“They?”
A cold smile crawled across her lips. “Muñoz sicarios. My soldiers. My own familia. It seems upon hearing that the man who I believed to be my father was actually a sadistic fuck who murdered my birth mother and raised me to hate the Carreras as some sort of demented vendetta didn’t sit well with them.” She gave her free arm a dismissive wave. “Something about the only good Carrera blood is spilled Carrera blood.”
“So, is that what you want? Blood for blood? You want to see me suffer to make your pain lessen?”
“You’d deserve it. However, for now, we have more pressing matters to discuss.”
I lifted my mug again, trying hard to ignore her labored breaths and the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest. “We have nothing to discuss. You don’t have a throne anymore, princesa.”
“You’re right,” she admitted, rolling her sleeve back down. The cuff flapped at her wrist, and judging by her disinterest, she was either unaware that she’d destroyed the button or didn’t give a shit. “But thanks to you, I do have a name, and you’re going to help me claim it.”
I damn near choked on my beer. “What?”
“I know the name of the man reorganizing the Muñoz Cartel.”
“Right,” I mocked, drawing out the word. “Because the cartel trying to kill you also gives you insider info. Nice try.”
She tossed me a look somewhere between annoyance and disappointment. “Brody, you know as well as I do that true power lies in the hand that holds the truth, and effective strategy lies in knowing when to keep your trump card close and when to tip your hand.”
“Then why tip to me?”
“We have a mutual enemy and tearing the Muñoz Cartel down before it rises makes more sense than wasting time doing this.” She waved a hand between us. “Don’t you think?”
“Give me the name, and I’ll warn Val.”
“No. Take me to Mexico City. I’ll talk to Val myself, or I don’t talk at all.”
That was it. This bitch had lost her goddamn mind. Even if my damn dick didn’t know the difference between a blow job and a whack job.
“Are you insane?”
She squared her chin, unbothered by my insult. “Because of you, I have nothing. Nowhere to go. No one who gives a shit if I live or die, and now another asshole is trying to take me down. You owe me this chance.”
Shit.
Anyone else would throw her out on her ass. Regardless of what that birth certificate said that Leo dug up, she was raised Muñoz. She might have Carrera in her blood, but the woman had Muñoz in her soul. But as much as I tried to numb that sliver of my conscience that stubbornly refused to die, I couldn’t. And right now, it stood on my shoulder yelling in my ear that she was right. I owed her. Not for revealing her true identity; whether she wanted to see it or not—that was for the best.
But I owed her for the torture she obviously endured.
A familiar ache seared across my chest, and I pressed my palm against my shirt, willing it to subside. Of course, it didn’t. It never did. That was penance for you.
Moving my hand up, I scrubbed it over my face and sighed. “Look, Val knows about you. He’s been looking for you. He wants to know you.”
I didn’t know what I expected. Shock? Gratitude? A blush, maybe? I sure as hell didn’t anticipate the loud snort she gave me. “I highly doubt the same goes for his blushing bride. Let’s not forget I was responsible for arranging the hit on her brother.”
“Is that why you want me there too? To control Eden?”
“Well, you two once had a thing, correct? You can be my buffer.”
I didn’t bother responding to that. It was none of her damn business.
“Why would I even consider this?” I gritted out through clenched teeth. “Val is my boss. You think I want to get caught up in his shit?”
“You owe me.”
Same three words, only this time my conscience flipped a middle finger and sat the fuck down. Anger took the floor, and it was like slipping into a well-worn pair of socks.
“I don’t owe you shit.”
“You. Owe. Me. Everything.” Her voice dropped to an almost-demonic growl, her lips caressing each word as she punctuated them with dramatic pauses.
God, what the hell was it about this woman that scorched my blood and sent it rushing to parts of me that shouldn’t be reacting to her? Was it my addiction to danger that made me want her? The thrill of the forbidden? Because bad blood or not, Valentin Carrera would skewer my balls if I laid a finger on his sister.
“I’m sorry, princesa.” I winked. “I’m busy tomorrow. I have to see a man about a thing.”
Silence permeated the cantina as we glared at each other. Neither of us spoke as we waited for the other to give in first. The joke was on her. Until my visit with Leo Pinellas tomorrow, I had nowhere to be and nothing to do. I could sit here and play her little pissing match all day.
I gave her intel on Val’s interest in her. That’s as far as I went. If she wanted more, she could walk her happy ass across the border and ask him for it herself.
I smirked.
Adriana scowled.
I leaned against the bar.
Adriana crossed her arms across her chest.
I tapped my fingers on my glass.
Adriana tapped her toe on the tile.
I scanned my eyes down her legs, and the color of her face turned to lava. Just as she opened her mouth, a crash and the sound of shattering glass turned both our heads toward the bar.
Bar bitch stood on her toes with her palms held high in the air, her mouth rounded in a tight “O”. She stared down at the floor, and when I lifted myself over the bar, I saw why. Two bottles of Val’s most prized tequila lay shattered on the floor, the contents now rolling under the anti-slip mat.
“Well don’t just stand there!” I yelled. “Get a mop, for Christ’s sake!”
“I-I’m sorry,” she stammered, bending down and picking up random pieces of glass, slicing her hands to hell and back.
With a mop in one hand and a towel in the other, I managed to stop the bleeding and prevent this from turning into a major worker’s comp catastrophe. As I put pressure on her wounds, bar bitch looked up at me with hearts in her eyes, and it was all I could do not to fire her on the spot.
By the time I returned to my seat at the bar, Adriana was gone.
Lifting my abandoned glass, I raised it in the air and toasted to small victories. “Better luck next time, princesa.” I drank slowly, savoring my victory. This wasn’t the last I’d seen of Adriana Carrera. She’d be back.
Just as the glass hit my lips, I saw it. A cocktail napkin covered in blood. Slamming the glass back onto the bar, I slid off the seat and snatched it from the puddle of water soaking the edge.
Only, it wasn’t blood. It was red lipstick.
Your thing isn’t that impressive.
And your man is for sale.
Never dip your dick in the same pool twice.
Regency Court – Room 233
“Fuck!” I balled it up and threw it across the bar.
She knew about Leo Pinellas.
Worse than that, now I had no choice.
Her trump card ended up being my Achilles heel.