“I . . . don’t know,” Benicio whispered.
He didn’t know? The incompetence of this boy, his goddamn seed, was so incredible it had Rivera biting back hysterical laughter.
But the acidic rage burning his intestines took precedence to any humor he might find in Benicio’s absurd explanation. The report he’d just received was eerily similar to the violent events he’d faced during the early days of his reign. After Rivera’s father had stepped down, their rivals crept out of the woodwork, eager to wrest power from the Riveras. They hadn’t believed little Mateo could fill his father’s big shoes. They hadn’t viewed him as a viable threat. But little Mateo had proved them wrong and taken extreme pleasure in doing so.
After his own retirement, he’d watched Adrián face the same obstacles. Enemies who didn’t think he was smart enough, deadly enough. Adrián, however, had wasted no time squashing the minor skirmishes before they could escalate.
Now, less than a week at the helm and Benicio had lost one of their most profitable packaging facilities. And not even to another cartel!
“They ambushed us,” Benicio began. His voice trembled on the last word, and that was the word that got Rivera’s attention.
“Us?” he echoed. “Your use of that word, son, implies that you were present for this ambush, which you were not.”
“I was at the docks inspecting the new shipment, just like you requested,” his son protested.
“And you didn’t think to assign security to the packaging facility?”
“Augustin was there,” Benicio said weakly.
Rivera slowly rose to his feet. “Let me ask you a question. When your brother was in charge, did he ever place useless twats in charge of warehouse security? Or did he, perhaps, select capable lieutenants, like Hernandez or Kafari or Ortiz, men he knew could execute proper evacuation protocols and preventative security?” The rage bubbled up to his throat, hissing through every word. “Men who wouldn’t let our facility get blown up!”
“Augustin wanted the responsibility, Father. He wanted to prove that he could take on a greater role in the organization.”
“So you put him in charge of security?” Rivera roared. He took a breath, struggling for calm. “Tell me, did Augustin assign any guards to the perimeter?”
“No, but—”
“How many guards did he post on the main floor?”
“One, but—”
“One!”
Benicio flinched. “He checked in with hourly reports, Father. He assured me that the area was secure. I didn’t realize until later that he’d reassigned the facility guards to the warehouse in Toro.”
“You didn’t realize . . .” His breathing thinned. “He was nineteen years old! A child! That’s who you chose?” Rivera slammed both hands on his thighs. “He deserved to burn to a crisp in that warehouse! That’s what happens to incompetent children!”
Benicio visibly gulped. “I’m sorry.”
“What does your apology really do for me, boy? Will it bring back the hundreds of thousands of dollars that were reduced to ashes? Will it bring back the burnt corpses of the men and women who have loyally served us for years? Will it bring back our product?”
Benicio cringed at each angry word that was hurled at him. “No, Father, it won’t.”
Useless! This boy in front of him—no, he was twenty-four years old. That made him a man, not a boy. But he might as well have been a toddler in diapers walking around with shit stuck to his ass, too useless and stupid to wipe it himself. Benicio had allowed James Morgan’s people to waltz into a facility that should have been heavily guarded. He’d placed a bungling teenager in charge of security.
Camila was wrong.
There was nothing worth redeeming about this pathetic child.
Rivera turned away. He was done with this. Clearly Benicio was—and would always be—a failure.
“Your brother would have never let this happen.” Clenching his jaw, he stalked out of the bedroom.
In the briefing room, the enforcers he’d dispatched were waiting for him. These were his most trusted men, having proven their loyalty and proficiency with their blood and sweat. They shifted uneasily when he stalked out. A few gazes flickered toward Benicio before returning to Rivera.
“I’m relieving my son of his duties,” he announced to the crew.
Not a single man registered so much as a trace of surprise. Rivera curled his fists to his sides. Yes. They were smart men. They all recognized that Benicio wasn’t worth a second’s thought.
“James Morgan’s people blew up my warehouse. I will not stand for that.” He marched over to the table and picked up the files he and Camila had pored over the other night, then walked back to his men and began slapping folders in each of their hands.
“There’s only one objective,” he said coldly. “Destroy these people. Are we clear?”
“Yes, sir,” they said in unison.
He turned to the stocky, mustached man at the end of the line. “Hernandez, you’re in charge of security of all our current facilities. Dispatch the appropriate men. I assume you won’t let what happened tonight occur again?”
“No, sir.” Confidence rang in Hernandez’s tone. His expression held a trace of disgust as he glanced over Rivera’s shoulder at Benicio.
“Kafari, I want you to speak to the head of my wife’s security team. If Morgan’s people are coming after us, I want her safe. She needs extra guards.” He smiled. “You can take them off Benicio’s security detail if needed.”
A strangled noise came from behind him.
He didn’t turn around. There was no point in protecting his son any longer or wasting further manpower on him. And while he would protect his investments for the time being, the moment he eliminated James Morgan and his people, Rivera would take his money and his wife and retire to his island. The other cartels could fight over the remains of his empire like the scavengers they were.
Without a true heir to leave it to, the empire meant nothing now.
Rivera looked at the other men. “These people, their families . . . send them a message that the Riveras do not forgive nor forget. Show them the meaning of suffering.”
He clapped his hands and the crowd dispersed, the room emptying until only Rivera and his son remained.
He walked to the bar on the other side of the room and poured himself a glass of bourbon. Benicio stood frozen near the bedroom door, his dark eyes warily tracking his father’s movements, his face paler than snow.
“Father,” he began, “what should I do?”
A harsh laugh escaped his lips, poisoning the air in the room. “What should you do? You can stay in this safe house, keep your mouth shut, and do absolutely nothing.” Sarcasm dripped from his tone. “I’d like to believe you couldn’t screw that up, but you’re quite skilled at proving me wrong.”
Shame flickered in his son’s eyes.
“Now get out of my sight,” he snapped, baring his teeth. “It’s time to let the grown-ups work.”
* * *
Cate pushed open the door to Morgan’s room and peeked in. When she saw the chair next to the bed was empty, she made her way inside. Noelle usually was in here between recon shifts, so if she wasn’t with Morgan at the moment, that meant she’d probably snuck out to take a smoke break.
“Noelle’s smoking again,” Cate informed her dad. “This is your fault. If you were up and about, you’d be riding her ass hard.” She paused and grimaced. “Probably literally. Ugh, I can’t believe I just had that thought about you and Noelle. Unfortunately for you, I have sex on the brain.” She tapped his knee, just to watch it jerk.
She knew from experience with her mother that it didn’t mean anything. Sensory reflexes happened even with patients who were brain-dead, but Cate took her encouragement where she could find it these days, and the small movements of Jim’s
leg or arm or fingers gave her solace.
“Ash is here and I can’t stop looking at him or watching him. Even when he’s cruel to me, I still want to be near him.” She laughed ruefully. “It’s sick. I know that. He was so awful to me the last time we saw each other. I should hate him for that, but I know why he did it. I know he did it for you.”
She took a shaky breath. “I guess no matter how far away I run from him or how many guys I let into my life, I can’t wipe those feelings away.” And she wasn’t sure if she wanted to. Being in such close proximity to Ash and seeing his torment and worry about her wellbeing was driving her nuts, tearing down all those barriers she thought she’d built against him.
Jim didn’t respond.
With another sigh, she rose and kissed him on his forehead. “I love you, Dad. Get better.”
In the hallway outside his room, she rested her forehead against the wall and tried to find some composure. The stress and guilt were eating away at her. Her eyes felt scratchy from all the tears she’d been keeping at bay and her throat was sore from all the words she wanted to say but couldn’t.
She didn’t know how long she’d stood there before a soft male voice called her name.
“Come on, Cate, you need a drink.”
She wheeled around to see Holden watching her in sympathy. She almost wished he had a scowl on his face. It’d be easier to take. “Hey. Can’t sleep?”
A faint smile ghosted across his face. “I haven’t been able to sleep for some time. I’m going to the mess hall to get a drink.”
“If you promise that it’s not milk, tea, or juice, then yes, I’m game.”
“I was thinking scotch. You like scotch?”
“No. I hate it. Pour me a double.”
He snickered, and they headed out of the main building to the small one beside it, which housed the base’s dining hall. The place was empty when they walked in, so they had free range of the large, slightly dated kitchen.
In the end, there was only enough scotch to fill two glasses to the halfway point.
“We’re not getting drunk tonight,” Cate observed as she swirled the amber liquid around in her glass.
“I can tell you from experience that drinking only temporarily dulls the ache.” Holden shrugged. “But sometimes the temporary fix gets you to the next day.” Then he tossed back the entire glass in one gulp.
If there was anyone who knew what it took to survive, it was Holden, so Cate followed his lead by taking a big gulp and breathed through the burn.
“Your dad still sends me checks every month, did you know that?”
She shook her head, but she wasn’t surprised to hear it. Jim was loyal to his core. He was probably treating Holden’s absence from the team as an extended sabbatical.
“He does,” Holden confirmed. “With a message that the door is always open. I cash the checks because not cashing them will earn me a visit that I don’t want or need, but I haven’t spent a dime. I’m probably going to give the money to some charity. Beth loved animals, so I’m thinking the Humane Society or something like that.”
Cate marveled that Holden could say his dead wife’s name without breaking down. “I bet she’d like that.”
“I suspect she would.” He nodded toward the glass in her hand. “You drinking that or painting the sides of the glass with it?”
“You want?” She pushed the glass toward him. “I wasn’t lying about hating scotch.”
“It’s an acquired taste. Beth didn’t like it either. She was a red wine lover, the drier the better. She hated any kind of aftertaste. Me? It’s the heat at the end that I like.”
“I wish I’d met her.”
“She would’ve mothered you to death. Sometimes you need that.” His dark gray eyes were piercing, as if his loss gave him a special insight into Cate’s wounded soul. “You’ve suffered a lot in your life. Another girl wouldn’t be so strong.”
“I’m not a girl.” The protest was automatic by now. “I haven’t felt like a girl for a really long time.”
He picked up her glass and took a contemplative sip before saying, “Yeah, I suppose you’re right.” With his elbows on the table, he leaned toward her. “Jim and his crew think that Beth dying in my arms was the worst thing that could’ve ever happened, but when I look back, I feel like that was the only way to go. I mean, I loved her hard that night, and the minutes leading up to her death were ones I don’t regret at all. It’s the other times—where we spent stupid hours arguing about jackshit. Or when I was gone on missions and she was back home alone. It’s the time apart that I regret. Not the time that we were together.”
The air was so thick with emotion, so full of Holden’s memories and his wise words that Cate could only stare back at the man. There was a message there between the words, and it wasn’t simply to live life to the fullest. It was something more, but she couldn’t seem to decipher it.
Holden held her stare for a long moment before rising to his feet. “This is South America. They’ve got to have some wine in this joint somewhere.”
While he was rummaging through the cupboards, Liam wandered into the kitchen, exhaustion creasing his gorgeous face. “Is this the meeting of the pre-insomniacs?” he asked, ruffling Cate’s hair as he walked past her chair.
“Or the pre-alcoholics anonymous,” Cate joked.
“If you find something, pour me a double.” Liam dropped into an empty seat. “Any news on anything?”
“No. Jim’s the same. I think Noelle is smoking on the patio, plotting Rivera’s castration.”
Holden joined them at the table, bringing a jug of something that smelled like sour grapes. He poured three full glasses, but Cate made no move to touch hers. Liam didn’t either.
“There’s so much illegal activity going down, I can’t make out what’s related to Rivera and what’s just general unrest in the city,” Holden admitted. “People are making deals just to get food, so anything that Rivera is doing easily passes under the radar.”
“Damn,” Liam said. “Well, I’ve got a meeting with the Barrios cartel tomorrow night, so hopefully that gives us some kind of lead. I don’t like being here. I’ve got an itchy feeling about this shit.”
The other man nodded. “Yeah, it’s not a good place.”
Cate could hardly believe it. Two of Morgan’s men were actually talking operational shit right in front of her. Maybe they did believe she’d grown up.
She was on the verge of doing something stupid, like thanking them, when her phone rang. And the moment she saw unknown caller flashing on the screen, she knew exactly who it was.
Rivera.
“I think it’s him,” she hissed to Holden, who instantly hustled to his feet.
The three of them pushed their chairs back and damn near sprinted to the war room where Holden had his equipment set up. When Holden gave her the signal, Cate quickly jammed her finger on the TALK button.
“Hello?” she answered coolly.
“Cate!” a voice boomed jovially. “It’s your friend Mateo. I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“I don’t see how you’re my friend,” she drawled. “A friend would meet me in person.”
Rivera let out a laugh so loud Cate had to pull the phone from her ear. Beside her, Holden typed furiously into his computer.
“You’re trying to lure me out. I like it. You’re a precious, delightful girl.”
She bristled. “I’m a woman, thank you very much, so if you like girls, you’re barking up the wrong tree, you twisted pedophile.”
Her insult only made him laugh harder. “I think if I had a child like you, I would not be so worried about the future of my business.”
“Oh dear. Your son isn’t living up to your expectations?”
It was Rivera’s turn to reply with frost in his voice. “Have you lived up to your parents’?”
&
nbsp; So, his sons were a sore point. She tucked that bit of information away. “My mother is dead, which you probably know, and Jim doesn’t care what I do,” she lied.
“All good parents care about their children’s future. Perhaps your father doesn’t express any interest in you because he doesn’t love you.”
“God, Rivera, that’s weak. Suggesting I have daddy problems? Be more original and pay attention. Obviously he does or he wouldn’t have come to Guatana to save my butt.”
“You’re not a parent, so you cannot know whether obligation or love drives him. When you have a child, your whole perspective on life changes. Your children become an extension of yourself, a reflection.”
“Ah, I see. And you don’t like what your mirror is showing you? Is that the problem? Your kids aren’t big and strong like you?”
Liam shook his head at Cate’s combative tone but she knew instinctively that this was what Rivera wanted from her. A sniveling woman wouldn’t get the same reaction from this cruel, sick man.
He gusted out a sigh. “Do you believe in nature or nurture?”
“Both,” she answered immediately. “I think they’re inseparable.”
“This is a sign of your immaturity. You see, it’s nature. I have two children and one is not like the other. If it was nurture, they would be the same, but they are not.”
She found herself oddly curious to know more. “What makes them different?”
Rivera paused for a moment. “When Benicio was nine, a rabid dog found its way onto our property. It was sick and needed to be put down, otherwise it could have infected the other dogs and pets around our home. I gave Benicio a gun and told him to save the other animals. But Benicio refused. He thought he could aid the dog, perhaps save him. He went to the dog to try to feed it. What do you think happened?”
“The dog bit him,” Cate said with absolute surety.
He made an approving sound at the back of his throat. “The dog was ill. It saw Benicio as a threat and reacted. He bit off a chunk of the boy’s forearm—Benicio still wears the scar of that encounter. My son Adrián walked over his brother’s screaming body, picked up the gun, and shot the dog’s head off. That, my dear, is nature over nurture.”