Ruthless Alliance: Ruthless Justice

By Luca Storm

GRITTY, DARK & HUMOROUS

A planned bombing in New York. A bureaucrat with ulterior motives. One lone wolf standing between the innocent and bloody carnage.

 

Luis Fuentes longs to quit the violence-riddled border. But when the undercover DEA agent is contacted by a would-be-terrorist, he jumps in to probe for details before an extremist plot unfolds. And when the FBI Director tells him to quietly string the man along, the street-smart operative's instincts tell him his superior is playing dirty pool.

 

Luis survives car chases, shootouts with cartel members, and ruthless killers. He spurs a gullible co-conspirator through a wild goose chase to obtain explosives. But in a risky covert gambit, the driven patriot becomes increasingly frustrated as he tries to prevent a devastating loss.

 

Can Luis end the corruption and prevent an international conspiracy from wreaking mass destruction?

 

Ruthless Alliance is the riveting first book in the RUTHLESS JUSTICE series. If you like irreverent heroes, wry humor, and fictionalized versions of real events, then you'll love Luca Storm's timely page-turner.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Luca Storm
• Release date: Dec 19, 2023
• ISBN: 9798987267813

Luca Storm

Thank you for spending your valuable time reading this book.  Luca Storm writes thriller/suspense novels. And she's also written non-fiction books and middle-grade books under different pen names. Luca experienced the culture of northern Mexico first-hand in the mid-2000s when she moved there with her husband and critters. During the decade they lived in northern Mexico, she and her husband started an animal rescue group and shelter for dogs and cats. Luca wrote a grant proposal and secured private funding for the group. Together with other Americans, local Mexican families, and veterinarians, they helped bring hundreds of sick and abandoned dogs and cats back to health and found forever homes for all those that passed through their doors. When she and her husband returned to the US, they brought back 15 rescue dogs and 2 rescue cats to live out their years in their own household. Yes, they're all allowed inside. Many have since passed, but as of this writing, 5 very old dogs and 1 old cat remain. The oldest dog is estimated to be around 19 years old and the cat 13 years (in  late 2023) Luca's second book in the series, RUTHLESS PURSUIT, is scheduled for release in early 2024. If you'd like to be an ARC (Advance Copy Reader) for her future books, please email [e-mail] To review the book on Amazon, go to the Amazon search bar and type in B0BMDJLX47 or click the link: https://mybook.to/RuthlessAlliance For books bought on B&N, KOBO, Books2Read, Smashwords or any other platform, please follow their guidelines for leaving a review or click here: https://mybook.to/RuthlessAlliance It would mean the world for you to leave a review of Ruthless Alliance, not only good reviews, but also those constructively critical.  An audiobook was released in April, 2023 and is currently available on Audible, CHIRP, KOBO, and many other audiobook online retailers. A movie script for this book is in the works. Website: https://LucaStorm.com

Book preview

Chapter 1: Still Warm

Luis Fuentes

Reynosa, México

February 2011

Mexican folk music jammed on the boombox, no doubt to distract from the screams. The ear-piercing shrieks might have shattered ten layers of glass, but the stench of the place hit me first—ammonia and nail polish remover.

My pupils hadn’t yet focused in the dim light, and I wondered about the identity of the unlucky chump. Knowing his tormentors, they were sitting on a stockpile of crystal meth, so why didn’t they kill him before he drew attention from the street? As I edged closer to the victim, the suction of sticky grime pulled at my soles with every step.

The building lacked electricity, so no fans to blow out the acrid stink of the chemicals and waste. I quit breathing through my nose and covered my mouth to filter the air. But when the ominous oil barrels came into view, I gasped, forgetting the smell and the victim.

Positioned in the corners behind the drums, lay the remnants of two mattresses, both strewn with used needles, and surrounded by empty decongestant capsules. Tattered, faded newspapers covered the windows and heavy iron bars secured them outside. Afternoon sunlight trickled through the scorched newsprint, giving an eerie, surreal sensation. The only other light came from a flickering LED lantern.

The place felt more like a strongbox than a one-time home. A formidable latch secured the steel security door with a heavy-duty deadbolt, and a high-tech wide-angle door scope provided a view of the outside.

Suffocating heat hung heavy in the stagnant air of the fortress, and once again I felt indebted to the Army where I’d defeated my fear of small, enclosed spaces.

Colorful graffiti coated the walls with peculiar markings, like works of art. It wasn’t tagging—more like the artist had traded his talent for hallucinogens. The sleazeball standing before me could never appreciate the extraordinary murals, he’d be more interested in a monkey with a football.

The host of this makeshift gathering was none other than Alejandro Vásquez Morales and his chunky gold rope chains. He wore a hoodie, a wife-beater t-shirt, and low-rider pants. And he kept his greasy black hair held back by a stained red bandana on his forehead. Jewelry clinked as he moved. He, his tattoos, and his notorious bad breath stood a few feet from me wearing a smirk that would terrify rattlesnakes.

Recalling my first disastrous encounter with the ruthless Alejandro, I said a kind of prayer that he’d forgotten both me and the incident. At first, I’d considered declining his invitation, but being an adrenaline junkie, I sometimes gambled with the odds. Today I bet he wouldn’t recognize me because last time I’d worn a sombrero.

Setting up his boss took three years. The former Los Hermanos kingpin, Roberto Cárdenas Ruiz, was captured and extradited to the US using my intel. I felt proud of the operation, but if Alejandro so much as caught a whiff of my involvement, I’d soon be the one suffering his signature move.

After infiltrating the cartel a month ago, with almost three years of undercover work, my bosses itched for me to break ground with the expected heir to the Hermanos throne. Their rush was typical, but they were dead wrong to expect I’d play by their rules. It didn’t matter to me if the scumbags were captured or killed, so I prepared to do whatever it took, as long as it got me the desired results.

Three of his a-hole thugs emerged from the shadows, toting AKs and guzzling beers. I stepped forward and peered with curiosity at the profile of an immobile creature. His hands were bound in front, and ankles duct-taped to the legs of his chair. The battered flesh glistened with blood, even in the low light. Was he stoned, resting, or dead? I couldn’t tell because his head slumped down like a corpse.

It took a minute for me to detect a slight movement... a viscous film of mucus dripping from his nose. Blood oozed from one hand and dribbled onto his trousers, creating a red puddle on the ground. Crimson surrounded the footprint of the chair, and from the look of the fluids, it appeared he’d been there for hours.

The a-holes moved toward him and jerked back his stringy ponytail, no doubt destroying any brain cells left. They removed the tied bandana which covered his mouth and nose. As they released the gag, enormous ears with a protrusion of hair confirmed his identity. Until then, I hadn’t recognized the restrained man, my old ‘partner’ Victor.

It occurred to me we’d both been summoned by Alejandro. A trap? Betrayed by Rat-Tail? Sweat emptied from my pores as I waited for Alejandro’s move.

Victor always sported more hair in his ears than on the crown of his head. It sucked to be him, but between the pilfering and his ridiculous ramblings about breaking away from Los Hermanos, he was bound to get himself into a scrape. The guy was a shit magnet, often finding himself at the center of trouble. He’d most likely allowed his addictions to cloud his judgment one too many times. A miracle he was still alive, but perhaps not for long...

Last year, Los Hermanos teamed us together to work south in Veracruz. I’d had a hunch then his days were numbered. Pity he hadn’t found a way to make himself useful to the lieutenant. Victor was an affable, sympathetic soul, but to Alejandro, nothing but a loser. He stuck the hapless junkie on the jobs no one else wanted, like driving out to drug war zones. When we worked together, I’d saved him from a premature death more often than he deserved. The guy didn’t have experience with violence, whereas I enjoyed using my tactical training.

Pain contorted Victor’s bruised face, and his swollen, bloody lips trembled, waiting for the next brutal act. The distorted wails were more like from a beast than a man, as the sharp blade poked under his nail beds again.

Alejandro counted aloud, "Uno...dos...tres," and Victor’s third fingernail popped off, making a sound like a cap popping off a beer bottle. Victor shrieked, but sounded weak. After hours at the hands of deviates, I worried he was getting close to his end. When I saw the blackened flesh where the nail used to be, it looked like that one would’ve come off soon on its own anyway.

Alejandro looked at me and said, Step up, dude. Ya gonna give or gonna let your amigo feel more pain?

The man wasn’t bluffing, his sadistic behaviors were well known on the street. The way he dealt with traitors and enemies was to stuff them into an oil barrel, then set them ablaze. Our fate too, if I didn’t give him what he wanted.

Trying to appear relaxed, I shrugged a fake ‘don’t care,’ and said, "Don’t have any amigos. You wanted us to work together, and we did. I always follow orders."

Alejandro turned his pock-marked face to me and drew out his mockery. You wanna trade places? He crossed his arms and pointed to Victor and then me. "You’re a little too comfortable, Luis. Remember who it is ya work for. Till that puta Antonia got involved, we never needed to check our backs—we were familia, remember? Now tell me, where is she?"

I’d come from a home with absent and abusive parents. Physical beatings were routine, yet nothing about Los Hermanos ever felt like "familia." Not only did the gangbangers slaughter each other to gain control of territories, sometimes they killed on a whim or a bet. To them, it was ‘bad luck’ when innocent lives were lost in the crossfire. Many perished during the reign of the former commander and some of his lieutenants intended to continue his legacy.

Antonia, the woman Alejandro sought-after, was former kingpin Roberto’s common-law wife and the top contender to replace him. But Alejandro longed for the position and planned to eliminate her before she beat him to it.

I had a big stake in who sat at the top of the cartel. Antonia’s idiotic moves made it easier for me to build a case against Los Hermanos. I’d known her for years in the US, before my undercover work began in México . As I saw it, this made her less inclined to put a bullet through my brain than the other lieutenants. The bonus was her loose tongue, and she still confided in me. Sometimes being on her side meant giving in to her abuse as proof of my loyalty, but this...the oil barrel to protect her, exceeded my devotion.

I ask one last time, Luis, said Alejandro, sliding the knife beneath Victor’s thumbnail. "Where is Antonia living now? Tell me where she is hidin’ and maybe you will not die in pain like your compañero here."

The hairs on my back stood on end, as the knots in my stomach tightened. But I gave him an easy smile and put my hands in my pockets to appear undaunted by the threats. Then rolling my head to loosen my neck muscles like a fighter, I said, You’re gonna have to give me a sweet deal first. Otherwise, I’m not saying anything.

Flashes of steel appeared in my peripheral vision, and in an instant, three clicks resonated behind me. My head rotated in the fraction of a moment, but as I stared at the guns waiting for his command to shoot, I detected an opening overlooked in the chatter moments ago.

Drawing in a silent, deep breath to steel myself, I turned to Alejandro and said, Yeah okay, offer accepted. I shrugged my shoulders and continued. It’s not like I’m screwing her—I don’t even know where her new place is, she never told me. But I’ll help you find her.

His sneer revealed chipped yellowed teeth, except for the gold one. He allowed his hoodie to slide off his shoulders and revealed an arm tat of Santa Muerte, a grim-reaper-like image. Some believed she offered protection for evil-doers and gave them more time on Earth. It was his way of indicating he’d do anything to get his desires because he didn’t fear death.

Then he shoved Victor to the side, triggering another wail. And as he leaned on Victor’s fresh wounds with the full weight of his two-hundred pounds, he grabbed a bottle of his homemade booze from the counter behind Victor, and waved it at me.

New ventures were the rage ever since Roberto went to prison. Every opportunist thug in the organization schemed—something they’d not dared try under his reign. Alejandro, a real ‘innovator’ among them, had his minions in no-man’s-land brewing batches of moonshine. But it was no ordinary hooch. This stuff contained bags of crystal. I couldn’t vouch for the flavor though. Being wise to the additives was enough to curb my thirst.

They’d seated me near the jugs of ether straight from a laboratory. The fumes burned my nostrils worse than any white powder I’d tested for ‘purity’ and it surprised me not to be strung out by then. Not saying I never gave a sniff for the job, but I sure as hell wasn’t hitting the pipe like the losers. In this line of work, I’d witnessed the nightmares of getting hooked on crystal meth, and it didn’t take long. To give control of myself to anything with so much power was unthinkable.

Victor suffered horrendous physical and psychological changes long before getting himself roughed up by Alejandro’s boys. When we’d worked together, his eye sockets were already like the Cryptkeeper, and he constantly picked the scabs on his arms. His scrawny limbs rattled as he moved, and we used to call it the rattlesnake shake. The tweaking led to paranoia and sometimes he saw visions, or ghosts he imagined wanted to harm him. Irrational thought and delusions were the norm for Victor since I’d known him. The only thing he did well was take drugs.

Alejandro tossed me the bottle of his moonshine and motioned for me to take a drink. I wasn’t sure if drinking rocks of crack might kill me with a baggy leak, but either I tossed down a swig or risked getting shot by three guys wielding cannons. I knew when to take chances and when to take orders.

It tasted like someone left rotting eggs to ferment in a jar of piss. A spray of the swill shot out my mouth and dribbled from my nostrils as I spat out the remains. The bottle dropped and shattered on the concrete floor, covering the area with shards of broken glass and a baggy. My face flushed with fury, and like a fool I said to Alejandro, You trying to poison me, dude? They didn’t even clean the bathtub before brewing this shit, you mother fu—

His trigger-happy goons came at me again. This time, one of them dragged me over to the oil drum but Alejandro raised his hand to halt him.

Remember how it taste, Luis. It will be your next job to deal it. First, I need to make sure you are loyal to me. He scratched his chin hairs and glared at me as though still considering the oil barrel.

I ask you for the last time, Luis. Where is Antonia?

You’re not listening. Don’t know where the bitch is living, but I heard she’s getting her operation set up. Whatever her plan, it’s got to be better than this crap you’re—

Alejandro didn’t like my response. He stomped toward me, trampling the broken glass. His face reddened and pressed against mine with crazy eyes and gritted teeth. I gasped. His breath smelled like rancid cottage cheese and I longed to turn away, but when he raised his gun and pushed the barrel against my temple, I froze.

I calculated my options in a flash. One: if I caved and gave him Antonia’s actual location, I’d be sending DEA agents and Mexican cops to their deaths. He’d dispose of Antonia and rise to become the new commander. Two: if I continued to keep silent, Victor and I would suffer the consequences of the oil barrels. Three: Antonia was my best shot at taking down Los Hermanos. She hated Alejandro, believing he was responsible for her husband’s arrest. I needed to protect her loose lips—they were too valuable to lose.

Alejandro’s demeanor changed for no apparent reason. All of a sudden, a devilish look crossed his face, he lowered the gun, and gave me a smug grin. Motioning his boys to restrain me, he pulled a lighter out of his pocket and held the flame to my goatee. My whiskers smoldered for an instant and the foul-smelling smoke rose to my nose, then my eyes. I felt a stinging sensation on my chin and coughed, shaking my head as they constrained me. When I tried to blow out the embers with puffs of air, the goons held a gun under my chin and laughed. They cackled as I burned.

Moments later, after having his fun, Alejandro spit a wad of his slime on my chin putting out the remaining embers. Tackling him and the a-holes would’ve been satisfying, but even if I managed to get loose, then what? My Krav Maga training wouldn’t save me from gunfire. And even if I wrestled the gun away from one guy, it left two others ready to splatter me. Alejandro gave orders and the goons grabbed my legs, preparing to plant me head-first in a drum.

My sense of survival told me it was time for Plan B.

I said to him, Don’t have an address, but I can tell you where she’s staying.

At his orders, Alejandro’s thugs released me and I exhaled audibly, kind of like somebody shot a spurt of air up my ass with a hose. I knew the lies would get me in more trouble when he showed up at the motel and found no trace of the crack queen, but for now, I’d live another day.

Hearing Victor’s groans again, the shooting gallery turned their attention over to the forgotten beast. Next thing, he’d be down one hand of fingernails. But if Alejandro didn’t punish him for consuming the product for his own pleasure, the other scumbags would say he’d gone soft. I knew damn well he wouldn’t allow damage to his reputation.

The fiend turned to me and I imagined the wheels turning in his devious head again. In an almost pleading tone, he said, Ya know, everything changed when Roberto got caught. Don’t know who to trust now. He told me ya were good people. Loyal and dependable...but now...ain’t so sure. At least not until you help me find the bitch. I swear, if ya help me with this, I’ll move ya up, for a better cut too. How ’bout it, hmm?

To buy myself time, I raised my chin in agreement, trying not to give away my disinterest.

Alejandro grinned. Speaking to his boys, he said, "Hear that, muchachos? Luis is gonna bring me Antonia’s hands to show his loyalty!"

Continuing, he said, I look after my boys. Ya don’t believe me? Ah, you need proof of my sincerity. I thought he’d satisfied his bloodlust, but he hadn’t yet applied enough brutality for his amusement. He grabbed Victor’s bleeding hand and raked the knife against the screaming man’s flesh until it scraped against Victor’s pinky ring.

Victor rocked his chair back and forth while thrashing to free himself from his bindings. He shook his head and yelled at me, C-come on, man! Help me! I’m beggin’ ya man! T-tell him what he wants to know! He sobbed without shame as terror gripped him. Secured and flailing, all he did was provoke Alejandro even more.

I gave in and spurt out, There’s a cheap hotel down in Tampico, and I think she’s got an old boyfriend down there. If you want to grab her before she disappears again, now’s the time.

The control freak didn’t allow his minions to disobey him, literally cutting them down to the bone. He raised the blade above Victor’s pinky knuckle. I turned the ring on my hand and squirmed where I stood planted. I heard a crack and sensed a phantom pain as Victor’s finger was severed. His wails echoed in my ears as blood squirted around him. Bright red fluid gushed from the stub in rhythm to his heart, and oozed from the detached digit held in Alejandro’s palm. The devil tossed me the ring, bloody finger and all. Instinct made me step forward to catch it, spraying blood all over myself. It was still warm.

Chapter 2: He’s Not a Friend

Luis Fuentes

Matamoros, México

One Week Later

VICTOR’S PIECE-OF-SHIT pick-up truck sounded like it might not make it to our destination. We were on Route 2, making small talk, and listening to tunes in the heat of mid-day. The road ahead stretched to the horizon in a long unbroken line, straight and desolate. We dodged tumbleweeds blown onto the road and stopped to watch coyotes devouring roadkill. An occasional car or big rig passed us going in the opposite direction, but no cars in front or behind us.

The highway headed east toward Playa Bagdad, a long strip of sand where the Rio Grande met the sea at the eastern end of the US - México border. Unlike the Tijuana crossing on the western end of the border, no steel pilings marched out to sea to stop illegals from swimming around to the other side. They were unnecessary here since the beach was notorious for drugs and crime, not migrants. The other direction on Route 2 took you back inland to Matamoros, a city located on the southern bank of the Rio Grande, across the border from Brownsville, Texas.

No use getting depressed about it, I said to Victor. I mean what’s the use in complaining over your amputated finger now? Consider yourself lucky, the bleeding stopped on its own. But hey, if you want, we can still go to the hospital to see if they can reattach it.

Victor, the chronic procrastinator, put off getting medical care for his severed pinky. Now blackened and decayed, it reeked like rotting meat. Even I recognized that after a week without refrigeration it was too late to reattach a severed finger.

He held his bandaged hand. N-no point. It’s shriveled up...nutin’ but a reminder now. But we’ll get even with him. You’re a loyal friend Luis, most g-guys woulda sold-out Antonia to save their skin, but you— you held out t-to the end. And then—what a slick move...those assholes are probably still combing every motel in T-tampico looking for her. So, why are we laying low now, when we have a chance to take ’em out?

Victor was a dope fiend, but his dopey nature made him a good follower. I found he and his friends were useful, not because of their brains or brawn, but because they were careless with secrets and introduced me to the right players. Regardless of my soft spot for Victor, the day would come when I’d have to turn him in too.

My loyalty wasn’t to Antonia either. The woman rattled my brains with her left hook every time we were in the same room. And she didn’t need a reason, other than making sure I knew who was in charge. I gave into it. The more like a down-on-his-luck junkie I appeared, the sooner she’d accept me as one of her ‘boys.’

When we got close to the beach parking toll booth, Victor slowed the truck to a crawl.

What the fuck, Victor? We wouldn’t want to be caught doing the SPEED LIMIT. Together, we’d dealt dope, ripped off drug runners, and shot up a bar, but speeding was where he drew the line?

He inched the car up to the pay booth, fumbled in the cup holder for change, and drove on at a snail’s speed. Impatient, I flung open the door and jumped onto the hot pavement. Victor yelled at me for leaping from the moving vehicle, but sometimes doing stupid stuff was all the excitement I needed to get my adrenaline pumping. I got huge rushes when setting up the scumbags, and then again when they got busted, but I also needed a thrill in between.

Victor stopped the car, stuck his head out the window, and yelled, "H-hey, man! Are you