16. Chapter 13 – Kellan
“ F old.”
Mical threw the playing cards onto the poker table in disgust, his bitter sneer pulling at the jagged scar down the side of his face and into his black hairline.
It was a recent wound; a ballsy fucker had sliced a knife through his cheek in a dispute over territory in Cascade Falls. The territory I handed to my brothers six years ago.
I’d made the trek down to their base of operations in Sheldonville, in the jazz club our dead brother had built up as the crux of his empire. They’d done nothing to change it in the years since—green velvet curtains and dark wood s urrounded us like we were Al Capone and Lucky Luciano at the height of their heyday.
Fitting, since the building was once used for rum running during Prohibition. Though, the items in the bowels of today’s basement cellar were far more dangerous than pints of country swill alcohol.
“ Que Cabron ,” Jonah muttered darkly as he threw his cards into the pile in the center of the table.
I laughed and pulled the hundreds of dollars worth of chips toward me. “Jonah, you could have called me. You just lost five hundred for nothing.”
His coal-black eyes stared viciously back at me. “You have pocket aces,” he spat. “Do not bullshit me, brother.”
I grinned and stacked the chips into tidy piles while Mical scrolled through his phone, angry snarl still firmly in place .
My older twin half brothers were opportunistic, sadistic bastards; cheating them at cards was my favorite way to piss them off before a meeting with our father. A way to remind them of the chain of command.
A few rounds of Texas Hold ‘Em was our ritual to cut a bit of tension before Antonio laid out his expectations for his dutiful sons.
I had never been close with any of my brothers; we were all bastard children of different mothers our father had handpicked to be the successors of his empire. When the twins relocated to Sequoia County to take over one side of the operations, we’d formed an alliance, if not a bond.
The twins were half-Israeli, half-Columbian, their matching dark hair, dark eyes, and bronze skin still mirror images of each other despite being in their forties. I was the product of a Swedish mother and Antonio’s Colombian blood. We looked nothing alike, blessed with our mothers’ genes instead of our brutal father, but our shared upbringing had honed us into unforgiving weapons of brutality.
Two of my brothers were dead. Another was safely tucked away—Antonio wasn’t aware of his existence, and I planned to keep it that way. The three of us were all that remained of the next generation of cartel criminals. A double agent and two ruthless assholes.
The men sitting in front of me didn’t possess a conscience. They didn’t carry the same narcissism our father did; they didn’t care about anything at all. Everyone in their path was a means to an end. Antonio ordered, and they delivered. Mindless, murdering sycophants.
I wasn’t stupid enough to turn my back to them.
I checked my watch. Antonio was meticulously on time and would arrive in five minutes. I needed to speak with my brothers quickly.
I knocked on the rich lacquered wood of the table’s trim. Mical looked up with familiar irritation, but he put his phone down.
“The tides are changing in Sequoia.” I nodded to Mical’s scar and leveled my stare at the two of them. “The Carlos Cartel is being challenged.”
Jonah shrugged one rounded shoulder, the muscles bulging beneath his tight dark shirt. “We are always being challenged. Today is no different.”
“Perhaps,” I agreed, thinking of the many stooges armed with handguns and shit-for-brains who had tried to take on the family in the past. The dead man who’d carved into Mical’s face was the exception. “But I keep hearing whispers of Alejandro Alvarez in our territory. Have you heard this?”
Jonah’s careful mask of indifference slid over his harsh features, but he said nothing. He was notoriously calculating and gave nothing away without a trade—but by his bo dy language alone, I knew he’d at least heard the rumors.
Mical was far less controlled. His dark eyes glittered with malice and a vicious grin took over his face. “What will you trade in return, brother? I could use a favor from the next heir.”
I grunted in response, in no mood to discuss the inevitable shift of our posts in the coming months. Killing my brother had come at a very heavy price. I was now his replacement to take over the family throne. In the many years of toeing the line, I had never wanted to be king.
I glanced at my watch again. One minute.
“We’ll discuss this later.” I glared at them pointedly. Alvarez was a threat that needed to be eliminated, and it would be far cleaner to rid him on our side of things before the FBI or DEA got involved.
We were the devil the authorities knew. I couldn’t risk our usefulness—it was the only reason I had walked the line for so long. Trish only had so much power.
The twins immediately stood stiffly to attention, and I knew Antonio and his men must have entered the room behind me.
I stood and turned to greet the man who had crafted us in his image, dipping my head in a respectful nod. The dignified seventy-year-old with tanned skin and silver hair strode to greet us. Three of his heavily armed, most trusted men marched in, taking positions by his side.
It was pretty telling that Antonio Carlos, leader of the largest cartel on this side of the continent, brought his guards to a meeting with his sons. Family was as likely to turn on you as your enemies in our world. If I thought it was possible, I would have killed him long ago.
“ Hijo ,” Antonio rasped with a commanding timbre as he reached out to wrap me in a perfunctory hug. “It has been too long.”
Bef ore I could respond, he moved on to my brothers. I took the moment to assess the men he’d chosen to bring to our meeting today.
Manuel and Soloman, the two had stuck by Antonio’s side since I was a teenager. The third man was unfamiliar to me. A bald man with gold hoops in his ears and blank green eyes—the same kind of face of a serial killer on America’s Most Wanted.
I shifted my focus back to my father, making a mental note to scan the new man’s profile later.
Antonio Carlos beckoned with the spindly fingers of a man used to holding all the power in a room.
“Sit.”
I did as he asked, shifting my weight to fit into the small leather loveseat to my right, while Jonah and Mical sat in the armchairs on either side of the small seating area. A heavy silence settled over us as we waited expectantly for Antonio to start the family meeting.
“It has been too long,” he repeated. The shrewd man’s dark expression narrowed in on me as he scanned every facet of my face. He always did this when we met in person—as if he could determine my allegiance by a simple review of the tightness of my skin.
I had betrayed him once, and he’d spared my life, but only because the betrayal had handed him a line of security—a double agent he could manipulate instead of a son he would protect.
The moment I failed to be useful was the moment I would die.
I stared back into his piercing gaze, refusing to cower in his presence. Despite the thousands of men he’d killed in cold blood over decades of commanding an underground army, the man didn’t scare me. His involvement in my life was a necessary evil, as were my brothers.
A s mall crinkle in his left eye told me he was satisfied with what he saw, his attention turning to the two nitwits instead.
“It would seem you have been busy, Mical.” Antonio nodded toward the jagged line cutting Mical’s cheek in half. “Is he now dead?”
“Yes.” Mical spat on the pristine cream carpet in disgust like a child. “And he suffered greatly.”
“And his family?”
“Also dead.” Jonah spoke up in a hollow voice of disinterested detachment. “They will no longer be an issue for us.”
Antonio nodded his head in approval. “And the fights?”
“Successful. There are now seventeen separate clubs across five states, each taking in over a million in bets a month.” Jonah continued in his clipped, emotionless tone. “Washing is going well—we’re cleaning half of what we’re bringing in on a weekly basis through hundreds of channels.”
“Good. Mical?”
“Product is moving faster than we can supply it. Demand is heavy. We have another facility up and running in Venezuela, with three alternative shipping routes. The dope is selling faster than coke, so we’re dusting our other products to increase the demand of those product lines.”
Fuckers. I’d tip Trish off about one of our favored routes and get the tainted fentanyl off the streets, but it wouldn’t be enough. I’d have to keep the Venezuela warehouse under my hat for now—but I could get one of the other warehouses in Columbia taken down to help balance the scales for a little while.
When one cockroach was crushed into dust, another skittered in to take its place. The cat-and-mouse game with my family was the price my soul paid for my life being spared all those years ago. I led the enemy, spied for the opposi tion, and sold out both parties when the need arose. The price of my life wasn’t worth the reward.
Our soulless leader clucked his tongue in approval. “And the guns?”
“Three new large buyers in the west. Shipping out fresh boxes next week, once the Russians can get their supply off the ground.”
They were opportunistic shits, but my brothers weren’t dumb. Their side of the business brought in hundreds of millions of dollars to the Cartel a year, even after they’d left their post in California to take over Sequoia’s operations.
“Have you noticed any supplies missing?” I carefully worded my question, not ready to give Antonio any sign of Alvarez moving into our towns. It was possible he already knew, and I couldn’t add another ‘task’ to my already very full plate.
“No.” Mical’s retort was short and angry, as per usual. “Nothing missing. Our men care too much for their heads to steal from us.”
“Why do you ask, mijo ?”
“Work.” I kept my answer succinct. “Rumblings of a new weapon supplier. I’m working on it.”
Antonio nodded swiftly, then shifted his focus to my businesses.
“And what do you have for me?”
The simple question was as dangerous as an AK-47 in the hands of a crazed fucker on meth. I squared my shoulders and leveled my gaze at my father.
“I am in Carlisle investigating a major theft ring. Purely white collar, nothing to do with the Cartel or its players. Our partners are complying and paying their tithes on time. The Rodriguezes plan to open up three more brothels in the next year—they are becoming quite lucrative.”
“ Good.” My father answered smoothly; with the precision of his pitch, I knew something else would follow—something I would not like in the least.
“Increase their tithe. If they want to continue in the sex trade, they will pay us more for the pleasure. Which brings me to my next concern.”
His eyes narrowed to slits, and his veiled discontent crept quietly to the surface of his skin.
“You are not doing enough, mijo . Keeping the FBI off our back and feeding them our enemies in return is not enough in these trying times. I am getting old and tired. Our girls need to be overseen—guided. You will take over this side of the business.”
‘Girls’ as in the women torn from the streets, drugged, and shipped out to be sold to the highest bidders. The rest were chained in brothels until they died from a sexual disease or an overdose. It was the most disgusting revenue stream of the family business, and I had vehemently spoken out against it since I was old enough to know the difference.
He was finally punishing me for the death of my brother by handing me the one thing I hated most in this world.
Gangbangers chose this life. They took the risk for the promise of high reward, and it was their right to choose the way they died. Stolen women sold into a life of sexual slavery was depravity the devil himself wouldn’t take part in.
“No.” Antonio Carlos did not hear the word often. He broke into a dark smile while his eyes betrayed his fury.
“You do not have the luxury to say no. Your duty is to this family, and your life debt is to me . Or is your life no longer of value?”
Mical grinned with vicious delight and Jonah's mask cracked just a fraction. No love was lost between us; my death would mean more power and attention for them.
“ I am more valuable to you alive than dead.” I folded my arms across my broad chest and stared into the soulless black depths of his gaze. “The operation is too large for me to oversee and maintain my position. Do you prefer I spend my time eliminating your enemies or coddling your putas ? Which has more value to you?”
A tremulous silence fell over the space as my father held my glare. I didn’t miss the quiet click of the safety being released against a metal gun barrel behind me. His men waited for his signal for permission to put a bullet into my brain and be done with my insolence.
“This is why you will become king.” Antonio stood gracefully from his seat and pulled my cheeks between his palms.
“You are brave, mijo, but do not mistake stupidity for bravery again. You have until January. Then the putas will very much be your concern.”
He signaled behind me; shuffling feet and the opening of the heavy wooden door broke through the heavy stillness as his cronies cleared the hallway for them to leave.
“Do not disappoint me, Kellan.” His hardened expression said everything his mouth wasn’t. January or death. No other option. He turned his attention to my brother. “Fix your face, Mical. You look like a Russian.”
Flames of fiery acid burned through my gut as my father casually walked away from handing me a death sentence.
“My money is on the putas .” Mical snickered as he and Jonah followed behind, leaving me alone to wrestle with my fate in peace.