“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.