Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 55912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
That’s precisely how Jack would phrase it: courting or romancing a lady. Those are civilized terms. There’s nothing civilized about what I want to do to her. It’s pure animal impulse. It’s hunger. It’s the urge to tear her clothes off and bend her over, spank her big juicy ass to show her I own it, own her, then slip my shaft between—
A car honks behind me. I’m blocking traffic. I really need to focus. I drive to the edge of the city, the cartel basement bar. A cartel man is sitting out front on a stool. He’s wearing a leather jacket over a white tank, covered in tattoos, music playing from some speakers on an upturned crate. It’s a rap song in Spanish. When I walk across the street, the music gets louder, the lyrics clearer. The artist is rapping about killing somebody at midday and burying them at midnight. It doesn’t seem practical to me.
In Spanish, I say, “I’m here to see Diego. I have an appointment for my hair.”
The man, a little older than me, sits up, suddenly on full alert. The hair appointment is a code that means he has to take me straight to his boss, Diego, a low-level cartel member controlling this sad corner of the city. The man stands and gestures to the basement. I didn’t bring any guns. They wouldn’t let me in here with any.
But I’m walking out of here alive. Before, when I’d think that, it was just a matter of basic survival. Now, I have the motivation—to see my woman again.
Diego is a short man, always sweating. He dabs at his balding forehead with a handkerchief, his gold watch flashing on his wrist. He’s let his hair grow long down the sides. “You said we were done.”
“We were,” I say, keeping my voice low despite the music Diego switched on when he saw me. He doesn’t want anybody to know he’s worked with… with what? What am I? Not a cop. Not a hitman. Not an angel. Not a devil. “But things change. This is about the Gutierrez family’s cryptocurrency wallet. I’m sure you’ve heard some whispers about it.”
Diego is already shaking his head, but his eyes give him away. His eagerness to pretend he doesn’t know what I’m talking about tells a lot, too.
“I don’t need anything from you,” I say, leaning forward slightly. Just enough to remind him I’m twice his size. Just enough to remind him that the last time he saw me, I had just finished killing one of his cartel buddies who liked to hurt little kids. He helped me. Against his will, but he helped, and they can’t ever learn that. “Except for a name. You’ve heard about that old cryptocurrency wallet. You know it was stolen. Who’s making a play for it?”
“Is this about the woman?” Diego says, reaching into his top drawer and taking out a small table for chopping lines. There’s already some powder on it.
I slap it off the table. It crashes into the wall, powder lacing the air. I slam my fist close to Diego’s hand, causing him to leap into his chair. “A name. Now. Or you can call your men in here. Have me killed. Try to, at least.”
His mouth opens and closes like a fish searching for water. He’s only in this position because of family connections. He’d be eaten alive by the real cartel down south.
“Better start talking, Diego.”
“You don’t understand. They’ll kill me if they ever find out.”
“They’ll kill you if they find out what you did last year. You took me to his house, Diego.”
“You had a gun to my head.”
I laugh, but it’s for show. I don’t enjoy bullying men like this. Weak and pathetic and defenseless. Even when they deserve it, it leaves a bad taste. “Do you think that will make any difference to them?”
He leans forward, lowers his voice, then gives me a name. Antonio Romero.
“I don’t recognize it,” I tell him.
“Up-and-comer,” Diego says, “but he’s been bragging all over town. He’s going to find the famous crypto wallet and give it to the Gutierrez family as a sign of his loyalty. Word is he’s holding some woman for ransom.”
“Very talkative for a narco.”
“Like I said, an up-and-comer. He will be gone soon.”
“You might be right, Diego,” I reply. “You said he’s been bragging around town. Where, exactly?”
“Listen, man—”
“Where?”
He swallows and gives me another name, this one of a bar.
I stand and turn, popping my neck from side to side. There’s a violent feeling gripping me, slowly seeping over my body, into my bones, like a call to war—a call to do whatever it takes to make this right. I can’t let them hurt Simone. Her daughter would never want me then—could never want me if I let her mom die.