Carrera Cartel: The Collection Page 30

  Or maybe I’d just been looking for an excuse. Either way, I wanted out.

  With my knuckles inches from the door, I paused mid-knock as muffled voices seeped through the peeling green paint. They were low but heated as they faded deeper into the apartment. My logical side screamed at me to run, but my impulsive side ignored it and turned the doorknob with a shaking hand.

  Three steps brought me into the living room and four more drew me into the hallway toward the kitchen. My insides turned to ice while a thin layer of sweat trickled down my temple. I tried telling myself the fear I felt was unfounded, and the way I hid in the corner was ridiculous. Shaking my head, I’d just pushed off the wall when the sickening sound of shattering bone ricocheted throughout the apartment.

  Get out. Get out. Get out.

  My brain screamed at me in warning, but my feet remained cemented to the ground.

  “What do you mean it’s not done?” a heavy Spanish accent roared.

  “I need more time.”

  Luis. I’d recognize his slightly accented voice anywhere. Although hearing it frantic and desperate did nothing to calm my panic.

  “Son of a bitch, what is it about this woman? You’ve had your orders. I’m done waiting. Get rid of her.”

  Get rid of her?

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “No, what’s simple is you. You’ve let a woman get in your head and forgot the rules, Luis. There are only two things that tempt men like us—drugs and women. Forming an addiction to either one is suicide.”

  “You think I’m stupid? This will be traced back to me and—”

  Furniture skidded across the bare floor, muffling the rest of his words. A painful grunt quickly followed another crack, and I bit my tongue to keep quiet.

  “Either you do it, or I will. I promise you, my way won’t be nearly as pleasant for her. Am I understood?”

  A sick need to see the man who craved my suffering forced me to move. Inch by inch, I shuffled toward the kitchen, my heart slamming against my chest. Rolling my cheek against the wall, I braced myself to face my monster, but all that greeted me was a shadowy figure in a black hoodie with the sleeves pushed up.

  Until he shifted, and a sliver of moonlight shined on his arm.

  A grotesque skull tattoo, with the bottom half of the jaw missing, covered his left forearm. Wilted roses lined either side of the cheekbones and what was left of the teeth bit an hourglass.

  I looked away and covered my mouth to stop from screaming.

  “Fine,” Luis yelled so loudly I flipped around and slammed my back against the wall to avoid being seen. “I’m seeing her tomorrow. I’ll finish this, and then I’m out.”

  “Muy bien.” Calming down, the man gave Luis a low chuckle. “And Luis, remember, I know everything you do.”

  I stood paralyzed as their heavy steps crossed outside the patio. It wasn’t until the sliding glass door slammed that I released the breath I’d been holding.

  Police. I need the police.

  Just as I slid away from the wall, the glass door flew back open, and Luis paced again while punching numbers into his phone.

  “I’m out of time. I need it now.” His hands pulled at his hair, outrage burning in his voice. “Fuck the plan, Hector. I have a new one. I’m getting her tonight.”

  My head swam. Crouched in the corner, I was a sitting duck. My only option was to wait until his back was turned and run. Blinking back tears, I waited until Luis turned toward the glass door again. Only a few feet separated me from freedom, and as he stepped over the threshold, I ran toward it.

  “Leighton? What the fuck?” Rushing toward me, he grabbed both wrists and jerked me against him. It happened so fast, I didn’t have time to scream. “How long have you been listening?” His ragged breath fanned my cheek harsh and heavy, as if an indecisive war raged inside him.

  “Let me go; you’re hurting me.”

  “How long, Leighton?”

  His agitation fueled mine, pushing me to challenge him. “What are you involved in, Luis?”

  “Damn it!” he roared, dragging me deeper into the apartment. “You weren’t supposed to be here tonight. I had this all handled.”

  “Why? What are you planning to do to me?”

  “We have to get out of here.” Releasing one of my wrists, he pulled a gun from the waistband of his jeans.

  Shit.

  “Oh my God, where did you get that?”

  “Don’t be so naïve,” he hissed, rolling his eyes. “Do you think this is a game?”

  I knew the minute I turned my back on him, it would be over. He’d either put a bullet in the back of my head or shove me in the trunk of his car.

  “Don’t make me go to the police,” I warned, tilting my chin up in defiance.

  He growled low in his throat, his inked arm lifting mine above my head. “Don’t make me stop you.”

  He wanted a fight, but he wouldn’t be the first man. I knew how this conversation went. I could recite it by heart. Same entrance, same lines, and from what I could smell, the same half bottle of Jack Daniels on his breath.

  “Look, all I came here to do was break up with you. I didn’t see anything. Just let me go, and we’ll pretend this didn’t happen.”

  “Oh, you think it’s that simple?” He smiled. “I’m the only one standing in the way of your worst nightmare. Leighton, listen to me—”

  I cut him off with a bloodcurdling scream. Shocked, he lunged forward and cupped his hand over my mouth. The impact knocked us both off balance, slamming my head into the wall. As a sharp pain throbbed in my skull, the kitchen light cast a faint glow on his face, and in my haze, years faded away. Whiskey no longer swam in his eyes. It was the devil himself.

  That was the moment my conscience abandoned me. Blood rushed through my veins and filled my ears as I grasped for the gun. We struggled, his aggression spurring me on. Curses flew from both our mouths as we tangled, his much larger body spinning me around while trying to wrestle me to the floor.

  I will not die here.

  “Fucking let go, Leighton!”

  He stumbled. I stumbled. He shoved. I shoved. We moved in perfect sync, dancing a deadly tango. Only this dance would end with a bullet in between my lips instead of a rose. However, Luis underestimated me. He wasn’t the first monster I’d fought, and he wasn’t the first devil I’d outrun.

  The minute his ankles hit the coffee table, time stopped. I watched his legs fly out from under him, crashing through the glass and taking me with him. Our chests slammed together with our hands tangled around the trigger.

  I screamed just as the gun went off and waited for the pain. When it didn’t come, I rolled off Luis and scanned the front of my sweatshirt. It was soaked—saturated with deep crimson red, but it was perfectly intact. It didn’t make sense.

  Then Luis coughed, and I forced myself to climb onto my knees and face it. The right side of his stomach bloomed dark red over his white T-shirt, and his eyes fixated on my hands. They spoke louder than any words ever could.

  Look what you did.

  Look at yourself.

  So, I did. They were sticky and warm, the tips dripping like a faucet, while still holding the gun.

  “No!” All I heard was the roar of my own voice as I dropped the weapon and jerked Luis’s shirt up.

  This wasn’t supposed to happen.

  I swallowed back vomit while pressing both hands against his stomach. Pressure was good. Pressure would stop the bleeding. But it didn’t. Liquid oozed between my fingers, and the harder I pressed, the faster it seeped.

  “Luis!” I screamed, lowering my face to his in a panic. “I didn’t mean it!”

  His response was a gurgle. Maybe it was my name. Maybe it was a plea for help, or maybe it was him cursing me to hell. It didn’t matter. If he died, I had a secured reservation. With one last cough, his eyes glazed over, and he never moved again. I felt numb, staring blankly at him as the reality of what I’d done set in.

  A st
rangled sob spilled out as I crawled in a daze toward my purse. It took four tries to pull out my phone and dial the number I knew by heart.

  “Lil’ Bit? It’s late. Are you okay?” My brother sounded sleepy. Part of me immediately regretted calling him, so I said nothing. I couldn’t. Once I spoke the words, they were real.

  “Leighton?” he repeated, this time sharper and more alert. “Leighton, answer me.”

  “He’s dead.”

  “What the hell are you talking about? Who’s dead?”

  “My boyfriend. I killed him.” The words came so easily I wondered if I’d really said them. “I’m at his apartment. He...he was going to hurt me.”

  “Fuck.”

  Static filled the line, or maybe it was the static in my head. Whichever it was, a long pause sent my pulse racing. “Brody?”

  He cursed again. “Are you on your own phone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you called the police?”

  “No.”

  “Good, don’t. Listen very carefully. Don’t touch anything. I need you to get anything out of there that’s yours or that has your information on it. Anything, Leighton. Pack your bags and come to Houston now. I’ll take care of it.”

  Warning lit every nerve ending. Brody was always the rational one of the two of us. He was my calming voice of reason in the eye of a storm. We had a process—I fucked up, and he fixed me. Our process couldn’t fail me now. But what he was suggesting…

  “The police...”

  “Leighton!” he yelled. “I’m going to protect you, but you’ve got to keep your head clear. Understand?”

  I nodded, as if he could see it.

  “I need you to say the words.”

  I smiled in spite of the situation. “I understand.”

  I never questioned him again as he barked a few more instructions and hung up, announcing he had to make another call.

  But maybe I should have.

  Doing exactly as he told me, I bagged up what I could find, wiped down what I’d touched, and threw on one of Luis’s hoodies. As I drove away, I realized it should’ve bothered me that the assistant district attorney of Harris County encouraged me to leave the scene of a crime. My brother’s calm response to my admission of murder should’ve been a bright red flag.

  Chapter Two

  Mateo

  Mexico City, Mexico

  I tapped the tip of my boot on the concrete floor as muffled curses came from the other side of the steel door. I fought a smile and traced the skull design on my pocket knife.

  “Last chance, pendejo,” I offered. “Apologize, and we’ll just mostly kill you.”

  Not that I expected an answer from the man dangling from a hook in the far corner of the room, but I gave him a chance anyway. As anticipated, he lolled his head to the side and spat on the floor.

  Well, as best he could with his chin halfway up his cheek.

  I had to give the man credit. He’d been hanging like a side of beef from an overhead pipe after our sicario hitmen had worked him over, and he still had some fight left in him.

  Good. He’d need it.

  I stared at the glob of saliva and sighed. “Not your best move.”

  “Go to hell.” His chest rattled as blood trickled from the corners of his mouth.

  I leaned forward and grinned. “You first.” Giving his knee a hard kick, I sent him swinging. He looked like a bungee jumper waiting to be rescued. Only these cords were steel, and no one was coming for him.

  “Asshole,” he wheezed.

  “I can’t decide if you’re brave or just really fucking stupid, Lopez.” Rolling my eyes, I flipped the knife over in my palm before standing and releasing the blade. I wasn’t fond of this part of my job. Whereas most men’s dicks in my cartel hardened at the mention of drawing blood, it was a simple means of survival to me.

  Guilt wasn’t an emotion I lost any sleep over. Innocence never landed these men here. However, the culero cowering in the corner had earned the rare misfortune of facing someone far worse than me.

  As if on cue, the steel door slammed open, and Valentin Carrera, head of the Carrera Cartel and the one man above me, charged into the room. His normally slicked back black hair was in disarray, and from the fire blazing in his eyes, I half expected him to pull out his gun and put a bullet in this guy’s head. Instead, he circled around him, a layer of sweat beading across his forehead.

  “Lopez, you stupid motherfucker, you ignored my wife’s orders and then tried to enlist one of my sicarios to hurt her?” The words hissed from his clenched teeth.

  I could tell he was coming unhinged, and I’d intervene if I gave a shit about Lopez.

  Which I didn’t.

  Val wrapped a scarred hand around Lopez’s neck and squeezed. Unfortunately, Lopez chose that moment to say the wrong thing.

  “I don’t answer to a gringa. This is a cartel, Valentin, not an American whorehouse.”

  I shook my head. I’d never understand the need to antagonize men like Valentin Carrera. A man should just take his punishment with dignity and move on.

  Or die. Whatever.

  I closed my eyes and rolled my neck. In a couple steps, I stood beside Val and ran the tip of my blade from Lopez’s bobbing throat down to his stomach. “Do we slit his throat or gut him like a fish?”

  Lopez’s eyes widened as Val took out his own knife from the pocket of his pressed slacks. “Both,” he announced, forcing the open blade against Lopez’s throat. “I’m going to cut his tongue out and shove it down his throat.”

  Shrugging, I ran my thumb along the blunt side of my knife to close it. “Knock yourself out.”

  A smile spread across his face as he swung one arm across my chest while removing his expensive jacket from the other. “While you cut off his balls for thinking they were big enough to disrespect my wife.”

  I glared at him. “I’ll pass.”

  He raised a dark eyebrow. “You’d rather chop off his dick and shove it up his ass? The option is on the table.”

  “You’re a real shit sometimes, you know that?” I growled, pushing past him as his amused chuckle followed me.

  When Val’s rage was satisfied, I called for lower-level cleaners to dispose of the body. We quickly changed clothes before heading back to the Carrera estate, and as usual, I drove while Val explained what had happened to the other half of the Carrera powerhouse—his wife, Eden. The one person most cartel members feared more than Val, although they’d never openly admit it.

  I tuned them out, not minding the chance to decompress. Bloodshed always agitated Val, making him a bitch to deal with. If anyone could soothe him, it would be her.

  Since their marriage, I’d become somewhat of a reluctant confidant to the first family of Mexico’s underground. I didn’t possess a college degree or a formal education of any kind but playing mediator between those two made me feel like I deserved honorary PhDs in sociology and criminal justice.

  Maybe even psychiatry—because those two were batshit crazy.

  As he ended the call, I snuck a glance out of the corner of my eye to find him smiling. With their first child due in a few months, he’d learned to unwind faster and tone down his irrationality. I made a mental note to thank Eden for whatever the hell she’d said.

  And maybe send a fruit basket for getting knocked up in the first place.

  Once we approached the ornate archway leading into the Carrera mansion, I opened the door and stepped back. Val nodded and walked inside, not bothering to wait and see if I’d followed. He didn’t have to. We were friends, but I still knew my role.

  While Val headed straight for his fully-stocked bar, I decided on a quick nap before we headed back out for our nightly meeting. Flopping onto the couch, I pressed every button on the remote control until one of them sparked the eighty-inch flat screen television on the wall to life. The damn thing was obnoxious, and I couldn’t help but smirk. While Val’s father’s extravagant lifestyle initially repulsed him, I laughed at how
easily he’d become accustomed to the finer things in life since taking over. Not that I had any complaints. I spent more time here than I did at my own place.

  I’d almost dozed off when Val came storming into the room, his footsteps heavy and fierce.

  “¡Cálmate!” His eyes glazed with irritation as a voice shouted on the other end of the line. “I said, calm down, Brody. I can’t understand you for shit. Hold on.” Pulling the phone away from his ear, Val pressed a button, and the room filled with the incoherent ramblings of the second in command of Houston operations. “Okay, now you’re on speaker with Mateo and me.”

  Brody cleared his throat. “Is anyone else there?”

  We were trained to ignore emotion and react with logic, but from the first four words out of his mouth, Brody and logic weren’t even in the same state.

  “What do you think?” Val growled, rolling his eyes toward me.

  “I need a favor.”

  “Of course you do.” Leaving the phone on the coffee table, he walked to another glass bar nestled in the corner of the room and refilled his stem of tequila.

  The desperation coming from the other end of the line didn’t sit well with me. Brody hadn’t lived cartel life long enough to understand desperation. Staring down the barrel of a gun while one pressed to the back of your skull—that was desperation. However, something in his tone made me sit up and pay attention.

  “Do you remember when Manuel Muñoz kidnapped Eden?”

  Val’s face tightened at hearing the name of the man who’d almost killed us all. “Why would you bring that up?”

  “You promised if I helped you find her you’d look after my sister.”

  “That deal was made in the event that you didn’t make it out of that stash house.” Pausing for a drink, he raised the glass toward the phone. “Clearly, you’re very much alive.”

  “Val, this is serious! Leighton is on her way to Houston, and she’s in trouble.”

  Val drained the glass and slammed it on the table. “What the fuck have you done, Harcourt?”