Fire & Dark (The Night Horde SoCal Book 3) (19 page)

“He made threats?” Hoosier asked.

But Dora shook her head. “The specifics aren’t important. Let it suffice to say that Mr. Cartwright thought that my feelings about my husband were a vulnerability. They are not.”

Bart leaned forward and set his empty glass on the table. “Can I ask…do you know what happened to your husband?”

“You may not ask, no.”

Connor’s antennae pinged like crazy. She did know—moreover, now he was sure that Vega was alive, and that she was in some kind of contact. What the fuck did that mean? A drug boss and her Fed husband? What the fuck? They needed to get out of here and talk.

He cast a glance at his father, who met his eyes briefly, but that look was enough. They were on the same page.

His father turned to La Zorra. “Dora, I respect your need to protect your secrets. But I need to protect my family. What’s our exposure here?”

“From this, if you did your job, then your exposure should be negligible if not nonexistent.” Her expression sharpened. “But this trouble in your own yard—that’s another story. This beef you have with the Aztec Assassins. That’s an inconvenience. This is not a time for my peace with the Fuentes to be disrupted, and that gang is an important supplier for them. I need that resolved.”

“We agreed to sit back and let that cool off. It’s cooling. They’re beneath our notice.”

Connor was surprised at his father’s assertion, but he made sure not to show it. The Aztecs were
not
cooling. They weren’t escalating, but they were poking. Trying to get the Horde to make the first move. Looking for a fight. His read was that the Fuentes had given them the same instruction, or advice, that La Zorra had given the Horde—stand down unless there was aggression from the other side.

So they needed some attention. They were not beneath the Horde’s notice, even though they should have been.

“Good.” She gave them a wide, pleasant smile. “Then are we ready to talk new business?”

~oOo~

They stopped at a roadside diner on their way back to Madrone. Once the waitress had their order, Connor was the first to raise the key issue. “I don’t like this. Vega’s alive and she’s in contact. That’s what I got from her kicking back that question. If he’s still a Fed, that’s all kinds of twisted. I don’t like how many variables that puts in play.”

“Connor’s right,” Bart said. “Even if he’s not still a Fed, and they witpro’d him, we need to know what it means if he’s back in play. What team is he on? Fuck, what team is
she
on?”

Hoosier tugged his beard. “She just had us hit a D.A. She’s on our side of the line.”

“Vega killed on the other side of the line,” Bart reminded them. “He killed Hav. And who knows who else.”

Sighing, Connor’s father leaned back. “I don’t think killing Cartwright was some kind of setup. But you’re right. Something’s off. We’ve been working with this woman for two years. Things’ve gone smooth. We’re making bank, she’s getting her product out, it’s been a good relationship. But she’s starting to say ‘I’ a lot more than ‘we’ lately. She’s starting to tell instead of ask. I don’t have a problem working with a woman, but I do have a problem being anybody’s bitch.”

Connor had noticed that, too. When they’d first started working together, Dora Vega was new on the scene. She’d made an impression as a ruthless leader and a cool-headed businessperson, but she’d still been making her mark. At the same time, the Horde SoCal charter had been working straight for more than three years, since the charter had been founded on the ashes of a defunct club. Though that old club had held a lot of power as notorious outlaws, their years of quiet living had seen most of that power fade away.

In the two years since, Dora had embraced what had been intended as a dismissive nickname. She’d become La Zorra, and she all but ruled Mexico on both sides of the line. And the Horde had reclaimed their place among outlaws. Together, they’d killed a charter of another MC, the Dirty Rats, and crushed the Castillos, an upstart drug cartel. Now La Zorra had the Zapatas, one of the original Colombian cartels, who had been working with the Castillos, under contract. She was the queen.

But she was acting less and less like she considered the Horde her partner and more and more like she thought of them as employees—or subjects. That was going to be a problem.

“So where do we go from here, then?” Connor asked.

“I gotta dig into her, I think,” Bart answered. “Me and Sherlock. She’ll probably see us coming—her guys are as good as we are—and that’ll cause a problem, too. But we need to see what she’s not telling us. I know you trust her, Hooj, and we’ve had two good years, but I think it’s a mistake to give that much trust to anybody that doesn’t wear the Mane. She’s got her thumb on the scale.”

“Yeah, she does. Goddammit. Why can’t anybody just be an honest outlaw anymore?” He sighed again, sounding old and weary. “Okay. You and Sherlock see what you can see. Connor, I want to poke back at the Aztecs—not a pissing match, but we need to get control of that message—to them and to Dora, too. No more joy rides past the compound for our brown friends.”

“Should we take that to the table?” Connor asked.

“No. Like I said, I just want to push them back to their side of the city limits. Pest control. But this is our problem to handle as we see fit. Dora’s truce with the Fuentes is her deal, not ours.”

It was a bold move that could put them at odds with a powerful woman, but Connor was relieved. He’d been feeling hamstrung, too, by La Zorra’s ‘requests’ regarding the Aztecs. He was not one for whom sitting back came easily.

Hoosier continued, “I don’t want to come back at them with the same schoolyard bullshit they’re throwing at us, though. I think we should hit their business, let ‘em know what they risk with this game.”

Bart and Connor both nodded their agreement. Bart said, “I don’t think we should push harder than a message, though. Not yet.”

“No,” Hoosier agreed. “A clear message, but no more.”

Connor nodded. “I’ll bring Muse and Diaz in on it, make a plan.”

His father dug into his roast beef sandwich, thinking as he chewed. “I don’t want an enforcer approach to this, son. Esposito and La Zorra both need to know that we handle our shit, but if we go in hard, we could start a battle before we have a map of the field.”

As Connor considered the problem, another idea occurred to him. It was underhanded, when he preferred a direct approach, but his father was right. They needed to stay back until they had a sense of the lay. “Bart—can you dig dirt on the High Life? They gotta be using it some way to front their drug business.”

“Yeah. What’re you thinking?”

To answer Bart, he looked at his father. “You say you want to hit their business. What if we can tip off Montoya, get it shut down. Maybe suggest he seize the place—everything he can? That could give the Sheriff a win and put the Aztecs in trouble with law and the Fuentes, both.”

Hoosier shook his head. “That’s a lot more than just a message. It fucks with how the Fuentes move their product. It could cause trouble with the peace. I don’t want Dora stirred up until we understand better what’s going on with her.”

“So it’s not a message. We don’t sign this. Let Montoya have it. The most important thing is shutting the Aztecs down, right? They don’t need to know who did it.” As the idea flowered in his head, he relaxed back in his chair. “Hell, maybe it even helps the Queen if Fuentes can’t move that weight. She could take it over. If this works, we’ll be doing everybody a favor.”

He sat and let the President and Vice President mull that over. It was a good plan. Not flashy, no guns blazing, but a good plan.

And they knew it. His father nodded at Bart. “You can find what we’d need to give Montoya?”

“No question. There’ll be something. Those guys aren’t careful enough to hide from me. So yeah, this could work. It could be a big move, though. Even if the Aztecs don’t figure it out, Dora will know. Could tip the scale with her either way. We should vote it.”

“Agreed. And I want her to know.” His father pulled his beard. “It’s not our style, ratting anybody out to law, but those roaches are taking too much of our time lately. Let’s let Montoya take out our trash, and let’s keep our focus where it matters. We need to get on top of this Vega thing and show La Zorra that we are not her fucking lackeys.”

Despite the heaviness of the topic, Connor grinned. His father had dropped ten years of age from his face and posture since they’d sat down at this worn table. He’d always chafed at working
for
anyone. Connor had heard dozens of drunken rants over the years about how working for someone ran against everything he believed in, the very reasons he wore a patch at all. What Hoosier liked about working for Dora Vega was the partnership. Over the past several months, and especially in the weeks since they’d done the hit for her, she had clearly begun to see the partnership as significantly less equal.

He only hoped that they would find a way to equalize the situation. Because the naked truth was that that woman was now a lot more powerful than they were. If they ended up opposed to her, they’d lose. No question.

So they had to find a way to stand their ground and keep her allegiance. As a partner.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Pilar reached out from under the covers and grabbed her phone, swiping off the alarm. Before she could turn the covers back and sit up, though, Connor’s arm tightened around her waist.

“No. Stay.” His voice was thick with sleep, even gruffer than usual. When he pressed his cock against her ass with a grunt, she moaned and rocked backwards.

“I can’t. I go in this morning.”

He kissed the back of her neck. “Not till seven. Don’t run this morning. Let me fuck you instead. I’ll get your heart rate up.”

As tempted as she was, feeling his big, warm, hard body tight against hers, his beautiful cock sliding against her ass, his teeth nipping lightly at her shoulder, Pilar hated for her routine to get screwed up on work mornings. “Connor…”

He sighed. “Come on, Cordero. This is our only time together for the whole week, because you’re going off on that stupid trip and taking two days we could have had.” His voice lost the petulant edge it had picked up, and he nuzzled behind her ear. “Baby, let me fuck you so you feel it all weekend long.”

As he spoke, his hand slid over her belly and between her legs, and she decided she could skip her run. She wasn’t ready to let him up so quickly, though. “Babes Ride Out is not a stupid trip. It’s one weekend a year, every October, and I love it.”

“I don’t know why I can’t go. It’s only Joshua Tree. What are you gonna be doing out there, anyway? Some kind of lezbo orgy?” The way his hands moved over her body was distracting, but not so much that she missed his whiny jerkiness entirely.

She reached back and bopped him on the head. “You’re such an ass. No. But it’s
Babes
Ride Out. You are not a babe. And it’s just a party. Music. Booze. Camping. The usual. And you’re going to be in
Vegas
when I get back, so come on.”

“That’s work, though.”

“Funny how often you come back from ‘work’ smelling like expensive whiskey and cheap perfume.”

“Hey, now. I’m true. You know that. I can’t help if a chick pushes up on me, though.”

“I’m just sayin’—your work looks a lot like play sometimes, and it keeps you away from me. So let me have this one weekend.”

“I don’t know why you have to have a rally of your own. Seems pretty sexist to me.” He slid his fingers inside her, and she wanted this conversation to be over.

“Because women are just tits and pussies at your rallies. Shut up and fuck me already.”

His chuckle rumbled low in his chest, and he grabbed her thigh and dragged her leg backwards. She reached between her legs and took hold of his cock, pushing it against her until he was inside. “Oh, fuck,” she breathed as he filled her up.

For a few minutes, they rocked slowly together, both groaning. Connor’s pace gradually intensified, until the bed rocked and Pilar clutched at him, writhing against his hold.

He surprised her by rolling to his back, carrying her with him so she was lying on him. Then he grabbed her hips and lifted her up, driving hard into her from below. Jesus, he was strong.

And
Jesus
, the feel of him, hitting the deepest, most tender part of her, making her nerves writhe and quiver. It was always so fucking good with him.

The loud, rhythmic clap of their meeting bodies rattled the air. She leaned her head back on his shoulder and grabbed a breast with one hand, plucking and pulling at her nipple. With her other hand, she reached between her legs to feel him pistoning wetly into her.

“Fuck, baby!” he grunted in her ear. “Fuck, you feel good.”

“Shut up and make me come.”

“I’m gonna make you come until you’re too sore to ride. I’ll keep you with me one way or another.”

As if to underscore that claim, he shifted them a little to the side, letting her body rest on his and wrapping her up in his arms. He barely broke his rhythm or his force, and then his hand was under hers, on her clit, and she was done for. His sandpaper fingers on her clit, her hand on his, his cock slamming into her, his heavy breath in her ear, the feeling of his strong body supporting hers, it all charged at her and sent her over the edge. She arched sharply up, her whole back leaving contact with his chest, and came until her head hurt.

Before she was completely done, the room spun as Connor moved her quickly, dropping her to the bed, looming over her and shoving her legs up to her chest. Then he was inside her again, kneeling at her ass, his chest against her shins, his hands closing around her waist. She was bound up tight, with the pressure of half his body and half of hers bearing down on her midsection, and he was pounding into her, his hands digging into her flesh.

Sweet fucking holy Christ. Nothing they’d done had felt like this, even after two months of playing with her toys. She didn’t even know why, but
God
! “Connor! Oh, fuck! Oh, fuck!” She grabbed his arms, feeling her fingernails digging into the meat.

“Don’t come, Cordero. Don’t come.”

“What?” She hadn’t quite noticed when he’d started using her first and last name both; it was just something that had started to happen. And not quite interchangeably—she had a faint idea that there was some kind of meaning to be sussed out about when he used which, but this particular moment was not the time to worry about it.

“Don’t. Look at me, and don’t come.” She could hear in the strain of his voice that he was close, too. She could see it, the need, in his intense grey eyes, the way his brows drew down. “Look at me, baby. Look at me.”

She did—while he made her body spark and throb, while every fiber in her swelled with the need for release, she stared up into his eyes and saw something much bigger than the wild need firing her core. It was too big even to understand. It was terrifying. And she wanted it. Needed it.

“Connor, please,” she gasped, not knowing what she was asking for.

“I want to come together,” he panted. “Don’t come until I’m ready.” That was something she’d have been more likely to say to a guy, rather than the other way around, but Connor had stamina, and she was fucking
there
already. He kept up that steady, driving rhythm, hard and deep, a sweetly punishing beat.

Their eyes still locked together, she nodded, but whimpered, “Please, please.” Then he moved one hand to her clit. “Connor, fuck! Please!”

“Not yet, baby.” The words came through gritted teeth; he was holding himself off, too.

“Fuck!” She threw her arms over her head and grabbed her headboard, trying to draw her attention to the discomfort in her hands clenching around the iron curls.

“Okay. Okay, baby. Fuck, now. Oh, shit. Come with me.” He yelled incoherently then and sank into her, as deep as he could be, and froze, then went savagely at her clit, and she let go, swinging her arms down to clutch at his shoulders, shrieking like an animal. He yelled again and pushed even deeper, and she came until she realized she was crying, and even after. She couldn’t stop coming.

He relaxed and let her legs go, settling on her, his hips moving again, gently now. He was still hard, and she was still coming. She wrapped her legs around his waist and bent her head up to press against his hot, heaving chest. Fuck, she was sobbing—out-of-control, ugly crying. She could not remember the last time in her
life
that she’d cried.

His hands tangled in her hair, holding her head, he kissed her neck again and again, and then her cheek, whispering. “Easy. Easy, Pilar. I love you. Shhh. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“No,” she gasped, finding some kind of control as her body finally began to find its own. “I’m okay. I just…fuck, dude.” She sniffed and swiped at her eyes. “Fuck. I love you.” She turned to find his mouth, and they kissed deeply. His beard was damp from his sweat, and when he pulled back, she saw that he looked as dazed as she was.

And the tears overtook her again. What the hell? Still inside her, still hard, he gathered her into a tight embrace and just held her until she could finally be calm.

She was late to the barn. And she was sore—a deep, full soreness that would last for days.

The sated ache in her heart would last much longer.

~oOo~

It was dark when she rode back into Madrone that Sunday night in October, but it wasn’t late. It had been a great weekend with friends she only saw in person this one time a year. She’d partied hard. She had to be at work in the morning, so she wanted a quiet night. But Connor was in Vegas, and the thought of being alone at her place made her feel lonely. So she headed toward her grandmother’s house. Nana would be watching television, and maybe Hugo would be around, too.

It had been three months since she and the Horde had pulled Hugo out of the High Life, and she and her brother hadn’t spoken much since. As far as she knew, he still didn’t have a job—not one he could tell their grandmother about, at least. He was gone a lot, and at strange hours. And sometimes, unpredictably, he’d come home with a bunch of groceries—or, for Nana’s birthday in September, a big television.

He’d forgotten, or ignored, Pilar’s birthday.

She knew what was going on. He was doing something with the Assassins. He hadn’t been beaten again, and he wasn’t wearing colors, so she didn’t know how he’d made his debt right or how deep in he was. And he wasn’t talking. But she knew he was in with them somehow.

But it was his trouble. She was struggling to get to that place in her head, where she stopped fixing his shit up for him. She wanted to be able to love him without letting him lean so hard on her or Nana.

She pulled up in front of the unprepossessing little house and cut the engine on her Victory. Hugo’s truck was in the driveway, blocking their grandmother’s compact sedan in. Good. They were both home.

She dismounted and locked her helmet down, then walked up the drive, along the left side, toward the side door of the house.

As she passed Hugo’s truck, she noticed that the dash lights were on. Then she saw that Hugo was passed out behind the wheel.

“Fuck!” She lifted the door handle. It was unlocked, and she tore open the door. The smell of piss made her step back. He had been badly beaten, but not like before. This was all fists and feet. His shirt was open, and blood had dried in streaks down his chest and belly.

Blood and ink. In the middle of his chest was a new tattoo: a highly stylized, feathered snake. Quetzalcoatl, the Aztec god, and the mark of the Aztec Assassins.

Hugo had finally been jumped in.

After checking his eyes—pinpoint pupils—and his pulse—rapid and thready—Pilar slapped her brother hard in the face. It worked; he roused, a little, and then flinched, fighting weakly against her grip.

“Hugo! Hughie! It’s me. It’s Pilar, Hughie. It’s okay.”

“Pilar? Oh, God. Oh, God. I’m so sorry. I can’t stop it. I tried. I promise I tried. But I can’t stop it. I’m so deep now. I have to. I don’t have a choice. I’m so sorry. Don’t tell Nana.”

All she felt in that moment was pity. Sorrow and pity. So she pulled her baby brother into her arms and held him while he cried. “Okay, bro. Okay. Scoot over. I’m taking you to my place. Nana can’t see this.” She shoved at him, and he slouched across the bench seat. When she climbed behind the wheel, trying not to think about sitting where her brother had pissed himself, she pulled her phone out of her pocket and dialed Moore.

He picked up on the first ring. “Hey, Cordero. You done running with the wolves?”

She didn’t even bother to acknowledge his old joke. “I need you.”

“You got me. Tell me how.” This was the kind of friend he was—the kind who asked first how he could help, not what the trouble was. There was nothing and no one that could compel her to give that up.

“Hugo’s in trouble. Found him passed out in his truck outside Nana’s house. I’m taking him to my place and cleaning him up. But my bike’s here, and if she sees it and not me, she’ll freak. Are you close?”