Kiss of the Cartel Page 2

  He jerks the fridge door open, reaches in and grabs the first Tupperware container he touches. He shoves it at me. I take it quickly before it can fall to the floor. He pulls his hand away as though burnt.

  "Eat something," he snarls and stalks from the kitchen.

  I don't pause, don't warm the food up. I turn and run from the room, all the way up the stairs and back into my bedroom. The only place in the house I know is completely safe. No man enters my space.

  I sit on the edge of my bed, shaking, head in my hands. His words are poisonous barbs, meant to draw blood. But they hit a little too close to home for comfort. Does he know about my past? Is that why he hates me so much?

  I nearly jump right off the bed when a heavy fist hits my bedroom door. I realize who it is right away. Only two people come to my room looking for me, Theresa, whose knock is soft and Manuel, who has a heavier, more decisive hand.

  I jerk the door open and find my boss standing on the other side, his dark gaze troubled. I know what he's here for. The only thing he wants from me at this time of night.

  "Manuel?" I ask softly.

  "Meet me in the gym," he says shortly and walks swiftly away.

  The command to meet Manuel in the gym is not an unusual one. Nights seem to be when he prefers working off some steam, and I'm usually up. I disarm and change into a pair of bike shorts and a tank top. I run down the stairs and down the hall on the main floor, entering the gym first. Over the years I've learned that Manuel despises waiting, so I make sure I'm quick and always ready to go when he is.

  I take my place on the mat and wait. Manuel arrives moments later wearing a pair of loose sweatpants and a T-shirt. He kicks his shoes off and stands opposite me. He nods and I take my stance, legs spread, slightly apart, hands up, fists clenched. Manuel will expect full effort; if I hold back, he'll pummel me into the ground. I've learned this the hard way.

  Without warning, Manuel launches himself at me, aiming a fist at my head and a sweeping kick toward my knees. I dance backward, blocking the fist with my forearm. Before he can launch another attack, I dance to the side and aim a fist at his side. He absorbs the impact with a grunt but moves quickly away before I can follow my first hit with a second.

  We spar for 45 minutes, Manuel taking the brunt of my attacks. Although, when I lose attention for a single second, he does get one solid hit to my chest, throwing me on my back. I move quickly, rolling away from the kick he aims at my ribs. I grip him around the ankles and fling my leg up, wrapping it around his and causing his knees to buckle.

  He hits the mat hard beside me. I quickly roll on top of him, sending an elbow into his throat, then pulling his arm between my legs, twisting it into an arm bar. He struggles for a few seconds and then slams his hand into the mat.

  I release him immediately, rolling back and up onto my knees. I concentrate on my breathing while watching Manuel. He'll let me know if he wants to keep going. After a moment, when we've both caught our breath, he shakes his head, indicating our sparring session has reached an end. I climb to my feet and offer him a hand.

  "You need someone who can match you," Manuel grunts, climbing heavily to his knees. "Not an old man."

  I rub the middle of my chest where he managed to connect a solid hit. "You punch pretty hard for an old man."

  He smirks. "You wouldn't have stood a chance if we'd done this twenty years ago."

  Manuel wouldn't have taken on a woman twenty years ago. I don't say it out loud, but it's the truth. Manuel has told me himself that women are meant for one thing only. The defection of his wife doesn't help his opinion. Though, his views on women seem to have mellowed with age.

  "You should spar with Luis." Manuel reaches for his water bottle and chugs half of it in one go. "It would be interesting to see who comes out on top."

  I remain silent, quietly waiting for my dismissal. A sparring session between Luis and myself will never happen.

  "You don't agree," Manuel says bluntly, reading me as well as he always does when I don't reply to his comments.

  I let out a small sigh and shake my head. "Luis doesn't spar with women."

  "He would make an exception if I ordered him."

  I lift alarmed eyes, silently asking Manuel to drop the idea. If he orders Luis to spar with me, I will get hurt. Luis won't pull his punches, he'll allow his anger to override the point of the exercise and destroy me. Even if I am a match or better than Luis, I won't be able to fight back the way I need to if he comes after me with murderous intent. He is my boss’s son.

  "One day you'll have to learn to work with my son. Find a way past his anger and you'll discover a fair and loyal man."

  I remain silent, looking down at my feet. Seconds pass, ticking by with painful slowness.

  Finally, Manuel releases me. "You may go." Before I reach the door, his soft voice calls out, "Sleep well, Lena."

  I frown as I climb the stairs up to my bedroom. Manuel doesn't cross the line with me. Ever. Not even to wish me well, or a good night. His small moment of affection feels strangely significant.

  4

  Lena

  I'm sitting in the back seat of the sleek black town car next to Manuel. He asked me to accompany him to a meeting with one of his contacts. It's somewhat unusual for a mafia 'girlfriend' to attend a business meeting, but most of Manuel's colleagues have gotten used to seeing me at these meetings.

  Manuel Ramirez is top of the food chain; he commands unlimited respect and is allowed to bring whomever he wants to a business meeting. He's one of the most dangerous men in the world. Wealthy beyond belief, his money is acquired through drugs and human trafficking. But he's also an arms dealer and a smart investor. He takes me everywhere and his men have gotten used to talking in front of me. None know of our arrangement. It’s a good one. I keep him safe and he pays me well.

  I fuck up, and well... I've never fucked up so I don't know exactly what he'd do. Manuel is a cold man, though sometimes I think he's softened toward me. I'm under no illusion though that he won't ship me back to where he found me if I fuck up.

  So, I don’t fuck up.

  Except tonight. Because we're both distracted by Luis. He’s being his usual self, a bully, mean and unforgiving. He's arguing with his father about my presence at the upcoming meeting. He thinks a female bodyguard is emasculating.

  "I can act as your bodyguard, you don't need this…” His eyes drift down my body, taking in my tight black bodysuit, functional but sexy, and low heels. "… whore."

  Manuel just laughs. "Leave it alone, boy. Where I go, she goes. End of discussion. Besides she dolls up my arm, how can you argue with such a piece accompanying me?"

  I flinch at being hated by one and objectified by the other.

  "She doesn't belong in a room with such men. They’ll think you've lost your touch, that you've fallen in love with a woman young enough to be your granddaughter."

  Manuel continues to take a light-hearted approach. "Good, then perhaps they'll underestimate me, and I'll be able to steal their business right out from underneath them."

  "You aren't listening. She weakens you in the eyes of our competitors. You look like a weak-minded fool when you take a woman like her into these meetings."

  I try to diffuse the tension. "I'll stay quiet and not interfere."

  Luis grabs me by the throat, slamming me back against my seat, squeezing me with painful force. I'm armed and well-trained. A hand to my neck is a small thing and I know how to break the hold, but I don’t dare. Luis may not be my employer, but he is Manuel’s son. If I challenge him, fight him, I'll lose one way or another.

  "Were you given permission to speak?" Luis snarls in my face.

  With the argument occupying our attention, none of us are prepared for the car that slams into us. Into the driver’s side, crumpling the metal of the front and back door, essentially eliminating that side as a means of escape. Luis is thrown on top of me when the car hits and we're both momentarily dazed.

  Before we can r
eact, the side door is yanked open and we're hauled out. Luis, Manuel and I. Black sacks are thrown over our heads, our hands tied behind our backs and then we're shoved into another vehicle. I hear a shot. I think our driver is dead.

  We are in transit for about 20 minutes. Manuel tries to speak, to give Luis rapid instructions, but his words are cut off when someone shouts at us to shut up. A dull thunk follows and Manuel groans. Every muscle in my body tenses as I try to fight the instinct to protect my principal. Now is not the time, I'm at too much of a disadvantage. If I fight in the car, with my hands behind my back, I could get all three of us killed.

  I try to track every turn the car makes. I kick my shoes off and leave them in the car when it stops. We're pulled from the vehicle one at a time and the sacks are removed. We’re in a warehouse. Both Manuel and Luis are thrust to their knees on a dirty cement floor, their hands still tied behind their backs. This is going to be an execution if I don’t stop it.

  I assess the situation. There are five men. I'm completely outnumbered. The best I can hope for is that they decide to rape me. Separate me. Separate themselves.

  "Oh god, no, please don't do this!" I start screaming, crying for Manuel, trying to struggle out of the grip of the man holding me, trying to get to Manuel, drawing attention to myself. It works.

  The man holding me backhands me across the face. I let him, falling to the floor, sobbing. One of the men, tall, angry, the leader says to the man who hit me to take me to the back. Leave him and the other to deal with Manuel and Luis. Have a good time with the Ramirez whore.

  Three men haul me away. It’s almost too easy. They drag me to a room with a mattress, then cut my binding, freeing my hands, and I nearly cry out at the unexpected bonus. They toss me on the dirty mattress and stare down at me like a pack of hungry wolves. I move my hand to the inside of my jacket at my waist. They don't wait, don't argue over who gets to go first, the man that had held me before throws himself on top of me and my knife, which I now have in my hand. As he falls, I bring the knife to his gut, stabbing and slashing upward. He screams as his blood gushes through my fingers, soaking my chest and stomach. The other two men grab him instead of neutralizing me. Fools. I pull my gun from the holster at my back, shoot one in the head, the other in the heart.

  I don't pause. I roll to my feet and start running out of the room back to Manuel just as a shot rings out and I see my boss fall. The gun swings toward Luis' head, the finger about to squeeze the trigger.

  I shoot him in the head, dead before his body hits the ground. Luis drops to the concrete next to the body, hunching low as I clear the room. A bullet whizzes past my face right before I take out the last man.

  I rush to Manuel’s side, dropping to my knees, a hand on his shoulder. But he’s dead. No one survives a bullet in the middle of the forehead. I look toward Luis who is staring at me with hard, cold dark eyes. Then a fist slams into the side of my head and darkness engulfs me.

  5

  Luis

  I watch as they shoot my father, as she rounds the corner. The bodyguard, her gun drawn, and her bullets, deadly, accurate, too late. Then she races to my father’s side and falls to her knees. He’s dead. She looks up at me, fear in her eyes. Not sadness, not grief. Shock maybe. Doesn't matter. I don't know her relationship with the old man, and now, I don't care. He ruled her, dictated every move she made. A deadly, trained and beautiful viper. She lived under his shadow, she needed him. But now he’s dead and she belongs to me. I won't give her a chance to flee.

  Our other men have arrived, minutes too late. Lena doesn't notice. I nod to my cousin, Arturo, then to Lena. He slams his fist into her head, and she crumples. A vision. Someone I’m hungry for, someone I can’t get out of my mind. But not right now. Later.

  Arturo frees me as more men arrive. I have no time to grieve for my father. Arturo picks up Lena and carries her to the waiting car. Throws her in the back seat. “Restraints,” I say. “Tight. Make sure her weapons are taken."

  My other men come out shaking their heads at the death of our patriarch, head of the family. This assassination of my father cannot go unpunished, but Lena has killed all the men, so there is no one to question. No one to hold accountable for this crime against my family.

  And we cannot linger. The shots will call attention to us. We quickly leave, my father’s body in another car, Arturo and I in the back seat of a car with the unconscious bodyguard. She's soaked in the blood of the men she killed. Her hair is pulled down, her body crumpled. Such a small woman for someone so lethal, I think as I examine her. Arturo does too, brushing some stray hair from her face. Running the back of his hand down her cheek. He looks at me. “We should fuck her, Luis.”

  I nod. I have every intention of doing just that. Locking her up in a cage and fucking her until I use her up. And then killing her. Arturo can have her too, if that’s what he wants. She failed my father. She let him be killed. Now she will pay with her body, then her life.

  6

  Lena

  When I wake up, I'm alone in a room. I’m naked, blood of my victims still on me. I want to vomit my head hurts so much. I have no weapons even though that doesn’t make me helpless. But it leaves me vulnerable.

  I drop a hand between my legs, check for soreness, inflammation, violation. Nothing. I’m not sure if I’m relieved by this. I assume I’ve been kept alive for a reason and that, eventually, they’ll fuck me before killing me. It might have been better if they’d gotten it over with while I was unconscious.

  There is a bathroom off the room I am in. Small and dirty, but it has a shower. I use the toilet, then turn on the shower, letting the trickle of cold water wash the blood off me. There’s no towel, no soap, but I am better without the blood. A small mirror shows the bruises on my face. When I was slapped by one of the kidnappers, then the punch to my temple, bruising the side of my cheek. I'm thirsty and try to scoop water from the tap into my hand and up to my mouth. A little gets in and I feel better for it.

  Then there is nothing to do but wait. And I do, for days. After the first day, when hunger starts to cause a voracious ache in my belly, I try to tentatively call through the door, then as the day wanes I bang and shout. I search for escape, but there is none. No windows, nothing, just the thick, immovable door.

  I am starting to despair that they have forgotten about me when the door is finally unbolted. I have lost track of time; the single bare light in the ceiling burns a dull yellow all the time. I think maybe two or three days have passed. I’m hungry, thirsty and feel fear again. Something that I had lost when I was taken by Manuel, because he gave me a warm home with unlimited food, a private bedroom and the knowledge that I wouldn’t be molested. But now the fear is back, because Manuel is dead and I don’t know where I am or what's going to happen to me.

  Two men enter the room. Luis and his cousin, Arturo, who is holding a length of chain. Luis is not afraid of me, never has been. Maybe he underestimates my skills, or maybe I underestimate his. “Stand up,” he says coldly.

  I obey.

  “I’m sorry I failed to protect Manuel.” As soon as the words leave my mouth I'm rewarded with a sharp slap to my cheek. Hard enough to rock me back on my feet, but I don’t react otherwise.

  “You let him die.” His voice is seething. I hear the grief and anger. "You don't get to speak his name."

  I realize in that moment that my days are numbered. That I won't survive whatever he has planned for me. I do nothing to defend myself. The truth is that Luis is Manuel’s only son. Luis, who is as strong, deadly and cruel as his father. He steps into his father’s shoes now. He owns everything, including me. I have no defense against him unless I kill him. And that too would be a death sentence. My desire to live is strong though, maybe stronger than his desire to see me dead. He’ll fuck up eventually, and I’ll be ready.

  Luis’ eyes flicker toward Arturo who is watching me hungrily, his gaze travelling my naked body. Disgust churns in my stomach. Arturo is a pig. He helped himsel
f to Manuel’s female product, breaking more women than I can count. Once they were used up and useless, they’d be sold or discarded. He was family though, would only get a hand slap for playing too rough with the merchandise. I’ve seen him in action, I don’t want him touching any part of me. Don't know if I can stop myself from fighting back if he tries.

  “Chain her,” Luis commands. I automatically balk, stepping back. If they tie me down, I can’t fight effectively if I need to. Luis pulls his gun and points it at my head. “Fight him and I’ll kill you.”

  He's deadly serious. Every line of his body begs me to fight, to give him a reason. As Arturo approaches, and puts his hands on my cold, naked skin, I think about fighting. Think about finishing this here and now. Giving Luis what he wants and saving myself the suffering he clearly has planned. A bullet will be faster and more dignified.

  But I can’t do it. If my survival instincts weren’t strong, I would’ve died years ago. Murdered by the men who took me when my family couldn’t pay Bratva protection for their small shop. I’d been left to rot in a Russian whorehouse, but I’d fought the men wildly every time they came near me. I was too dangerous to keep with the other women, so I’d been beaten severely and sold. Manuel recognized defensive wounds when he saw them and must have seen something in them that he thought would make me a good bodyguard. He bought me, cleaned me up, had his security teach me how to fight and put me to work.

  I knew one day I would make a mistake, fail. Everyone makes mistakes. In a way, since I entered Manuel’s organization, I’d been waiting for this.

  Arturo handles me roughly as he wraps the chain around my neck, locks it tight against my skin, barely allowing me space to breath. The length is left to drape down between my breasts. He pulls a set of handcuffs from his back pocket and, cuffing my wrists together, locks them to the chain. He grabs the chain, close to my neck and jerks it toward the floor. The movement is so sudden I hit the concrete floor hard, scraping my knees. I bite back a cry and allow him to bend me in half until my cheek is pressed to the floor. He kneels on my lower back as he attaches the chain to a ring in the floor. I have just enough room to push myself up on my hands and knees.