He twisted to find the same determination in Tomas’ hard eyes.
Martin and Ricky wouldn’t have been able to finish this job. They loved Tula too much to hurt her sister. In fact, they might never forgive him for the things he was about to do.
“I’m gonna take a walk and do some reconnaissance.” Tomas pushed off the wall. “Try not to get yourself killed while I’m gone.”CHAPTER 4Dinner included lamb chops with balsamic reduction, crispy Hasselback potatoes, carrot soufflé, and superficial chitchat with five disgustingly wealthy slave buyers. Appetite long gone, Luke slid his fork away, fighting the impulse to repeatedly stab them with it.
“Best lamb I had in ages.” Lester, with his snake-skinned boots and Texan drawl, leaned back from his empty plate and lit a cigar. “Wouldn’t you agree, John?”
“No. My whore of a mother cooked better than this slop.” Luke lied through smiling lips, prompting a ripple of laughter around the table.
He’d lied about his name, his mansion in Tahoe, his trophy wife, and his undefeated golf game at the country club. They all lied, and they all knew they were spouting canards to one another. It was the most pointless, fucked-up dinner conversation in history.
Maybe this was a game to them, to see who could spout the most bullshit without getting called out. After two hours of table talk, he still didn’t know their real names, real occupations, or anything genuine or useful.
They were master manipulators. Whatever powerful positions they held—CEOs, politicians, investment moguls—they hadn’t achieved their success honestly.
They were bad men, the sort who fraternized with a cartel and fucked underage girls. Someday their sins would catch up to them. If he moved quickly enough, he could be the one to deliver what they deserved.
Tomas ate alone on the other side of the veranda, ever the scowly, unapproachable bodyguard. He wasn’t the only plus one. Most of the guests had brought along a male attendant. They probably couldn’t function without their personal servants wiping their asses.
Without looking, Luke marked Vera’s footsteps in and out of the dining area. She hadn’t eaten with them, hadn’t sat down long enough to join the conversation. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was avoiding him.
La Rocha guards loitered in the periphery. Cantina girls, dressed in corsets and garters, kept the food and drinks coming. Hector’s sons had yet to make an appearance, and no one seemed to care.
Except Luke. He wanted to see the faces of his primary targets.
“Are you betting on the fight tonight?” Ted, a wrinkly old man with sharp eyes and a frail body, met his gaze across the table.
“Fight?” He took a swig of peated whiskey, swallowing the smoky burn with a trickle of dread.
“Oh, yeah.” Ted gestured at the grassy area beyond the veranda’s railing. “It’ll start out there any minute. I have a hundred grand riding on it.”
A hundred grand? On what? A cockfight? Dog fight? Knowing the cartel, it would be any manner of cruelty, and he wanted nothing to do with it.
Lester flicked the ash from his cigar. “Putting your money on the girl, old man?”
“Are you kidding?” Ted laughed. “I saw what she’s up against. She won’t last the first round.”
“Human girl?” Luke yawned, pretending a blithe disregard. “Or something else?”
“They say she’s human, but I hear she looks and fights like an animal.”
“Well, hell.” Twisting in the chair, Lester motioned at one of the half-dressed servants. “I’m in. Might even bet against you, Ted.”
More laughter and Luke feigned a moderate chuckle. Maybe the girl was a trained fighter, someone they brought in and paid for a harmless night of entertainment.
But he knew better.
“Gentlemen.” Vera approached the table, smothering his senses in a cloying fog of perfume. “If you’re ready to move to the railing, the show will begin shortly.”
The table emptied as everyone grabbed their drinks and ambled toward the long bar that overlooked the lawn. Everyone but Luke.
“I didn’t get a chance to tell you about the fight.” She stepped closer, her breasts rising over the low neckline of her dress. “It’s not too late to place a bet.”
“Who or what is the girl fighting?”
“I don’t want to ruin the surprise.”
“Will it be a fair fight?”
She shrugged.
He couldn’t bet against a dead girl. “I’ll sit this one out.”
“Suit yourself.” She scanned the room as if looking for an excuse to move away from him. “Did you enjoy your dinner?”
“I prefer a private meal with a beautiful woman. Tell me something.” He reclined, resting his fingers on the arms of the chair. “What do you get out of this?”
“This?”
“You deal in sex but blush when you’re propositioned.”
“No, I—”
“You keep dangerous company but run from the smallest confrontation.”
Her face turned crimson. “I do not—”
“There’s that blush. Listen, I’m sure La Rocha pays you well. And not just that. They give you security. Protection. You’re loyal to them because they stand between you and whatever it is you fear.”