Enemy Sworn (6 page)

chapter six

A
s they proceeded through the main gates to the township of Terra Oro—in reality the Dumas compound—Mateo's senses pulsed with awareness. Though it was early in the morning, the populace was up and about. And though they appeared well fed and clothed, they wore blank stares he recognized. It was the same look Sophia had in her eyes as she was dragged out of the lounge.

Hopeless resignation.

Surrounded by Dumas's soldiers, Mateo absorbed every detail of each structure, each person, each scent. His gut told him this was where Dumas was brewing his lethal drug, O. It was there, the smell of it subtly hiding beneath the scent of overflowing flowerpots, endless trellises of bougainvillea and some purple grape-looking drapey stuff. The streets teemed with bright, aromatic flowers, not, he realized, for aesthetics but to hide the stench of chemicals. It was there to the trained nose. He caught wisps of it but try as he could to pinpoint the direction it came from, it didn't appear to be coming from any specific direction. Was everyone associated with Dumas elbow deep in the manufacturing of O? Was that why there was no specific source? Or were the towns' folk so used to the smell they didn't notice it anymore?

As they slowly drove down the streets lined with blooming terra-cotta pots, it occurred to Mateo that the little town was not only immaculate but was also aesthetically pleasing, like a fairy-tale village. Each shop front was welcoming and tidy, with brightly painted stucco, festooned with blooming flowerpots, open doors and welcoming refreshments. It was in complete contrast to the sullen inhabitants who stared at him as he drove by. Dumas was smart. Paint a pretty picture to outsiders and attract no unwanted attention. It must cost the kingpin millions a year just to keep the small town flush with the flowering pots. They went a long way to conceal the ugliness lurking just beneath the surface.

At the end of a limestone walkway a sprawling, brightly painted three-story hacienda rose up behind the fifteen-foot carved limestone fountain centered in the spacious courtyard. Red, pink and white bougainvillea wildly sprouted from the ground-floor planters and climbed along the stucco walls to the balconies, entwining with the ornate wrought-iron railings, then creeping toward the terra-cotta-tile rooftop. A colorful mosaic of blue, white, orange, red and green tiles framed the large archway that preceded two enormous hewn-wood doors with great wrought-iron handles. As Mateo approached, the soldiers slowed to a stop and directed him to cut the engine and dismount his Harley. He did, pulling off his helmet and hanging it from a handlebar. He unbuckled one of the saddlebags and withdrew a heavy backpack and slung it over his shoulder.

He grinned and looked up at the soldier in charge. “A token of my favor for
el patrón
.” The sergeant didn't look convinced. Mateo grinned, slung the heavy bag around and unzipped the lip to show him what was inside. The man slapped his hand over his mouth, quickly turned and retched.

“Pussy,” Mateo sneered, zipping the bag up and turning to the wood doors, ready to take on Dumas. They swung open slowly.

As the group of them proceeded inside, the doors closed ominously behind them. Mateo looked up to the opposing twin wrought-iron and travertine-tile staircases. Standing above him on the second-floor landing was Alexander Dumas, as calm, cool and collected as if he had not one single care in the world. With the innate power of the predator he was, Dumas sauntered down the wide stairway, not once breaking eye contact with Mateo.

The cartel boss was even more impressive in person. Powerfully built, he towered over Mat by three inches. His shiny silver hair was thick and straight, stopping just above his shoulders. His nostrils flared beneath his sharp nose. When Dumas smiled, his brilliant white canines glittered viciously in beams of morning sunlight shining through the glass courtyard dome.

“You are the Widow Maker?” Dumas asked.

Mateo nodded.

“Then you are either a fool or on a suicide mission. Which is it?” he asked Mateo with the barest hint of an accent.

“I'm a fool for your daughter. I killed her
prometido
for the right to her.” He held up his arms, presenting his forearms wrapped in the former favorite's vambraces. “Blood for blood. I won't leave without her.”

Caught completely off guard by Mateo's ballsy claim for his daughter, Dumas stared, stunned, at him. Fury rose slowly in his eyes before it washed in brutal waves from his body. The true nature of this killer was impossible to hide. But instead of ordering Mateo's death on the spot, the old man threw his head back and roared with laughter.

Mateo slung the backpack around, unzipped it, grabbed the cadaver head the lab had dummied up to resemble Bertram's and tossed it at Dumas's feet. The gathering crowd gasped, shocked not by the severed head but by such a disrespectful act.

Dumas's humor evaporated as he slapped Mateo viciously across the face. “You are alive only because of my respect for the man I considered my son. Do not push your luck, assassin. Your life is of little significance to me.”

Clenching his jaw, Mat fought to control his temper. To stand there and take the slap like he was this man's bitch was probably one of the hardest things he'd ever done in his life. But it was also a testament to his commitment to bring the man standing before him down.

Mat nodded imperceptibly. It was the only show of respect he would give the man. But he didn't back down. Not an inch. Instead he held his ground. “Your
son
killed my brother. Blood for blood.” He looked past Dumas to the second-story balcony, instinctively knowing she was up there. “I didn't come here to be told no. I came to claim what is rightfully mine.”

Dumas shoved Mateo out of his way as he stalked past him, then whirled around to face him.

“And so you shall have all that was Javier's.” Dumas snapped his fingers and the big soldier who had challenged Mateo stepped forward. “Eduardo will show you to Javi's rooms. In exchange for both vambraces you may take what you wish.”

“I didn't come for his trinkets, I came for his woman.” Mateo smiled wickedly as he stroked the vambrace on his right forearm. “That's not negotiable and neither are the vambraces.”

Dumas snarled, his dark eyes so much like his daughter's, flashing furiously. “You push me beyond my limits,
punta
.”

Despite the edge of violence Mateo stood upon, he didn't flinch. If he backed down now, he'd get eaten alive. “Blood for blood is not conditional. It's absolute. So too will be my loyalty. But your daughter first.”

Dumas stood rigid and silent for what seemed like hours before his eyes resumed a semblance of calm. He barked an order, calling for the woman who had, until he heard her name and realized he'd be seeing her in a matter of minutes, gotten so deep under Mateo's skin he knew he was going to have a hard time relieving the itch.

Like a summer breeze she materialized at the top of the stone balustrade. Shocked, her eyes widened as recognition dawned. She made to turn away from him, but her father's sharp command for her to come down halted her. Mateo's eyes narrowed as she brushed her hair forward to hide her face and hesitated with each step toward him. By the time she reached the bottom of the stairway his blood boiled.

He approached her and gently pushed the hair from her cheek. “Son of a bitch!” he swore. “Who touched you?” he demanded. Her puffy bottom lip was split, her left eye swollen with a purplish bruise staining her eyelid.

“Answer him, Sophia!” Dumas roared.

Her body trembled violently.

What the fuck?
Mat turned on Dumas. “Who did this to her and why?”

“Tell him, daughter, or I will and the entire village will know your shame.”

Sophia straightened, and tossed her hair off her face to look at Mateo but directed her words to her father. “They already know my shame!”

“Such disrespect deserves more than stern words,” Dumas ground out, raising his hand to strike his daughter. Mateo grabbed the powerful hand, squeezing the elder's fingers so tightly his fingertips turned white.

“Touch her and I will kill you,” Mateo promised.

Like two titans they stood face to face, toe to toe, Mateo holding the supreme leader's fist high between them. Sophia cried out behind him, shoving past him to stand beside her father. The significance of her move was not lost on Mateo. If she picked Mateo over her father before he claimed her, she would lose whatever respect she had left. But damned if he was going to allow any man, including her father, to lay a hand on her.

“I don't need your protection from anyone,
especially
my father,” she hissed.

Mateo nodded, satisfied. At least now she was showing some spine.

Mateo looked up to Dumas, whose eyes shot fire. It wasn't every day he was so challenged. Mateo pushed off the leader's fist and held his hand out to Sophia. She refused him.

“Take it,” Mat commanded.

When Sophia refused a second time, Dumas made a low rumbling sound of frustration. Before she invited more violence, Mateo grabbed the surly vixen and yanked her beside him. “You belong to me now, woman, know your place,” he growled.

Sophia jerked her head back, and raised those mesmerizing eyes to her father. “What is he saying?”

Dumas looked sternly at her. “Blood for blood, daughter.” He pointed to what passed as Bertram's head on the courtyard floor. “He did that, and now all that was Javi's belongs to him.” Dumas took her hand and placed it on Mateo's forearm. “You are his to claim should he choose to do so. And so he has chosen to make his claim.” He looked hard at Mateo. “Do you think by taking my daughter this way it will solidify a place for you among my family?”

“I could care less about your family.” Mateo's eyes focused on Sophia, who seemed to have lost some of her resistance to him but now stood carefully watching him. “I have not stopped thinking of her since we . . . met.” Mateo kept the more intimate details of that meeting to himself. He wasn't sure how
el patrón
would feel about his daughter begging his capo's assassin to pop her cherry.

“Even though she is damaged goods?”

Mateo smiled, grabbed her to him and caught her chin with his fingers. “I'd give my right hand to have her.”

Sophia's reaction was classic surrendering female to his possessive male. Her big brown eyes widened as they searched his face for reaffirmation of what he'd just said. That he meant them stunned him. He wanted her that bad. That she wanted to believe in him despite their rough start astounded him.

He had never been as hard for a woman as he was at that moment. His muscles clenched painfully. Before he embarrassed them both, he abruptly released her and pushed her away from him. “Pack your things,” he hoarsely said. “We're leaving.”

“Oh no, no, no, not yet, my friend,” Dumas purred. “There is the price of your right hand to pay for both of my daughter's.”

“No, father!” Sophia cried. “He will be useless to me one-handed!” She turned and glared at Mateo, then said to her father, “End this charade now. Cut off his head!”

•   •   •

Thoughts ran rampant in Sophia's head. How could she escape the lunacy of her life? Damn this situation! Her father ignored her demand, as she had hoped he would. As much as she felt like a fool for falling for Dark and Dangerous two nights ago, she didn't want him dead or maimed, she wanted him gone! Gone because she was attracted to him. Gone because she knew if given half a chance she would fall in love with him. Gone because it was highly likely that if he managed to carve out a place here among her family, the power would consume him and she would lose him to it.

Sophia's gaze narrowed at the crazy stranger. Why was he
really
here? Not for her, she was certain. No man, not Javi, who had untold power to gain, nor her father, who should have, out of love for his child, had ever put himself out for her. Certainly nothing close to what this lunatic was wagering. But for what? To earn her father's respect and by doing so maneuver himself into the family? Sophia was no fool; she knew her father was a powerful man, with connections throughout the world. His business empire aside, he had amassed a billion-dollar fortune in gold doubloons he'd discovered three decades ago off the Cabo coast. He was benevolent to the town's people. But demanding. And protective. She used to think it was because he loved them, but he loved the power more. And so too would the man standing beside her.

Mateo looked hard at Sophia. He didn't want her, she decided. Not the way she wanted to be wanted. He wanted what came with her, and he was a fool to think he could convince her father, by his show of bravado, that he was here for her and somehow deserving of a place in the family. Alexander Dumas was never fooled. He lived and died by the blood-for-blood code. Despite her newfound hatred for this fool, she was not like her father. He would find a way to dispose of her foolish suitor, much sooner than later.

And that she could not bear.

Raising her gaze to the only man ever to challenge her father, Sophia shook her head. “I'm not worth it,” she softly said. “Give my father the vambraces, then leave here while you still have all of your body parts.”

“You're worth both hands.” He stuck them out toward her father. Sophia gasped. He was loco!

Grabbing his right hand by the vambrace, her father pulled the crazy man over to a tall table by the stairway. He slammed it down, palm first, and kept it immobile with his iron fist. “Eduardo, my machete.”

“No, Papa!” she screamed, running to the table and placing her hand on Loco's.

“Stand back, Sophia,” Dark and Dangerous said, looking past her.

Grabbing him by the chin, she yanked the stranger's face around to look directly at her. “There is still time! Please, renounce your blood claim, give my father the vambraces and leave!”