Page 6 of Faded Gray Lines
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 agringa. 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.
While Val headed straight for his fully-stocked bar, I decided on a quick nap before we headed back out for our nightly meeting. Flopping onto the couch, I pressed every button on the remote control until one of them sparked the eighty-inch flat screen television on the wall to life. The damn thing was obnoxious, and I couldn’t help but smirk. While Val’s father’s extravagant lifestyle initially repulsed him, I laughed at how easily he’d become accustomed to the finer things in life since taking over. Not that I had any complaints. I spent more time here than I did at my own place.
I’d almost dozed off when Val came storming into the room, his footsteps heavy and fierce.
“¡Cálmate!” His eyes glazed with irritation as a voice shouted on the other end of the line. “I said, calm down, Brody. I can’t understand you for shit. Hold on.” Pulling the phone away from his ear, Val pressed a button, and the room filled with the incoherent ramblings of the second in command of Houston operations. “Okay, now you’re on speaker with Mateo and me.”
Brody cleared his throat. “Is anyone else there?”
We were trained to ignore emotion and react with logic, but from the first four words out of his mouth, Brody and logic weren’t even in the same state.
“What do you think?” Val growled, rolling his eyes toward me.
“I need a favor.”
“Of course you do.” Leaving the phone on the coffee table, he walked to another glass bar nestled in the corner of the room and refilled his stem of tequila.
The desperation coming from the other end of the line didn’t sit well with me. Brody hadn’t lived cartel life long enough to understand desperation. Staring down the barrel of a gun while one pressed to the back of your skull—that was desperation. However, something in his tone made me sit up and pay attention.
“Do you remember when Manuel Muñoz kidnapped Eden?”
Val’s face tightened at hearing the name of the man who’d almost killed us all. “Why would you bring that up?”
