Chapter 40 Amara
AMARA
Rays of sun slice through the slats in the blinds, painting the down comforter with peels of warmth. I smile, hugging into my cocoon.
Then my eyes flash open and I bolt upright in Ransome’s penthouse bed.
What fucking time is it?
I scramble for my phone but can’t find it.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
Sunshine means it’s late. Nine, ten, maybe? Piles of clothes on the floor remind me of what I half remember from the night before.
I grab Ransome’s dress shirt and throw it on, rushing out to the living room to find my phone.
“I’m going to be late,” I mumble in a panic. “I’m going to be so—”
“You’re not late for anything.”
I screech to a stop.
Ransome’s voice comes from in the kitchen. Panic slowly drains from me as I take him in. He’s wearing only black boxer briefs, the rest of him exposed, and he’s cooking. The scent of coffee and toasted bagels fills my senses as the rest of my brain struggles to process all of it.
We fucked last night. With a tap of his hand on the hood of the car, he told Ivan to leave and we fucked. Jesus fucking Christ, how did that slip my mind? It’s not like I could dream any of that. Even my wildest fantasies aren’t that dirty.
But the craziest part, the part I can’t seem to wrap my mind around, is that Ransome is still here. It’s 9 A.M., and he’s still here. At the penthouse. With me.
In his fucking underwear.
“My alarm didn’t go off,” I say, because what the fuck else do I say?
“I turned it off,” he states while gingerly piling lox on top of two sliced bagels. He licks his fingers and garnishes it with capers before picking up both plates and rounding the counter to set them down at the small table that I doubt has ever been used.
“What about work?” I ask.
Ransome goes back into the kitchen, grabs two black mugs of coffee, and hands one to me. “We are working from home today.”
I take the mug and nod. The steam reaches my nose, roasty and sweet from the cream and— is that caramel?
He doctored it for me. With caramel.
I melt. It smells amazing. Everything that is happening right now, wild as it might be, is amazing.
My brain, being a girl’s brain, keeps echoing the words over and over again…
He’s still here.
He didn’t leave.
He stayed the night.
I don’t know what it means, or even what I want it to mean. I just know that I feel… fuzzy. In a warm and happy way.
I sit down at the tables with him, crossing my legs because I am still naked under his shirt, and I take a bite of the lox bagel.
“Good?” he asks as I chew slowly.
“It’s lovely,” I say, covering my mouth with my fingertips so he doesn’t see me chewing.
“Good. Now let’s get started.”
I listen and eat while Ransome runs through the logistics of the El Paso deal. That’s what they call it, despite the fact the trucks dock in Las Cruces, New Mexico before being loaded. There is an Apex hub there of all places. El Paso is the port of entry where the trucks haul from Juarez, Mexico.
“Does all the… product… come from Mexico?” I ask as I mentally take notes.
“South America,” he answers. “The majority of the US’s cocaine comes from Columbia, Bolivia, and Peru, smuggled in through a hub near LAX.
We run through Juarez and Mexico City because the people we work with—very wealthy, very dangerous people—have access to a producer in Peru that makes the finest, purest stuff on the market. That’s who we are working with now.”
I nod, my eyes narrow in thought as I sip my coffee. “So they haul it over the border in the underside of gasoline tankers. Why would trucks of gasoline run from us to Juarez? Don’t they have access through their own country?”
Ransome’s lips tip in the hint of a smirk.
He likes the detailed questioning. “Because Apex has a deal with Energia. My company is king in the oil and gas industry. We own rights and distribution to half the planet. Anyone who does business with us stays in business. Clemente Rodriguez, the CEO of Energia, works with me to keep Mexico and Central America up to speed in the O&G industry… and he’s also the distributor to the Mexican cartel.
He sells to the kingpin of the Mexican prison systems, where this particular blow is in highest demand. ”
“And he works with you so that same product can become available and then needed in America.”
“Yes,” Ransome answers. And there’s the rest of that smirk.
“So trucks run from the Apex hub in Las Cruces down to Energia in Mexico. They do a fuel exchange where they load up with product and run back to Las Cruces,” I start in.
“And then the product is put in the new trucks, and also more fuel, so at checkpoints it appears they are actually doing the job of running for Apex.”
“Yes.”
“They cross the country meeting halfway and do an exchange at a hub in St. Louis where three new trucks take the product and bring it here. The trucks are detailed, loaded with fuel and empty cargo bays below, and then run back to St. Louis where they meet again.”
“Exactly. You learn fast, dorogoya.”
But I’m not done. As my brain wraps around the logistics of it all, I grow increasingly fascinated by the process.
“Why the stop in St. Louis? Why the trade-off? It seems risky to unload into new trucks out in the open like that.”
Ransome nods and sets down his mug. “The St. Louis hub is Apex secured. Most trucks load and unload at docks on the building’s exteriors.
These ones are brought inside for cross-country maintenance.
But I understand your questioning. I had the same concerns myself.
” He leans over slightly as he speaks. “My dad, Anton, insisted that this way was better. The trucks that run from St. Louis to New York are labeled Northern region and he believes that’s safer than having South West region trucks up here. ”
“Like it would be too obvious to have trucks that are most likely running the Mexican border just showing up on a bi-weekly basis or more in an area where cocaine and narcotics have become a huge issue on the streets.”
“Exactly.”
“If not to the cops, then definitely to the other dealers out there. Like the Chadovichs and who knows who else.”
“Couldn’t have said it better myself, kitten.”
It earns me a grin. A real fucking grin. Heat shoots down to my crotch and I squeeze my legs together more before I make a mess all over her black leather chair.
“It still seems risky to me,” I say. “How long does it take to unload from one truck to another?”
“About two hours start to finish, and that’s if they really move.”
“That’s two sitting duck hours.” It’s a bold thing to say. Ransome studies me. “You have eyes on the entrances and the roads in and around the hub during these trades?”
“Maybe not enough.” He sucks air through his teeth and pinches the bridge of his nose. “This operation was started by Anton and placed in my lap. I am ironing out the details to ensure it doesn’t explode. But I agree with you. The tighter we run, the better.”
“No leaks.” I take a sip of my perfectly made coffee.
“Zero,” he agrees, and his head cocks to the side a little. His blue eyes are light, flecked with a deeper sapphire, and his lips are still tugging in a half smirk. “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, kitten. Smarter than I gave you credit for.”
“I’ve had to be,” I admit.
He nods. “I get that.”
I wonder if he really does. If he’s ever been stuck in survival mode like I have. But then again, he is Bratva. Chances are, he’s gone up against way worse than I have.
Guess we’ll find out.
After breakfast, Ransome tells me to take the rest of the day off. He is still going into the office, but claims he doesn’t need me. Normally, I’d argue, but I’m still not standing quite straight after last night. If the boss wants to give me some sweet PTO, who am I to say no?
After he leaves, I hop in the shower, relishing the heat and using all the products he ordered for me.
Higher end soaps and shampoos, conditioners so creamy they feel like silk.
After pampering myself for a good forty minutes, I get out and wrap myself in a fluffy pink robe, also courtesy of Ransome. Or Apex.
Or the Russian mob.
Jesus. I can’t help but think about everything we just talked about.
This is dangerous stuff. It’s not that I didn’t know that already, but I now know more about it than I’d like.
Not only are we talking about one of the biggest cocaine operations in the country (if not THE biggest), I am involved with the man running the whole shebang.
That in and of itself is a lot to take in.
But last night is also a lot to take in. I have never, in all my life, been fucked like that. As I look in the bathroom mirror to apply makeup, I see marks on my neck. My arms. My collarbone. He claimed me, freckling me with tiny bite marks and hickies. And as bad as it sounds… I don’t hate it.
I cover them up with makeup, only so when I go have lunch with Electra she won’t ask too many questions. Not about that, anyways.
We meet at a deli nearby. As usual, she is a million miles an hour.
“How did you get a day off?” she asks, spooning up some potato salad. “A weekday nonetheless.”
I just offer a half shrug. “He has meetings and said he doesn’t need me.”
Electra’s eyes narrow in suspicion. “He makes you do his laundry. The man always needs you.”
“Not today,” I smile casually.
“Hmm. Well, who am I to question it? I’m just glad you’re here. I want to talk about my new man.”
I nearly drop my turkey croissant. “Another one?”
“No. The same one I’ve been going out with.”
“Wow. Can’t believe he stuck around,” I joke.
“He did. No fucking clue why, but we’re still going out. I think it’s safe to say we’re exclusive,” she grins.
I give her my best, scandalous ooh. “Well, well, look at you! That’s exciting. You’ll have to let me meet this living saint you’ve managed to snare.”
“He’s either that or an axe murderer.”
“Or a cannibal.”
“Or a drug kingpin.”
We burst out laughing.
As I sit with my friend having lunch on the sunny patio, I feel good. For the first time in a long time, I feel really good about things. Like they’re finally looking up instead of down.
I just pray it’ll last.