“What?”
“You agreed to let me finish first.”
“That was before I knew this had to do with the fucking Muñoz Cartel! Brody, have you lost your mind? This is like tap dancing on a land mine!”
Closing the distance between us, he wrapped his fingers around my shoulders. “In digging for information, I found a faked birth certificate, Cherry. Marisol Muñoz doesn’t exist.”
“What are you saying?” I whispered, afraid to hear the rest.
“Not only was there never a real birth certificate for Marisol Muñoz, but there isn’t a death certificate on record for Adriana Carrera.”
“No…” Shaking my head, I tried to pull away from his hold.
“You mentioned a baby…Ana. What happened to her?”
“No one ever found my sister’s body. I can’t think about that, Eden. I never have.”
“Marisol Muñoz had to have a kidney transplant when she was fourteen. Her kidneys shut down because of a life-long battle with juvenile diabetes. The Muñoz family ran into a problem when none of her blood relatives were a match as a donor.”
“That doesn’t mean anything, Brody,” I argued. “That happens all the time in families.”
“Eden, both Esteban and his wife have type A blood. That means genetically they could only produce children with type A or type O blood.” Pausing, he glanced at his hands before locking me in an intense stare. “Marisol Muñoz’s blood type is AB. Adriana Carrera was born with type 1 juvenile diabetes. I have a friend in the Mexican Embassy. I had them run a comparison of the blood samples on record, on account of the unsolved murder of Adriana Carrera.”
The gold flecks in her eyes. The thick dark hair. The refusal to degrade women.
I twisted harder. “Brody, no...”
“Adriana Carrera’s blood type was AB. They matched, Edie. Marisol Muñoz isn’t Manuel’s sister. She’s Val’s.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Valentin
Mexico City, Mexico
“I think it went well, don’t you?” Mateo asked, parking the car in front of the estate.
“Well, no one got shot this time, so I’m going with yes.” Rolling his eyes at me, he opened the car door, and I broke a smile. It was one of the few I’d managed in the past six weeks.
Today marked the first time I faced the men as the official head of the cartel since the ill-fated meeting that ended in Guzman’s death. Since returning to Mexico, I’d let Mateo handle the meetings with the lieutenants while I hid in the estate and healed from surgery. My men needed to see their leader strong and invincible, not in need of help just to walk to the bathroom.
Plus, I hadn’t found much of anything to smile about after leaving everything that meant anything in Houston.
After all we’d been through, the last thing I ever expected was for Eden to walk away. The moment she left my hospital room, I knew it would be the last time I’d see her. A few days later, I was discharged, and I still hadn’t heard from her.
Once across the border, I’d picked up the phone to call her, then realized I didn’t have her number. The phone I’d given her in Monterrey was mine, and she’d either discarded it or simply stopped using it. For everything Eden and I had shared, there was so much more I didn’t know about her. Normal couples would’ve known such things within the first few days.
I didn’t know her phone number.
I didn’t know her middle name.
I didn’t know her favorite food or her favorite color.
I did know that I loved her, and with every week that passed, I missed her more, not less.
But it was time to come to terms with the fact that we’d both made our choices and move on.
“Did the shipment make it to Padre Island without any problem?” I asked, opening the front door to my new house.
“Right on schedule.” Mateo nodded as he followed me inside. “We’ve appeased the Colombians with the new territories we picked up from the slack in the Muñoz holdings. I talked to Emilio a few hours ago. He says everything is running smoothly, and all stash houses should be filled and ready for delivery tomorrow.”
“Muy bien.” I nodded and plowed a hand through my hair. “Tomorrow we need to set up an email account accessible for all the lieutenants. That’s how we’ll communicate for this next shipment we’re moving by train from Mexico City to Houston. One email account, Mateo, and we all have the same password. That way we can eliminate all this traceable shit going back, and…” My words died on my tongue as I turned the corner into the main living room, and all thought blanked from my mind.
She’d never looked more beautiful. In a fitted sleeveless beige dress, she held folded papers tightly in her clasped hands as we stared at each other. The long, candy-red colored hair that I loved to wrap around my fingers was pulled up into a loose bun on top of her head. Large gold hoops reflected from her ears, and the Santa Muerte pendant I gave her hung around her neck.
I didn’t know whether to pick her up and lock her in my bedroom or throw her ass out for putting me through six weeks of hell.
“Eden.” It was the only thing I could think of to say that was safe.
“Hey, Danger.” Unclasping her hands, she threw them out to the side. “Surprise.”
“I think I have some…I need to go do the thing in the…they said I had to…I’m leaving,” Mateo mumbled as he hurried out of the front door, closing it behind him.
“Did you take a wrong turn leaving Caliente?” Tearing my eyes away from her, I walked to the bar and poured a glass of tequila. I needed a drink to deal with seeing her again.
“Val, you know I don’t work at Caliente anymore.”
“How would I know that? I live in another country…Cere…Eden.”
“Look, I didn’t come here to fight with you.”
Slamming the glass down, I turned over my shoulder. “Why did you come here? I assume it wasn’t for a vacation.”
Her fingers clenched around the papers. “I get that you’re mad. I don’t expect you to understand or forgive me for walking out at the hospital and not coming back. I’m not here to beg for your forgiveness.”
Her words did something to me. For six weeks, I did nothing but imagine what I’d do if she walked through that door. I wished for it. Hell, I even prayed for it. But day after day, I lost faith in ever feeling alive again.
Now, here she stood, just like I dreamed she would. Except she wasn’t apologetic and didn’t need or want my forgiveness.
Fuck that.
Hitching my arm back, I threw the glass against the wall, shards and tequila exploding everywhere. “Maybe I want you to, Cereza.” Stalking toward her, I gave up the fight not to touch her and roughly palmed her cheek. “Maybe I want you down on your knees, begging for my forgiveness.”
Backing up, she grabbed my arm. “Stop it, Val.”
“I mean, you’re so good at it.” I continued backing her up until her ass hit the wall. “Being on your knees, that is.”
An impending storm of rage flashed through her eyes as she dropped the papers in her hand and slapped me hard across the face. For half a heartbeat, we stood there staring at each other, chests heaving and jaws clenched. Then, as if a dam broke, our mouths crashed together in impatient fury. There was nothing slow or soft about our kisses. Our tongues fought for dominance as teeth clashed and lips plundered.