Chapter Twelve
“I’m not sure about this,” Lourdes murmured as she stepped out of the SUV into the side parking lot of La Paradoja, one of the hottest clubs in the city.
The three-story brick-and-steel building with its flickering red and purple neon lights towered before her like a nightclub cathedral, and she hadn’t even seen the front of it yet.
Quit being so na?ve, she silently hissed at herself. You belong here.
She so did not belong here. Not at the club.
Not in her dress. Lourdes rubbed her goose-pimpled arms and tugged at the hem of her slinky, sapphire-blue halter ensemble.
The warm breeze teased her wild curls across her face, carrying the scent of perfume and something spicy she couldn’t identify.
What a difference a change of elevation could make?
Where the mountains were frigid, the desert capital of Sonora radiated heat.
The chaos of the night pulsated around her.
Or was it sizzling directly in her veins?
A swarm of glittering bodies stretched down the block. The strangers’ good-natured shouts and a woman’s high-pitched laughter mingled with the thumping beats that escaped the club and the open windows of passing vehicles.
Carlota Lozano slid out beside her. A Cheshire cat grin spread across her crimson lips. From her bold makeup to the plunging neckline of her flashy dress, the cartel princess was everything Lourdes wanted to be—secured in her sexuality.
“You got this, Lulu,” Carlota said, using the shortened form of Lourdes’s name while she squeezed her shoulder. “No bride should get married without a bachelorette party. Even if we have to bring your man, my brother, and a small army of guards.”
Two more black SUVs pulled into the reserved spots beside Rubén’s armored vehicle.
Carlota rolled her eyes. “At least Enrique gets a bachelor party, too.”
“I’m okay with skipping mine.” Enrique shut the front passenger door behind him.
“Forget it,” Drina called out, rounding the side of the vehicle in a strapless green maternity dress that concealed her baby bump. “I haven’t left the hacienda in ages, except to go to the doctor. Pascha is happy to watch Sera, so I’m not leaving until my feet hurt from dancing.”
Lourdes laughed. “You’re lucky to have a sweet woman like Pascha as your housekeeper. My father’s is the sternest woman I’ve ever met.”
Rubén joined them and stuffed the car key into his slacks pocket. “Remember, ladies, no wandering off alone. If you need something, tell Ricky or me. One screw-up and we leave.”
“Relax.” Drina brushed invisible lint off his shiny red dress shirt. “You’ve given us the rules three times already.”
Once Rascón, five of Rubén’s enforcers, and Carlota’s bodyguard, Sancho, who had driven her in from Navojoa, strode over, Rubén led the way through the crowded parking lot for the sidewalk and bypassed the line for the club entrance.
The heat of curious, envious stares trailed Lourdes like streams of smoke.
Conversations faltered. Whispers started.
Boxed in by Enrique on her left and Carlota on her right, Lourdes kept her gaze straight ahead.
Smirking, Carlota nudged her arm. “After all these years, I should be used to this. But no. The overzealous, he-man escort routine still sucks.”
“Agreed.” Lourdes bit her bottom lip, tasting her peach-flavored gloss.
Drina snorted ahead of them. “It’s all new to me. I never had bodyguards or bulletproof SUVs growing up. My nights were spent at my mom’s restaurant. The only clubbing I ever did was watching it in movies.”
“You were lucky to have a normal family. Unlike us princesses,” Carlota added, a melancholy note dropping her voice an octave.
Lourdes looped her arm with Carlota’s, offering what support she could. Despite her horrible marriage to Jacobo, she adored his sister, the youngest Lozano sibling.
Again, Lourdes tugged on her dress. Drina had given it to her since Rubén had a weird penchant for stocking the unused bedrooms in his home with clothes for his guests.
Not that Lourdes was his guest. Enrique had left her there while he met with her father and later her father’s men for her belongings, and he returned dressed to kill in a midnight-blue silk shirt and black slacks with his hair gelled back.
Had they been alone, she would’ve ravaged him on the spot.
Her fingers tingled. How she wanted to kiss him, feel him, drown in him. His body heat swamped her; his irresistible citrus scent tingled her nostrils.
“I’m thrilled for you and Ricky,” Carlota said to her. “As soon as I heard about the change of plans, I packed my bags faster than you could snap your fingers.”
Lourdes laughed gently. Rubén had pulled rank on Carlota’s husband, Manuel, to get the couple to attend the wedding, but she didn’t care if that slimy man showed up.
The bouncers opened the glass double doors and nodded at the cartel leaders.
La Paradoja’s vestibule spread out like a luxury hotel lobby with its welcoming gray-brocaded wallpaper and gilded trim.
The polished black floor reflected Lourdes’s image beneath the soft glow of the embossed ceiling lights.
A low bass thrummed through the space, vibrating the walls and quickening her heartbeat.
Cream leather armchairs and love seats with stylish chrome legs framed the room like most of the modern art galleries she loved.
A few patrons lounged and sipped drinks. Awe mixed with calculation narrowed their eyes as though celebrities strode by.
In a way, Rubén, Enrique, and the enforcers were celebrities. Even though the police and media had documented the Lozano Cartel hierarchy, the sheer notoriety of narco-lore, along with layers of red tape and well-placed bribes, had established their untouchable public persona.
As Lourdes and her group passed the pay counter without slowing, two bouncers at the back of the vestibule opened a set of thick metal doors.
The club exploded to life. Strobe lights flashed in red and blue as deep baselines pounded like a second pulse under her skin.
The scent of sweat, liquor, perfume, and cigarette smoke crashed over her in waves.
Her mouth watered for something light. Fruity.
Decadent. The bar stretched to the left, a long, neon-lit beast of chrome and back-lit glass.
At either end, curved wrought iron staircases rose in all their sinuous black elegance, winding toward the second-floor mezzanine like twin serpents.
Enrique settled his hand low on her back, steadying her without touching too much. Still, his presence lit a fire inside her.
Clusters of crescent-shaped booths, creamy sofas, and chrome-and-black tables dotted the sides of the building. Men in sleek suits and women in tight dresses laughed, flirted, and stared.
Of course, they stared. At Enrique, at Rubén, and at the armed guards trailing just behind them.
The dance floor dominated the center, packed with bodies moving to the hypnotic house beat.
Gorgeous women in matching black club dresses danced on elevated platforms throughout the room.
Their mesmerizing movements under the ever-shifting lights pricked something dark and primal in Lourdes’s chest. What, she didn’t know.
“Amazing,” Drina called out over the music and stared toward the second-floor balcony where patrons in the VIP section sipped cocktails and surveyed the floor like royalty in a coliseum. “Drinks first. Then dancing.”
Rubén guided her toward the staircase to the left of the bar.
Lourdes followed and gripped the warm rails.
Her heels clicked against the corrugated metal steps.
The further she climbed, the further the music receded, if only slightly muffled.
Her belly flipped as the VIP lounge unfolded in the same opulence of cream-leather booths and chrome-and-black tables, but with fewer people.
The subdued lighting cast everything in an expensive golden glow, a balm to her eyes.
She weaved between plush sitting arrangements until she slid into a half-moon booth along the wall.
The beautiful burgundy brocaded wallpaper surrounding her softened the harder edges of chrome and steel.
She exhaled slowly to battle back her tension.
Some good that did. Enrique slid in beside her while Carlota, Drina, and Rubén took the opposite curve.
The guards fanned out in silent formation, scanning the area, hands near their weapons.
“So this is La Paradoja,” Drina drawled and flashed Lourdes a grin. “Prime hunting grounds. Rubén and Enrique come here often.” She pointedly stared back at her husband.
“I quit the moment I brought you home.” Rubén tapped her nose.
Lourdes turned to Enrique. He was studying the table’s glossy surface as if it held answers to the universe.
Her stomach twisted. He’d been here plenty of times.
Hookups. Flings. One-night stands. In the whirlwind of the past few days, she hadn’t even considered his sex life outside of her.
Did he intend to sleep around once they were married?
A waitress in a tight black minidress and red high heels strutted over like she owned the place. From her sleek dark ponytail and lips painted the color of bruised plums, she exuded the confidence of someone who’d seen everything and sampled most of it.
“Ah, my favorite customers.” Her sultry, friendly voice belied her sharp grin. “Hola, Enrique. Rubén, months without a visit? I was starting to think you forgot about me.”
Rubén slung his arm around Drina’s shoulders and leaned back. “I’ve been busy. You know how it is, Alita,” he replied with polite dismissal. “Tequila, neat. My wife wants a virgin margarita.”
Alita cocked her hip and eyed Enrique like a cat that preyed on a bird with a broken wing. “And you, handsome? The usual? Or are we doing something different tonight?”
Lourdes bit her cheek and curled her fingers into her palms. The usual. That didn’t sound like a drink order.