The Perfect Stranger (LOS SANTOS Cartel Story #2)
MELISSA JANE
The Perfect Stranger
Los Santos Cartel #2
Melissa Jane
Copyright 2016 – Melissa Jane
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to real events, real people, and real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the Author’s imagination and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, organizations or places is entirely coincidental.
All rights are reserved. This book is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the express written permission of the Author. All songs, song titles and lyrics contained in this book are the property of the respective songwriters and copyright holders.
Book design by Swish Design & Editing
Editing by Swish Design & Editing
Cover design by Amy Queau
Cover image Copyright 2016
OTHER WORKS BY MELISSA JANE
The Los Santos Cartel Series
NEVER TRUST A SAINT #1
THE PERFECT STRANGER #2
The Bittersweet Series:
LITTLE DOLL #1
CRIMSON DESERT #2
LAUGHING EYES #3
SOFIA #4
Standalone: Romantic Comedy
A SUMMER OF YOU
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The Devil is like a shadow.
It follows.
It waits.
Gabriel Nicholas Santos. Born with a name belonging to saints, yet evil to the core.
When he smiled, people would die.
When he lost control, hell would open up its fiery gates.
He was nothing more than a malevolent puppet to his elusive uncle. Together they were LOS SANTOS cartel, rulers of South America’s most feared and powerful drug empire. The price on their heads was high. The price of becoming one of them? Even higher.
Both were my targets who knew the game well. While one kept me close, the other became a myth.
But I would wait.
I would watch.
I would become just like them in order to finish them both.
But it was never going to be that easy. Not now. Not with… her.
Gabriel had his sights fixed on FBI Agent Nina Cross. Strong. Beautiful. And none-the-wiser of those who shadowed her every move.
She held the answers he had killed so many for. She was the one thing stopping LOS SANTOS from taking full control.
And I had one job. To both save and destroy Nina Cross.
But that was only the beginning.
Only when you cover your enemies with dirt are they truly gone.
To everyone who has had to fight for what they so passionately believe in.
Blurb
Dedication
Table of Contents
Acknowledgments
Dictionary of Spanish Words
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Connect with Me Online
About the Author – Melissa Jane
A massive thank you to all the readers who have followed me on my crazy writing journey and to the new readers who have taken the chance and jumped on board. For all the bloggers who have been by my side from the very beginning, who have pimped, shared, reviewed and supported me, a thank you is not enough.
I have the greatest pleasure in saying I work with the best editor. Kaylene Osborn from Swish Design & Editing is one of the most talented and supportive people I know. Whenever I have fallen short, she’s always there to steer me back on track. Your advice, guidance and service is so greatly appreciated.
Thank you to KE Osborn for the awesome interior graphic design. I fell in love instantly with your talent and thanks for taking the time, albeit, short notice to help a gal out.
amigo – friend, buddy
barrio – neighborhood, district
beaunos noches – goodnight
cállate – shut up
cariña - sweetheart
donde eta – where is
el cazador – the hunter
el engaño – deception, trick
en busca de – in search of
es buena – good
gringos – American
hagalo – make it or do it
hola - hello
lo siento – I am sorry, excuse me
mamista - hot mama, hot babe
por favour - please
puto – male prostitute, coward, traitor
que – who
que pasa - what’s up
salud - cheers
señor – mister or sir
senorita – miss
si – yes
Tejo – a game, a traditional sport of Columbia
The wind blew her long hair, and she pulled her jacket tighter around her neck fighting the arctic frost freezing the city. She moved with the elegant grace I remembered, and her beauty was still blatantly obvious to everyone but her. The last time I saw her, she had been naked beneath me. I watched as she weaved in and out of the New York crowded streets. My vantage point—four floors above street level.
She paused, making people with places to go abruptly walk around her. Her head dropped slightly before she slowly turned, wisps of dark chocolate hair caressing her delicate features. She looked for the eyes watching her. Scanning the street, her beautiful brows creased together as she came up empty, wishing for answers.
She could feel me. I wanted to feel her.
She was perfection. I was a man with a kill list.
She deserved a knight. I had been her devil.
She didn’t need someone like me in her life.
But I couldn’t stop myself.
She was my kryptonite.
Nina Cross was my destruction as much I was hers.
Two Years Earlier
“A minute and thirty to countdown,” the voice belonging to Zero announced in my ear piece both calm and collected despite the killing about to take place. My finger flexed on the trigger, itching to e
nd this saga once and for all. Adjusting my balaclava, beads of sweat trickled down my brow. New York City was in the midst of a heatwave. The humidity making any mission within the city’s smoldering caldron almost unbearable.
“How do you feel, bro?” Jase asks quietly next to me, his breathing staggered as he struggled to take his mind off the job ahead. He was like that. A pro at what he did, but always battled with his nerves in every operation. “Last day before long service leave. Can’t say I’m not envious.” We both worked in Tactical Operations within a private Special Forces Division specializing in counter-terrorism and high-value manhunts. Holidays were few and far between.
“Being able to hang up the rifle for two weeks is a sweet feeling.” I turned to my fellow fast shooter, who looked like he was visualizing the moment.
“The beach, cocktails in the sun, curvy mamasita’s teasing me day and night.” Jase’s eyes flittered to the dark, damp ceiling. We were positioned in an alleyway that was now forming entry to a bridge building. Somewhere in the derelict housing estate, there was a water leak that was finding its path through the roof cracks, creating rhythmic drops that fell in time with my heartbeat.
“Thirty seconds to countdown,” Zero cut through once again. Beside me, Jase exhaled heavily.
“Relax, I teased. “Come out of this and take your wife to Mexico.”
He looked like I’d said something ridiculous. “No fun in that.”
It was my turn to mirror his expression. “She’s too good for you, bro.”
“You don’t live with her.”
“Any man would gladly take your place.”
“You only say that ‘cause she practically orgasms over your accent.”
“Someone’s gotta pleasure her.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t understand you through that Colombian dribble.”
I chuckled. I couldn’t help it. He always gave the same reaction, whenever he knew he was losing the battle. “Like a knife. Every time.”
Truth was, his wife Nessa, was beautiful and sweet, and for some reason he just didn’t see any of it. His self-inflicted situation was always a useful distraction for him prior to a kill. But this wasn’t your average kill. Not unless you considered Bin Laden’s cousin just any terrorist.
When Osama Bin Laden was captured and killed, his large family—to who he was estranged from, and who had resided in the States for decades—were removed from the country three days after the 9/11 attacks and flown back to Saudi Arabia fearing lynching from those angry at Muslims. They were considered innocents, many with children in schools and colleges. All were homebound, except one. Yusuf Alamand. Alamand had been a great supporter of Bin Laden’s with an ambition to continue his cousin’s work. He was a rallier who used social media to recruit Islamic brothers and sisters to plan and carry out attacks. Two of his plans had already been intercepted. Had they not, thousands of people would have been killed or maimed. Now, he was planning an attack of mass proportions, one that would be just as epic as Bin Laden’s.
“You’re on,” Zero announced, and I squared my shoulders before preparing to round the corner.
“You good?” I asked Jase.
“See you on the other side.”
“Your entry is clear,” Zero confirmed as I stepped around the brick wall, rifle positioned, finger on the trigger. I blinked droplets of sweat from my lashes and made a track down the blackened tunnel that would lead to the complex opening.
The sun’s glare at the other end was becoming larger with every step I took, the soft chatter of children filtering through.
“Where are the kids?” I asked Zero through my mouthpiece.
“Just beyond the tunnel.”
Behind me I could hear Jase following, his heavy booted steps splashing the puddles caused by the roof leak.
Stopping just shy of the exit, I remained in the shadowed darkness casting a glance over the courtyard where three young children all under the age of seven played in squalor. No parents were around monitoring. Looking high, I scanned the six-level apartment complex façade and could identify no visible threat by the windows.
Pulling some cash free from my back pocket for exactly this type of situation, which happened far too regularly, I scooted across the courtyard, the curious and unfazed innocent expressions watching my every move. Jase stayed behind in the tunnel, his rifle pointed at the levels above.
“Here, take it,” I said, holding out the bills. “Go to Larry’s and stay there for an hour.” Larry’s was a diner on the corner. I needed to get them as far away as possible. Two pairs of eyes lit up at the money and they took the notes without question. The oldest of the group however, didn’t seem so convinced. He looked me up and down, jaw clenched. He appeared far too serious for a seven-year-old.
“Go,” I barked, and he snapped out of the stare.
I watched as the children scurried out of harm’s way and disappeared down the tunnel.
Jase crossed the courtyard and joined me as we entered the foyer. A women walked through the opposite entry carrying brown paper bags filled with groceries. Her eyes widened in horror when she saw us and disappeared the way she came.
“Up the stairs, the hall goes to the left and right,” Zero warned.
I signaled for Jase to watch the right while I took the left. He nodded and followed me as we made light work of the concrete stairs.
Loud, muffled, foreign music blasted from behind closed doors. The foul stench of boiled meat wafted through my balaclava. Scanning the surroundings, my rifle jerked toward a man in a grimy tank top exiting his apartment. He was startled by our appearance and apparent threat and quickly retreated back through the door. He wasn’t my target. No, my target had what was coming to him. My target wouldn’t even run. He knew his time was up and he would die pride intact.
Trusting that Jase had my back, I picked up the pace and until we reached the next flight of stairs.
“All clear, Zero?”
“Target’s still in location,” he confirmed.
Taking two steps at a time, I found this level worse than the one below. The stench was almost unbearable, and I shallowed my breathing for fear of dry-retching. The walls were spray-painted with what seemed to be layers and layers of imagery—most of it vulgar. What looked like to be animal feces dotted the garbage littered floor. Avoiding most of the filth, I made my way outside apartment 305B.
This was it.
Jase rounded on me ready to kick the door open.
“You’ve got that look in your eye,” he observed quietly, and even though I couldn’t see his mouth, I knew he was smiling. I raised my eyebrows in acknowledgment. “Eyes as black as night,” he continued. “Hate to be the fuckers on the other end.”
I moved to the side as Jase took a step back and booted the door with a force to be reckoned with. The latch stood no chance, the wood splintering as the entry cleared. We stormed in, rifles poised at the three men caught off guard. They faltered, eyes wide in horror, surrounded by enough evidence to put them away in Guantanamo for life.
“Drop it! Drop it now!” Jase bellowed to the oldest of the men who gripped a black duffle bag. He hesitated, considered his diminishing options before dropping the item on the floor.
“On the ground,” I ordered in my calm, detached voice. Three sets of eyes flicked to me, my tone having had the desired effect. They swallowed in unison when I pointed my rifle to the floor.
The oldest man held my gaze while rambling to the others. They lowered to their knees, but I had the feeling he was telling them a whole lot more than to just follow my instructions. The youngest looked between his leader and me, his nerves obvious.
“What’s he saying?” Jase muttered under his breath. I didn’t speak Arabic so I had no idea. But I didn’t have to, to know that they were trying to get the upper hand.
“Face down on the ground. Hands out in front.” They complied with my instructions and with the limited room they had, the men fell to the grimy floor.
&nb
sp; “Hands out,” I instructed again. The youngest eyed me from below, something more sinister than normal passing through his eyes. “Now!”
And that’s when it all started.
All he had to do was listen, and he would still be alive. Not that he deserved to live.
We were standing in a huge bomb waiting to the go off. The room was filled with chemical bombs, suicide vests, IED’s, conventional firearms, grenades, sticks of dynamite and half a dozen M42 rocket launchers. On the table in front were a line-up of cell phones and keys to vehicles that would act as car bombs in the busy city streets.
Failing co-operation, the youngest man’s hand darted underneath, and I fired without hesitation. The bullet pierced his temple. The entry was a tidy wound, but the bullet’s exit at close range created an explosion of brain matter. Dark red sprayed the equipment behind his now limp body. The two left were now bellowing at each other despite only being less than a ruler length apart.
“Quiet!” Jase yelled, but his instruction went unheard. The men were in a hyper state, all feelings of common sense gone.
I fired another shot, this time toward the ground only inches from their faces. As expected, they stilled, their lips forming a snarl.
“You’re both under arrest for suspected terrorist plotting.” They continued to stare, a red-blooded hatred pouring from Yusuf’s Alamand’s soulless eyes.
“You just killed an innocent man,” Alamand raged.
“He got off lightly, unlike you. Keep your hands stretched out.”
Jase lowered his rifle and pulled his cuffs free from his vest. I watched while taking in the scene around me. There was enough material to this one room to kill thousands of people. And yet, this find didn’t even make up one percent of the cell networks out there plotting their attacks in rooms just like this. Not only that, they were in housing commission. The State, the US government paid to house these people who boasted in tearing us apart.
The men didn’t struggle. The cuffs slid over their barely exposed wrists with ease.