'll lose your bad boy club card if anyone finds out you're helping me."

  She was teasing, but that's when it hit me what kind of trouble I was really in. Persia wasn't a player, she was a bystander, and the jefe's rules on that were clear.

  "You sure you're okay, Jorge?" Persia asked doubtfully. "You don't look right."

  She was definitely a good woman, but that certainty came with a price tag - for me. Nobody disobeyed the jefe, not even a blood cousin. It would not mean a bullet because we were kin but punishment would be swift and brutal.

  My future flashed before me: I'd be recalled to Nuevo Laredo, busted back to the ranks, and disgraced. Even the thought was a blade in the gut. The act would kill me.

  "Jorge?" Persia said alarmed. "Hey!"

  I got it back together. It was my own fault. I'd created this clusterfuck by charging in, not thinking straight and screwing up every step of the way. All I could do now was man up, sort it out and take my punishment.

  But first, I had to make amends. Persia's need came first. I took the little hand in mine and smiled into the wide, worried hazel eyes. "Don't worry, fresa. Leave it to me."

  She was still hesitant. "Honestly? You mean it?"

  "Absolutely." I texted Chin on the spot, telling him to get me everything on the family. I'd make no more snap judgements. I'd start by getting information and take it from there.

  When I was done, Persia was looking out over the crowd, her eyes a little wistful. "If they knew all the crazy shit that's been going on, they'd run screaming," she sighed. "And they'd never talk to me again."

  "They'll never find out," I promised her.

  "Really?"

  "Yes." I'd do my damndest to make it all right. "Come on, I want all those man models out there to envy me." I took her hand. "Let's dance."

  Chapter Sixteen

  Persia

  At first, I thought it was the champagne. Jorge had been so determined I was a cunning Mafioso, that his offer of help had me gobsmacked. Also, he seemed almost shell-shocked afterwards, staring wordlessly into space. So, I put it down to booze.

  But he hovered protectively for the rest of the party, and when we fell into bed, he was sweeter than chocolate. The next morning, he woke me with a kiss instead of the customary blast-off, and when we rolled into the office, he got right down to business.

  He dug in the safe and handed me a wad of cash. "Here, this is for you."

  I handed it right back. "Thanks, but I'm not taking any loans."

  "It's not a loan, it's a gift."

  Okay, that was a shock. "It's nice of you. But no." Because I would not take money from a man, not unless I'd worked for it.

  His eyes were gentle. "Fresa, you've got £10 in the bank."

  "How the hell do you know that?"

  He shrugged. "Take it. You'll feel safer."

  Guilt and concern just didn't go with devilish Jorge Santos but my bank account was running on fumes. I took the money. "I'll pay you back."

  "Ay, you're as stubborn as a mule!"

  "Pot. Kettle. Black."

  He'd changed his mind about me and I didn't have a clue why but I was damn grateful because having him on my side meant I had a chance to fix it all.

  "Tell me everything," he invited. "Start from how you got into debt."

  It was a relief to talk, but then, he started asking questions.

  "Yes, Colin gave me shares."

  "What are they worth? Isn't that strange? I never asked!"

  "Am I a director? I've no clue."

  As he talked on about articles and corporation stuff, I was flabbergasted. "Jorge, what does this have to do with anything? Colin met Kowalczyk because of the loan for the restaurant, but why do you need all this?"

  The dark eyes flickered, but he answered readily enough. "I thought you wanted to see how you got into this mess. Didn't you say you thought the amount of debt rather high?"

  Like a fool, I jumped to the conclusion that Kowalczyk was at the bottom of it. "You think he cheated Colin? Talked him into paying too much? Is that possible?"

  "I think we need to understand the big picture," Jorge said diplomatically.

  The size of the debt had bothered me, so I was instantly enthusiastic. With a business whizz like Jorge on the job, I'd finally understand where I'd screwed up.

  As I watched, he was looking through a file and ticking boxes on a spreadsheet that looked suspiciously like itemised expenses.

  "What is that, Jorge?"

  "It's the restaurant accounts, fresa."

  I don't know why I was shocked. Jorge used hackers the way others use Google. No doubt he'd had some tame nerd dig out every detail about Delicious as soon as he promised to help.

  Deciding I was grateful, I noted the pursed mouth and frowny brows. "Is there a problem?"

  "Not exactly," he replied vaguely. "I'm just getting a picture of how the business is managed."

  As he tapped away, part of the spreadsheet turned red. He kept tapping, and I saw more and more red. It made me uncomfortable, and when he pulled up more documents and asked questions about taxes, none of which I even understood, I really began to worry.

  When I'd been with my brother, the details didn't seem to matter. But now it was dawning on me that ignorance is not bliss. "Jorge, I'm a total moron, aren't I?"

  "Claro que si, tontita!" He answered without thinking, tapping away at the spreadsheet.

  I didn't understand the words, but I got the meaning, no problem. "Right, well, thanks for the confirmation."

  He looked up and grinned at me. "Sorry."

  "Huh." I was a bit miffed. "Tontita is idiot?"

  "Little idiot. It's friendly."

  "Pfft, right." But I couldn't be too mad at him because I had the awful feeling that he was understating the case. "Is it very bad, Jorge?"

  He sat back, looking rather serious. "It's not good."

  Crap. "Colin's always been great with money but he's a chef, not an accountant. Maybe it was too much for him," I fretted.

  Jorge picked up a pencil, twirling it between his fingers. "He's been managing your personal finances, hasn't he?"

  "That's right. After Paula retired, I worked with a company that did my contracts, but they didn't do taxes." I hesitated and then confessed. "That's how I messed up. I reported my income, but I got confused about what they allow as expenses."

  "So, your brother stepped in?"

  "Actually, I begged him to help." Jorge wasn't judgy, so I told him everything. "It was an honest mistake but the tax people thought I was trying to con them." I still got the shivers thinking of all those awful letters from the tax office. "I didn't understand a word they said and when they talked about taking me to court for fraud, I freaked."

  Jorge was silent but as the pencil tapped on the desk, I felt awfully stupid. "Colin saved my bacon. He talked to them, and I didn't even get a fine. He worked a miracle, and he wouldn't let me pay him for his time."

  "Generous."

  "Yes, very." I misunderstood the irony. "Colin has helped me ever since. But I guess that filling in a tax form is different from doing business accounts?"

  "Very different."

  Hell, hell, hell. I'd wondered why the restaurant's expenses had gone wildly out of whack. "Well, if Colin made mistakes, then it's my fault too. I should have insisted we use a proper accountant."

  "Perhaps," Jorge replied gently.

  I kept my eye on the ball. "If Kowalczyk cheated us, there's no way we will get him to pay it back. But the restaurant and house are all paid off now, right?"

  "They're not in any danger."

  That was a relief.

  "But it's not good, fresa." The pencil was tapping on the desk now. "I will need some time to check into this."

  "You'll sort out the accounts? Thank you!" Like a fool, I thought Jorg
e meant there'd be issues with the tax office. "I would hate for Colin to get into trouble."

  He smiled at me, a little grimly, but definitely on my side. "Never mind, fresa. You leave it to me."

  Relief flooded through me. Jorge was so clever that he'd probably fix it in a snap. But my problem still nagged at me.

  "I need to talk to my family, too. They think I ran off and made those videos." In the harsh light of day, I was seeing obstacles. "You can't admit to kidnapping me, can you?"

  He just shrugged. "Don't worry about it."

  I'd fantasised about revenge but now I discovered that I'd changed my mind. "But they'll talk, they're bound to. And you'll go to jail!"

  He sounded absent almost. "Not if I'm not here."

  "What do you mean? Are you going back to Mexico?" It made no sense. "What about your business?"

  "Never mind, Persia. I won't leave until you're okay. You have my word."

  That shell-shocked vibe I'd seen the night before was back again. It was close to his heart, this hurt. It had to be his work. I knew how invested he was. "Jorge, what's wrong?"

  The chin came up straight away. "Nothing!"

  "Is it your war? Isn't it going well?"

  "Keep your nose out of it!"

  He was more explosive than bottle rockets. "Right, well, if you won't tell me, you won't." Still, there was no point in having him banged up. "I've messed up spectacularly and my family have always forgiven me." The pain of rejection stung again, but I forced myself to be optimistic. "If I can prove I didn't make those porn videos, it should be enough. They need not know the ins and outs of how I ended up with you."

  He cooled down again and shrugged, clearly not ready to share. "We'll see what happens." The pencil was twirling. "Tell me how you got involved in negotiating the debt."

  That wasn't easy. Remembering my family's disgust, I tried to gloss over the details. "Oh, Colin said Kowalczyk wanted to meet me. Because of my modelling work, I guess. It was a lot of money, and well, Kowalczyk wanted his pound of flesh."

  "Yes, I'm sure he did." Jorge didn't ask for specifics but the pencil was banging away.

  Certain he thought I was a whore, I just talked on, babbling really. "Colin believed I was getting us a discount on interest payments in return for doing Kowalczyk's publicity."

  "Loan sharks deal in cash. They don't accept payment in trade," Jorge lectured. "Especially sex."

  "Is that so?" I sniffed. "Well, he made an exception in my case."

  The mouth was thin, and that pencil was about to break in two. "And your brother didn't ask questions?"

  "Why would he? People pay big money for promotion. You should see what Gold Ticket charges." I remembered how I'd screamed at Colin. How I'd accused him of wilful ignorance. "He's a straight up bloke, as decent as the day is long."

  Jorge chucked the pencil in a drawer. "Right, I think I have all I need for now."

  That darkness was coming off him in waves again. Although I couldn't see how, I'd pissed him off. "You'll still help me, right, Jorge?"

  "Of course!"

  "Good." It was a relief. "With you on the job, I know it will be fixed."

  The smile was genuine. "Try not to worry, corazón."

  Dear heart. Yes, I was in the good books. But I sensed Jorge was judging Colin. "It's not his fault. My brother was taken in."

  Jorge just nodded. "Okay, fresa. Let me run the numbers."

  Hoping for an answer, I pushed. "Will it take long?"

  Jorge wasn't giving an inch. "Persia, it will take as long as it takes."

  And with that, I had to be content.

  It being Monday, Jorge plunged back into business, processing paperwork while his phone pinged virtually non-stop. I couldn't settle. A swift look at Twitter was enough to tell me I was still trending. The filthy perversions Kowalczyk had pasted me into were rife, so much so that I didn't even see Rick's old video. It was way too tame to attract interest.

  Having seen too much for comfort of the deepfakes, I quit and turned to mainstream media. The newspapers had a ball covering the fight at Ascot. They focussed on Kowalczyk, hinting about his criminal empire, and laughing about his being warned off. They picked up on Jorge buying his horses, too.

  Typically, they printed awful photos of Kowalczyk, with his mouth open, shouting, and appearing a real thug. They pictured Jorge smiling in morning dress. I knew the signs: they'd spend a day or two running Kowalczyk down and Jorge up, and then they'd 'reveal' Jorge was a crook and suggest Kowalczyk was misunderstood. That's what rags like the Rampage do to keep readers hooked.

  I featured too, mentioned as a 'love interest'. They hadn't talked of the sex videos but I wasn't fooled. They were holding them back, building up the story. I knew they'd go to town on me soon. They might run a mid-week super shocker, or save me for a weekend double spread.

  Knowing it was coming killed me but even more so, it sank in that more public scandal would horrify Mum and Dad. Without even thinking, I dialled Colin. When it went straight to voicemail, I punched disconnect.

  I did that too hard because Jorge looked up. "Trouble?"

  "No." But it occurred to me that Jorge was a business whizz but might not realise what was in store from the press. "Jorge, you're in the newspapers."

  "Yeah. I saw."

  How he had the time to be up on news with all that work was beyond me. "It's good coverage today but tomorrow will be different." I explained, ending with, "They'll rake the dirt on you, Jorge."

  The eyes were flint. "They'd better be careful."

  Jesus. "You're not in Mexico now," I warned him. "Not even the Zetas can silence the entire British press corps."

  He wasn't bothered. "It'll blow over." But he eyed me with concern. "Worried, fresa?"

  "Not for me." That just came out, so I just told him, "I'll text Colin so he can hide the papers from Mum and Dad." Being abroad meant that would be easier than at home. Perhaps their absence was a blessing - even if it tortured me.

  "So? What's the problem?"

  "I can't tell if he's reading my messages. He might be ghosting me, or blocking me entirely," I fretted. "Colin hates texting. He almost never answers."

  "He's not on social media, is he?"

  "No. He says it's a productivity suck."

  Jorge went back to work without a word but it occurred to me that he wasn't on social media either. In fact, it seemed absurd. If the Cartel got online, it would be, "Just added two street corners to my plaza" on Facebook and selfies after punch-ups on Instagram, tagged #ManOfRespect #Don'tDissMe.

  I pushed away the thoughts, laughing at myself. Jorge was nothing like my brother. Even thinking of comparing the two men was ridiculous. Colin was decent, righteous and dead straight. Jorge was... none of those. He took what he wanted, when he wanted, and he made no bones about it. Driven, dark, and dangerous.

  I sketched him again. With the furrowed brow of concentration and hooded eyes, he had an indelible aura of danger. But as I rubbed and blended the lines, I had a sudden flashback of gentle hands and warm laughter. I solemnly swear I'm up to no good. Despite it all, I liked him. When I'd been in despair, he'd given me back my pride.

  "I want this block taken by end of business today." Lencho and Paco had turned up for their early morning brief, and they were poring over a map. "There's one hold-out. Lencho, make sure they understand we're in charge. Paco, you sweep that corner for unauthorised vendors."

  He was talking about taking over another slice of Kowalczyk's territory. I peeked at the man behind the desk and decided I was nuts. Jorge had decided to be nice to me but he was still lethal. If I were sensible, I'd get out as soon as possible and stay well away. I'd find a job, earn enough money to pay for the final semester's tuition, finish the course and go back to building my dream.

  That was a puzzler, too. I was stony broke and homeless, so I'd need a sizeable chunk of cash and fast. My phone was chock-a-block with texts and missed calls from journos. I wasn't going near them but their a
ttention meant I could return to the catwalk. Designers need publicity, it's a cutthroat business, so they'd hire me and use my notoriety to get extra coverage.

  "Persia?" Jorge was smiling, but it was clear he wanted me out of the office. The Zetas were off to war again. "Give us a few minutes?"

  I went straight to the loo. Like the rest of Zeta Towers, it was luxurious. A quick check under the doors revealed I was alone. I flipped up my skirt, pulled down my knickers and had a good gander at my bum in the mirror. The bruises were fading rapidly. Soon, I'd be ready to roll.

  Except, a job meant having to turn up at the right place at the right time. Kowalczyk would be waiting, ready to cause a fatal accident. Luckily, I knew who to talk to. I'd offer Jorge a cut of my fee in return for a minder.

  Standing in the hall, I could see Jorge's office was empty. Most likely, he was up to no good, busy taking over Kowalczyk's plaza. As I hesitated between looking for work or having another go at my portfolio, my phone buzzed. It was the editor of the Rampage. I was about to ignore it, when a text winged in, Your brother has reopened Delicious. Any comments? Free for an interview?

  Colin was back. It was my opportunity but with Jorge away, I wavered. I couldn't miss the chance to speak to my brother but I didn't want to get taken out. Dithering, it occurred to me that if Jorge was attacking, Kowalczyk would have his hands full.

  It decided me. I'd take my chances.

  I'm not a total idiot, so I ran upstairs, swapped my sexy skirt for jeans, borrowed a jacket from Jorge and hid my curls under a cap. With my collar turned up, no lipstick and no makeup, I was anonymous. Just in case, I hung around until I saw a small group going down in the lift and blended in.

  Trotting out with them, I jumped into a cruising black cab and was on my way to the restaurant, safe and sound. Mind you, I was a nervous wreck, rehearsing what I'd say and thinking of what Colin might say back.

  When the taxi dropped me off, I ran straight inside. To my relief, Colin was sitting at a table, piled up with papers. The scent of herbs emanating from the kitchen told me the staff were at work.