Page 13 of Fast Vengeance

Brock checked the peephole, unlocked the door and looked at her before opening it. “See you soon.”

Not soon enough. “I’m looking forward to it.” To being alone with him again, but even more, knowing the animal who took her family and dignity away would finally face justice.

Maybe then she could start sleeping at night.

Chapter Four

“Ruiz.”

Carlos sat up stiffly on his bunk and eyed the tray the guard shoved through the slot of his cell in disgust. But it was either eat the shit they called food, or starve.

And…there might be something even more important to be gained from the sorry excuse of a meal than simple nourishment.

Bracing a hand on the edge of the bunk he pushed to his feet, covering a wince as pain forked through his right leg. After lying down for the past few hours it was more stiff than usual. The bastards wouldn’t let him use his cane, so he clamped his jaw tight and took the few steps over to the cell door, refusing to show how much it hurt.

They kept him in solitary confinement. He’d always liked time to himself, but the feeling of being trapped got to him more and more each day. They wouldn’t allow him contact with the regular guards or other inmates, too afraid that he would be able to continue running his business from inside the walls of the prison.

They didn’t realize he’d already found a way.

When Carlos retrieved the Styrofoam tray the guard slammed the small slot shut, whistling some cheery tune as he walked away. The tray contained a lump of some sort of meat covered in what had to be packaged gravy, an ice-cream scoop full of instant mashed potatoes, and those disgusting mixed peas and square carrot bits that came out of a bag in the freezer section of the grocery store.

He painfully shuffled back to his bunk, thinking of the meals he used to eat. Before he’d been locked in this dump, he’d had it all. A huge private estate, a private chef, and his own menagerie of animals in his own private zoo. Now here he was, locked away twenty-three hours every day, eating slop he wouldn’t feed to his pet pot-bellied pigs.

The hard mattress barely gave when he sat on it and began forcing the food down his throat. The hot ball of anger burned hotter with each bite. Tomorrow was going to be bad. There was no avoiding it.

His lawyer had begged him months ago to take the plea deal offered to him by the U.S. Attorney’s office. He’d refused initially because it was the last fuck you available to him. They had enough evidence to keep him in here the rest of his life anyway. Why not waste their time and force them to prepare for trial?

He’d waited until the last possible moment before the trial began to accept the deal. And only because he faced the death penalty if they went to trial and the jury found him guilty.

The burn in his stomach intensified, turned into a hot coal scorching beneath his ribs. He’d sat in that courtroom day after day as the evidence was brought forth. FBI and DEA agents had testified. Forensics and financial experts. The victim impact statements were what would sway the judge to hand down a severe sentence. Widows and teenage children of the DEA agents killed by his men in that shootout two years ago.

He set down his tray, stretched his right leg out and rubbed at the stiff muscles, the long-healed bullet wounds still causing him pain every day of his life. All because of a female investigative reporter out on a crusade to expose him and the rest of the Veneno cartel.

He suffered daily, but he’d made sure she suffered more. He’d taken away her family. Given her to his men for a few weeks before she was rescued. And while she’d been up there on the witness stand delivering her victim impact statement, looking down at him with that righteous, arrogant expression, she’d talked about what she’d endured, and the things she’d learned during her captivity.

Carlos had been shocked at the things his men had said in front of her. Sensitive, important things about players within the cartel, ongoing and upcoming operations they never should have talked about in front of an outsider, even if they thought she was drugged or unconscious. Of course, all of them had expected her to be shipped off to Asia with the rest of the women they’d captured, where she wouldn’t be a threat anymore because she wouldn’t survive long.

He’d met Victoria Gomez in person only once, while she was his prisoner. She’d surprised him with her resolve to fight, spitting in his face even while chained to the floor in a shed out back of his property on the Gulf Coast.

Now he realized he’d made a serious mistake in walking away that night, rather than caving her skull in with his cane as he’d wanted to. He should have killed her when he’d had the chance, but he’d been so focused on making her suffer as much as possible.

He pushed his fork through his dinner, didn’t detect what he was hoping for. Scooping up a bite of the dubious-looking meat, he thought about the day he’d seen her in the courtroom a month ago. He’d met her hate-filled gaze from across that courtroom and smiled in satisfaction. He may never be a free man again. But what he’d done to her in retaliation for exposing and nearly getting him killed would haunt her the rest of her days.

And as to the man who’d turned him over to the Americans…

Carlos had taken steps to hand over the reins of his old organization. His possible successor had scores of his own to settle. He would carry on the war to end El Escorpion—someone Carlos had been loyal to and considered a friend—and take control of the Veneno cartel. It was the only revenge Carlos could get now.

His back teeth hit something hard and he immediately stopped chewing, excitement flashing through him.

Yes.

He pulled the small white capsule from between his lips, his heart beating faster. He didn’t get news as often these days as he had in the past. Had wondered if maybe the prison officials had become suspicious of his source within the kitchen.

Opening the gel capsule with his teeth, he pulled out the tiny piece of paper and unrolled it. Eagerly scanned the handwritten words.

I accept.

Carlos closed his eyes a moment in thankfulness, then rolled the paper back up, slipped it back into the capsule, and swallowed it with a mouthful of bland, cold mashed potatoes. As he ate the rest of his meal he glanced around his barren cell, the heaviness of his burden now eased. He would likely spend the rest of his days in here or somewhere similar, die an old man between prison walls without ever tasting freedom again.

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