“No,” I said, smiling slowly. “You wouldn’t have. You can’t. And you know it. No one gives a flying fuck about you because you haven’t had to do anything to get where you are except just show up. People respect me. I worked for everything I’ve got. You’d last a few hours if you were ever to usurp me and you know it.”

He rolled his eyes. “Point taken. You don’t have to be so mean about it.”

“If I wasn’t mean, I wouldn’t be me.” I leaned forward, hoping he saw how serious I was. “And if I wasn’t crazy, I wouldn’t be me either. I know what I’m doing, Este.”

All right, well that was a complete lie. I had no idea what I was doing or if it would work. I was guessing the odds of getting Luisa out—if she was still alive—were fairly high, but the odds of me surviving, or not being hauled off to prison again, were very low. But for once in my life, the odds were worth the risk.

Two days after I returned from Cabo San Lucas, I finally heard from Lillian Berrellez. She had been my absolute last resort, but I was at the point where I could admit that not only did I need special help in getting Luisa back, but I needed to shed a few points from my moral compass.

In old Mexico, the Mexico I aspired to be a part of, the cartels all operated around each other with an air of respect. Bargains were made—I give you something, you give me something. There were no ruthless, pointless killings in the streets. There were no innocents being raped, murdered, tortured. There were no 16-year-old versions of myself being taught to fire AR-15s. There were no gangs of punks running amok and killing people over fifty dollars worth of stolen cocaine.

We did our business to better ourselves and to better the country. We were vicious and violent but elegant and discreet. There was a dance to all of this, one that kept all things flowing in the right direction, a circle that ensured the smartest and brightest would stay on top, not the man with the most guns and the smallest dick.

And in this dance, there was a code. We are born as Mexicans and we die as Mexicans. Our problems stayed our problems. We never get the States involved in our affairs. The DEA, the FBI, the CIA, they were our enemies, and as cartels, we needed to unite against an enemy that thought they knew what was best for us yet had no idea how our business worked. The USA had no right to tell us, citizens of another country, what we could and couldn’t do. They didn’t live here, they didn’t know. They only knew their privileged, fat, wasteful society while they pointed their fleshy fingers at us and blamed Mexico for all their problems.

When I was let out of prison, it was because I struck a deal with the DEA, an agency that was sometimes more corrupt than we were. I had promised to provide intel when it was needed—something I never wanted to do, something that went against my morals. I also paid a shitload of money.

Lillian Berrellez was a young, attractive, saucy woman who was born in San Diego to Mexican parents. I used to have more than a few fantasies about her while we were striking our bargains. She was a tough nut to crack though, completely devoted to her job, though obviously not above a little bribery. Though I had promised her intel, aside from a few things here and there, stuff that was of no use to her, I had never really given her any since my return to Mexico.

And the funny thing was, she never asked. I suppose she knew I would protect my country before I ratted any of my countrymen out, whether they were enemies or not.

But now, I was asking her. I was providing her with everything she needed to know about Salvador Reyes. I was making a bargain with the enemy across the border, all so I had a chance of getting Luisa out of there alive.

Luisa was a woman who never needed saving. But this time, I was afraid she did. It was too bad that I was going to be the one to have to do it.

“I just don’t understand,” Este went on. “Why Luisa? Do you want to start a family? Have kids until you have a son to carry your name, carry your empire? You’re not the only one, Javier. All the narcos want that, all the narcos have that—except for you. But why her? You can find a hot, pretty woman who’s a good lay anywhere. You could snatch them up in a second. It would be far less complicated. You don’t need to love them to have a family. You just need a willing pussy.” He considered his own words. “Or a non-willing pussy, if you’re anything like most men.”

A few seconds ticked by in silence. I eyed the bottle of scotch I had been imbibing on for the last week, grateful I was putting my days of misery and inertia behind me.

“I just want her,” I found myself admitting. “That is all. It’s that simple.”

He sighed, running his hands through his hair. “Fine. And I know you don’t believe me, but I am just looking out for you. It would be a million times easier for all of us if you just forgot about her.”

“I’ve tried. I can’t.”

“At least let me come with you,” he said. “You know if you go alone the DEA will take you. You’re playing right into their hands. They’ll arrest you.”

“Berrellez said I wouldn’t be touched,” I said. Unless I killed Salvador, I finished in my head. Then she said all bets were off. They wanted that fucker alive. That was going to be the hardest promise to keep.

“And you trust that woman?” Este laughed.

“Not really,” I admitted. “They could very well take in Sal and me at the same time. Two major cartel leaders in one raid. Wouldn’t that buy them a larger pension and a watch. Headlines all across the country chanting, ‘USA, USA!’”

“You do realize I’ll probably never see you again.”

I smiled quietly. “Bury me by the koi pond. And wait at least a day until you crack open the Cristal.”

He chuckled and I added, “Oh, and if I don’t make it out and Luisa does and you happen upon her again, promise me two things.”

He sighed and crossed his arms. “What?”

“One, that you don’t dare lay a finger on her or I will rise from my grave and fuck you up the ass. And don’t you think I won’t enjoy it—I’ll be dead and I’ll take any hole I can get. Two, that you tell her to see my sister Alana in Puerto Vallarta.”

“And then what? Even I don’t know where your sister lives.”

And I intend on keeping it that way. “My sister will also be looking for her. I just want her to be aware.”

He looked uneasy. “Word about this will get out, you know,” he said gravely. “Everyone will know what happened and why you did it. All your enemies will know your weakness—your weakness is women.”

“Women?” I repeated, confused by the plural wording.

He nodded. “Yes. Luisa. And your sisters.”

“I don’t think many know Alana even exists, and Marguerite is safe in the US.”

“Fair enough,” he said. “I guess you can keep Luisa safe, if you get out alive.” He got out of his chair, ready to leave. “Any last requests? Any more noses you want cut to spite your own face?”

“Yes,” I said, twirling my watch around my wrist. “If you do take over, don’t fuck it up. I didn’t build an empire to have you come in and destroy it in seconds flat.”

“Then don’t fuck it up yourself,” he said imploringly. “Don’t do this. Let Luisa go and save your face, save your empire. Save everything you say you worked so hard to build.”

“I told you!” I snapped, frustrated with his inability to understand, though even I was having a hard time understanding myself. “I tried. I just can’t let her go. I can’t let her die.” I composed myself and added softly, avoiding the pity in his face, “I know that makes me a fool…”

“It makes you weak,” he corrected me.

I swept a shrewd eye over to him. “Or maybe it makes me strong.”

After all, a kingdom was only as good as its ruler, and a king and queen could do more damage together than a king alone.

“It makes you aggravating as all hell,” Este said sourly. He sighed. “But you wouldn’t be Javier Bernal if you weren’t.” He left the room.

I poured myself a glass of scotch and wondered if it would be the last scotch I’d ever have. Was Luisa really worth that?

But I knew she was. And if I really wanted to pretend I was still completely selfish, saving Luisa would save me from my own torture, my own demons. Not having her around was hard enough. Her absence ate at me. My dick throbbed for her when my own hand wouldn’t do. She had given me something during the short time she was with me, something I never knew I needed. Now it was gone, she was gone, and I’d become captive to the foolish notion that I could get it back.

It wasn’t that Luisa completed me—she couldn’t be the other half of my so-called soul. But she was all I could ever want, all I could ever need. If I was going to be swallowed by my own dirt one day, I’d rather have her with me, smiling and free.

* * *

The next day, armed with as much detailed information from Juanito as possible—information I had already forwarded to Berrellez—I headed out on my suicide mission. I made sure I looked good. The finest silk and linen suit I owned. Black leather boots—a 9mm in one and my knife in another. Two .38 Supers in my harness under my jacket. A bulletproof vest under everything else.

I couldn’t do anything to protect my head, but at least my hair looked good.

I had Juanito drive me to Mazatlán and drop me off at one of the high-end resorts.

I took my seat at a flashy bar overlooking a glittering blue pool, aviator shades keeping my struggles internal and away from eyes.

“Looking good, Mr. Bernal,” a husky voice said from behind me.

I grinned to myself before I turned and shared it with Lillian Berrellez.

I looked her up and down. “You’re also looking good, Ms. Berrellez,” I said smoothly, in English.

She was a fairly tall woman, nearly my height, with a very tight, curvy build. Her tits were huge and fantastic, and her ass was larger than an aircraft carrier. Her eyes were hooded, her lips gratuitously full, her hair big and light auburn, which somehow worked with her darkly tanned skin. She was wearing a black suit that fit her perfectly.

She smiled, cheeky as always. It was her way of making you think she liked you. I knew the truth—she was tough as nails and didn’t like anybody, especially me.

“English?” she asked.

I shrugged. “It’s good for me to practice.”

“I’m guessing you won’t need any practice for what we’re about to do.”

I gave her a sly look. “I’m not sure who you think I am and what I do all day, but I can assure you that I don’t take part in government-operated raids on a daily basis. I’ll be more of a fish out of water than you.”

“Hey,” she said sharply, though her eyes were still playful. “I’ll have you know I helped initiate a bust in Culiacán that resulted in thirteen million worth of drugs and cash being seized.”

“That was you?” I asked. “Oh, your parents must be so proud.”

She glared at me. “Your English needs some work. You’re not very good at sarcasm.”

I finished up my drink and followed her through the hotel lobby and out to a waiting white SUV with tinted windows. I felt a bit like a lamb being led to the slaughter. I hoped they knew there was a lion underneath all my wool.

I climbed in the back, beside her, and was quickly introduced to her team before the vehicle roared off. There was the driver, Diego, a traitor to my country, obviously, and Greg, a gruff silver-haired dope in his early fifties who didn’t say much but obviously had a problem with the fact that Berrellez was sharing the operation with him. He only spoke up when he needed to take control.

While we chugged along the highway heading north to Culiacán, I was filled in on their plan. Naturally, I wasn’t given very much to go on. Though I was thanked and told that the intel that Juanito provided was the final puzzle piece that helped them pinpoint where they thought Salvador might be, they gave me no background into how closely they had been watching him, how much they already knew, and how they got all their previous information.

I suppose they could have been doing the exact same thing to me, although I was a smaller fish to fry. Technically I wasn’t wanted in the states anymore for anything, but I had a giant rap sheet in Mexico. My government did nothing to enforce it, but I wouldn’t be surprised if the DEA tried to take things into their own hands. They’d say capturing Javier Bernal would make America a safer place.

Fucking morons.

But Salvador, Salvador was wanted for a few things in the USA. Cocaine trafficking charges and the murders of several DEA officers and officials were just some things that the DEA wanted to hang him for. The rest of his charges would come via the Mexican Attorney General. I had no doubt that the DEA and the PGR were working together on this, using Mexican soldiers who had no ties to the cartels.