So, I did.
I rattled the ice in my glass. “As far as Val knows, my concern for the cartel outweighs any risk you might pose.”
“And?”
“And I told him I believed you were sincere.”
“And he believes it?”
“Mm-hmm,” I mumbled, around a mouthful of scotch.
Adriana’s pale lips twisted in suspicion. She had every right to doubt me. The conversation wasn’t quite that cut and dry. I left out the part where Val more or less threatened to castrate me.
“This is not a time for a family reunion, Harcourt. In case you forgot, Adriana had my wife’s brother tortured and killed. I put you in charge of Houston for a damn reason. If you can’t handle the job, then maybe I should—”
“I can handle it. Look, I know there’s bad blood with Eden, but I wouldn’t bring her if I didn’t think this threat was real. It’s not the first I’ve heard of Muñoz reconstruction and infiltration.”
“And you’re just now informing me. Hijo de tu puta madre.” Son of a bitch.
“Val, I’m not a moron. I didn’t want to come to you until I had full recon and intel. Adriana has the name of the man leading the charge. It’s foolish not to hear her out.”
“Force the name out of her. When did you become such a pussy?”
“Yet again, she won’t tell me. And nobody has the balls to employ torture techniques on the boss’s sister.”
“You’re a resourceful man. Figure something out.”
“I ripped the floor out from underneath her, Val. She wouldn’t trust me with her drink order, much less valuable information.”
“Dios mío. Fine. I’ll have Walker prep the jet. But, Brody?”
“Yeah?”
“She’s your responsibility.”
As usual, with Val the real threat lay more in what he didn’t say rather than what he did. He agreed to open his home to us, pull back the veil and bare a vulnerability few ever witnessed. However, reward never came without risk. I swore on my life his family would be safe. I personally guaranteed Adriana would prove both her loyalty to him and herself worthy of the Carrera name.
She had to.
Because if she failed, we would both die.
And I wasn’t so sure Val would be the Carrera to pull the trigger.
Chapter Twelve
Brody
Mexico City, Mexico
I whistled as we approached the opulent excess of the Carrera mansion. “So, this is how the other half lives.”
Adriana paused on the first step, her bag sliding down her arm. “What are you talking about? You grew up in a mansion.”
Shoving my hands in my pockets, I swiveled around on my heels to face her. “Well, if it isn’t the pot calling the kettle black. For your information, I grew up in a modest three-bedroom house until my dad died. It wasn’t until my mom remarried that we shot up into an obscene tax bracket.”
“But you’ve been to Val’s estate before, right?”
“Meetings in Mexico, yes. House, no.” I fought a smirk as Adriana’s brow furrowed. As fun as it was to toy with her, I had no desire to encourage more of her questions. “Look, you grew up in this life. You know better than anyone that the people in a man’s business inner circle aren’t necessarily the ones in his personal one. Val has a wife and a son to protect. I get that.”
“But you’re his second in command,” she argued. “Besides, regardless of what happened between you and Eden in the past, you said it yourself. She’s his wife, and you saved her life.”
I shrugged. “Sometimes a person’s mistakes will always haunt them and overshadow any good they’ll ever do.”
“That’s depressing,” she huffed, turning to climb toward the front steps.
Chuckling, I followed behind her. “That’s life, kid.”
As we both stood outside the enormous archway that framed the front door, our limo driver held out his hand, preventing us from moving any closer.
“What?” I asked, almost barreling into him. “Is there a password?”
He grunted and turned his palm up. “Guns.”
Adriana’s eyes narrowed, and before she could make this worse, I clarified things for the idiot. “I’m Brody Harcourt.”
“I don’t give a fuck if you’re Santa Muerte. No guns.”
Crossing her arms over her chest, Adriana nodded toward the estate. “And what about their guns? I suppose if we use the wrong fork they’re allowed to shoot us in the face?”
Jesus Christ.
“Adriana!”
“What?”
“Shut up and give him your gun.”
She shot me a wry look. “I don’t have a gun.”
As much as I understood her reluctance, I also knew this guy had orders, and they stated the line stopped here. We didn’t cross unless we caved.
“Adriana…” The word was her name, but the warning was clear.
This is what you wanted.
“Oh, fine, here.” Reaching under her skirt, she unclipped a thigh holster and slammed a small revolver into the man’s hand, glaring at me the whole time. “Happy?”
Handing over my own gun to the man’s waiting hand, I smirked. “Ecstatic.”
As soon as we crossed the threshold into the house, I whistled again, ignoring Adriana’s glare. The Carrera estate made the elaborate display of wealth I spent my high school years living in look like a run-down backwoods shack. Intricate framework, brushed gold, museum quality artwork, and enough square footage to house a small neighborhood closed in on me, tightening the already snug tie around my neck.
Pulling on my collar, I leaned close to Adriana. “Maybe this is a bad time. We should go.”
“But you just got here.” The commanding and authoritative voice slithered down my back, and as if we’d been struck by lightning, Adriana and I spun around to find the source.
Like a panther watching its prey from a higher vantage point, Valentin Carrera nodded, acknowledging our presence from halfway up the winding staircase, then slowly and meticulously descended, his predatory eyes watching me the entire time. He exuded confidence. It poured out of him, coating the very floor the man stood on. He was danger wrapped in a designer suit, and intimidation masked as an ordinary thirty-one-year-old man.
But there was nothing ordinary about Val Carrera. From his slicked back black hair to his heavier-than-normal beard, the kingpin of the Carrera Cartel wielded power most men could never fathom. With a simple nod, he decided who lived, who died, and who suffered until madness took whatever remained.
And if that weren’t enough, trailing behind him was the second most feared man in Mexico. Val’s most trusted confidante. The prince who’d become king should Val’s enemies ever succeed in taking him out.
Mateo Cortes.
A man who’d both killed for Val and nearly died for him. His family was the cartel. His loyalty knew no bounds. He was younger and more impulsive, but just as deadly.
He was also my brother-in-law.
“Val.” I nodded in return, watching him just as carefully. Then I turned my head. “Mateo.”