36
Mecca
My leg muscles jumped as my nerves grated across each other, chipping off more of my anger so that my mind could bring in clearer thoughts. I’d finally decided to take the seat Corvel had offered after he had gotten up and fixed himself a second drink. The guards appeared bored out of their minds, not paying me any attention anymore.
Had I just drawn a weapon on the number two man in one of the deadliest cartels in the country? There was no coming back from an action like that, and he was more than likely considering how I would die.
A deep squint furrowed my forehead when I realized that Corvel had only appeared upset when he was on the phone. He was too cool as he continued to take sips from his drink, swirling it around the glass as he relaxed into his expensive couch. What the hell were we waiting for?
When the rotors of a helicopter sounded fifteen tense minutes later, I prayed it was one of the workers watching television. However, the sound was distinct and hard to mistake for anything else.
Who had he called? Was it his kill specialists, the ones that did high-level murders for him? Were they going to torture me first?
It had taken a while to soak in that the Black Saints, the Vallin name, and the syndicate made me a triple threat and a high-value target. Therefore, taking me out would be a top-level order to be carried out by the organization’s best.
The bold actions I had taken with Corvel was punishable by death, but they didn’t need to bring in anyone special on my account. One or two to the head was perfectly fine with me as I preferred to have my lights turned out quickly so I didn’t have to sit and agonize over the things I would have done differently. I didn’t want to wait in my misery and wish for more time with Arjen or pray to see Desiree one last time.
“Who is that?” I aimed a finger at the ceiling as it sounded like the helicopter was lifting off after dropping its passenger.
“Silvia Cardenas,” Corvel answered nonchalantly like he hadn’t just revealed to me that he had conjured up the devil. “She needs to talk with you before we proceed.”
Silvia showed up for one thing, and I was sure she wasn’t coming to talk. Now, I knew without a sliver of doubt that I was deader than a motherfucker. Silvia was called the Death Whisperer, and my death would be the most horrific shit known to man.
Although my insides were churning like a windmill, I sat as poised as Corvel. I rarely allowed fear to creep into my bones, but it was hard not to wrap your arms around the emotion when the mother of death had arrived by helicopter in response to something I had done.
The click of her heels echoed throughout the house, the sound appearing to rattle the rooms the closer she got. The first thing I saw was the white of her expensive suit.
The woman wore elegance like it was a part of her essence. Her hair was swept up in a curly up-do, supported by small diamond-studded accessories. Her caramel complexion glowed with a bronzed tint. Her features hinted that her ancestors were not only Hispanic, but possibly Native-American and African-American because she seemed a perfect blend of all three.
Corvel stood, so I did the same with HB gripped tight in my hand. When Silvia and Corvel walked towards each other, and he drew her into a big bear hug that lifted her off her feet, I didn’t know what to think. He placed a tender kiss on each of her cheeks that she returned.
“I missed you, brother,” she said in Spanish.
Brother?
Corvel was her brother? My eyes widened at the knowledge while I stared in slack-jawed awe.
Once they stepped away from each other, the resemblance became obvious. She stood in place beside her brother, appraising me. She didn’t appear upset that I was standing there with a gun in my hand.
I suppose she could afford to be unbothered, being who she was. There were probably ten snipers with weapons aimed at me from every point that had the maximum effective range to blow me straight to Kingdom Come.
“I hear you have been stirring up a lot of trouble, young lady. Why would you do something as foolish as pull a gun on the hands that feed you, and the one person standing between you and me?”
“Because two people have died at my hands, naming this cartel as targeting me for death. Another confirmed that this cartel hired him to watch me. I’m worth more to you alive, so I came here to find out why you want me dead?”
A hard swallow help dislodge my words that were flowing from my brain faster than I could spit them out.
“Mr. Corvel confirmed that he knew about mine and my husband’s ambushes. I demanded to know why you wanted me dead. He wouldn’t tell me. The next thing I knew, we were sitting here waiting for you.”
She glared at Corvel like she wanted to kill him more than me. She turned in his direction, and they went off on a tangent in Spanish, full-on fussing. This was an unexpected turn as neither of them had ever lost control, especially not in front of people.
He mentioned being the middleman. What was he in the middle of? This situation was starting to take a weird fucking turn. Was Corvel planning to tell her that I spoke Spanish, or did he want me to hear their conversation?
When she turned away from Corvel to face me this time, the anger on her face was apparent.
“Mecca, we need to have a serious talk.”
“Ma’am, I have all the respect for you in the world, but if you want me dead, can we not prolong it? All I ask is that you leave my husband, his people, and the Black Saints out of this. I acted alone and take full responsibility for my actions.”