Manipulate (Deliver 6)

“Hector’s looking for her.” She folded her hands on her lap.

“Is that right?” He cocked his head, unable to decipher her stony expression. “What else does Hector do for you?”

“What does that mean?”

“Does he touch you?”

“No!” She gasped. “Never. He’s not like that.”

Something was off about their relationship. Why would Hector treat her so kindly? What did he gain from it?

“Does he talk to you about his human trafficking operation?” Ricky asked.

“Oh, my God.” She sat ramrod straight, her eyes igniting with fire. “You did say that last night. I thought I dreamed it.” Her hands balled into fists. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“It’s true, Tula.” Ricky reached for her.

She jumped back and scrambled off the bed.

“He’s kidnapping women and children in the U.S.” Martin moved to the edge of the mattress, prepared to grab her if she went for the door. “He smuggles them across the border and sells them as slaves. Thousands of children.”

“He wouldn’t do that.” She snatched the toothbrush he’d brought from her cell and moved to the sink. “I sit in all his meetings. I would’ve heard them discussing it.” She tackled her teeth in a frenzy, scrubbing and spitting. “I was just like you before I met him. His reputation terrified me, but I was wrong about him. He’s a good man.”

“By good man, you mean nine levels of vicious, terror-reigning, mass-murdering tyranny.”

“No.” She spat into the sink.

“He’s a cartel boss.”

“That’s a job title, not a character trait.”

Hard to argue that. Matias Restrepo actively hunted down and decimated slave operations across Latin America, and he was the leader of the biggest cartel in Colombia.

Hector La Rocha, however, did nothing of the sort.

Their vigilante group, the Freedom Fighters, had been collecting evidence against him for years. But he couldn’t share that with her without revealing his connections.

“Are you procesados?” She leaned a hip against the sink and crossed her arms. “Or sentenciados?”

Under the Mexican Constitution, pretrial defendants whose cases were still in process—procesados—were to be housed separately from prisoners who were serving sentences—sentenciados.

The same Constitution prohibited the blending of male and female prisoners in the same facility.

Jaulaso was one of several cartel-controlled prisons that gave the Constitution the middle finger.

“We’re still in process.” He glanced at Ricky and returned to her. “Why?”

“You’ll be charged within four months. That’s the law. And they’ll do it without your presence in court, even if you have a good attorney.”

“Is that what happened to you?” Ricky stroked his jaw, his attention fully engaged.

“Yeah.”

They didn’t need an attorney. They had the Mexican government and a resourceful cartel boss on their side.

“How do you want to do your time?” She ran a hand through her hair. “Do you want the welcoming committee to extort a pound of flesh from your bodies every day? Or do you want to be one of the guys in the welcoming committee?”

“I think,” Ricky said, “I’ll just pass my time making macaroni necklaces for my eight kiddos at home.”

Her mouth dropped open.

“Ricky.” Martin pinched the bridge of his nose. “Neither of us has kids, nor do we have any desire to be involved in cartel politics and disputes.” He met her eyes. “That’s what you’re suggesting, yeah? You want us to work for La Rocha?”

“You either work for them or against them.”

“Did Hector send you to us with that sales pitch?” He glared at her. “Or are you just looking out for us as a friend?”

Her spine straightened. “Hector doesn’t trust you, and it sounds like that goes both ways. Look…” She lowered onto the bed beside him, her expression open and pleading. “I don’t condone the violence, and if I could quietly do my time and stay away from all of it, I would. But that’s not an option in Jaulaso. Trust me on this.”

He trusted her motivations, but she wasn’t telling them everything.

“What does he know about us?” Ricky clenched his teeth.

“Nothing. That’s the problem.” She rolled her bottom lip between her fingers. “Why were your identities wiped?”

Ah, so Hector La Rocha had them investigated.

He and Ricky didn’t have living relatives and were never reported as missing persons. They were, however, responsible for the murders of some very bad people—rapists, slave traders, and over the last two years, they’d taken out several big players in La Rocha Cartel.

It was paramount that Hector didn’t discover the latter.

They could’ve entered the prison system with fake identities, but that wouldn’t have stopped a skilled investigator from linking them to their real names. So they took the safest route and had Cole Hartman erase them from existence. Good thing, too.

“We have enemies from a previous life.” The rehearsed lie rolled off Ricky’s tongue. “That’s none of Hector’s business.”

She blew out a heavy sigh. “I’m trying to protect you.”

“From Hector?” Martin’s neck stiffened.

“From everyone.”

“Tula.” Ricky crooked a finger. “Come here.”