Chapter 4
Jax didn’t know why he was surprised that the shocking woman had dared to chastise Martinez Flores—in front of a cadre of his men, no less. After all, minutes before, she’d done what he imagined few people had ever done: spit in Francesca Ortiz’s face, figuratively. Even worse, she’d done it with an impudent grin, then sauntered away from the stunned group. Apparently not satisfied with earning Madam Ortiz’s ire, she’d rubbed both their noses in her audacity, especially Martinez’s, by openly laughing it up with the grinning bartender. Jax couldn’t help but envy “Marcus,”—who was actually one of his men, Greg Bannon—who had the opportunity to entertain the outrageous woman…make that be entertained by her.
Jax blew out a hard breath, marveling. God, what a woman. Again, he wondered why he was surprised. After all, she was the imp who’d stripped naked, dove into a distant pool, then paraded up the mountainside bare-naked. His only saving grace was that as brazen as she was, he’d clearly surprised her, perhaps even thrown her off a bit. There was no question that she recognized him and, for a brief moment, looked chagrined, maybe a little horrified. He shook his head with a disgusted snort. That sure as hell hadn’t lasted long. Within seconds, that chin of her had gone up a notch or two, and his advantage over her was lost.
Seeing an infuriated Flores heading toward the ladies’ room, Jax cut him off. What Maja apparently hadn’t realized, or was too brash to care, was that Martinez was clearly loaded. And from the sheen in his glassy eyes, it was the result of more than just expensive scotch. Jax frowned, knowing that Flores was known to imbibe the high-end narcotics he dealt, freely mixing them with alcohol and his always-simmering rage. He wondered if the sassy Swedish beauty had any idea of the cache of C4 she was dealing with. Sober Martinez was dangerous. Drunk and drugged, he was an explosion waiting to happen. Stepping in front of the storming man, Jax reached for his arm, determined to head him off, not sure why he felt the need to protect the reckless woman who’d lit the fuse on one of the most dangerous men he knew.
“Hey, buddy, why don’t you and I head outside and get a breath of fresh air. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to be around when Madam Ortiz gets her claws into that righteous babe of yours. Much as I enjoy a good catfight, I assume you’d rather handle that feisty woman than let Francesca have at her.”
Flores glared up at him as if he didn’t recognize him, then shook his head. “Fuckin’ Christ, Dubois, that sleazy little tart has no idea the wood chipper she’s shoved that fuckin’ ass of hers into. But by God, by the time I finish with her tonight, anything Francesca does to her will seem like patty-cake. That saucy bitch is gonna learn what a real man does to a mouthy broad who thinks she can disrespect him. I plan to show her the only thing she’s gonna do with that mouth of hers is open wide when I shove my dick in it—after I shove it in every orifice she has and maybe make a few new holes while I’m at it.”
Jax eased the sputtering man out to the patio, marveling that the drunken man even knew what an orifice was. Unfortunately, he was certain that Martinez could and would make good on his threat to punish the woman, who in gang structure, had committed the mortal sin of disrespecting her man. Intending to get Martinez away from the crowd, he was stopped by Felix Garcia, Flores’s second-in-command. Jax knew that Garcia was one of the few people who could talk Flores down from one of his homicidal rages. For a murderous thug who would slit a man’s throat, then use the same knife to cut his steak, Garcia was surprisingly genteel, cool where his boss was flaming hot. Jax had a modicum of respect for the gangster who could at least carry on an intelligent conversation about something other than women’s body parts and what he intended to do with them.
Reaching for his unsteady boss’s arm, Garcia said, “C’mon, dude. Francesca’s lookin’ for you. You too, Lucas. She wants you both to sit at her table.” He added with a derisive snort, “And as you well know, what Franny wants, Franny gets.”
Jax was surprised at Felix’s unflattering allusion to the woman known as the cartel’s queen bee. It made him wonder if there was more going on in the cartel hierarchy than he’d realized. Maybe Flores’s ascension to the throne wasn’t as clear-cut as had been advertised. Dissention in the ranks was a good thing, particularly if Jax could discern the fault lines and trigger them. Internecine warfare among the gangsters could only help the good guys. If they knew how to take advantage of the split.
Hell, if Jax was good at anything, it was stirring the pot. He grinned to himself. Maybe he should check out the feisty Swedish hellion. Given what an obvious troublemaker she was, she could be an interesting source if he were smart enough and, frankly, brave enough to take her on. Sussing information out of the blonde beauty could be interesting since he had her at a disadvantage, at least for now. Breaking into his lustful imaginings, he reminded himself that his one goal this weekend was to wreak hell on the cartel. He planned to take them down in the most egregious way possible. And that included their molls and various hanger-ons—no matter how enticing they were.
Viviana took a deep breath and prepared to rejoin her target for the night. She wondered if perhaps she should have pulled it back, at least a little. Maybe not have dissed both Martinez and Francesca in the space of five minutes. Fortunately Willie Nelson’s sage advice about crying for the time she’d wasted—or in this case, the firestorms she’d started—was a waste of time and tears. Besides, Viviana wasn’t much given to introspection. She pretty much went with her gut and for the most part landed on her feet. She knew she needed to keep both Martinez and the cartel leader’s woman on edge if she was going to get noticed. She could only hope that in the crazy gangster culture, she’d be respected, even admired for her willingness to take on the big guy and gal.
Seeing Felix Garcia, Martinez’s minder, approaching with a grim expression on his stern face, Viv assumed as genuine a smile as she could muster. Batting her eyes at the dark-skinned man with whom she’d shared a number of drinks, she relied on their relatively uneventful past. “Were you looking for me, Felix? And if so, should I be worried?”
He snorted derisively and shook his head. “Girlie, I’m beginning to think you are determined to get your ass kicked. It’s one thing to take on Martinez. I presume for you two it’s some kind of sick foreplay. But shit, girl, Francesca Ortiz? Now that requires a pair of balls as big as Jupiter’s.”
Viviana smiled and tossed her head. “Or as big as yours, Felix?”
Felix shook his head. “No, sugar, I keep my cojones tucked well up inside my asshole around that bitch. And, honey, if you know what’s good for you, you would too. I’m tellin’ you, sweet cheeks, you don’t want to get in a catfight with that particular pussy.”
“Okay, Felix, I hear you. So what’s the news? Hopefully Martinez is over his pique, and I might actually get something to eat. I swear, you outlaw boys don’t know a thing about how to care for a woman.” Making a point of raising her chest to ensure that Felix got a good look at the abundant flesh, she asked, “Do you have any idea how much food it takes to keep a woman like me in the shape I’m in?”
Felix scowled. “Be careful what you wish for, little girl. None other than Madam Ortiz has requested the honor of your presence at her table tonight.” When Viviana startled, not able to hide her surprise, Felix grinned. “Yeah, sugar lips, you’d be wise to eat as little as possible tonight unless you got a food taster. I wouldn’t put anything past that devious bitch, especially since she knows that every damn man here heard what you said and did to her.” Felix shook his head with a mock groan, not couching the amusement he felt. “Yep, Miss Smarty Pants, I’d definitely get a food taster if I was you.”
He chuckled softly as he ushered her into the dining room and pulled out a chair next to a grim-faced Martinez. Her supposed lover glared at her through drug-reddened eyes as she settled into the chair beside him. If she had a brain in her head, Viviana chastised herself, she would run out of this room and head for the airport as fast as her cowardly legs could carry her. It wasn’t Martinez who was making her rethink her mission or even Francesca, who was shooting flames at her like a multi-limbed Hydra whose venom was so dangerous even her breath was lethal. No, she was reasonably certain she could manage the two cartel gangsters. She wasn’t nearly as confident that she could handle the dark-haired man who had risen to his feet when she entered the room, amusement lurking in his narrowed eyes.
He waited politely until she sat down before taking his seat across from her. He nodded to her. “Welcome, Miss Nilsson. I’m delighted you could join us.”
Ignoring the smoldering man beside her, Viviana swallowed hard and forced a smile onto her frozen face. Glancing at Francesca, who was glaring at her, she turned back to the man with the sardonic smile who was obviously enjoying her discomfort. Clearing her throat, she tossed her head and said cheerfully, “Why, sir, I can’t imagine where I’d rather be.” Surveying the circle of hard-eyed men and the frothing woman at the head of the table, she added with an impish grin, “Seems like a lovely setting for my last supper on earth.”
The dark-haired man laughed aloud and several of the men at the table joined in. A smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, he raised his glass to her. “Well, surely any ‘last supper’ should have excellent wine. I can assure you Madam Ortiz has a cultured association with wine as well as an excellent palate. If this is indeed your last supper, you have chosen an auspicious place to have it.”
As if he were hosting the dinner, Dubois nodded to one of the servers, who immediately stepped forward and filled her glass with a rich red Cabernet. Viviana recognized the vineyard on the label and took a grateful sip, letting the complex wine flood her mouth. Nodding to her frowning hostess, she turned back to the smiling man. Determined to take the initiative, she pinned a frowning gaze on the arrogant man, then allowed her lips to curl in a smile. “Tell me, Mr. Dubois, how is it that a Frenchman can come into a room full of dangerous Latino gangsters and take charge?”
More than a few audible gasps greeted her gibe. Not missing a beat, Dubois’s grin widened. Then his emerald eyes hardened, and he said softly, “Ah, Maja, it is relatively easy if the Frenchman is as dangerous a gangster as his friends, who have graciously included him in their repast.” He smiled at Francesca, whose cheeks were marked with angry red splotches. “Particularly if he understands who is ultimately in charge.” Turning away from his hostess, he settled back in his chair and pinned Viviana with a narrow gaze. His voice was soft, pleasant, but laced with steel. “Surely even an outrageous young woman like yourself, who likes to take great risks, understands when she is outnumbered. For example, take a cliff diver. If her chosen pinnacle is higher than she realized, and she sees that the water below is filled with sharks, even that impetuous diver might decide discretion is the better part of valor and forego leaping into the abyss.”
Having said much the same thing to herself this afternoon, Viviana acknowledged his rebuke with a practiced shrug. Hesitating for a second to regain her composure, she smiled at him and said sweetly, “No doubt that would be the wisest choice. But really, Mr. Dubois, what fun would that be?”