And if it doesn’t, then maybe spilling blood will.
Chapter Six
Half an hour later, my ass is planted on a stool at El Bebida del Océano. It’s one of my favorite bars since not many people come here looking for trouble. Although I would welcome it right now, it would be mostly out of frustration and that’s not a code we live by. It would be a disservice to my father’s name.
The thirty minutes I spent wandering the streets felt good, but eventually, I found myself wanting a good, stiff drink.
I smile at the bartender as he places a white napkin down in front of me along with a small glass of Tequila. I like it when people recognize me for things other than being the harbinger feared by so many.
I drop twenty pesos on the bar top and begin to sip my drink. My eyes wander up toward the small television in the center of the bar. There’s a football game on, and while I’m not one for sports—other than hunting people, I decide that’s better than nothing.
When the bartender starts to walk away, I lean up onto the bar top, just far enough to be able to see his shoes before I sit down and get comfortable again.
I’ve never seen him before, and I don’t think he was at Papa’s party, but one can never be too sure until verifying things. Besides, it’s not like I know the name and face of every single person that has walked through his doors.
I’m two drinks in when a man sits on the stool next to me. Instinctively, I scoot to the empty stool on the other side of me, ensuring that there will be an open space between us.
He chuckles but doesn’t say anything, and neither do I. I don’t even look at him after glancing down quickly and letting out a deep breath at him not being the one either.
And the more I sit here thinking about it, the more I wonder how I would react if I ever found the man that hurt me.
Would I fight him? Would I run? Or would I become so angry that I’d kill him as quickly as possible, or would I take him back to my shack and let Papa have him?
Too many options, not enough answers, and that bothers me more than anything else.
I go back to sipping on my drink and keep my eyes glued to the screen.
“You like soccer?”
I roll my eyes and don’t respond.
Clearly, the man who seems to have decided that I want company also wants to have a conversation. And he’s not from around here; not if he calls football, soccer.
I use the rungs of the stool to push myself up so that I’m standing and wave the bartender over. I steal another quick glance down at the shoes the pendejo next to me is wearing before I’m satisfied that I can leave this place with a clear head.
“What do I owe you?” I ask him when he stops in front of me.
“I got it,” the stranger says.
I grit my teeth.
Reaching into my bra, I pull out some pesos, toss them on the bar top and walk out. I can’t help but chuckle and shake my head when I hear who I assume is his girlfriend scream at him for “hitting on every pussy he sees” echoing behind me.
But unlike her, I don’t need a man to take care of me, and I sure as fuck don’t need any new friends.
Not when there are more enemies to be had anyway.
* * *
I don’t go home right away.
I’m much too busy walking up and down each street on the way back, looking at every fucking pair of shoes that goes by.
But no matter how hard I look for him, I don’t find him.
It’s almost like wishing on a star and realizing it’s nothing more than an old wives’ tale, becoming more and more disappointed as each star burns out in the sky.
When I reach the end of a road I don’t know I cross the street and keep walking. Something in the distance has my attention now, and I’m intrigued to the point of potentially putting myself in danger.
The closer I get to the flashing lights, the more a smile begins to spread across my lips.
“Federales!” I shout, cupping my hands over my mouth.
Fuck them.
If they’re trying to destroy another honest man’s business, then I’m more than willing to do my part to interfere.
I climb up the back of a small, unmarked car that some of these pigs came in and sit on the roof with my feet pressed firmly against the windshield as I wait for them to notice me.
I may not be a big deal to most strangers, but I’ll be fucked if these pendejos don’t know who I am.
I narrow my eyes and squint at a familiar face emerging from the house that’s just been raided. Dark, tan skin, tattoos on his chest peeking through the neck of his shirt and black hair cropped close to his head.
“Omar Rodriguez!” I call out as I push myself onto the roof of the car. I make a show of rolling my Rs on his name to make sure that I have his full attention.
As far as I know, he hates that shit, and now that I’m here, I may as well entice the devil to dance with me. And he if he’s smart, he won’t let me lead.
Once I’m steady on my feet, I raise my hands in the air with a big come get me smile on my face. It almost immediately turns into a smirk when he lays eyes on me, and a scowl appears on his ruggedly, handsome face.
“Get the fuck down from there!” he barks at me as he gives his new prisoner a yank toward the car.
I put my hands on my hips and grin down at him.
“Make me,” I dare him.
He looks around for one of his men, shoves the man toward them, then reaches up and grabs my ankle, giving it a hard yank.
I grunt as I stumble and lose my footing, my back making a dull thud as I land on the roof of the car.
After a couple of seconds of staring up at the sky, I tuck my hair behind my ears and push myself up to my elbows.
“Bitch,” I snipe at him with a smirk.
“Do you have any fucking idea where you are, little girl?” he barks at me as he reaches up to grab me.
I roll away from him and lie on my side, planting my cheek against my fist and giving him a charming smile.
“Anywhere I want to be.”
He rolls his eyes, throws his hands up in the air, then begins to walk away, but stops for a moment to turn and smirk at me. I can see the good in him fighting to come out, while the other side of him that wants nothing more than to lock me up in a cage for the rest of my life, is struggling to keep him silent.
After a few seconds of frustrated silence, he plays his hand.
“I hear there’s a price on your head in Bachimeto, Ana Sofia. Maybe check your fucking surroundings once in a while before opening that mouth of yours.”
With a shake of his head, he turns his back to me again. He’s making it so easy for me to take him down right now, and he knows it. But being surrounded by so many other cabrones, he doesn’t show fear—he doesn’t have to. “Do me a favor and die on the side of the road, so I don’t have to stop traffic for you,” he calls over his shoulder.
I sit up instantly.
If he’s telling me the truth, then I lost my way somewhere near the town line. Not that I had a destination in mind, but this is definitely not somewhere I need to be right now.
How long have I been walking that I ended up so far from home?
Fuck, I have to get out of here.
But before I decide to leave, on my own accord, not because of his little bullshit warning, I elect to give him a proper send-off.
“Hey, Omar?” I shout as I hop off the car and down to the pavement.
When he turns to glare at me over his shoulder, I smile, point a finger gun at him, and pull the trigger.
Pow.
“You’re next.”
* * *
As expected, Papa is furious when I come home. In a way, I understand his anger because night fell a little while ago.
He tells me that I’ve been gone for hours and that I didn’t even take my phone, so he didn’t know if I was okay. He says that no self-respecting woman would leave her home without telling someone where she was going and
that I should have at the very least taken Tati.
I take my lashing, eyes on the floor, and hands clasped in front of me.
When he’s done, I lean up on my tiptoes, and kissing him on the cheek as I promise that it’ll never happen again.
Even though we’ve gone through this routine more times than I can count, he accepts my apology and hollow promise.
What I don’t expect when I get to my room is a still empty dresser. I told Tati to return Mateo to me before I came back home, and she still hasn’t followed through.
I pull the tie out of my hair and toss it onto my bed, giving myself a glance in the mirror before I head out the door. I’ll need to take a bath soon and scrub the dirt and sweat off my body, but I’m thankful to be in this house again, where I once felt was the safest place of all.
I begin to make my way down the hall feeling absolutely furious until I’m outside of my sister’s door. It wanes enough that I know it’ll take more than the usual “I’m sorry” to piss me off when it comes out of her in a rambled apology.
“Tati!” I call as I knock on the door.
She doesn’t answer, but I can hear the bed creaking, so I know she’s inside. More than likely, she’s going to pretend she’s asleep like she always does when she takes something from me, but this time I won’t give in so easily.
“Tatiana!” I bark as my knocking turns into pounding.
I count to ten, my arms crossed over my chest, and my foot tapping against the floor. When she still doesn’t open it, I grab the doorknob and use my strength to slam my body against the door, forcing it to open.
And when I stumble into her room, I find myself looking at a familiar sight—one of Tati’s dark secrets—if not her darkest.
She’s on her bed, moaning as quietly as she can, with Mateo’s head pressed to her cunt. Even bursting into her room doesn’t curb her fucking compulsion, but he deserves better than this.
I walk over, smack her across the face, and attempt to snatch him from where he’s spent God knows how long suffering between her whorish thighs.
Tati puts up a fight, gripping a fistful of his hair, trying to yank him away from me. And for a moment, she almost succeeds. Until I kick her in the thigh, and she yelps in pain. When she finally let's go, I tumble back but regain my bearings before falling onto the floor.
“Fucking animal,” I growl at her as I reach for her nightgown on the floor and give his face a quick wipe.
When I hold him up to inspect the damage he’s suffered being exposed to the air and other things, I arch an eyebrow.
Impressive.
Somehow, she’s managed to slow the decay, so he’s not as bad as I thought he would be, but at the very least, he should be spared of this bullshit.
With the exception of the patch of hair she managed to rip out of his fucking skull along with part of his scalp in our little tug of war, he looks damn near human still.
“I’m sorry!” she gasps out as she sits up in her bed, pulling her blanket up to cover her sweaty, naked body. I roll my eyes. There it is; the same fucking hollow apology she makes each and every time.
I don’t look at her, though. I’m much too busy wrapping Mateo’s head in a nightgown so I can quickly leave her room.
She’ll beg me not to tell Papa and then ask me when the next man will die. If I choose to tear apart the next one as well, she’ll find a way to steal his head like she always does.
And the cycle will repeat itself because she can’t control her compulsions any more than I can.
Chapter Seven
I’m sitting on the back patio with a beer in my hand. I’ve decided to bury Mateo’s head tomorrow with the rest of his body. I’ll explain to Papa that I didn’t have the heart to display him like the others.
He’ll understand and forgive me.
He always does.
Just like I do my sister.
I let out a sigh as I raise the bottle to my lips and take another sip, tucking my legs beneath myself on the opulent wicker chair.
When a strong hand rests on my shoulder, I gasp and almost drop my bottle. I look up and see Papa smiling down at me with tired eyes, and I wonder why he hasn’t gone to bed yet.
“I’ll sit with you until you’re ready to go to sleep,” he says as he takes the seat across from me.
It’s not an offer, it’s just how it is, and honestly, I love being in his company when it’s just the two of us.
He seems more human then.
“It’s good to see you smiling again, mija,” he says tiredly. I glance over at him long enough to see him rub his eyes, then look back into the yard again. I don’t like seeing him so damn sad.
“I smiled before, Papa. You just didn’t see it,” I tell him with a bright smile. Granted, I’m not looking at him when I say it because I don’t want him to see the blatant lie in my eyes.
He chuckles as I watch him lean back in his chair out of the corner of my eye. I can tell there’s so much more he wants to say but doesn’t know how to, and that’s okay with me.
Not everything can be healed by words, not even those of El Señor.
“So, how was your day?” I ask, taking another sip and turning my eyes toward him. I’m hoping that he’ll mercifully follow my lead and change the subject.
“Good,” he states with a nod. But I watch his eyes harden for a moment, and I can see him grinding his teeth.
“It’s okay,” I promise him with a dismissive wave.
He clasps his hands behind his neck and turns his face away for a moment before they settle on me again.
“But it would have been better had I known where my daughter was,” he says, his tone as stern as the look in his eyes.
I smile at him as I hold the bottle out. He reaches forward and swipes it from my hand, drinking down the rest quickly, before placing the empty container on the ground next to his feet.
“I’m sorry, Sofi,” he grunts.
“For what?” I ask, tilting my head to the right. “For being a good father? That’s the last thing you should ever be sorry about.”
He nods as he crosses his leg over his thigh. I can see that the interrogation is still lingering in his mind, so I may as well just confess.
“I walked to Bachimeto today,” I begin slowly. When he stiffens, I look down at my hands and being picking at my nails. “The Federales were there. Fucking up someone else’s business, I guess.”
“What the hell were you doing all the way over there?” he barks. I can tell he’s trying hard to control his tone right now from the way his voice shakes. I wait until he takes a deep breath, then settles back into the chair again. Going toe to toe with him in any aspect is not a good idea, and since I haven’t seen him this hurt since Mama left, I don’t want to purse it needlessly.
“I went for a walk after I left the bar,” I reply with a shrug. “I don’t know why. I just felt like going somewhere. Anyway,” I furrow my brow as I begin to concentrate on picking away at the dead skin, “I saw Omar.”
Papa takes a deep breath and gets to his feet. When I look up at him with my little girl eyes, he grunts and sits back down again. It’s almost like we’re playing the chair game and he doesn’t want to lose.
“And?” he presses.
“Nothing. I had a little bit of fun while he was working. No big deal,” I state with a shrug.
“What would have happened if he had taken you into custody?” he asks, the tremor returning to his tone.
“For what? He’s got nothing on me, Papa. So, a couple of his men disappeared? That wasn’t me. I didn’t kill his father either. He’s got a chip on his shoulder, but so what? Everyone here does in one way or another. Bienvenido a Navolato,” I say with a chuckle.
“Mija,” he says patiently as he gets to his feet again and pulls his chair closer to mine. Once he has it settled close enough to be able to lay his hands patiently on my leg, he continues, “You have to be careful. Especially when you’re on your own. I don’t want you wandering off
, and then I never see you again. That would hurt me more than I can say. Do me a favor and stay close to home for a while, okay? And stay the fuck out of Bachimeto.”
I grin up at him.
He’s beyond the point of trying to stay calm, and I can see the crimson blush of embarrassment coloring his cheeks.
All partially hidden behind the bushy beard he usually keeps neatly trimmed. But not tonight; he shows signs of obvious distress, and I’m sure he was waiting for word of my death to reach him, instead of me walking back into his home.
“Go to sleep, Viejo,” I instruct him fondly with a smile. “I’m fine. I promise.”
But my old man is as stubborn as he is ruthless and shakes his head vehemently, “Not until you do.”
“Papa,” I begin as patiently as I can, mimicking his tone from earlier and getting to my feet. I wrap my arms around his broad shoulders and bury my face in his neck. I miss the simple times of being a young girl in his home. Hugs were never given out of fear of loss, but out of genuine happiness. And when he hugs me back without hesitation, I let out a soft sigh. It’s not a usual thing to get hugs from my father anymore, so when he gives them, he means it. “I’m not hurt anymore. We’ll find who did it and that person will be punished. Until that moment comes, everything has to be as it was.”
He clears his throat in an attempt to mask the sniffling sound he just made as he drops his arms from around me. Taking one of my hands in his, he gives it a gentle kiss, then leads me back into the house.
* * *
Papa refused to leave my room until he tucked me soundly into bed. I half expected him to sit down and read me a bedtime story, but he’s never liked to linger in his daughter’s rooms.
He’s a very traditional man and believes that everyone in his home deserves privacy. It’s a point of pride with him that he doesn’t invade it.
It would seem strange to some that a man with so much blood on his hands can care so deeply for his children. But he’s only El Señor when he needs to be, and up until recently, that was never in his home.
La Carnicera Page 4