Author: AJ Adams
Category: Humorous
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/aj-adams/page,17,480082-twisted_a_zeta_cartel_novel_book_5.html
"Joder, that's awesome."
"That's thinking ahead."
"A chip off our own jefe!"
Their spontaneous praise warmed me. "If anyone is waiting, we'll come up from underneath or behind them. That will give us the advantage."
It went seamlessly from picking the abandoned office's lock to removing the air vent cover. We were in our own building's basement, fifty yards from the penthouse lift, when a Kawasaki Ninja screamed out from a parked van. The rider came straight for us, ducking low. The man sitting behind him had an AK47.
"Incoming!" I saw Paco dive and take cover behind a purple Toyota. Lencho was right with him. But James was five steps away and caught in the open. He squeezed off a shot, and it went wide.
The AK was up and as in slow motion I heard the rat-tat-tat of semi-automatic fire. I had my Magnum out and was running back, covering James. Bullets sprayed past my feet, missing me by an inch. The bike aimed right for me. I ducked and rolled, slamming into a Volvo. Throwing yourself into one of those Swedish bricks is never good, but it's better than being hit by a bullet.
As I went down, I got a clear shot. My bullet went straight into the shooter's shoulder. The AK clattered to the ground, the Ninja screamed around a corner and then it was over. Except, James was down.
"Joder!" I was over there in a heartbeat. "James! Talk to me!"
As I felt the warmth of spilling blood, I was praying to Lady Guadalupe, sweet merciful lady, do what you want to me, but look after my brother.
"The fucker shot me!" His face was ashen but he was alive. "Qué cabrón!"
"Let me see." I was tearing at the bulletproof vest. It could turn away a knife and a handgun bullet but it couldn't stop an AK47. There was blood all over my hands, staining my wrists. "How bad is it?"
"I'll lift him," Lencho was by my side, helping.
"Careful!" My heart was trying to punch its way out of my chest but I sounded cool. "Roll him, Lencho, it's safer."
The instant I got a good look, I knew it was okay. The bullet had hit him just below the vest, high up the meaty part of his thigh. It had torn out a chunk of flesh and it was bleeding like a tap but it had missed the major arteries.
I breathed again. "James, you stupid fuck. You got shot in the ass."
He lay on the ground, surrounded by spent bullets, bleeding away but laughing. "Shit, that's embarrassing."
Knowing he wouldn't bleed out, I was filled with relief. Thank you, Lady Guadalupe! I'll see you right, promise. I crossed myself, to show her it was a deal and glanced about. Thanks to the cops out front, there wasn't a soul in the garage.
We'd been damn lucky. But they'd be on their way.
"Okay, back to the air vent." And to prevent a telltale trail of blood. "We carry James."
"Hang on." Paco had stripped off his jacket and wrapped it around James. "It can soak up the blood."
With me holding James by the shoulders and Lencho and Paco his legs, we got out of there at a run. Poor James didn't make a sound, but it must have fucking hurt. It was worth it, though, because we didn't leave a trail. As it was, we were cutting it fine. I could hear voices as I lifted the air vent cover. The cops were coming.
I pushed Lencho into the shaft first, "Go, and drag James by the collar. Quick!" It was brutal, but we got him out and Paco was closing the cover before anyone could guess where we'd gone. There was some blood in the vent but not anywhere else. They'd need to use dogs to follow us and it was unlikely they'd try that. They wouldn't have the budget.
Sitting in the abandoned office on the other side, we had a breathing space. Panic and stress make for piss-poor decisions, and so I determined to take five and think. "James, catch your breath."
"Sure thing." He was pale but holding it together.
"Paco, wipe the security feed."
He whipped out his phone. "On it."
"Lencho, let's clean away all that DNA we left behind. I want every sprinkler in the basement on full."
He punched in codes to access Zeta Towers' emergency systems. "Okay."
With our trail covered, we were on top of essentials. Now to get out in one piece and get James the help he needed. I made a call of my own, contacting a doctor.
By the time I was done, we could hear yelling from the other side of the vent. The cops were getting a good soaking. I checked James. He was still bleeding, but it was sluggish. Soon, we'd be good to go. "There will be people walking about. That means we need to look cool. In a few minutes, you'll walk with us to the lift, okay?"
"Yeah. No problem."
Told you. He's solid.
"Even without DNA, the cops will be a pain in the ass," Lencho sighed. "There are bullets all over the place."
The AK47 shoots thirty rounds and as it packs a real punch, they'd find metal embedded in concrete, car engines and more.
We were on home turf, so I wasn't worried. "With no eyewitness and no security footage, it's not an issue. We weren't there. And they won't realise we're next door."
"I'm ready to go," James said.
"Not so fast." I took off my jacket and vest and stripped off my shirt. "Sit still, pendejo, and let me plug this hole first. We don't want you leaking all over." Patching up wounds is a field skill all we Zetas have.
"Coño!" Paco was staring at my arm. Slamming into the Volvo had not helped it. "What the fuck happened to you?"
"That's a bullet graze," Lencho said. "You got shot? When?"
"It's nothing." I made a bandage of my shirt, used the sleeves to tie it up, covered the whole thing with Paco's jacket. As we'd all worn regulation black, it doesn't show blood, he'd look okay if anyone glimpsed him. "Mira qué cabrón!" I told him. "What did I say about headshots?"
"Sorry. I clean forgot."
"Well, getting shot will teach you."
He grinned. "I think it will stick."
I put my shoulder next to his, "Can you stand?"
He was up on his feet. "Sure. I can walk to the next block and call a cab."
"No fucking way." We escorted him carefully, me holding him up one side and Lencho the other, but the bandage was holding well. "I have an apartment here. We take the lift and the doctor comes to you. She's already on her way."
"I didn't know you had a place here," Paco said surprised.
I had five apartments in various names all over the city, partly as an investment but mostly because if the shit ever hit the fan, I wanted options.
It's good to plan for failure, it's the only way to survive, but most people take it badly, so I lied. "It's off the books because I don't want you bastards stashing your chupitas there."
James was on it straight away, "Any chance of a waiting blonde?"
"No." I pushed him into the lift. "But I might get you a nice nurse."
"Boss, you're the best."
I felt it, I really did. It was my fault he'd got shot, I was the one in charge, and yet he was smiling. It got to me but I pulled myself together. "You did this on purpose. You want an excuse to hang out in bed with chupitas."
"Being shot in the ass, he'll have to be on top," Paco laughed.
We joked with him all the way into the apartment but James was pale and shivery. That's the problem with being popped. It's a real shock to the system. Thankfully, the doctor arrived as we got him stripped and into bed.
Valentina Gregor had trained in Georgia's finest hospitals but in London, she didn't have a license to practise. "It's nice and clean." She unpacked a travel bag on wheels and set up with swift sure moves. "Are you allergic to anything? Are you on any medicine? Do you take drugs?"
She was a pro. We all relaxed.
"You get a grand just for today," I told her. "And anything else you want, you have only to tell me."
She had amazing grey eyes, huge and filled with fire. "Pay me cash. And no paperwork. No names in no books."
"Understood." I'm not a complete dumbass, and I was grateful, so I made the offer. "If whoever you're hiding from is a problem, I can fix it."
<
br /> She didn't even look at me. "Stay out of my business."
Touchy as hell but I didn't care. She was clean, careful and her stitching was beautiful. This was a medical miracle worker. "Absolutely. You've got my word."
"Want to stay the night?" James eyed her blonde hair.
"No fun and games for you. Lie still and rest." She bandaged the wound and gave him a shot. Then she glanced at me. "Want me to check that arm?"
"No." I got on the phone to Curzon Street. Yes, the high-class brothel. "Saffron, preciosa, you've got a girl who trained as a nurse? Melinda? Melissa? Melanie? Right, Miranda. Great. I want her."
Thank God I'd prepped the apartment for trouble, so we had soap in the bathroom, fresh shirts in the closet, and a bottle of tequila in the bar. By the time we got ourselves cleaned up, the doc had gone, the nurse had arrived, and James was pale but comfortable. Whatever Valentina had given him, it was working beautifully.
"Boss, watch your back." Typical James. Drugged up to the eyeballs but still on the job. "That Kowalczyk is smarter than we thought."
"Stop worrying." But I knew he was right. "Get some rest. I'll check in on you in the morning."
"Smith will be waiting."
"Coño! Sleep already!"
In the living room, we made plans. "Smith will go to the judge, asking for a warrant. Even if he gets it, he won't get anywhere because the office is legit."
Lencho was already on it. "The staff have given him coffee and a sales talk on why he should invest in our company."
"Good. But let's give him something to chew on. Paco, copy some legit paperwork but add in a typo. I want it to look as if one of our businesses is making way too much cash. Have someone print the memo and leak it to him."
"Okay. Where do you want him to go?"
"Send him to Birmingham. We've got a sugar factory there. Make him think we're processing coke."
Paco nodded. "Give me five minutes, and our bloodhound will be racing north."
With Smith out of the way for a few days, we'd hit back at Kowalczyk. I wasn't letting it show, but I was worried. I had underestimated him. I had to up my game. I also had to decide what to do with the fresa. Letting her go was the best option.
I was thinking I'd enjoy her for another night first, when Lencho's phone rang. "Jorge, one of Kowalczyk's bodyguards is boasting he's going to take out Persia York."
Fuck. Kowalczyk wasn't just cutting her loose, he was icing her. His thought process was crystal clear: he'd taken too many hits and now he was making a stand. Persia had let herself be taken and that showed weakness. Now Kowalczyk would send a message to his people: disappoint the boss and pay for it with your life. It shouldn't have bothered me, but it did.
Lencho looked worried. "He says someone spotted her at her family home five minutes ago."
"What?" I couldn't understand it. I'd left her chained up in the tub. There was no way she could have walked. "That's not possible."
"They have a confirmed sighting."
Neither Lencho nor Paco were looking at me but I felt their astonishment. What kind of boss lets a prisoner escape? The damn woman had humiliated me again. I spoke at random. "The attack must have given her an opportunity to walk."
It was crap, but the men pretended to believe me.
Lencho was on his phone again. "The bodyguard is leaving Kowalczyk's now," he said. "And he's carrying."
Persia York had been a colossal pain from the second I met her, and now she'd be taken care of. Kowalczyk would take her out, and when I told the world what he'd done, all his celeb friends would condemn him as scum. The public romance meant couldn't bury his involvement either. It would set off an investigation that would cripple his operation.
Kowalczyk's temper would drive him into fatal error. All I had to do was wait.
Chapter Twelve
Persia
The door shut in my face. I stared at the pale polished wood and well-worn brass knocker, unable to process what had happened. Like a dog dumped on the motorway, I stood there, hoping it was a mistake.
All the humiliation and sacrifice had been for them. I'd done it to save them but they didn't understand. Their horror burned me.
"Slutty Persia." Mrs Smith's penetrating voice carried over from two gardens away. "They finally washed their hands of her."
"About time," Mrs Ohakim sniffed.
They would not let me in. They were inside with each other. They didn't want me. I walked away, so numb that I wasn't certain if my feet were touching the ground. My family had rejected me. It didn't seem real. I was seven years old again, moving from place to place, never wanted, never part of it. I was alone.
I think I was in shock because one moment I was in my road and then I was at Highams Park pond, surrounded by ducks, loudly demanding their tribute. I patted my pockets automatically. "Sorry, I have nothing for you."
No packets of grain, no keys, no phone. Only the clothes on my back, and nowhere to go, in fact. And only loose change left over from the fiver from the kind turban.
Disappointed, the ducks went back to their pond. The ripples drew my gaze to the dark water. To sink away and disappear into the depths. It would solve all my problems. And nobody would miss me.
"Persia." Jorge Santos, stepping out of a dark blue Toyota that had seen better days. Power and danger flowed from him. "Come here."
I was beyond fear. "Bastard." I slapped his face so hard that the sound echoed across the pond, scattering the ducks.
He blinked and his cheek turned fiery red, each one of my fingers standing out clearly, but it didn't rock him. "You have to come with me."
"Stay away from me." I whacked him again. "Fucker."
Again, he just took it. "I got a few things wrong, but it was only business."
I raised my hand but this time he caught my wrist. Pulling me up on tiptoe frustrated my attempted knee to the groin. "Let me go!"
"I let you hit me because I deserved it. But don't try it again." He let go and repeated, "You have to come with me."
"You bastard! There's fake porn all over the Internet! Is that your doing?"
He didn't look even remotely guilty. "I did tape us."
I wanted to belt him again but the glint in his eye warned me not to. "Because I'm a weapon," I said bitterly.
"I didn't use it," he said. "I didn't make the others either. That was Kowalczyk."
He was telling the truth; I saw that. Thanks to Hearts and Minds, I could work out why. "He trashed me so you can't use me to hurt him."
"Yeah." He admitted it with no emotion.
"And now what? You've come to gloat? Rub my nose in it?"
He looked shifty. "I came to warn you."
"Warn me. Right. About what? That my life's over?"
A black Merc appeared out of the gloom. Seeing it, Jorge stiffened. Before I could move, he whipped out a gun. "Down, Persia!"
"What?"
His hand snaked out, grabbing my shoulder. "Down!"
A phew-phew of sound, exactly like in the films, and then Jorge was on his feet and firing. BLAM-BLAM. The boom of the gun had me flat on the ground, pushing my face into the dirt. A squeal of tyres. The ducks taking off in a flock of outraged hoots and honks.
"He's gone." It was over. Jorge pulled me to my feet. He checked me over rapidly. "Yes, you're fine."
I was not. I could not stop shaking. "What the hell? What the fuck is up with today? Has everyone gone goddamn crazy?"
Jorge pushed me into the Toyota. "Get in. We have to leave."
On autopilot, I slide over the seats and ducked down, peering around me to make sure the shooter was gone. "Who was that? They're trying to kill you?"
"Not me. He was aiming at you." Jorge switched on the engine and sighed with relief as it purred into life. "Amateur," he scoffed. "He didn't hit us or take out our transport."
I couldn't take it in. "What do you mean, he was aiming at me?"
He drove off, moving fast. "Didn't you see? He shot past me. He was after yo
u."
"But that's insane! Why would anyone want to shoot me?"
"Maybe he met you." He glanced at me and then softened. "Fresa, I came because Kowalczyk put a hit on you."
This wasn't real. I was dreaming. Having a nightmare. I'd waken up in a second. "No." I pinched myself, hard. Nothing. "You're making it up."
He didn't answer.
Mud and grass streaked the tracksuit I'd taken out of his closet. There was a rip at the knee. I'd gotten that from bouncing off a car in front of his building. "This isn't about me. It's about you."
He handed me his phone. "See for yourself."
It was lit up with posts, many in foreign languages and unreadable, but one was clear. A picture of me on a catwalk somewhere, along with a price tag: £2000.
"Is this a missing person notice? But he knows where I am. You told him you had me. And why's he paying so much?"
Jorge rolled his eyes. "This is on the dark web, not Facebook."
Dark web. The place where criminals sold guns, drugs and God knows what.
"It went up after he posted the deepfakes."
Kowalczyk had trashed me so I'd be of no use to Jorge and therefore… I was puzzling it out. "He thought you'd set me free. But if he wants to see me, all he has to do is call."
"Ay, Persia! The money isn't to find you; it's to kill you!"
It hit me like a tonne of bricks. "There's a price on my head?"
"They're not after the dress. That notice is on a message board dedicated to hits."
The impulse to protest died. I was up to my neck in trouble. For a secret moment, I wished I'd told Colin to sell the house and the restaurant. Getting in with Kowalczyk had plunged us into a living nightmare.
Except, I was alive. Jorge Santos had stood between me and a bullet.
I inspected him. His sallow skin was pale, and he winced as he turned the wheel to corner a tight turn. He'd gone out dressed for war and by the looks of him, he'd found it. Yet he'd come for me. It baffled me. "What's with the rescue mission?"
He was silent, lips pinched together. Then, almost defiantly, "If Kowalczyk wants you dead, I want you alive."
More fucking around with head games. But at least someone wanted me. I pushed away the pain of my family's rejection. It hurt too much. "How did you find me?"