Minion (25 page)

“What's that got to do with me and my bounty?” Carlos asked the question across the small divide between them. “I have one fight—the FBI isn't on my agenda.”

A million dollars or not, he was out. Carlos reached down to pick up his silver case, keeping his eyes on the group with his finger hovering on his gun's trigger. To accept their money meant taking up their battle, and he only had one—to avenge his brother and family's deaths. Going after feds was way over the top, and very bad for business. The police were already sniffing around his operations too much. And who the hell were
the Minion
? This wasn't his fight!

“But it is. These men took out your family.”

Nuit's words stilled Carlos, and he set down the case slowly, stood and walked forward, ignoring the protest and pleas of the men on the ground. Either this rich, suave motherfucker could read minds, or he was tripping. When Nuit threw back his head and laughed, Carlos wanted to bitch-slap him.

“Bullshit. Federal agents might whack one of us, but they don't do ritualistic slayings.”

“Oh, no?” Nuit challenged. “What's the best way to start a territorial war? What's the best way to make us all come out of hiding, create distrust amongst the group, and make us begin to turn on each other? Make it seem like one of us did this. Like I said, we have friends on the inside who delivered them, and their weapon.”

Carlos remained very, very still. He could almost taste blood in his mouth as a new level of rage claimed him. Nuit stared at him, and oddly, as the two remained in a quiet standoff, Carlos could practically feel uninhibited power run through him.

It became difficult to breathe as he watched Nuit's face intently. The feeling was nearly indescribable, and Carlos soon became aware of something else he hadn't expected to feel. This brother was almost swaying him, making him step forward a pace. Something sensual was claiming him, and he shook off the strange reaction. The fact that something almost erotic was drawing him to a man gave him the creeps. Carlos held his ground and stopped moving forward.

“Feels good, doesn't it?” Nuit murmured, as he watched Carlos. His voice dropped an octave, became richer, more seductive. “Hatred is such a pure emotion—intoxicating. And when it finds release . . . there is no greater satisfaction.”

Carlos nodded. “You should have seen what they did to my family. Have you any idea?” His own voice surprised him. It was gentle, sad, a confession of pain like he'd surrendered. What the fuck . . .

“Yes, I do. It was unspeakable,” Nuit replied softly, the tone of his voice drawing Carlos closer to the center of the group where he stood.

“I swear to you, we didn't do it,” one of the kneeling forms pleaded, tears streaming down his face.

“Make it fast,” the other man sobbed. “Have mercy!”

Carlos's gaze went to the begging men, and he took in the dark brown face of the one and looked at the ashen white complexion of the other. Their cries had broken his attention away from Nuit. He now felt semi-dazed, but totally enraged.

“Did you have mercy on Alejandro? And you dare to beg me for mercy?” Carlos spat on the ground. “You will die so slow and so horrible a death that your mothers, too, will not be able to bury you in honor!”

Nuit tsked, making a little clucking noise with his mouth. “Don't spit out that taste of vengeance,” he said as the others chuckled. “Let it coat your tongue with its bitter flavor and fill your heart. For they have broken our code and have visited great pain upon one of our rising stars.”

The last part of Nuit's statement made Carlos shift his focus from the bound men to Nuit's face.

“One of
your
rising stars?”

“Be realistic,” the Italian don said. “You don't think you rose so fast from a street-level dealer and gangbanger to all that you are now without a dark angel on your shoulder, do you?”

“Ever since you made the decision to choose this path, we have watched over you—because you were destined to be one of our own,” the Russian added with a half smile.

“Hombre,”
the Dominican said, “your territory is already marked for you—just claim it.”

“Power beyond your imagination,” the Jamaican said. His expression was stone behind his dark sunglasses, but his tone was deep and seductive. “Feel it. It is electric.”

“‘To be able to topple an empire that is heavily fortified,' ”
the Asian murmured, “ ‘requires a quiet battle from within. Then that empire will feast upon itself, and you can walk with the spoils of war' —from
The Art of War
.” He put his hands together and bowed as he smiled.

Nuit let out a long breath through his nose, closed his eyes, and acknowledged each one of the Dons' comments in their native language. When they nodded, Nuit opened his eyes and smiled. Carlos had understood what had been said to the Dominican . . .
Give him a moment, this is all new
. That was cool, if that's what had been said to the others, but not knowing the other languages worried Carlos.

“Relax,” Nuit crooned in a voice that made Carlos begin to feel safe.

Carlos considered what he was being told as he studied Nuit. “And, if I want to continue solo?”

Nuit sighed. “It's your choice. But you will no longer be under our protective aegis. One day the police will come, or you may meet an unfortunate end. That is the natural law. We have crafted very different laws that guard our own. You tried to protect your family. They perished at the hands of your enemies. It doesn't have to be this way . . . unless you prefer to turn the other cheek?”

Carlos listened, and slowly nodded. Turn the other cheek, fuck that.

“Take off that emblem of your old life and cast it away. We will give you a family crest to replace it.”

Carlos fingered the cross at his neck with hesitation. With this squad, he'd be stronger. Invincible. He could feel it as he stared at Nuit.

Nuit smiled. “Yes . . . you will be invincible.”

The voice had rippled through him like a lover's touch, stroking every dark desire he'd ever held in his heart. The man before
him was showing great patience, his smile knowing; Carlos could hear him talking inside his head. Something was telling him it would be so very, very good. A life like he'd never even dreamed of was within his reach. Two FBI agents were groveling at his feet, and no one standing in the clearing even had a flicker of worry on their faces. All he had to do was say yes. All he had to do was cast off an old gang cross, and take their ring. He'd never have to worry about dying again. Carlos couldn't even blink as he stared into the depths of Nuit's pitch black eyes.

A chance at revenge, protection from a powerful group, a million dollars . . . Juan's cross in his pocket weighed heavily. His boys and his brother will not have died in vain. Steadying his weapon in one hand, Carlos found the other hand slowly reaching up behind his neck, opening the clasp with his nail, and holding his cross out to the side of him by the chain. Then he flung it—casting away all of his mother and grandmother's silly prayers that had not saved any of those dear to him, not even his sister. There was only one law—the law of the jungle, which required consummate power.

“Very wise choice,” Nuit said on a heavy breath. He closed his eyes briefly and laughed from deep within his throat. “The weak ones don't understand that a man must do what a man must do. But you have always known the true laws. Welcome.”

“We didn't do your people, I swear to you, Rivera,” one of the crying men wailed. “We wanted in; we were supposed to get made, too!”

Nuit's fine leather shoe connected with the man's cheek, splitting it. Blood oozed from the gash and Carlos noted that it seemed to make the group lick its lips—then he heard a growl coming from the limo. His gaze tore to the vehicle and back to Nuit.

“What the fuck?” Carlos whispered.

“The perfect weapon—and she's quite beautiful,” Nuit said with an easy grin, studying his manicure. “They used her on your brother, and the others in your family. It was a nice cover—made your Alejandro's death appear to be the result of exotic animal betting . . . where your brother didn't last long in the ring. They used it on a few of my artists, your people, a few agents that wouldn't comply, and another record label that has been marked by our family. Created chaos. Fear. And this weapon is so blatantly horrific that no one would associate it with an inside job from human authorities—no bullets, no knife, very creative.”

Fury took Carlos's reason as he thought of his brother's body, Juan's, and the others. “Then these two will die the same way!”

“Is that your choice?” Nuit smiled.

“Yes.”

“Hand the man the briefcase. Put it beside him so he can get a sense of what a million dollars in small bills feels like—sitting beside his own paltry offering. And so he can have something to add to his choice to watch these men die.”

Carlos waited as a dispatched guard flipped open the case and walked toward him showing stacks of bills. The breeze made the ends of the dollars ruffle—the smell of new money permeated his nose. Nothing but the Benjamins. Damn. He nodded and the guard stopped, closed the case, and slid it on the ground. Carlos stopped it with his foot. If this family had already given him a quick rise to power, and only wanted him to take out the rest of the traitors, what the hell? Resources were always appreciated.

“I assume that you accept this offering of your own free will, then?”

Carlos nodded to Nuit. “Let's do this.”

“Come, Raven,” Nuit called toward the sedan.

“Shit!” Carlos backed up two huge paces and clutched his gun preparing to fire as a large black panther jumped down from the limo, snarled at him, and loped toward the men on the ground who were now screaming.

“She won't bite you—if you don't make any sudden moves while she feeds,” Nuit assured him while laughing. “She's just hungry. Poor thing. She's practically starved.”

Even with all of his rage, the sight of the animal approaching the men gave Carlos pause. Adrenaline made him watch the panther, an eerie intrigue keeping his gaze upon it, but another part of him deep down in his soul had to fight not to cringe.

The animal sniffed the first man, and Carlos stared as the pleading man lost his bowels. His eyes were shut tight, tears streaming down his face as the panther licked the cowering soul's neck and cheek and hair. Then it happened too fast.

The man emitted a whimper, and just as suddenly, his throat was gone. The other prisoner tried to scramble away on his knees—but Nuit's henchmen held him. Carlos stared in horror at the ragged, gaping, bloody hole. Terrible sounds of ripping flesh made Carlos take in air in short sips. The pungent stench of fresh blood surrounded him, making him want to retch as the beast put one paw in the center of the dead man's chest, lowered its head, and began to gorge.

Then it looked up at Carlos, its eyes narrowed to gleaming slits, entrails momentarily hanging from its mouth as the big cat gulped the bloody tissue. Licking the open, empty chest cavity, it lapped up thick wetness, and then sat back on its haunches. In a very calm fashion, it licked its paws clean, began to purr, and stood again, circling Nuit's legs like a giant house pet.

Nuit's hands rubbed the beast's head as it showed massive fangs, closed its eyes with an expression that Carlos could only liken to ecstasy, and nuzzled Nuit's groin. The sight of his pending
fate made the remaining man vomit. Nuit chuckled.

“Soon this poor, abused creature won't have a master. She only did what she was told, no reason to kill her. She's useful to our purposes.” Nuit stroked the panther tenderly. “She's gorgeous, beyond comprehension—and is only doing what is natural . . . and she does it so well.”

When the animal turned its attention to the second trembling man on the ground, Nuit yelled, “No! He's for our guest.”

Stunned, Carlos could only stare as the well-trained creature backed away to simply stand at Nuit's side, giving its master a grudging glare with its growl.

“This is power, my friend,” Nuit murmured in a deep, sexy tone. The brother had an expression on his face like he'd just ejaculated. “Are you with us?”

Carlos nodded. This was the most powerful shit he'd ever seen in his life. To take another man's weapon and turn him on it like that. Images of his brother, however, made him look away from the carnage to the man who was still alive. Damn, just watching the fear in the one who was still living, who had pissed and shitted himself, and vomited . . . the smell of fear made Carlos spit again. The grisly sight of the remains had given him enough of a taste of revenge. This was some twisted bullshit.

“Just do the other one, the old-fashioned way,” Carlos said, breathing hard, bile creeping up his throat with an acidic burn. “Two shots in the back of the head. Clean. The panther is over the top,
hombre
. Even for me.”

“Like I said, he's new,” Nuit told the others who were intently watching the still-living man on the ground. “Soon he'll have the thirst. Give him a few days.”

The others nodded.

“You want this man killed clean, then?” Nuit's smile broadened.

Again, Carlos only nodded.

“You don't want to do it? After all, they murdered your brother and your cousin and your friends.”

“Just do it. Or—”

Before Carlos could lift his gun or finish his statement, Nuit had reached into the man's back with his bare hand. An awful, bloodcurdling scream came from the victim, and the sound of bones and ligaments tearing echoed past the trees as Nuit's hand came away from the body dangling an entire spinal column. Carlos was paralyzed by the gruesome sight, his voice lodged in his throat as his eyes quickly shifted from the twitching body on the ground to the dripping cord of bones in Nuit's fist. A deep gully had been carved in the back of the jerking dead man, his glassy-eyed stare fixed upon Carlos's shoes.