Never Trust a Saint (LOS SANTOS Cartel story #1) Read online

  “Not really,” he answered deadpan after a long pause. “If you’re here that means trouble is close.”

  That was generally true and I couldn’t dispute that. It was, of course, my job to find those who needed to be locked up. I did, however, find his position on the matter rather extreme.

  “I assure you, I wish to avoid trouble during my stay.”

  “Your keys,” he said throwing them on the counter. “The dining room is open from five. No booking needed. There’s a convenience store a hundred or so yards north. You wouldn’t have passed it, but it’s within walking distance.”

  “Thank you,” I offered, the thought of getting through another night alone already setting me on edge. Perhaps I should have stuck with Ruiz after all, not that he’d been of much help last night.

  “Anything else?” the older man asked, frowning at me in annoyance.

  “No.” Taking the keys and a pamphlet of the local area, I made my way to the room and crashed. While it was still daylight, I’d get some sleep in case the night revealed more demons.

  ***

  A series of noises woke me hours later. It was three in the afternoon. The rumbling of Harley Davidsons riding past on the main road was just too loud to ignore. Stretching my limbs, I realized I felt worse than I did before I fell asleep. I needed food. My grumbling, pained stomach reinforced this idea. Pulling some cash from my purse, I pocketed the room key and made my way out onto the street. The sun still carried a scorching heat making the journey to the convenience store harder than it should have been.

  It was a quiet town, used more for passing through to connecting highways. A bell sounded as I pushed the door open and was greeted by a blast of welcomed cold air.

  “Afternoon,” I called out to the middle age man behind the counter. He nodded with a warm smile as he continued flicking through receipts.

  Naturally, I gravitated to the already packaged food and selected a chicken and lettuce sandwich. Studying the contents through the small plastic window of the box, I frowned at the wilted greenery, then realized I was too hungry to care. Behind me the doorbell chimed, heavy footsteps heading in my direction. The air around me closed in, my personal space invaded. I could almost feel the person’s breath on my neck. Looking up, I met the glare of a man, his reflection in the glass display cabinet. Spinning on my heel, I came face to face with three Hispanic armed men. The one closest was shirtless, his lean body covered with tattoos that extended up his neck and over his face. His head was slightly tilted, black eyes glaring through his lashes.

  One of the men behind him wore a dirty tank top, his nose constantly twitching, the back of his hand used every five seconds to scratch the itch. The third man was turned toward the counter staff, a semi-automatic pointed in his direction.

  “Don’t do anything,” I instructed the staff whose casual attitude from earlier had morphed into raging bull of anger. I was the extreme opposite. My heart was thudding, heat flushing my neck.

  “Hey!” The snarling man in front warned when my attention diverted from him.

  “What do you want?” I asked calmly, waiting for a lack of concentration on his behalf so I could retrieve my Glock.

  “Agent Cross?” His accent was thick and he even managed to add a snarl to the words if that were at all possible.

  “Yes.” There was no point in lying. They already knew who I was.

  I watched as his menacing face twisted with a chilling ear to ear grin.

  His left hand moved slowly, fingers wriggling in an effort to re-grip.

  Someone shouted and we both jumped slightly by the sudden raucous in a room that had otherwise fallen silent.

  The man with the semi-automatic yelled in Spanish to the staff behind the counter, who to my horror, had now drawn his own sawn-off shotgun.

  The convenience store erupted, a shouting match between the two gun wielders, snarling man pointing his gun at my face screaming at me to lie down, and the nose itch man was growing dangerously irritated. He bounced from foot to foot, enjoying the standoff but at any moment liable to snap.

  Raising my hands in an effort to calm my aggressor, I kept one eye trained on the store worker who had spittle flying from his mouth with rage as he screamed obscenities at the men who threatened his business. The tattooed man wrapped his hand around the back of my neck in an effort to force me to the ground but was stopped when a thunderous boom followed by the peppering noise of a semi-automatic exploded in the small space around us. Tattooed man released his hold to take aim at the store owner who was ducking and weaving behind the aisles. Food debris and busted packaging burst through the store like fireworks every time a bullet was shot. Using this opportunity I pulled my Glock free, but before I could point it, a searing heat assaulted my shoulder and I fell to the ground, my gun falling at the feet of tattooed man. I looked up just in time to see the store owner taking a step out from behind his safety to score a few shots. It wasn’t his fate to survive. Within a second, he was sprayed with bullets, his body violently convulsing with each impact. Blood plumed, the spray quickly turning his pale blue shirt crimson red.

  When the bullets ceased, the man fell to his knees then flat on his stomach, life long since abandoned his destroyed body. Itchy Nose whose eyes were now wide as saucers threw his head back and howled like a crazy man on crack. The room fell silent, three sets of evil eyes glowering at me, two guns ready to waste me like they did with the store owner. Reaching forward tattooed man gripped my ponytail, pain attacking my scalp. Halfway standing, my shoulder screaming in agony, another explosion rocked the store. This time, I was thrown back into the display cabinet when the windows of the store shattered, glass flying around us like sharp dust particles.

  I watched in shock, half covering my face for protection while reaching over fallen debris for my Glock. The man who had the semi-automatic now lay on the ground, mouth slightly open, eyes staring blankly at me. Itchy Nose was struggling to free his dead companion’s gun. Shots from inside the store began as the tattooed man took aim at whoever was outside. He wore a vindictive snarl, small cuts on his face from shards of broken glass caused rivulets of blood to trickle over his ink.

  Before Itchy Nose could aim with the semi-automatic, a bullet pierced between his eyes. He fell back and landed heavy, cracking his skull on the hard tiles. Tattooed man ducked for cover and assessed the damage of his fallen friends. Turning to me, I met his full force. That was until he saw my Glock pointed at him.

  “Who the fuck are you and why are you following me?” I asked, fed up with the bullshit.

  He smirked. An evil, condescending smile like he pitied me. “It doesn’t matter how far you run, puta,” he started, his voice laden with an accent. “There’s too many after you and high dollars for your head.”

  Before I could respond, his throat exploded in front of me. A hideous mass of blood, flesh and gore sprayed my face and covered my chest. I screamed, squinting through the mess coating my eyelashes as the man met the same fate as his friends, except with a gaping hole where his voice box used to be. He was dead, and not by my bullet. The store fell quiet except for the sound of my Glock falling onto the tiles. I sat, not knowing what to do, my bloodied and injured arm screaming at me.

  The doorbell chimed and with the little energy I had left, I looked up to find him stalking toward me. Jair Ruiz. His strides were long, determined, his rifle in one hand by his side.

  Without saying a word, he hooked his free hand under my uninjured arm and hauled me to my feet.

  “We need to get out of here,” he murmured. I could have been mistaken but there was concern mixed with his no-nonsense tone. “The local authorities won’t be far behind.”

  Numb, I allowed him to snake his hand around my waist keeping me balanced as we walked through the debris and fallen bodies of my attackers. I could feel tattooed guys blood drying on my face and neck, the thought making me sick.

  Stepping over the threshold, the afternoon sun blinded me. Before we even
reached the motel, I could see the manager eyeing us from the supposed safety of his glass office door. He assessed my bloodied disheveled appearance with a disgusted, ‘I told you so’ look. Perhaps he’d been right all along. With a flick of his wrist, he released the curtain and turned the open sign to ‘closed.’

  He was the least of my worries. Ruiz guided me to his car, opened the passenger side and lowered me down before quickly disappearing into my motel room. Peeling my shirt away from the wound, I flinched from the sting, material fibers stuck in the congealed blood. The driver’s side door opened and Ruiz climbed in, his impressive size suddenly making me feel both safe and guilty that I ever doubted his protection. His broody eyes rested on mine, lips pursed in all seriousness. I had no idea what he was thinking but I could hazard a guess. It looked like my pores were seeping blood and I could feel chunks of human matter dried to my skin courtesy of an exploding throat. But now wasn’t the time to be precious.

  Turning his attention to the job at hand, he threw the car into reverse before speeding down the highway bypassing the totally destroyed convenience store. The structural and interior damage resembled something found in a war zone. And sadly, at least one innocent person had lost their life.

  What was this nightmare I was living?

  “Thank you,” I said, appreciatively, though my voice was distant from shock.

  Ruiz cast me a side look, his handsome features causing my breath to hitch.

  “You don’t ever need to thank me.” He was indifferent and slightly dismissive. His statement raised some questions but at the moment with the tension in the car I quickly decided they were best unasked. I watched him in my peripheral as he drove with one hand on the wheel, the other grazing his strong jawline in contemplation.

  After traveling for a good thirty minutes, we pulled off the highway exit and darted into the carpark of the nearest motel.

  “You have five minutes to clean up then we need to hit the road again.” I nodded in appreciation and watched in awe as he walked to the nearest room in front of the car, glanced between the small gap in the front window curtains and then slid something credit card like between the door and its frame effectively unlocking it. Perhaps that was how he managed to break into my apartment without causing damage.

  Glancing inside—I guess to ensure it was empty—he turned back to me and nodded. Claiming my bag from the backseat, I kept my head down low knowing that even in the light of dusk people could still make out my horrific state. Ruiz held the door open and I made a straight line past the dingy double bed and into the mold encrusted bathroom. Turning on the faucet, I set it to medium heat and unbuttoned my ruined pants, and tossed them to the side.

  Pulling my three-quarter sleeve top over my belly, I was forced to stop when my arm screamed blue murder. Letting out an involuntary whimper, I gave up.

  “Let me,” the seductive husky voice surprised me from behind. I grew rigid in his presence, his warm breath teasing my neck. Taking a knife to my top, he cut it from my body with ease starting at the neckline and then a gentle path down my bloodied arm.

  “Breathe, cariña,” he murmured, his chest barely touching my back.

  All thoughts of everything Jair Ruiz died a death when he slowly pulled the blood-dried material away from the wound. Wincing in pain, clenching my teeth tight, I released a cry of relief when it was all over. Finishing with the rest of the top, the material fell away and landed in a pool at my feet. I was now in my underwear. Still covered in gore with a bullet wound to the arm—the coagulated blood now gave way to a fresh wave that trickled down my arm.

  “Shower and then I will see to your injury.” His fingers tickled my spine as he undid the clasp on my bra. My skin goose bumped at his touch, my nipples hardening. When he walked away, I felt the loss instantly and chided myself for the wanton thoughts plaguing me whenever he was near.

  The shower felt like a slice of heaven especially as I felt the caked on blood loosen and clear from my face. The little slice of hell came from the water that seeped over the wound. Closing my eyes, I washed days of fear, anxiety, doubt and heartache away.

  Conscious of the time ticking past, I dried myself quickly, wrapping the towel around my torso. My bag was on the bed and I needed fresh clothes.

  “Sit,” Jair instructed, his back to me. He was fiddling with a sterile packet when I sat on the edge of the mattress. Carefully placing a threaded surgical needle down, he used his teeth to pull the cork off a clear alcohol bottle. “Here. Have a few sips.”

  “It’s okay.

  “Just do it.”

  Taking the bottle handed to me, I tilted my head back and allowed the liquid to burn my throat. Wincing at the vulgar taste, I gave it back wishing for something to wash it down.

  Jair kneeled in front of me, our faces tantalizingly close. “The bullet nicked you but the wound is quite deep. It’s going to hurt.” He was referring to the alcohol.

  Placing a towel under my arm, he held the bottle of vodka in one hand and snaked the other behind my neck. I didn’t know what was happening, but I was mentally preparing myself for the pain.

  “Ready?” His eyes widened.

  Before I could answer, Jair pulled me forward, his lips smashing to mine in an all-encompassing, possessive kiss. He tasted divine and my greedy mouth wanted more of what he was offering. Then everything changed. My arm flared like it was on fire, heat traveling throughout my entire body. When I jolted to escape the alcohol seeping into my raw wound, Jair pulled me in harder, trapping me between his hand and mouth. Squeezing my eyes closed because in some way it helped, a wave of tears spilled down my cheeks and into the crevice of our lips. As the assaulting heat lessened, Jair eased the pressure, his kiss becoming gentle, soothing. Groaning against his mouth, his teeth grazed my bottom lip. It was then I noticed that this man who played my body well was now neatly positioned between my legs. His rough hands snaked down and cupped my ass pulling me closer until I could feel his hard cock straining in his pants. Beneath the coarse towel, my nipples were hard, a wetness between my legs for only one man.

  He pulled away slightly. “We need to get out of here.”

  “I know.” I was resentful of the fact that I was now a wanted woman.

  He sat back on his heels, intense narrowed eyes locked on mine. It was this exact look that had brought me to my knees the first time I saw him. The same look that taunted and teased me in my dreams. It was a look uniquely his.

  “This is going to hurt some more. I can’t distract you this time.” There was a glimmer of playfulness in his tone that I found both incredibly endearing and a turn on. “Here.” Jair leaned forward and snatched one of the pillows from the top of the bed. “Hug this with your good arm and if you have to, bite into it.”

  Doing as he said, because as history was proving, Jair was always right. I hugged the pillow as he gently squeezed both sides of the wound together. He worked in silence threading the needle through before covering it with a patch. It stung like a bitch but I was through looking like a wuss in front of this man whenever times got tough.

  Bagging the rubbish, his gaze lingered on me and my skin tingled. “You should dress.” There was absolutely no denying the regret in his tone. Like me, he had other things he’d rather be doing.

  He walked out of the motel room, closed the door and through the decade old lace smoke stained curtain, I saw him waiting on the walkway raking a hand through his thick dark hair. Dropping the towel, I slid on fresh clothes, doing my best to ignore the aches and pains.

  When I opened the door, Jair didn’t turn. Instead, his head dropped slightly before pocketing his cell and walked toward the car. Once we were both inside, the adrenalin had somewhat worn off and the weight of the situation bore down on me. I was going to wait until we were on the road to bring anything up. As it turned out, Jair initiated the conversation.

  “I’m sorry I shot you.”

  Huh?

  Mortified, my head snapped to study his expression
. Driving one handed, the other running a path over his jaw, he looked every bit cool and collected on the exterior, yet his broody eyes spoke volumes.

  “You shot me?”

  He nodded, keeping his focus on the road ahead.

  “Why? On purpose? Were you trying to kill me?”

  I wasn’t going to lie, his admittance did rattle me.

  “Firstly…” he began, casting me a glance, “…I shot you because I needed you out of the picture. You were in the way, ready to cause yourself more grief by taking aim at one of them. If I immobilized you, I kept you out of harm’s way. Like I said, I’m sorry it came down to shooting you. So yes, I guess it was on purpose.”

  “What if you missed my arm and killed me?” I couldn’t hide my indignation. Our movements were all over the show in the convenience store, he could have just as easily missed.

  He had the audacity to chuckle… slightly. “Cariña, I’ve been in tactical operations for many years. When I aim, I never miss.”

  “Tact Force, hey?” I now held some knowledge of this mysterious man. Keeping his eyes glued to the road, I saw the corner of his mouth twitch.

  “Were they Los Santos? I saw a tattoo on the man’s chest of the Mother Mary.”

  Jair’s fingers began drumming on the steering wheel. “Yes, they were Los Santos. Possibly the same ones that were looking in through your window.”

  “How do they keep finding me?”

  “Los Santos are everywhere. It’s complicated.”

  “They are out to kill me, so please explain.”

  He nodded, taking heed of my tone. “What you are seeing unravel is the aftermath of a full scale war between three rival cartels. The Florez family, Los Santos and the Baja Californian cartel. Across the border was the Florez family cartel. Juan and Hector, father and son. For almost a decade they controlled all of Mexico and for the most part, North America. Violent fuckers, Juan especially. They were leaders in the drug and human trafficking market, and they used their power to squash anyone who got in their way including Los Santos.”