Unrequited (Fallen Aces MC #1) (13 page)

FOURTEEN

King

The wings smell fuckin’ divine, but I’ve lost my appetite since sitting down beside this bastard again. My hands walk an impatient path up and down my denim-clad thighs. I feel filthy walking away like that, but my gut told me two more minutes and I would have been confronted with this asshole.

And I think I was right.

What I’d do to be balls deep inside Elena again, pretending none of this is happening . . .

“You had us deliver the heads of their kids like we were the fuckin’ angels of death,” Twig snaps, bringing my focus back to the table. “I’ve got kids of my own, man. That was fuckin’ harsh.”

Seems the conversation’s swung back to today’s events again.

“Pretty girls, too,” Carlos taunts.

Twig’s chair scrapes loudly across the timber floor, but Apex snags him by the back of his cut. “Pull that shit in and sit on it.”

Twig follows orders, righting his abandoned chair, and sits his ass down. Red flushes through his face in waves. He loves his daughters something fierce. I’ve seen him cut a man for denying them the last drop of juice in the fridge at the clubhouse.

Carlos has us by the balls, and every man at the table knows it. Our club’s looked for a reason to rain hell down on the Blood Eagles for what they did for years. The old boys talk about it, and the prospects speculate about what that kind of feud would be like. Threats or no threats, the deal he’s offering isn’t going to be left on the table unanswered. What else can we do but accept his terms? He holds all the fucking cards.

An extra one, in my case.

“We need clear inventory on what’s in each delivery,” Apex states. “I’m not having that kind of fuckin’ crap sprung on us again.”

“Fine,” Carlos says, waving him off dismissively. “Whatever makes you rest easy.”

“What if my men had been pulled over with that?” Apex continues. “We would have been pinned with murder. I’m not havin’ us do time for you, asshole. You ain’t payin’ that much and we don’t owe you nothin’.”

“Then I’ll double your pay.” He licks his fingers clean. “Even though the evidence would have led right back to me.”

“What the fuck?” Twig says. “Why would you set yourself up like that?”

“Because I knew that nothing would come of it. Those people you delivered to aren’t so saintly themselves, you know. Trafficking, among other displeasing things.”

“It was their God damn kids,” Twig reinforces. “We don’t take fights to a man’s family. Business stays where it belongs—away from the home.”

“That’s where you and I differ, then.” Carlos pushes his seat back and rises to his feet. “I have no qualms about hitting people where it hurts the most.” He tugs the hem of his jacket and brushes off the legs of his pants. “I’ll be in touch with a time and date for the job we just discussed. We can talk about the particulars of the information transfer when the last job is done.”

“Drive safe, Carlos,” Apex says with a smirk. “Wouldn’t want you to become another road statistic.”

“That a threat?”

“It’s a fuckin’ promise that this ends after three more runs. We walk away, and you leave us the fuck alone. Otherwise you find out what we do with people like you.”

“I thought you said you didn’t deal in death.” The fucker lifts an eyebrow.

Apex meets him with a steeled gaze. “Sometimes we make an exception.”

“I see.” He pats his pockets down, settling on the one with the bullet. “Good evening, gentlemen.” With a snap of his fingers, Carlos heads for the exit.

Hope Elena’s got herself sorted by now.

“How the fuck did we get in touch with this guy again?” Twig asks as we all eye the asshole leave with
three
fucking insiders trailing behind him.

“His son is a prospect for the Fort Worth boys.”

Twig chokes on his beer, spitting it over the table. “He fuckin’ what?”

“Yep.” Apex scrubs a hand over his face. “Joined to piss his old man off, and Judas took him on because the kid’s got a violent temper and a charm to match Ted Bundy. Apparently quite the ‘asset’ when handled right.”

“Can see where he gets it from,” I drawl.

“How does that asshole know so much about us?” Twig growls. “He’s had eyes on my kids, man.” He pounds a heavy fist into the table. “He’s been watchin’ my fuckin’ girls.”

“You don’t know that,” Apex says, “so cool your fuckin’ heels. He has, or had—fuck, I don’t know if it’s current or not—access to police files. Fucker like him probably has a few people on the inside still in his pocket. He might be just bluffin’ you with public knowledge.”

I’ve never been naïve enough to feel that being a part of this club would mean danger was exclusive to myself, but never before now have I truly feared for the safety of my family. My parents are hard-working, good people. They didn’t exactly agree with my choice to join the MC, and I know they have their reservations about it. Sitting here, knowing some power-hungry asshole has
that
kind of access to details about my life doesn’t feel right. I feel filthy, like I need a long, hot shower to scrub the bastard from my pores.

“So what now?” I ask, looking to the two men who are supposed to have enough experience and skill to lead us out of shit like this.

“We do the runs,” Apex states firmly. “Club needs the money. As backwards as it fuckin’ sounds, what he pays us will be what we need to settle our debts and get access to what we’re going to need to take the Blood Eagles,
and
his ass down.”

“You sayin’ it’ll be war with him too, then?” Twig asks.

“Of course it fuckin’ will. No fucker makes threats against my men without wearin’ the consequence.” Apex tips the last of his drink down his throat and slams the bottle on the table. “We do this work, we take his money, and then that fucker”—he points a thick finger toward the exit—“is a dead man walking.”

FIFTEEN

Elena

Who the hell are you?
I stare at my reflection in the windows of the car and realize that there’s something moving on the other side.

Two people approaching the car, to be exact. Sully, and my damn fiancé.

Carlos Redmond.

Drug lord.

Manipulator.

Winner.

He’s got where he is by beating out every ounce of competition that he’s encountered. Rumor has it he murdered his first wife after she began to question his state-of-mind. What kind of man does that?

Sully opens the door for Carlos, and I tense. What if he can smell King on me? I freshened up with the perfume in my purse before I got back in the Escalade, but all I can think about is those blue light scenes you see on the extreme-clean programs, and the stuff that’s always there when nobody suspects a thing.

Running my hand over my hair a last time, I twist in my seat to face forward—as close as Carlos will ever get to me acknowledging his presence.

“You could smile, you know.”

I swing my gaze from the back of Sully’s head and lock it onto the face of the man I hate. “You give me no reason to.”

“This might change your mind.” He pulls a slip of paper out of the pocket on the rear of the front seat and hands it to me.
I never knew that was there.
“I was going to wait until we got home to let you know, but I’m in a good mood. Read.”

Unfolding the crisp white sheets, I tip the page toward the streetlight coming in the car window and scan over the words that, despite only meaning one thing, confuse the hell out of me. “Is this for real?”

“No. I have a bad habit of faking passport applications.” He glares at me after his sarcastic retort.

I read over the page one more time, seeing Mama’s name in thick black lettering at the top. “Why would you do this for her?”

“I didn’t do it for her.”

For me.
Which can only mean one thing . . . this is what he meant when he said there was something that would make me want to plan the wedding sooner. “This is your bribe for me to marry you?”

“Among other things.”

“You set me up, didn’t you? You planned the whole thing from the start.”

Carlos smirks, eyes trained out his window. The gray strands of his hair appear luminescent in the dim light of the car.

Every inch of me chills. “You already knew everything about me before you first came to visit Papa, didn’t you?”

He turns his head to face me, bringing his hands together in a slow clap. “And the penny drops.”

The car falls into an awkward standoff while we continue down a road I don’t recognize. He knows I’d do anything to help Mama after what he told me about
La Muerte
. I can’t believe she didn’t tell me how bad things have got. When was she going to ask for help? I would have found a way.

My eyes drop to my purse sitting at my feet. I need to call her again, force her to talk about it and stop dodging the subject, to clear this all up. If
La Muerte
wants her to work for them, perhaps she should do it, temporarily. I know why she’s refusing—the cartels have stolen from us before, taken a life too soon. Mama’s recounted many a time how my grandfather used to fly a small plane between Colombia, Cuba and Miami in the height of the drug trade. Until the very men he trafficked for set an explosive in his engine and sent him down over the ocean.

Suspicious minds have a way of justifying such a betrayal.

The cartel ruined our life once. Why would Mama want them to do it again?

Yet, on the other hand, what other options do we have left? She can’t afford to retire, and I can’t afford to be caught sending her illegally earned money. If I get sent back to Cuba, we’d both be working for the cartel. What then? A life of forever wondering what they’re going to blackmail out of us next? Mama deserves more than that.
I
deserve more than that. Nobody should have to live in fear.

Although isn’t that what I’m doing here? Same problem, different country.

Carlos shifts beside me, letting out the subtlest of sighs. If I weren’t attuned to every detail in this car, I would have missed it. But I am. And the sign of his frustration is deafening.

My sights rest on my purse again.

“I still don’t understand why you’d want to help me.” I return my gaze out the window, my cheek pressed to the glass in order to avoid looking at him.

“You will.” He glances across the seat at me.

“And if I don’t want a part in whatever it is you’re planning?”

“Then you end up like the last woman who didn’t work out,” he says with a pregnant pause, “and I really don’t feel like having to shoot somebody else if it can be avoided.”

Maybe I
should
return to Cuba? I could open the car door and jump. Would it really hurt as bad as what he’s proposing to do? He’s threatening to kill me if I don’t cooperate with whatever he has in mind. I’m collateral in a madman’s game of chess.

“I can’t agree to this.” My fingers splay over my thigh as I eye the door handle. “I don’t need or want your help for my mother anymore. I can find a way to do it on my own.” The air between us grows thick as I continue. “I think carrying this engagement on is only wasting your time and mine.”

“You’re not in control of what happens here, and you know that. So stop making yourself sound stupid by pretending you are.”

Okay, I kind of deserved that. “You never gave me a choice in this.”

“No, I didn’t. And you know why?” He leans across, encroaching on my space.

I shake my head at his question, biting my lip to distract myself from the tears that threaten to spill out of pure frustration at this cluster-fuck of a situation.

“I find when I give people options, they tend to go for the easiest one. They look for the choice that will mean the least inconvenience for them. And in the game I’m in, dearest, that’s usually not in
my
favor.”

“You realize this has technically become kidnap? You’re holding me against my will.” I have no idea what I’m trying to achieve by telling him that. What do I think he’ll do? Panic when he realizes his mistake and send me on my way with fifty dollars for my troubles?
Wake up, Elena.
He knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Am I? Holding you against your will? You can leave whenever you like.”

“You just said you’d shoot me if I did.”

“I would,” he agrees. “But the offer’s still there.” Carlos runs both palms over the thighs of his pants, balling them into fists as he rests them atop his knees. “You want the truth?”

“Humor me,” I sass.

“My house is large, my wife is dead, and my son refuses to visit. I’m tired of my own echo and if I’m going to find somebody to fill that void, it may as well be somebody who’s going to be useful in more than one regard. You’d be looked after, have a healthy allowance, and never want for anything. All I ask for is your obedience. Consider this first hurdle a test of your loyalty.”

He supplies drugs, moves cargo that wouldn’t pass customs, and runs a gambling racket across the greater state to launder his money from all of the above. He has a reputation as cruel, and relentless if you cross him—of unnecessary suffering and hardship if he wants you to learn your lesson the hard way.

And all he wants is company?

I find that hard to believe.

“If you’re lonely, why don’t you get yourself a dog?”

“I can’t fuck a dog.” He answers without hesitation, staring out at the lights of the highway as they flash by.

“I won’t be kept for your sick amusement.”

“Really? Tell me again: what were your other choices?”

My face flames, and before I can talk myself out of it, I slap him—hard. “Fuck you.”

His fist connects with the side of my face sending vibrations scattering across my skull as my head rebounds off the window. My eye socket aches from the intensity of the pressure in my jaw. The tears I’d been so carefully holding at bay spill forth, soaking into the material of my tank as they run a path down my throat to my chest.

“Fuck me?” he scoffs. “That’s what I’m
trying
to get you to do.” He rubs the smarting skin on his left cheek. “But you insist on making things as difficult for yourself as possible.”

“Life’s difficult,” I grind out.

“Only if you let it be.” He sighs and turns his body to face mine, rubbing my knee. The action is so contrasting to what he’s just done, as though he’s trying his best to make me feel better, that I find myself recoiling into the door behind me. My skin sears under his touch. “Those passport details you’re holding—I can make them go away just as fast, you know.”

And there he goes, playing with my empathy again. Only the more he does it, the more it works. “She’d get by in Cuba for a little while longer.” I wave the paper between us. The car hits a bump in the road, and the armrest of the door sends a painful jolt along my spine. “This . . . it’s nothing but a bribe. My mother is a strong woman. She won’t let a cartel rule her life.”

But I will—for her.

“Stop being so fucking stubborn,” he yells. His face contorts with his rage.

I dig my feet into the rise of the floor between our seats and push myself so damn hard away from him that I’m pretty convinced the car door will fly open any second and spill me onto the road.

“I can’t decide if you’re ignorant or just fucking stupid,” he continues. “Your mother is pushing for time from
La Muerte
. How long exactly do you think one old woman can hold off
eight
kingpins? That’s
eight
men she has to sweeten to keep her life.
Eight
men she has to convince to leave her alone.” He laughs, low and scathing. “It’s nothing but a bullshit fairytale, Elena. There is no happy ending for her if she continues to refuse their requests.”

No matter how hard I try, I can’t catch my breath. The interior of the car seems to shrink about us, the air growing thick. The gravity of the situation has not only hit, it’s determined to choke the last signs of life from my body.

Carlos rolls his eyes and leans casually across me to open my window. His weight crushes my legs as the night air rushes in through the newfound gap.

“Breathe, Elena.”

“Thank you,” I whisper.

“Do not mistake my concern for kindness.” He returns to his side of the vehicle as the vehicle slows and turns down the tree-lined road his home is on.

“I’ll stay.” He said it himself—I have no choice.

“Of course you will.” His thumbs hook the lapels of his jacket and he gives them a tug as we turn onto the paved driveway and come to a stop at the huge steel gate of his estate. “Welcome home, Elena.”