Twisted (A Zeta Cartel Novel Book 5)

by AJ Adams

  That had me gawping. "You? You're kidding me!"

  "Fresa, you have no idea," Jorge said seriously. "After you shot me, I was an inch away from falling apart."

  The Zetas sat back, slack jawed with surprise. Then, James said hoarsely, "I really need to hear that story."

  Jorge picked up the tequila and poured shots, drawing out the tension. He put his arm around me, leaned in, and started, "You may have noticed that I have a lot of respect for the fresa. Well, it wasn't always that way…"

  As he told our tale, talking me up, "she's completely fearless," and "she kicked me in the balls and I thought I was gelded for life," and laughing about himself, "que pendejo, right, thinking I could beat her," the crew listened spellbound.

  When he was done, there was a complete hush. I sat there as the Zetas stared at me, their dark eyes drinking me in.

  "But Persia," James said awed. "The way Jorge treated you! How did you get past that?"

  It was my big moment. "Well, shooting him helped. But basically, it wasn't personal. It was business."

  There was more staring.

  Then, Paco slammed the table with both hands, "Joder, fresa! Que huevos!"

  "Ay-yay-yay, this is just classic." Lencho's happy back slap almost put me into next week.

  James wiped away tears of laughter. "Jorge, no wonder you're in love. Cojeme, what a woman!"

  "A toast." Paco raised this glass. "To Persia, a socio to be proud of."

  "And even prettier than me," James grinned.

  "And ballsier than all of us," Lencho roared.

  As they drank to me, it sank in that the one thing I'd longed for all my life was now mine. When I sat down at that table, I'd known the Zetas had my back, but they thought of me as a sister, as someone to be kind to. Now they accepted me as one of their own. I was a Zeta. It was Jorge's gift to me.

  The part that felt I might never belong vanished. I fell into a pool of loving acceptance and emerged stronger than ever.

  "Okay, corazón?" Jorge asked diffidently. "Was I right?"

  My love, giving me all I'd longed for and still worrying. "Yes." I kissed him, whispering, "Thank you."

  He grinned, "Welcome to the dark side."

  That night, we laughed, danced, and when we drifted home, driven in quiet luxury, I fell into bed and into the loving embrace. Wordless rising passion, effortless peaking ecstasy, and sweet slumber straight after, powered my soul, filling me with hope and courage.

  The feeling was so strong that it carried me throughout the next morning. But I returned to earth with a bump when Jorge closed his office door, saying, "Okay, fresa. This is your bulletproof vest."

  A memory of watching him dress for action, with me hiding under the covers, winged into mind. Back then it had seemed alien but now it was my life. "Oh, goodie." I'd meant to sound confident, but I squeaked like a mouse.

  "Dead fucking scary, right?" Jorge said cheerfully. "Every time I put mine on, I feel like a target."

  My eye-roll was automatic. "Very comforting." But actually, it was. "Lucky for me, I'm universally loved."

  He chuckled, I cackled, and then it was okay.

  Jorge fitted the vest over my head, showing me how to tighten the straps. "This protects your torso," he instructed. "It's no problem if they get you in the arm or leg, you'll survive as long as you protect your organs and major arteries."

  "Terrific. But if you don't mind, I will aim for not getting shot at all."

  "That's always the best," he replied cheerily. "Now, pull that silk scarf up and tuck the ends under."

  "What if Kowalczyk sees me and shoots me in the head straight away?"

  "He won't," Jorge sounded confident. "You'll be in a public space, so he can't risk it. Follow the plan. When he's done, he'll want to move you to a quiet place, so he can ice you. At that point, we'll take him down."

  "Okay."

  "But in case you need it, here's a gun."

  I looked at the black metal, glinting dully. The lack of shine meant he'd sandpapered the surface, eliminating the problem of prints. "Uhm, Jorge, you know shooting you was beginner's luck, right?"

  Jorge hesitated. "In most home invasions," he said slowly, "people are shot with their own guns."

  "Really? Well, then I'd better take it." Two minutes later, I was tucking it into the small of my back. "Okay, let me put my hair up and I'm ready."

  Super tough Jorge was trembling like a leaf. "Oh hell. Let's call this off."

  I embraced him. "We'll be fine. Don't worry."

  But despite my brave words, waiting in the office practically drove me to screaming point. The crew were out, playing their parts, and we could do nothing until given the signal. As Jorge quietly did some paperwork, and I tried to sew pleats in a skirt, the silence stretched and my nerves with it.

  When my phone rang, I almost threw up. I picked it up with shaking hands. "It's him."

  Jorge smiled at me. "Showtime, corazón. Take him down."

  A deep breath and then I clicked reject. It seemed an age, but then it rang again. I swore loudly, giving myself courage, and took the call. "Stop pestering me!"

  "It's Dad." Colin's familiar smooth tones were brisk. "He's asking for you."

  "Right." My voice dripped sarcasm. "I guess you want me to come to Delicious. Shall I stand in the doorway so your gunman can spot me easily? Or do we meet in a dark alley at midnight?"

  Colin's martyred sigh winged back. "Dad's in hospital. Room 314. His hip's gone again. Call if you don't believe me." He hung up before I could answer.

  I looked at Jorge. "Game on." And this time, no squeak.

  We must have driven, it's not like we flew there, but to be honest, I can't remember a thing about it. In my mind, I was in the office one moment and walking down a hospital corridor the next.

  The vibe of those places, antiseptic and rubberised floors, always gives me the willies. This time, I floated along, my feet not quite touching the ground and my heartbeat hammering in my ears.

  Room 314. Right by an exit to the basement. The room door was open, Colin leaning against it, arms folded and a face like thunder. My brother did not want to be there.

  "So, I'm here," I announced stepping inside. It was empty, just as I expected. "Surprise, surprise! No dad, huh?"

  There was a soft noise behind me. "Hello, Persia." Kowalczyk, pointing a very efficient gun. He crowed as he shut the door. "I knew you'd not be able to resist."

  "Funny," I drawled. "Because I thought the same about you."

  "What do you mean?" The bad teeth and pale skin were as revolting as ever. "This is a trap," he announced.

  "So it is, bozo." I was feeling strong because it was all working to plan. "Tell me something I didn't know."

  "Stop lying," Colin snapped. "You had no idea!"

  I'd always loved him, thought him to be so wonderful, but now I saw the eyes weren't calm but cold. He careful appearance wasn't class or style either; it was camouflage. He was a monster, just like Kowalczyk.

  "Come on, sweetie. Try to use that peabrain of yours," I sneered at him, enjoying his anger. "My family is my weakness, and you played on it before. I knew this was a trap."

  "No!"

  "Yes. You really are stupid, brother."

  "Shut up," Colin snarled. "You'll get yours soon enough."

  My stomach lurched, but I managed a laugh. "Yeah, Kowalczyk will shoot me in a hospital full of people and CCTV in every corridor. Awesome place for a hit!"

  Colin had hoped to scare me. "Bitch," he muttered sulkily.

  "Exactly," I taunted him. "Now shut your trap while we grownups do the talking."

  As my brother steamed, Kowalczyk frowned. "You're not afraid."

  "Nope."

  "Hands up." His weapon leaned against the high bun I'd fashioned, clicking against the bobby pins as he patted me down efficiently. "A vest, huh?" and of course he found the gun. "I'll take that."

  "Thought you would." I strolled past him, walking up to the window and lean
ing against the corner. "I came to talk."

  "Talk!" Colin scoffed.

  Kowalczyk wasn't saying a word but the finger on the trigger whitened. Hastily, I got down to business. "How's your mate at the FSB?"

  You could have heard a pin drop.

  Kowalczyk blinked. "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "But you're sweating," I said cheerfully.

  "What the fuck is the FSB?" Colin knew he was missing it and he didn't like it. "Is that a bank?"

  "It's Russia's security agency," I informed my brother. "They're Putin's people, the spies and secret agents who do his bidding."

  "You're insane," Colin scoffed.

  "You're high. Or drunk." Kowalczyk came in but again, he was too slow. He really was an awful liar.

  "I took forever to see it," I told him. "But you started your career as a blackmailer. And when you had to leave Warsaw in a hurry, you fled to Moscow. That's when you fell in with the FSB."

  Kowalczyk didn't reply.

  "You love blackmail and they love dirt, so it was a match made in heaven." His eyes confirmed I was right. "You posed as a drug dealer because it was an excellent cover. In truth, you're an FSB agent collecting dirt. It's why you work so hard on your party image."

  "The FSB want to blackmail Dr Who actors and models?" Colin scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous, Persia."

  "Models and celebs attract politicians and rich men with influence," I informed him.

  As Colin looked stunned, I addressed Kowalczyk. "The penny dropped when you made Laura introduce you to her school friends. Most of them are mums, but you use them to get to their executive husbands, right?"

  Kowalczyk looked at his gun, at me and shrugged. "Clever girl. You figured it out."

  Colin gawped. "Ohmigod, really? You work for the Russians?"

  "Actually, I feel dumb," I confided. "You blackmailed Colin into handing me over too. I should have realised then what your game was."

  "I have a talent," Kowalczyk smiled.

  "Yes, you certainly do. Your drug business got you lots of cash, which helped fuel the parties that lured in the celebs. And with the help of your so-called three Bs, booze, blow and bangs, you collected blackmail material on the rich and shameless."

  "Everyone comes to my parties," Kowalczyk boasted. "I'm king of London."

  "And that was the problem," I continued. "You fell for your own story. When Jorge arrived in London, you acted like a crime boss instead of an enemy agent."

  "He had no right!" Kowalczyk burst out. "He just fucking walked in, setting up his kurwa club, and getting all the best people. Skurwysyn! I'm better than him!"

  A war and countless people hurt and dead, all because of ego. It astonished me that a man that powerful could be so stupid. But I kept on point. "You wanted to fight but your FSB handlers made you call it off."

  "Business first," Kowalczyk growled. "They said that to me! I, who was given a medal for special services by the president himself!"

  "Shocking," I was sympathetic. "You had to cool your jets, but you'd made a mistake. You'd taken a call from your FSB contact in front of me."

  The thin lips pulled back. "Several actually, but you were too stupid to understand."

  "Yes, I had no idea. But when I told you to go suck your Russian friend's cock, you decided I was a risk." I felt that chill again. "If Jorge hadn't kidnapped me, I would have walked right into your arms."

  Colin gasped. "Jesus, is that why you were after her? You planned to kill her?"

  Kowalczyk didn't even look at him but the stubby finger clenched around the trigger again.

  "You put a hit on me," I went on quickly, "but the FSB made you cancel it. They didn't want to ruin your party host image." His growl confirmed it. "That was another flag we missed," I confessed.

  "You're a stupid bitch," Kowalczyk said smugly.

  My heart was banging away, beating a victory tattoo. He was going for it, hook, line and sinker. "You played us," I said humbly. "You must have been laughing at us all the time."

  Kowalczyk smirked. "I run the biggest covert operation in the country."

  "It's incredible," I encouraged him. He'd admitted it and now I would pump him. I made sure I faced him, praying that Lencho in the carpark below the window was getting it all. "Tell me, who -"

  A scream of feedback roared through the room. As I covered my ears, a familiar voice echoed off the walls. "All right, men! Secure the perimeter."

  To my horror, I spotted Smith. He was holding a megaphone and the boys in blue were pouring out of vans.

  "There are gunmen in the hospital!" Smith yelled. "Arrest them! Shoot if they resist!"

  This was going pear-shaped. I couldn't see Lencho or any of the Zetas.

  "Ty kurwo!" Kowalczyk spat wild-eyed. "You set me up!"

  I was mesmerised by deadly metal pointing at my head, that stubby finger pulling the trigger. "Oh fuck. Help!"

  As I hit the deck, all hell broke loose.

  Colin yelled, "No, not here" and slapped Kowalczyk's arm. The door burst open and Jorge barrelled in, gun drawn. In the tiny room, there was no moving. I was on the floor, booted by Colin's size tens as he struggled with Kowalczyk. The men collided with Jorge who shouted, "Persia!" Then a deafening bang.

  I struggling to my feet as Jorge went crashing down, blood spraying all over. "Jorge, no!" My scream was cut off as Kowalczyk gripped a fistful of my hair. It was excruciating and I could only squeal as dragged me up onto tiptoe. Three steps took us out of the room and then he shoved me down the emergency stairs, into a basement. There wasn't a soul to be seen.

  "Let me go!" I kicked him but the bastard was too strong for me.

  He tossed me against a wall, "Shut up, bitch."

  "I want nothing to do with this," Colin whined. "Don't you dare shoot her in front of me. I've got a reputation!"

  "You're a drug dealing skurwysyn who sold his sister for profit," Kowalczyk snarled. "Shut fucking up."

  Jorge had gone down. Was he dead? Biting back a wail of horror, I forced myself to think. He had his vest on. Surely he'd not have taken it off?

  No, he wouldn't have. He wasn't daft, my Jorge.

  At that, courage and sense flooded back. He must have been winged. That was okay. He'd said so himself. A shot in the arm wouldn't slow Jorge down. The man was indestructible.

  I put my brain into gear and took stock. We were in the basement. Dingy and dark, with dozens of laundry hampers stuffed with gory bedding giving it an extra Chainsaw Massacre vibe.

  "I will not be an accessory to murder," Colin was looking after number one. "You can shoot the bitch once I leave."

  There were probably doors at the other end but I'd not get there. Kowalczyk would shoot me if I tried to run. I was trapped. On the wall by the stairs, a dark shadow flickered. My heart skipped a happy beat. Typical Jorge. Even when shot, the crazy bastard just kept coming.

  My abductors were too busy fighting to see.

  "Shut up," Kowalczyk growled at Colin. "We kill the bitch right here. They won't hear a thing. Empty out one of those big hampers. We'll put her in there."

  "Absolutely not!" Colin protested. "I did what you wanted. I got her here for you. The rest is up to you."

  My knees were bruised and scraped. My neck hurt too. "Told you my brother's a drag." I moved back, making sure Kowalczyk and his gun were well away from the stairs. "You could do much better."

  "Shut your gob," my brother growled. Then, to Kowalczyk. "I won't be involved in murder."

  "Okay, there's an exit in the back." Kowalczyk waved his gun menacingly. "But not a word to anyone. If you talk, I send that information to the drug squad."

  "You know I won't say a word." Colin grinned at me. "Bye sis."

  I'd seen the deadly glint in Kowalczyk's eye. "You're a coward and a fool," I warned Colin. "He won't let you walk. You know too much."

  But my idiot brother turned his back on his friend saying, "Shut it, bitch. You're already dea-"

  Kowalczyk's gun s
mashed down on Colin's head. My brother didn't even moan. He just collapsed.

  "Well, that's a shocker!" As I spoke, I turned a little and backed up more, drawing Kowalczyk's eye from that stealthy shadow behind him. "I guess you'll shoot me now?"

  "I will kill you and go right back to business," Kowalczyk crowed. "With Santos' ten bricks of coke. He used that shipment to set a trap, didn't he?"

  "Well done, that was the plan." I backed up another step.

  "That was a mistake. Now I've got you and the coke."

  "Gosh. You are clever."

  "I'll kill you with your own gun and then I'll shoot your skurwysyn brother," Kowalczyk chortled. He pulled the gun he'd taken from me out of his pocket. "They'll think you fought and killed each other."

  I was staring down the barrel of a gun again. But this time, I wasn't worried. "Bye-bye, bitch." Kowalczyk sniggered.

  And then he pulled the trigger.

  We stood there as the gun failed to go off. "What the fuck?" Kowalczyk asked surprised. He tried to shoot me again, but all he got was a useless empty click-click.

  "I expected you'd take it," I said sweetly. "Which is why it's not loaded."

  "Ty kurwo!"

  "Back away from her right now!" Jorge flashed up behind Kowalczyk, gun to the back of the thug's head. His sleeve was drenched in gore. "Drop it!"

  "Santos," Kowalczyk didn't move as Jorge removed the weapon from his hand. "I shot you!"

  "You missed, you pendejo."

  They came down the stairs, Paco and James, holding guns. Lencho appeared from the depths behind me, carrying a transceiver in one hand and a gun in the other.

  "We can do a deal," Kowalczyk said quickly. "I'll cut you in."

  "No thanks," Jorge said. "You can't take care of business."

  "And anyway," I said meaningfully with an eye to the transceiver, "we don't deal with scummy FSB spies. We're handing you over to the police."

  The hateful pale eyes burned. "You can't prove a thing."

  It was my moment. "I think we can." I slipped my hand into my artfully constructed high bun and pulled out the tiny transmitter. "Look," I invited Kowalczyk. "Didn't see that coming, did you?"