Marisol Muñoz was dead, and it was all because of one man.
Forcing myself to focus, I met his smug gaze with one of brazen steel. Stripped of weapons, strength, dignity, and identity, psychological manipulation was all I had left. Hopefully, it’d be enough, because I’d be damned if I’d die in a decrepit warehouse in the middle of nowhere.
“Then why bother keeping me alive?” Even in the darkness, I saw the empty gaze in his eyes, and an unwelcome shiver ran down my spine.
“To determine if my instincts are correct.”
A sound rumbled low in my throat—one I intended to be apathetic but ended up as apprehensive. “I’ll save you the trouble. Your instincts are shit.”
It wasn’t smart to antagonize the man holding your life in his hands, but showing fear was even more dangerous. I might as well have held a gun to my own head.
With a low chuckle, he leaned forward and ran the rough pad of his thumb across my bottom lip. Disgusted, I pulled away, but undeniable rage simmered beneath his thin layer of amusement, and he clamped down on the tender flesh until I cried out in pain. “Your insolence is exactly why I know my instincts are not, in fact, shit. You’re a survivor. Most of my men would’ve long been dead by now.”
Satisfied with my physical response to his show of dominance, he released his grip and shoved me backward. He wasn’t wrong, and the backhanded compliment should’ve silenced me.
It didn’t.
“Maybe you need better men.”
“Maybe you need to hold your fucking tongue before I cut it off.” He paused, waiting for another challenge. When I just glared at him, he sealed his victory with an emphatic smirk. “As I was saying, putting a bullet in your brain would be such a waste. Especially when your talents could be put to better use.”
I froze, each word cramming itself down my throat until I thought I’d choke. “I’d rather die.”
His distant gaze lasted only moments before understanding twisted his lips in disgust. “Don’t insult me. I’d rather chop off my own dick than fuck a Carrera. I’m referring to your powers of persuasion.”
“Against who? According to you, I’m public enemy number one.”
My taunt didn’t faze him. Cocking his chin, he scratched his beard with the tip of his knife. “There’s no truer revenge than an eye for an eye. . .is there, Adriana?”
“I told you not to call me that!” Consumed with blind rage, I lunged with my last burst of strength. A pathetic show he easily deflected with the back of his hand. I hit the ground with a thud, blood trickling from the corner of my mouth.
The man stood, and although instinct warned me to shut my eyes, I refused to give him the satisfaction. If he wanted to kill me, he had to look me in the face.
Instead of ramming the knife into my flesh, he tapped his heavy boot on the concrete next to my forehead. “I’m losing patience, so I’ll say this once. Give me what I want, and I’ll give you what you want.”
“Freedom?”
“Revenge. Your poisoned bloodline already murdered one brother. You can die at my feet or use it to destroy the other.” Lowering onto his haunches again, he grabbed my chin and twisted it until we were eye to eye. “Help me bring down Valentin Carrera, and I’ll hand you Brody Harcourt. With what I have on that gringo, even you couldn’t fuck this up.”
I scowled. “If you think you can touch Houston’s political pinup boy, you’re delusional.”
“You did it once before.”
Memories washed over me in an unwelcome wave, but I forced a bored expression. “Tapping the same vein twice isn’t my style.”
“He ruined your life. It’s only fair that you return the favor.”
“Or I could bring you down.”
“Vengeance or death,” he demanded, ignoring my threat. Then I saw it. My bag. The one I never went anywhere without. He held it up like a prize, swinging it from the tip of his finger. “Let me rephrase. Vengeance, death, or more death. Lady’s choice.”
I had to get my hands on that bag, but negotiation was out of the question. “I’m not your fucking puppet.”
“No? Then what are you?”
My swollen lip split as I smirked. “A phoenix."
He stepped back, putting more than a few inches between us. Not that I blamed him. It was a bizarre answer to give with my last few breaths resting in the palm of his hand.
The phoenix didn’t wait for death to come. It took control of its own destiny and built its own funeral pyre. Igniting it with a single clap of its wings, it self-destructed in a blaze of glory only to rise from the ashes.
When one life extinguished, another one began.
The man’s face twisted, deep horizontal lines slicing through the weathered skin on his forehead. “You’re a crazy bitch.” As soon as the words fell from his lips, his mask dropped back into place, and his tolerance faded. “You’re either with me or against me. If you turn your back, I promise there are measures in place to ensure your destruction. So, do we have a deal?”
I faced him, keeping my scattered thoughts hidden. Like a prison inmate carving a deadly weapon, it was better to sharpen the mind when the guards weren’t watching. Coherence held power, and power wasn’t given or earned. It was stolen.
And I’d steal everything.
An eye for an eye.
I’d make a deal with the devil just to send another one to hell. The time had come to even the score, and I drew strength from the chaos.
Now, I was chaos.
I was confidence and craving and covetous power. They may have erased my past, but they had given me far more than they took away. A new day had come, and with it a rebirth. They burned Marisol Muñoz at the stake, but Adriana Carrera rose from the ashes. It was time to reclaim my birthright and take what was mine.
“No.” I rasped, forcing a smirk. “A queen bows to no one.”
They were my final words before succumbing to darkness.
Chapter One
Brody
Chicago, Illinois
Present Day
Not everyone had a price tag. If they did, my life would be a lot easier. I sure as hell wouldn’t be sitting inside a strip club, sweating through three layers of Armani and questioning my sanity.
Not that the place was a dive. The Blue Moon was one of the most elite clubs in Chicago, but at two o’clock in the afternoon, even the most elite bar looked like a shithole. Which is precisely why it was the perfect place to meet. It matched my mood—dark, dubious, and desperate. Just like my reason for being here. Even being eleven hundred miles away from prying eyes meant nothing in my world.
Someone was always watching.
But I got cocky, and arrogance blinded even the most cautious of men. Up until now, I’d managed to keep my dealings with the Irish mob quiet. The fewer questions on fewer lips, the less likely it was I’d get trapped in my own web. Not that I would’ve bothered explaining myself to anyone.
Despite being the head of stateside operations for the most powerful cartel in the world, I was still an outsider amongst my own men. I couldn’t blame them. They were born into this life. They lived and breathed it, working their way up the ranks in hopes of one day reaching a position of power. To them, I was a gringo. A traitor to both sides of the law who made a deal with the devil and shit all over their sacrifices in order to secure himself a seat at the top.