Chapter Eight Seraphina
Chapter Eight
Seraphina
Puebla, Mexico
This was the point of no return. It was plan B, a plan I’d hoped I wouldn’t have to execute—but there I was, doing it.
I’d be placing a target on my head. Hopefully, not tonight but, if things went in my favor, soon enough. A matter of days, at the most.
As the taxi closed in on the fight club, goose bumps covered my skin. I skimmed the little ridges on my forearm, unable to read the quote there without any lights on, but I needed to remind myself of the words branded there: You are your only limit.
I closed my eyes, trying to fight the quiver in my lip, the chills slipping over my skin, and the tremble coasting along my spine about to crest into something more monumental. It wasn’t like I hadn’t spent nine months under Ezra’s thumb. I could do this.
“ Aquí, ” my driver let me know, and when had we stopped?
I didn’t have a purse on me, just my cash and passport strapped under my shirt. Not even a phone. In preparation for this ride, I already had the money needed for the taxi in my pocket.
I swallowed and opened my eyes, preparing myself to get out. “ Gracias .” After paying him, I visualized that I had a spine of steel and a body as hard and strong as Ryder’s for protection, then opened the door.
There was a long line to get in the club. Not a woman in sight, so that was extra comforting. Not. Keeping my chin up as if I belonged there, I bypassed the line in a hurry and went straight to the bouncer at the door.
Surprise lifted his brows, and he lowered his iPad to his side. “Anna Cruz?” Good, so he was expecting me.
I was there to see ángel, the owner of this place, La Madriguera , which simply meant the Den. “ Sí. ” I nodded, and he opened the door for me, and a few men groaned in displeasure that I’d skipped the line.
Once inside, I was escorted by another man through the crowd to a booth off to the side of the octagon where a fight appeared to be wrapping up.
Without looking up at me, the man I was there to see gestured for me to have a seat. He was alone with a bottle of the good stuff, eyes on the eight-sided cage at the center of the fight club. The match was now over, and the two fighters exited the ring.
“Thank you for agreeing to this meeting.” I sat across from him, hoping it was dim enough in there that he wouldn’t see my pulse visibly fluttering at the side of my neck like it surely was. I needed to come across as strong, as if I had an army of a hundred men at my command.
Beauty was in the eye of the beholder, but so was strength. If he saw it in me in spades, that’d be enough to will it to be real.
“You have ten minutes until the final fight begins. Use your time wisely.” He slid a bottle of Don Julio 1942 Tequila Anejo over to me. “But first, maybe loosen up and have a sip.”
Assuming that wasn’t a polite request, I accepted the bottle and filled two of the glasses.
ángel nodded his thanks, lifted his drink, and reached across the table. “ Salud. ”
“ Salud, ” I returned as he eyed me cautiously.
After a few quiet moments passed, he prompted, “Tell me about yourself. What is your background?”
I wasn’t sure why he was asking that, but I toyed around with how much to divulge and gave him a nonanswer. “Mmm. A little bit of this and a little bit of that.”
At his continued indifferent stare, I did my best not to fidget or come across as uncomfortable.
He’d more than likely already done his homework on “Anna Cruz,” and this was an honesty check. He’d probably discovered I was an accountant for Ezra Sokolov as well.
“Tell me more. Details.”
“Puerto Rican and Mexican on my father’s side. A Colombian and Italian mother.” The real me shared the same background as my fake one. Made things easier. “Throw in a random two percent German according to an ancestry test, and that’s me,” I added with a nervous laugh.
“American?” The scrutiny continued.
I needed to turn things around, and fast. Get him laughing or something. Ease the tension between us. “So, you didn’t even google me, huh? Mildly disappointed.”
His lips twitched into a semi-amused smile. I’d take that as a win.
“But yes, I was born and raised in San Diego.”
Since he was allegedly an expert at reading people, I supposed there was no point in totally lying to him. From what I’d learned about him, he was known for being able to accurately predict every winner at this place based on his judgments of the fighters.
He sat back in his seat, hands going to his lap.
He had a bit of a Vin Diesel, from the Fast and Furious franchise, look going for him, including the same deep voice that my brother would’ve appreciated as a fan of Diesel’s.
“And how’d your ‘a little bit of this and a little bit of that’ parents meet? ”
Why do you care? Do you know the truth? Was that possible?
I did my best to smile, even though my heart was galloping far too fast. “On vacation in México , actually. They were staying at the same resort. Love at first sight.” And why did an image of Ryder just infiltrate my thoughts?
“Anyway.” Enough talk of my family. I finished my drink, and he offered to refill my glass before I could object.
Swishing the liquid to coat his glass, he shared, “I have to admit, my curiosity is why you’re sitting here across from me. You went to a lot of trouble to have this meeting, refusing to take no for an answer. I admire your determination.”
“Some call it being stubborn. I prefer your word.”
He smiled again while quietly scrutinizing me. He was probably calculating the risks. Crunching the numbers. Trying to determine if I was worth the gamble. I needed him to believe he had a winner on his hands.
“So, Senorita Cruz,” he began, dragging out my last name a bit, “tell me, not just how I can help you but why you think I should.” Glass to the table, he smoothed a hand over his clean-shaven jaw, never losing hold of my eyes.
Here goes. “ El enemigo de mi enemigo es mi amigo .” I thought back to the day I’d used this line, but in English, and here I was, having to say it again.
“An enemy of my enemy is my friend,” he translated, narrowing his eyes. A long pause had my stomach flipping before he asked, “And what common enemy do we share?”
One more sip of tequila was needed, because it wasn’t every day I asked for a meeting with someone with ties to the cartel, one of the most dangerous in the region. Hell, his family, the Moraleses, were in charge. “The men who’ve been causing problems for your family’s business are my enemy.”
“I am not part of the cartel anymore. I parted ways with my family a few years ago, and my guess is you know that, or you wouldn’t be sitting across from me right now.
” He motioned toward the packed club; it was shocking we could even hear each other talk over all the chatter everywhere.
The noise also happened to cocoon our conversation, trapping it between us.
“I run legitimate businesses now, as you can see.”
Good answer, and the one I’d been counting on since he was why I was in Mexico in the first place. Plan B fell apart without him. “I commend you for walking away. That couldn’t be easy.”
His eyes flew to his drink as if I’d hit a nerve.
“These men here are also my family now. I’m trying to keep them off the streets.
Stop them from joining the cartel. Help them channel their frustrations differently, even if it means using their fists to make money.
The food still must be put on the table, sí ? ”
“I understand.” And in truth, I really did, but that didn’t stop the jittery feeling in my stomach as I waited to learn if he’d help me or not.
“I’d do anything to protect them.” His shoulders arched back, signaling strength and maybe a bit of defiance regarding his family. “And I mean anything.”
Okay, well, good. I’d be needing him to anything his way on over to my side.
“It’s not always easy to keep these men away from the strong overreach of my family’s business, if you understand what I am saying?”
“I think I do.” His family was known to disembowel and hang people who told them no.
So, you know, not the best enemy to have.
Possibly worse than the Sokolovs, which was saying a lot.
“I have information that can help protect you and these men. I don’t have the intel I want to share on me now, but—”
“If you plan to ask me to arrange a meeting with anyone in the cartel,” he interrupted, “they will not let you walk away, even if you can help them with this common enemy you seem to have.”
“I know.” I gulped down the rest of my tequila, feeling its warming effects in my chest. “I have a plan for that, don’t worry.”
He continued to study me like I was a test he already had the answers to but wasn’t sure if he trusted they were really the right ones. I could understand him being cautious and leery. If he didn’t question me, then I’d be worried.
“These competitors of mi familia really pissed you off.” It was a statement, not a question, but I nodded my answer.
“May I ask you something?”
“You want to know why I walked away, sí ?” He added more tequila to my glass, and hopefully I’d be able to walk away on my own without someone carrying me. How many shots had I taken? These weren’t one-ounce pours, that was for sure.
“I guess my curiosity’s getting the best of me as well.”
With his chin, he gestured for me to drink up. So I did. Such a great idea to drink more tequila ... said no one ever.
“Are you familiar with the Battle of Puebla? Americans like to party on Cinco de Mayo, but I don’t believe most know the significance of it.”
“Yes, I know a little of the history. The French occupation here ended that day.” I wasn’t quite catching the relevance to why he left the cartel.