The Vargas Cartel Trilogy (Vargas Cartel #1-3)(51)
Ignacio turned onto Highway 307.
“How did you get involved in the cartel?”
“When I graduated from high school, I became a police officer, but I quickly realized I could make more money working for drug smugglers. I worked my way up the chain of command, and here I am.”
“So you’ve done it all?”
“I started at the bottom. I’ve donned a ski mask and dragged men away from crying wives and mothers. I’ve tied people up and cut them apart, piece by piece. I’ve hacked off heads. I’ve ordered countless assassinations.” He spoke slowly, and his eyes were distant, almost unfocused. Otherwise, his face was void of emotion. “Living that life robbed me of my compassion, and I didn’t want that for Rever. I wanted him to start at the top, and maybe that was my mistake. He didn’t appreciate the gift I gave him.”
Speechless, I shuddered, and bile burned the walls of my throat. If I stopped to think about it, Ignacio’s confession wasn’t surprising. I didn’t believe anyone could make it to the top of the cartel without committing countless murders. I turned my head to the side, fixing my vision on the passing landscape, praying this car ride ended soon. “How can you live with yourself?” I whispered more to myself than Ignacio.
“I don’t have a choice. Once you’re in a cartel, the only way out is prison or death.” He brought the car to a stop and turned off the ignition. “But I don’t like either of those options, so I fight to maintain what’s mine.”
“You could disappear.”
“Not anymore. I’m too high up the food chain, but that isn’t the point of this drive.” He tapped me on my leg, and my eyes met his. Any amusement I had seen in his eyes earlier this morning had disappeared. They were a black hole, sucking me into a void of emptiness. “The only way to bring your enemies down and save yourself is by annihilating their whole infrastructure: their police protection, their soldiers, their friends, their families, and their assets. You kill them before they can kill you.” He pointed his finger directly in front of the car. “Dario’s son.”
Twenty yards in front of us, a boy, not older than seventeen, was tied to a lamppost. His bloodied head lay sideways next to his feet, and a pig’s head was placed on top of his corpse. A knife was buried in his chest, affixing a piece of white paper to his body. The sign said, “VC captura y exucutes traidores.”
“The Vargas Cartel captures and executes traitors,” Ignacio whispered almost reverently. “The turf war between the Vargas and Alvarez Cartel has begun. Every cartel has a calling card of sorts. What do you think of ours?”
For a split second, I didn’t do anything. My mouth gaped open, silently straining for air. I stared at the horror in front of me, my mind swirling with disbelief even as time slowed to a meager crawl. Then, the gravity of the vision in front of me struck me like a bolt of lightning, and my mind shattered into a million pieces. Air rushed into my lungs, and I screamed and screamed some more until my voice gave out, because I didn’t know what else to do. When my shrieks of terror morphed into a soundless whisper, I buried my head in my hands, my entire body shaking.
At some point, Ignacio started driving again, but I refused to open my eyes. I refused to look at him. It was official: I was living in a nightmare.
Chapter Twenty-Five
One sunset turned into four, and before I realized it, four days had elapsed since my drive with Ignacio. I had slipped into a routine, which did wonders for my obsessive need to schedule and organize my life down to the last detail. More importantly, it kept my mind off the murder scene Ignacio showed me, and I pretended as though it hadn’t happened—at least until I fell asleep. Then, the nightmares overwhelmed my unconscious mind, and I rarely slept more than four for five hours.
Javier brought me a light breakfast every morning at eight. I swam laps until my muscles ached. Then, I read books from the comfort of a shaded lounge chair by the pool. I showered at three in the afternoon, and I ate dinner at five in my room.
Ignacio invited me to join him for dinner every night, but I declined. Even though I wondered if I’d see Ryker at dinner, my need to avoid Ignacio overshadowed my desire to see Ryker. I wasn’t ready to see Ignacio. I didn’t know if I’d ever be ready.
After dinner, the torture began—not physical but mental.
The first night, it started with a simple splashing noise in the pool around ten at night. Curious, I had peeked out my curtains, and I saw Ryker swimming laps in the pool. Every night since, I had left my drapes open while I sat in the comfort of my bed with the lights off, watching Ryker swim back and forth for nearly an hour.
He knew I watched him, but he never acknowledged me. He never let his eyes drift to my window. He never waved. He swam and then returned to his room. It was like I didn’t exist, had never existed. Maybe it was better that way…for both of us.
“Can I come in,” Ignacio pushed the door open to my room as I finished my last bite of breakfast.
“Sure.” My hands shook as I placed my spoon on the tray, and I moved to stand up from the bed.
“You don’t have to get up.” He walked past me to the window overlooking the pool, pausing there with his back turned to me and his hands clasped behind his body. I was grateful he didn’t sit next to me on the bed. I waited for him to say what he needed to say and leave. I hated being in the same room with him.