Rulers of Deception (2 page)

Franco chuckled, the sound buried deep within his throat. He sifted through the cards in his hand idly before meeting Wyatt’s eyes once more. “Life is too short for us all, no?”

Wyatt grinned. “It is when you do it right.”

There were three other men sharing the table and the game of poker, with a fourth standing in the corner. Franco’s bodyguard.

Two of the men at the table were friends of Franco’s. One was a surly, cruel-looking bastard with gold teeth and tattoos and the other a slim stick of a man with long black hair pulled into a tail and eyes hidden by mirrored shades. Neither seemed particularly interested in engaging in more than the minimum required for the game. Instead, they sat in near silence and sipped their
aguardiente,
hand-rolled cigarettes leaking smoke between their fingers.

The third man was a friend of Wyatt’s, an old friend. At least, as old as any friend of Wyatt’s could be since he’d been on the run for five years. Not from the law, but from the demons that scratched impatiently at his belly and demanded danger, risk, opportunity. All the things he wouldn’t have found in Kansas.

He’d met Jimmy Moretti in a hot situation on the grimy back streets of Dublin four years earlier, saving his sorry ass from a well-deserved beating that might have killed him. If he’d known the reason for the shakedown in the first place, he wouldn’t have intervened.

Little did he know that the man he saved was a common thief. Well, more like a kleptomaniac, if one gave in to disorders and labels. Jimmy did. He clung to that word like a safety net. Like it justified his less-than-reputable behavior.

Jimmy was a rail-thin thirty-something Italian with dark curly hair and a nose the size of Long Island. Beneath the nose was an enviable mustache that flared out at the tips that he enjoyed twisting around his index finger. His voice was flavored with Brooklyn and his toothy smile edged with mischief.

Jimmy’s skill set proved useful from time to time as the pair traveled across Europe and down into Australia, then west to South America. They went wherever the game was hot, sometimes losing and other times profiting big. Which was, of course, how they wound up in Bogotá.

At the house of an infamous drug lord.

If Wyatt had known he was talking to Franco Luis Escobar the night before at the
Gallo Suerte
bar, he would have run fast in the other direction. Sprinted, really. This was no man to fuck with, a fact Wyatt knew very well despite only having been in Colombia a number of days.

Franco was the head honcho of the Costa Norte Cártel, the deadliest drug cartel in all of Colombia. And now Wyatt and his poor friend Jimmy were stuck playing a game of poker in the man’s castle, completely at his mercy. It’d be a miracle if they made it out alive.

Wyatt shifted in his seat, his well-worn jeans sticking to his legs from the sweat. For as much money as the bastard Franco must have, Wyatt cursed the lack of air conditioning. Lazy fans spun around the house, barely stirring the already molten air.

He lifted his cream-colored fedora and swiped a hand through his length of bronzed hair, licking his lips and wishing for a way out. A passive glance to his left at Jimmy showed him that his friend was just as antsy. Jimmy’s feet were tapping the floor, his fingers tight over the cards he held and his dark eyes darting all around. He was taking in the scene, likely choking back the urge to steal something. The very idea scared the living daylights out of Wyatt.

Then again, if he knew Jimmy, the man would never take something unless it was worth stealing. They may just profit off this mess, after all.

A stunning Latin woman with long, black hair and full red lips sauntered over to the table, a small mirrored tray in her hands. The skintight ivory dress she wore shifted to reveal her generous cleavage as she bent at the waist to offer Wyatt the gift she held. He stared at the thin, white lines of coke, and casually lifted his hand to refuse.

She twisted to the left, and Jimmy’s eyes landed directly upon her breasts. He dragged his lower lip through his teeth, debating his desire for the drug and for the woman. After a moment, Wyatt watched him also refuse. The woman silently moved on to the man in the sunglasses.

When she rounded the table to Franco, he snorted a line using the slender straw she provided, then smiled like a predator tasting blood.

“Best
cocaína
in all of South America.” He beamed with pride. “This is my enterprise,
señores
. You are impressed, no?”

Jimmy’s eyes followed the woman as she left the room, retreating down the open hallway to the left and through a door. “This place is fucking great, boss.”

“Sure beats our crappy hotel room,” Wyatt added.

Franco let out a rusty laugh, then slapped his fist violently down upon the table. “Maria!”

The woman reappeared in two seconds flat, rushing to his side. She said nothing and kept her head bowed.

“
Más
aguardiente
,” Franco ordered, lifting his right hand in a gesture of urgency. She fluttered off down a different hallway, heading to what Wyatt assumed was the cellar.

Franco poured what remained in the bottle of liquor into his own glass, then tossed the empty bottle at his bodyguard. The man caught it with ease and left to dispose of it.

The surly-looking bastard to Wyatt’s right exchanged three cards with ones from the deck, his hard-lined face emotionless. He sipped more of his drink and said nothing.

Wyatt eyed his own cards, shuffling them around with great relish, hoping he could bluff his way out of the game. He swapped out only a single card with one from the deck. His brows rose and a light quirk twisted his lips, common signals of a man with a prize hand. All he had was a pair of Aces, but if he could bluff then maybe he’d get out of this mess before it got out of hand.

Jimmy suddenly shot to his feet. “I gotta take a leak.”

Franco lifted one eyebrow and waved his hand in the direction of the left hallway. When Jimmy disappeared, Wyatt realized his ploy to escape would have to wait.

“Your friend is…strange, no?” Franco took a long pull from the cigarette he held.

Wyatt tried to play off the tension that bunched in his shoulders. “How’s that one song go? Something about faces in the rain and being strange?”

Franco gave him a blank look.

Wyatt used the distraction to his advantage. “You know, Jim Morrison. The Doors. It’s good stuff.”

“I do not know these Doors.” Franco’s eyes narrowed as he returned to staring at his cards.

Wyatt shuffled his own cards around and brightened up when Jimmy wandered back into the room a few minutes later. “Get your ass back over here and place your bet.”

Jimmy took his seat and shifted, looking uncomfortable. There was a jittery gleam in his eyes that Wyatt did not like at all.

“I got nothing. I’m out.” Jimmy threw down his cards, sucking on his teeth and toying with his moustache.

The two men beside Franco also folded, laying their cards on the table. One downed the last of his liquor and the other took a long drag on his cigarette.

Franco’s lips quirked as he stared at Wyatt. He nudged a stack of chips into the center of the table. “Five thousand.”

Wyatt stared down at his cards once more, then shoved all the chips in front of him into the pot. “All in. Ten thousand.”

Jimmy’s right eye twitched and the two men flanking Franco eyed Wyatt suspiciously. Franco, on the other hand, merely smiled.

“Five thousand to match your ten.”

Wyatt ran his tongue along his upper teeth, then tossed his cards down on the table. “Pair of Aces.”

Franco’s face was unreadable as he threw down his own cards, revealing only a pair of Kings. The room was silent for a long, haunted moment. Wyatt realized the bluff that should have gotten him out of danger might have put him directly in danger’s path. He’d hoped Franco would fold at the high bets, not continue forward with his own bluff.

“Shit, you won.” Jimmy smacked Wyatt on the back, oblivious to the tension in the air. He reached over and started raking in the chips, only to stop as Franco slammed his fist down upon the table.

“Maria!”

The woman slipped back into the room with a fresh bottle of liquor, setting it upon the table. Without removing his eyes from Wyatt, Franco quietly spoke to her in Spanish.

Wyatt’s heart raced and his palms were damp with sweat. “Good game, Frankie. We really gotta get going, though.”

Franco’s eyes narrowed and for a long moment he said nothing. Then his lips spread in a snakelike grin and he chuckled. “I have never had a man bluff my bluff,
Señor
Bailey. I’d kill you for it if it were not so amusing to me.”

“Best bluffer wins.” Wyatt shrugged, itching to get out of there. He watched Maria come back into the room with an envelope filled with cash. She handed it to him and he hopped to his feet. “Well, gentlemen, it’s been fun.
Hasta luego.
”

Jimmy stumbled out of his chair, hovering beside Wyatt awkwardly.

“
Adiós
,
señores.
” Franco’s right brow lifted. “You will not get off so easily next time.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Wyatt grabbed Jimmy and the two fled from the house, riding on the high of lady luck. They hopped into the beater car they’d rented, Wyatt in the driver’s seat. He hastily rolled down his window to let in some air and tossed the envelope in the back.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” Jimmy kept repeating, not even bothering to click in his seatbelt. He turned in his seat and stared out the rear window. “Get us the fuck out of here, boss. Now.”

“What’s the rush? I won.” Wyatt grinned, feeling good about the whole situation now that it was over. “And we’re several thousand dollars richer, my friend. You should be thanking me.”

“Just get us
out
.” Jimmy bit into his fingernails, looking petrified. “Seriously. Before they find out.”

“Before they find out
what
, exactly?” Wyatt started up the car and pulled out of the swooping driveway, passing by overhanging palm trees and tropical flowers.

“Uh oh.”

Wyatt’s heart thumped. “Uh oh, what?”

Before Jimmy could respond, they heard a piercing scream and loud shouting coming from the house. Men poured out of the entrance, armed with heavy-duty machine guns.

Wyatt watched the chaos in the rearview mirror, and nearly passed out. “What did you do, Jimmy?”

A giddy, delirious laugh burst from within Jimmy’s throat as he toppled back into his seat and lifted up his baggy T-shirt. Tucked into the waistband of his jeans was the brick of coke he’d swiped from the house. He tossed it into Wyatt’s lap.

Wyatt stared down at the drugs. All he could manage was a quick, shocked laugh. “Oh, fuck.”

“Fuck is right.” Jimmy shrugged, his hands raised guiltily. “I couldn’t help it.”

Wyatt shot him a look, somewhere between furious and amused, then shoved his foot into the gas pedal. “Hold on, I got this.”

Before they could take a swift right at the end of the long driveway, a bullet crashed through the back window. It shattered through the front and left a hole the size of a quarter.

“Oh shit, we’re dead.” Jimmy grabbed the brick of coke and started to toss it out the window, but Wyatt grabbed his hand just as he rounded the sharp right onto the street.

“Not yet we’re not. And getting rid of that coke won’t help.” Wyatt gunned the engine just as a truck began to follow them. More shots were fired and Wyatt had to duck low in his seat or else be killed. Jimmy slid so far down he was lying horizontally.

“You shouldn’t have bluffed Franco. You should’ve just played it straight. Somehow, this is your fault,” Jimmy was rambling, staring up at Wyatt with huge eyes.

Wyatt’s mouth twisted in a hard grin. “Coming from the guy who just stole coke from a Colombian drug lord.”

“He just left the bricks sitting there in that room. Why wouldn’t someone just take it?”

“Because there’s guns protecting those drugs, my friend. Lots and lots of guns.” Wyatt tore down a side street in an attempt to lose the truck just as a bullet ricocheted off his side mirror.

The alley was narrow and crowded with trashcans and overhanging clotheslines, but Wyatt managed to navigate it and come out on the other side. He took a swift left and then another right, then parked the car in a dark area and turned it off.

He crouched down low and listened, the world around them oddly silent. When he heard the roar of the truck and angry voices drive closer, he held his breath and said a quick prayer to whatever God was listening that they not be found.

As the truck roared past and the voices faded, Wyatt let out a rush of breath that mixed with a giddy laugh.

Jimmy sat up, glancing out the non-existent back window. “I think I just pissed myself.”

Wyatt leaned back in his seat, rubbing his face with his hands. “We’ve gotten out of worse messes.”