WICKED OBSESSION

  OBSESSED DUET, BOOK 1

  AIDÈE JAIMES

  Wicked Obsession

  Obsessed Duet, Book 1

  by Aidèe Jaimes

  Copyright@2022 by Aidèe Jaimes

  All Rights Reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

  Copy edited by R.C. Craig

  Cover Design by Aidèe Jaimes

  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  About

  Books Under Aidèe Jaimes:

  PROLOGUE

  AURORA

  I would have died for the man I love. I would have taken on the world and burned it to the ground for him. I would have killed for him.

  But I never imagined I’d kill… Him.

  Standing over his sleeping form while holding a six-inch blade in my right hand wasn’t what I set out to do. All I ever wanted was the truth.

  They say be careful what you ask for. I should have asked for sweet, merciful lies. They would have saved me from this terrible agony.

  As I lean over him, a tear slides down my cheek and lands on his naked chest. But he doesn’t stir.

  Everything that’s happened over the last two weeks suddenly flashes through my mind, as if it’s my life that’s about to end—his eyes the first time they locked with mine, the feel of his lips, his touch.

  Yes, my life is about to end, too, because I gave it to him. And then I got what I sought. The unforgivable truth.

  My heart pounds painfully, and my throat tightens as I try not to sob. I want to wake him and beg him to lie to me, to tell me it’s all a misunderstanding. To make me believe whatever he says, because even now, I love him. I love him more than I’ve ever loved anyone.

  And I hate him.

  So I lift my arm high above my chest and plunge it down with all my might. Destroying us with a single strike.

  CHAPTER 1

  AURORA

  Guadalajara, Jalisco

  Mexico

  Three Weeks Ago…

  “The bodies of five men were found today on the border of the Gracia Properties. Though they have yet to be identified, it’s suspected that among the men is Manuel Figueroa Jr., son of the noted entrepreneur running for governor in Jalisco…”

  I glance away from the screen broadcasting the live report coming from the studio upstairs, tapping my pen against my desk as I continue to listen.

  Gracia Properties. The name sounds familiar.

  Following a hunch, I search for their location on my work laptop. It comes up on a map, and with my finger, I trace the roads surrounding it until I find what I’m looking for.

  Bellazul. I scribble the name of the fields that produce one of the most exclusive and expensive brands of tequila in all of Mexico. Beneath that, I write the name of the man who owns it all and underline it.

  Esteban Falcon.

  I stare intensely at the sheet in front of me, all the while tapping my pen subconsciously. Tap. Tap. Tap.

  Without pulling my eyes away, I reach for my cup of heavily sugared and creamed coffee and bring it to my lips.

  “You think he has something to do with those deaths too?”

  The sound of my friend’s voice breaks through my concentration like a foghorn to my ear, and I jump, spilling the coffee down my ivory silk blouse and all over my desk.

  “Pinche, puta, mendigo, cabron, ugh!” I throw out almost every curse word ever taught to me by my brother as I pull the boiling hot fabric away from my skin.

  “Oh my God, Aurora, I’m so sorry!” Yolanda cries, taking napkins from her workspace near mine and attempting to help. But really, it’s pointless.

  “Don’t worry, Yoli. It’s…” I sigh. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “I’ll replace it!” she’s quick to add.

  I shake my head. “Don’t worry. I should be going home soon anyway.”

  Frowning when she sees the remnants of breakfast, lunch, and dinner in my garbage can, she asks, “How long have you been here?”

  “Too long. But I finished that story Javi wants on the church robberies. Now he wants me to write part two.”

  She rolls her eyes. “You’re lucky. I don’t know why he always has me reporting on the best places to live in Guadalajara. It’s just to show me what I can’t have!” She points to her chest.

  It’s true. Between us, she always gets the shittier gigs. As for me, I enjoy my assignments. They excite me. I spend a lot of time in the police department asking questions, simply sitting around and waiting for something to come in through the doors. There’s never a lack of interesting characters to interview.

  But the difference between Yolanda and me is that I went for what I wanted. When Javier had me writing fashion, I did. Then on the side, I wrote about the rising crime in the city. I found my own articles, dug up dirt. When he saw that I was good, he gave me what I was after.

  Now I’m after bigger fish than the petty criminals I write about on a daily basis. In my world, there’s nothing bigger than the cartel.

  Yoli takes the paper from my desk, the one now soaked and stained brown. “What does Bellazul have to do with the deaths at Gracia Properties?”

  “They’re only a few miles apart.” I show her on the map, but she shrugs as if she still doesn’t see the connection.

  “There are plenty of other properties in between.”

  “Hmm.” I tap my finger to my chin. “But isn’t it strange that so many bodies are found within five miles of them? And what about the video of the federales confiscating several of Falcon’s shipments because of possible contraband, then it all goes away and no one knows anything. Just like that,” I add with a snap of my fingers.

  Yoli sighs. “Au, I thought you gave up this obsession you have with Falcon being a criminal. Do you think maybe you’re fabricating a lot of it? Have you asked any of the police you’re always hanging around?”

  “Where do you think I’ve heard about it?” I don’t tell her that’s what I’ve gathered since they also refuse to speak of him. They’re too tight-lipped. “Everyone knows he’s tied to the cartel.”

  “Actually”—she scrunches her nose—“everyone thinks he is. If you haven’t found a credible source by this point, I’m not sure they’re out there.”

  “They’re out there,” I assure her. “Fear keeps people silent.”

  She nods thoughtfully. “Say the rumors are true and he is part of the cartel and he’s responsible for all these random murders. That would make him not only one of the richest men in Mexico, but one protected by a powerful and dangerous organization. He’s untouchable.”

  “No one is untouchable.”

  “He is,” she states matter-of-factly.

  “All I want is an interview. Can you imagine what something like that would do for my career? I’d never have to write for anyone else.”

  “There you go again.” She laughs. “Do you hear what you’re saying? If he’s cartel, he’s definitely not going to give you an interview, and you’d be smart not to go snooping. There’s a reason why more of us don’t try. Even if he’s not, he doesn’t allow anyone near him. Unless you’re already in his inner circle. Or one of the women who party with him at his club.”

  “I’ve been to Azul and have never seen him.” A lot of the aspiring rich, yes. But never the man himself.

  “Not Azul. The other one. The one you have to be invited to.” When I continue to stare at her in confusion, she huffs. “Shit. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  She tries to walk away, but I snatch her wrist to keep her here. “Yoli, what club?”

  Sighing, she says, “My cousin Aldo worked there for a couple of weeks. Got fired because he got caught with a reefer, and drugs aren’t allowed on the premises.”

  “That’s hard to believe,” I say snidely.

  “Regardless, he was there long enough to discover that there’s a club within the club. And that’s where Esteban goes almost every night.”

  “A club within the club?”

  “Yes. There’s a private entrance and it has its own elevator. There’s a door that leads to a hallway that connects the public and private clubs, but it’s highly guarded.”

  I remain quiet for a moment as I consider this new piece of information my friend and co-worker has kept from me. Though I wonder if it was done on purpose to keep me from succeeding, I decide to leave that question unasked. Instead, I concentrate on something more important. “How do those women who party with them get invites to such a private club?”

  Her lips pull into a straight line. “Please don’t get ideas. Besides, they really just party with the other men there. My cousin said Falcon doesn’t involve himself with them.” Now she leans in, cupping her mouth as she glances around the almost empty space
. “I heard he only sleeps with virgins, so unless you are one...”

  I’m taken aback by the insinuation. “You think I’d sleep with him to get an interview?”

  “What? No! I didn’t say that.” She bites her lip. “I should probably get going. Nacho and the kids are waiting for me to have dinner. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Bye,” I say, watching her as she quickly gathers her belongings and shuts off the lamp on her desk.

  It’s almost eight o’clock and the windows have gone from showing the blue of the sky to the dark of night. I need to go home too, but that niggling feeling in the back of my mind continues, the one telling me that the rumors about the tequila tycoon are all true.

  They say he’s involved with the Diablos del Sur, a cartel that controls a vast part of the border. That he uses his influence to get away with murder.

  I say he’s a very bad man.

  None of that seems to matter to the gossips in Guadalajara, however. When they speak of him, it’s never in a negative light. It’s never about the bodies found near his agave groves or the whispers of drugs found in his shipments to the United States.

  Instead, he seems to be painted as a mysterious hero, always praised for his large donations to hospitals and the homeless and needy. For his looks.

  Men aspire to be like him. They envision themselves in his shoes. Rich. Powerful. The world at his fingertips.

  Women find him alluringly dark, wondering what goes on behind those enigmatic eyes. They shiver at the mention of his name, not in fear, but with excitement.

  Glancing around, I take note of the few people left in the office. All workaholics that can’t be bothered by anything that doesn’t concern their reports and articles.

  I sit and dig through my top drawer to pull out one of the many newspaper clippings I keep there.

  “Esteban Falcon, 45, festeja el lanzamiento de su nueva linea negra en el D.F.!” Esteban Falcon, 45, celebrates the launch of his black label in Mexico City! the article reads. Then below it is a grainy photograph of him exiting one of the ritzy downtown clubs, flanked by four large men wearing black suits and earpieces.

  I study his image now as I’ve done many times. It’s not hard to see why people are so fascinated with him. Mystery stirs the desire to know. And he is certainly mysterious. Very few can give firsthand accounts of their interactions with him. Those who can say he’s charismatic, intelligent, and confident, something that is so at odds with a man who shies away from cameras.

  With tastes as expensive as his tequila, he dines only in the finest restaurants, rides in Bentleys, and resides in the prestigious Puerta de Hierro area of Guadalajara.

  There’s also the matter of his physical appearance—the real reason women swoon when they talk about him, regardless of what he is. From the angle this picture was taken, I can tell he’s a large man, with broad shoulders and tall enough to tower over his own guards. He’s not classically handsome. Instead, he’s rugged with a strong chin and jaw accentuated by a well-groomed goatee, dark thick brows, and wavy hair that curls slightly at his nape.

  All those things might attract a woman. But what calls to my eye is the intensity of his gaze that isn’t softened one bit by the slight upward curve of his mouth. Even through the paper, I feel it. Hard. On guard. Searching. Devastating.

  He has a savage quality about him that seems barely contained by his tailored suit. A brutal beast in fancy clothes, I think, because that’s exactly what he is. Brutal.

  And it’s become my obsession to write an exposé that will bring down the empire he’s built with blood.

  The question is, how do I get close enough to do it? Many have tried to interview him, even offered him money, but he denies all requests. If he won’t do a simple interview about the Falcon brand, always leaving that to his publicists, he definitely won’t want to discuss his criminal activities with someone like me, who has nothing to offer in return.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I spy one of the other journalists here at Guadalajara Al Diario as he comes my way. He has his gray suit jacket thrown over his shoulder and his briefcase in hand.

  Quickly, I flip the photograph of Falcon over and pretend to search for some lost item in one of the stacks by my laptop.

  He leans against the partition that creates the wall of my “office,” his gaze scanning my desk nosily. I suppose it’s part of our job, to be observant. It’s just annoying to be on the other side of that nosiness.

  “Hey, Vic,” I greet.

  “Everyone’s heading out. We’re stopping at Julio’s bar for a drink. Want to come?”

  “Um…” I glance at the clock. “You know I’d love to, but I already have plans.”

  “Come on, Aurora. Just one drink. I’ll behave this time, I promise.” He raises his arm up as if he’s swearing. “I won’t flirt, not even once. Well, maybe once, but that’s it.”

  I laugh because we both know that the moment he takes a shot of tequila, he’ll revert to the old Victor and try to get me to commit to a date. “Thanks, Vic. You go ahead. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  His shoulders slump, but thankfully, he lets it go. He slaps his palm against the wall gently and says, “Okay. Have a good night.”

  Poor guy. I really wish he did it for me, because he’s probably one of the better ones out there. Hard worker, sweet, funny. Cute too. He has the prettiest blue eyes framed by dark lashes. I don’t think he’s much older than me, maybe twenty-six or so.

  From day one, Victor has tried to get me to go out with him, but I can’t. He’s too nice for me to lead him on when I know it’s not going to work. It never does.

  It’s not him. It’s me. My mind is on a single track, and I until I achieve the one thing I’ve sworn to do, I can’t be with anyone. They always have expectations I’m not capable of meeting. Expectations of my time. My commitment. My body.

  “My body,” I whisper when a new idea dawns on me, flipping the photograph over so that I can see Esteban Falcon once more. My heartbeat quickens as I begin to realize I was wrong on two counts earlier.

  One, I do have something to offer Falcon in exchange for an exclusive. Two, I am willing to give it to him if that’s what it takes.

  CHAPTER 2

  AURORA

  For three days, I mull over the idea of making an indecent proposal to one of the richest and most powerful men in Mexico.

  Anxiety is my constant companion as I inch closer to a decision that could change my life. I have to build courage, and that isn’t something that simply happens from one moment to the next. Not to mention, this isn’t my first time to attempt to make contact.

  A year ago, I gave it all I had. Everyone thought I was foolish to try. I hadn’t been in the game long enough and believed all it took was drive to get what you wanted.

  I was wrong.

  The first mistake I made was assuming he had some sort of direct phone line. Turns out, every number I dialed for Empresa Falcon eventually led me to the same place. Media Relations. They’re the ones that handle any and all interviews, and because I’d introduced myself as Aurora Hebron of Guadalajara al Diario, I’d basically fucked myself.

  Thinking I’d have better luck somewhere else, I went to the distillery. When that proved unsuccessful, I took a trip to his blue agave orchard, Bellazul, in Tequila. If he ever came down from his tower to visit the more rustic side of his business, I didn’t see him.

  My last resort was Azul, his ritzy club in Puerta de Hierro. For days, I went, stood in the long lines that always form outside their doors. Sat at the bar, ignoring requests for a dance, and searched for him. I was convinced I had what it took to secure an exclusive. Then I wasn’t.

  Doubt crept in as the days passed without success. Even my co-workers stopped asking if I’d had any luck, because they knew I hadn’t. So when Javier gave me another assignment, I took it without question. I began to believe that even if I did get a hold of Falcon, I had nothing to offer and was just wasting my time.