Page 89 of Fast Vengeance

Now she stilled. Was he saying what she thought he was?

She rolled to face him, his features just visible in the dim lighting. “I haven’t seen much of it, to be honest. Is it nice there?”

He grinned at her attempt at humor. “I’ll show you any part of it you want if it means you’ll consider moving there.”

“I’ve never been to Oregon, either. I hear Bend is beautiful.”

He grinned, his teeth gleaming in the light coming through the window. “It’s pretty there too. We could go there for a holiday when we get back to the States, and I’ll introduce you to my mom and cousins.”

Her heart rolled over in her chest. He had utterly captured her heart. “I would love that.”

He gathered her closer. “Then we’ll go. But in the meantime, I think you should stay with me at my place.”

“I would love to stay with you, Gabe,” she whispered against his lips, then kissed him.

But he pulled back, a worried frown creasing his forehead. “What about Ruiz?” His fingers stroked lightly up and down her spine. “If he’s still alive, would it be safe for you?”

She snuggled closer, laid her cheek on his shoulder. “He’s no threat to me now. And I’m not a threat to him either.” He was safely behind bars. Would die there someday. Then all the monsters from her past would finally be gone.

****

Carlos Ruiz’s heart rate kicked up a notch as he read the newspaper article the guard had just given him. Nieto was dead. Apparently so was el Escorpion. And Montoya too.

Carlos wasn’t exactly broken up about losing the man who had taken over his operations, but he sure as hell was happy about the first two being dead. Besides, there were dozens of men who would kill for the chance to take over his territory. It was just a matter of working his connections to find someone strong enough to do the job. Now that the head of the cartel was gone, it was the perfect time for someone with aspirations to take everything over, make it his own.

He couldn’t help but gloat a little. He may never get out of here alive, but he was still alive where the others were dead and he had decades left with which to savor his victory over his rivals. Make plans. Put them into action through his asset here in the prison.

“Ruiz. Breakfast.”

He got up stiffly from his bunk and crossed to the slot where the tray waited. He took it, along with the cup of lukewarm coffee. The slot slammed shut once more as he limped back to his bed.

Coffee in hand, he sipped at it while he read the remainder of the article. Interesting. A DEA agent had been taken prisoner and freed during the operation that had led to Nieto’s death. What had really happened though? Mexican officials were taking full credit for the killings, but Carlos was willing to bet the Americans had been involved somewhat.

He forked up a bite of eggs, then a gooey bit of grits—like cornmeal, but not nearly as appetizing—and swallowed. The food was tasteless but he no longer cared as long as it filled his belly.

Something hard met his tongue on his next mouthful of grits.

Pulse tripping, he pulled out the capsule and cracked it open. The tiny paper was rolled up tight, smaller than usual. He opened it, frowned at the two hastily scrawled words written there.

It’s over.

It could mean any number of things. That Nieto was no longer enjoying his takeover of Carlos’s territory. The end of the Veneno cartel in its current form with el Escorpion’s death. Montoya no longer being in control of Ruiz’s remaining organization.

At any rate, the message unnecessary and unhelpful since he’d just read about it in the paper.

Rolling it back up, he tucked it inside the capsule, sealed it, then swallowed it with a mouthful of coffee. Maybe it was because the coffee was stone cold now, but it tasted far more bitter than usual.

He set the newspaper clipping aside and resumed eating the rest of his breakfast, contemplating what message he should send to his remaining network now. He had to swallow twice to get the next bite of eggs down, as if something was stuck in his throat.

No. As if something was cutting off his airway.

He dropped his fork, shoved the plate away and bent over, grabbing his throat as he began to choke. What the hell? Was he having a heart attack? It felt like there was an elephant sitting on his chest.

He fell off his bunk, managed to crawl to the door. His lungs weren’t working. It was like they were paralyzed. His face was heating, eyes bulging as he gasped for air.

He flung out an arm, managed to bang it against the steel door to draw the guard’s attention.

And then it hit him.

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