Page 17 of Tainted Blood
A slow smile tips the corners of my mouth. “Is that right?”
Glancing over his shoulder, my father pins him with a stare that could melt steel. “I’m the Carrera, you pendejo.” Straightening his suit jacket, he offers a passing glance at Sanders’s bloodstained body, then centers his attention back on me. “What the hell is going on?”
I look behind him, not bothering to stand. “Where’s máma?”
He scowls. “Surrounded by sicarios. Now, answer my question.”
RJ catches my eye again. I can read his expression. He wants me to tell my father the truth, so he can step in and take control. So he can unfuck the mess I’ve made, proving he was right—that I acted irrationally in marrying Thalia. That I let lust and ambition cloud my judgment. That I became short-sighted and impatient instead of continuing to play a strategic chess game.
“It’s an East Coast problem,” I say calmly.
“It’s a Carrera problem,” he explodes, crossing the rest of the room in three wide strides, his icy stare snapping to Sanders’s motionless body again. “What happened to him?”
“He tripped on his way out,” I say dryly. “What do you think happened? You heard the shots.”
“Why is he here?” he demands, ignoring my jab.
I motion at the IV stand and bloodied surgical instruments. “Again, I’m going to defer to the obvious.”
A chill sweeps through the room. “You seem to have misplaced your respect. Do you need a reminder of who still runs this cartel, chico?”
My spine stiffens at the condescending nickname. I meet his furious gaze, mirrored eyes battling for power. “No. But it seems you need a reminder of which side of the border you’re on.”
He steps forward, only inches separating us. “I own New Jersey.”
“No, I own New Jersey,” I correct. “You gave it to me, remember? If I’m to take over this cartel one day, you have to back off, and let me do things my way.”
As we glare at each other, I can’t help wondering how it’s come to this. How I’ve found myself fighting for my rival while waging war with my own father.
“I wasn’t aware that your way included marrying the enemy.”
The fire in my veins turns to ice. “Go back to Mexico, pápa,” I say, enunciating each word, my tone deceptively calm.
“I don’t take orders from anyone, Santi. Especially not from my own son.”
“My wife is missing. Did you know that?” Curling my lip, I deliver a lethal smile. “Of course you do, you’re Valentin Carrera. So, why do you want to stay? Because you want to help me find her and bring her home? Or because you want to make sure she never makes it back?”
Behind me, I hear RJ suck in a sharp breath through his teeth.
“Choose your next words very carefully,” my father warns, staring at me with the look he reserves for those who stand against him. “A Carrera doesn’t betray his own blood.”
“No? So my Abuelo Alejandro welcomed máma with open arms, then?”
He flinches. It’s the second low blow I’ve dealt him in less than twelve hours, but he keeps forcing my hand.
“That’s not the same.”
“Isn’t it? You’ve told me the story enough times.”
I hear RJ murmuring my name in warning, but I’m too worked up to stop.
“Your father hated máma,” I press. “He considered her American blood to be poison to his cartel. He didn’t give a shit about what you wanted, or had to say. To him, she was the enemy.”
“That was different.”
“Right.” Shaking my head, I turn away, only to have his fingers clamp around my bicep in a vise-like grip. Fuck, the man could crush steel. Gritting my teeth, I force myself not to react as I slowly turn to meet his unrelenting stare.
“I am nothing like him,” he grits out. “My father was a sadistic son of a bitch who didn’t give a shit about my mother or his children. He wanted an heir, not a son.”