Violent Delights (White Monarch 1)

“How?” I asked.

“It’s gruesome.” He dried his hands on a dishtowel. “On second thought, maybe I shouldn’t say.”

At this point, I was in too deep not to ask. My curiosity was being stoked at every turn and fighting it just made my imagination run wild. “Tell me,” I said.

“He got a bucket of sand from the desert,” Diego said, rubbing his palms together. “Then tied up a man twice his age and poured it down his throat until he choked to death.”

I gripped my neck, suddenly unable to breathe. “No.”

Diego nodded. “I’ve seen him do it. No screaming that way. No blood. No marks. And the bonus of a slow death . . .”

My nostrils flared as I inhaled. I felt that sand in my throat, strangling me. Death by torture—that was worse than death itself.

“After the party, I started looking into the Calaveras more. I’ve heard all kinds of inhumane things.” Diego brought the plate of fruit to the table, removed his shoes, and sat across from me. “Apparently they have a soundproof dungeon where they keep one body part from each person who has betrayed them.”

I stopped the question on my tongue—why. Why was a dangerous word. I didn’t want to know. Dungeons and soundproof rooms and body parts could only mean bad things. Despicable, torturous things. But what was worse—to know the truth, or let ignorance leave me vulnerable? Where Cristiano was concerned, I never wanted to be in the dark again.

“What else have you learned?” I asked. “And don’t tell me not to ask. I can handle it.”

He shifted in his seat. “The worst, I guess, is abducting children to do his bidding.”

As horrifying as that was, my father had taken in Diego and Cristiano for similar reasons. They had food and a place to sleep at night, but also an obligation to the cartel that they could never escape. “Is that different than what you guys do?” I asked.

“The kids in our cartel are like family. Your father never treated us like slaves. I’m talking bigger stuff. The Calaveras have gone as far as to purchase an entire shipment of children for labor.”

I recoiled, clamping a hand over my mouth. What even was a shipment of children? And how did someone purchase one? Bile rose up my throat, and I pushed the mango slices away. “What . . . but how? How can he get away with that?”

Diego ran his sock along my inner calf. It was a small gesture, but still comforting. He lowered his voice, leaning in although we were alone. “Cristiano is powerful. He has even the most pious of government officials in his pocket and within Badlands’ walls are all kinds of businesses, big and small. From supermercados and hardware stores to drone security centers and freight shipping offices.”

“But shipping is your business,” I said. “Isn’t that stepping on your toes?”

“We own ports and plazas and have arrangements all the way from individual fishermen to fleet management companies, which reduces our risk.” He ate a piece of fruit. “Cristiano invests but also has solutions in-house—”

“Con permiso, señor.” A boy who couldn’t have been more than sixteen stood in the doorway. “Hay un problema.”

Diego nodded as he wiped his fingers on his pants. “Dígame.”

“Tepic is trying to reach you. It’s, ah . . .” He glanced at me with anxious eyes. “Es importante.”

Diego stood and kissed the top of my head. “I’ll be right back,” he said, taking out his phone. “Feel free to snoop around the kitchen—unless it’s not as much fun when you have permission?”

I stuck my tongue out at him as he left, then texted with Pilar to update her.

By the time Diego returned, I’d finished all the mango. “Sorry,” I said as he stayed in the doorway, typing something into his phone. “I guess I was hungry after all. Want me to cut another?”

He glanced up but looked past me, staring off as if he hadn’t quite registered that I was there.

“Diego?” I asked, sitting up straighter.

He blinked, and recognition crossed his face. “What?” he asked. “Did you say something?”

“What’s the matter?” I got up and went to him. “What was the problem?”

He ran a hand through his hair, then looked at his cell. “Ah, it’s nothing, but . . . I have to get back to work.” As soon as he stuck the phone in his pocket, it started to ring, and he took it back out. “I’ll have someone take you home.”

“I can get a cab.”

“Hmm?” He checked the screen and ran a hand over his mouth with a curse.

“You’re getting pale,” I said. “What’d Tepic say?”

“I have to take this, Tali. Don’t get a cab.” He kissed me quickly on the lips, then retreated. “Sit tight, and I’ll send someone in to drive you.”

“But—” He was already halfway out the door. “When will I see you next?” I called.