This was the part he resented. Melissa represented the freedom to be a teenager and live outside the lines. He loved this about her and cherished their times together, even when she was unaware of dangers hovering around them.
Yuńior thought about the trip to Seattle. After the conclusion of Cartel business, he wanted to show her the town. Coffee in Pike’s Market was high on her list. Melissa’s eyes danced in delight when the men at the market threw fish to the customers to catch, giggling with glee at such a small task when all around them, men with snake tattoos emblazoned on their hands followed the young couple, ready to snatch the pretty blond woman to make her the evening activities. Her back turned to him, clapping in glee at the exhibition, he unbuttoned the top three fasteners on his shirt, just as one of the men prepared to make his move. Instead of creating a disturbance, Yuńior opened his shirt, flashing the Bocaracá on his chest. In less that the time to exhale a breath, the henchman waved off his men. Ten opportunities for death dissipated into the crowd as he refastened his shirt; his companion none the wiser of his power flex to subordinates and he liked it that way. He has her hero in more ways than one. Melissa made him feel powerful. She presented the good which resided of his soul.
Much of the weight which labored on her shoulders had been removed by him making a few cash payments and putting a few bills in her account every month. It didn’t hurt his pockets in any way, plus it made her happy. A certain joy came to him as well as feeling as if he were of real use to his amante, easing the burdens of the life she led. In return, she learned to cook his favorite foods and often bought special items for him from the salary she earned working for the Blakemores. All the trinkets and baubles he appreciated, and she’d made the flat he’d purchased into a home for them. A pain went through his chest at the idea of having to let her go. She represented the fantasy life he could never have.
Andres had suggested keeping her until the actual wedding, but Yuńior knew that wouldn’t be fair. Melissa was two years older than him and in her prime. If, and that was an if, he got out of the picture now, she would have time to date and marry another, have a few kids, and live a good life. The longer he lingered, coming to her once per month or a quarter, and soon she would want children. He couldn’t abide fathering children who did not sleep under his roof and that he couldn’t see every day and raise in the way of the Delgados. She represented the life of the man he wanted to be.
“Melissa, I’m headed your way,” Yuńior said into the line. “I have a few things I need to discuss with you.”
“You’re going to have to discuss them in San Diego at Imperial Beach because that’s where I am,” Melissa said.
“San Diego as in California?”
“Yes, I’m helping the cause,” Melissa said. “Find me at Oui Madame in San Diego.”
“Melissa,” he called into the line, but she was gone. “What in the world?”
Confusion covered his face as he asked Juliana to get a change in flight plans to Tomas. He needed to get to her before she did a really stupid thing. There were only a few things that he knew of in Imperial Beach. One was the US Border and Customs crossing station and the other was millions of refugees leaving Central America. The other thing he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that his father was working to squash was the trafficking of the children and young women coming up through Mexico.
“Dear Jesus,” he said, running his hands through his hair. “Melissa please, tell me you’re not down there in the middle of all that chaos.”
His heart rate increased, comprehending what his brain was telling him could be possible. Melissa, in her free time, had been sitting around listening to Odessa Blakemore and her action adventures of rescuing women and children as well as Louise talking about the movement to help the members of the caravan crossing into the United States. Bless her blond pointy little head, the woman was in San Diego trying to help the cause. If anything, she was going to get herself into a world of trouble that he couldn’t get her out of with his father’s, grandfather’s, or even his Mama’s name.
Yuńior closed his eyes and tried to sleep. Rest would not come to him as his concern turned to anger. Melissa didn’t listen. As many times as he tried to explain the complexity of the battle Odessa Blakemore had started with the human trafficking rings, it waged a war with his father and many of the other Czars. The last thing he needed was to get involved.
“Damn it, Melissa,” he cursed under his breath. The uneasy feeling was back. She represented everything in his world that he was, should be and would have to demonstrate to get her out of this shit storm she was leading him into. He knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he would need to become the Bocaracá before it was all over.
IRENA
Catarina Delgado, the newest addition to the family, didn’t want to go to sleep. In the wee hours of the morning, before her mother had a chance to close her eyes to rest, the baby wanted a bottle. Sleep-deprived and exhausted from listening to her husband rant and rave for the better part of the evening, threatening to use his favorite knife to slice off a chunk of Enrique Villareal, when Eduardo finally settled down to sleep, Ryanne hoped she would be able to do the same until the newborn decided she wanted to eat.
Sludging her way to the kitchen, Ryanne carried the cranky child to the kitchen to warm a bottle of pre-pumped milk. Arriving in the galley to find that she was not alone, she mumbled a greeting to Irena, who sat at the table staring out the window into the darkness. In her hand was an empty cup which she rolled through dainty hands to comfort the raging thoughts in her head.
“I’m going to make myself some tea. Would you like a cup?” Ryanne asked.
If Yuńior did in fact decide to marry the young woman, they would share this home. Unlike her sister Odessa’s living situation, she had no intention of being that mother-in-law who meddled in her son’s affairs. Although Yuńior was not her son by birth, in her heart, each of Eduardo’s sons was her own. His eldest was no different.
“Yes, please,” Irena said, looking up. “Would you like me to hold the baby while you make the tea?”
“That would be a big help,” Ryanne noted. “Her name is Catarina, named after a small city in Texas. My great-grandmother started the tradition and it kind of stuck. My mother, me, and my sister Odessa are all named after Texas towns.”
“I have never been to this Texas,” Irena said. “I have been to New York, but it is a place of the very busy worker bee, crowded and very noisy.”
“Well, Texas is prairie land, mostly flat, typically brown, and wide open,” Ryanne said, adding water to the kettle and turning on the burner. She grabbed a bottle from the fridge and stuck it in the microwave for 10 seconds, while she set honey, sugar, cream and two tea bags on the table.
“You grew up in this Texas, I am told,” Irena said, cooing to the baby as she provided soft pats to her back. Catarina didn’t care about the pats to her back. She wanted her bottle and she wanted it now.
“Good grief, this child is greedy,” Ryanne said, taking the bottle from the microwave, shaking it up and testing it on her wrist. Catarina impatiently whined as her mother added half a teaspoon of cereal to the bottle, shaking it again, ensuring that it would flow through the nipple. “Hopefully, this will fill her little belly and help her sleep for the rest of the night. I know I could use some sleep as well.”
“Sleep is not an easy task when the mind is restless,” Irena said, handing back Catarina.
Ryanne opted to say nothing as the kettle started to sing a steam-filled song. Resting the bottle against her chest and Catarina in the crook of her arm, the baby sucked greedily while her Mama poured hot water into the two cups. With the kettle back on the stove, Ryanne took a seat at the table with the young woman. Absently, Irena dropped the tea bags into both cups, allowing the leaves to steep in the hot water.
“I admire your decision to give him a chance to handle the situation before he signed the contract,” Ryanne said. “How did you know?”
&
nbsp; Irena’s eyes stared into the coffee mug. “It was the way he looked at me, as if he was doing a bad thing that would hurt another,” she confessed. “She will have to let him go and he will have to let her go as well.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“There will be no marriage,” she said, looking up at her future mother-in-law.
“He could have easily lied to you, or he could come back, sign the contract, and still lie to you,” Ryanne said, trying to be as honest as she could.
“I do not think Eduardo Yuńior is that type of man,” Irena said. “Of all the men my father paraded me in front of like some prized heifer for breeding, he is the only one who looked me in the eyes. He shall be my husband and that puta will have to, how do the American girls say, take several seats.”
Ryanne chuckled a bit. “I like your fire. You’re going to need it to survive this life,” she added.
“This life, as you call it, I was born into,” Irena said. “My father, with the help of Señor Delgado, has tried to become a legitimate businessman, but the long-standing ways die hard. Even with the council of old men who dictate that women must be married off; some things do not alter in our world. It makes my flesh crawl to think that on my wedding night, Eduardo Yuńior has to bring forth the bedding to prove my chastity after the confirmation. Women should be given a choice. I would have liked a choice like you were given.”
That statement made Ryanne laugh aloud, so loud that an almost sleeping Catarina popped open her eyes in feigned baby anger at the disturbance of her meal.
“Darling, I didn’t have a choice in the matter either,” she said to a surprised Irena. “The Cartel of Czars thought that I was a spy for the American government. I either had to marry Eduardo or become a mistress to one of the men on the council.”
Irena’s eyes were wide in shock.
“You’re complaining about bed sheets?” Ryanne chuffed, “We had to consummate our marriage in front of the council and the priest had to verify the planting of seeds.”
She held up two fingers and Irena’s hand went to her mouth.
“This life is hard, unfair, and unbending,” she told the young woman. “However, it can be rewarding.”
“Your son, is he a good man, like I think he is?” Irena asked.
“Yes, he is,” Ryanne said with no hesitation. “As the eldest, he hasn’t been given many choices in his life. When the time came to stand tall and defend this land, Yuńior did so with no hesitancy.”
“I heard he killed Albertossy,” Irena said in a low voice.
“Only to protect his father and me,” Ryanne said.
Irena sat quietly, still questioning herself for giving him the time to sort out matters. Second-guessing herself wasn’t doing any good. Even if he’d signed the contract, there would have been nothing to stop him from going back to the woman. There was still the possibility of once the contract was signed, he would still go back and she would be no further in the arrangement than she was now.
“Irena,” Ryanne began, “second-guessing yourself will turn you into a woman you don’t want to be. Trust me, I know. If your first instinct was to allow him this time to close out a relationship you feel will be detrimental to your life together, then stand by it. Yuńior knowing from the start of the relationship what you will and won’t stand for makes a big difference. He respects the institution enough to leave and handle the matter. You trust that he will and he shall.”
“I feel so stupid, sitting here pining for a man I don’t even know,” Irena confessed, wiping away a tear. “I just feel this connection to him already, and I’m not even his wife.”
“Honey, he must have felt it too if he left to let her go,” Ryanne said, looking down at the empty bottle. She placed Catarina on her shoulder and patted gently, eliciting a loud burp from the baby. She got to her feet, taking the cup of tea with her.
“Señora, is she a nice person, this woman that he loves?” Irena asked.
“She is, but hard-headed,” Ryanne said, noticing the lack of understanding from Irena on the term. “Hard-headed means she doesn’t listen. Yuńior doesn’t want a wife who will not listen or take his advice. If you ask me, it was coming to an end, anyway. You were merely the catalyst to show him the difference in having a woman and having a wife.”
“I hope you are right,” Irena said.
Ryanne thought about Melissa. She was an attractive girl with no real understanding of how the world worked. She watched and listened to Odessa talk about her glory days of being at Saxton’s side helping the lost and exploited. Louise didn’t help. The girl had stars in her eyes, believing that she could walk into a den of cutthroats and mercenaries and walk out unscathed. Life didn’t work that way. The bigger problem in Melissa’s train of thought was her lack of understanding who Yuńior really was in the larger scheme of the canvas. While she daydreamed in the field of flowers she painted, she failed to see the large bull in the background shitting on everything in order for the flowers to grow.
Eduardo was the bull. The man fertilized and planted shit on six continents. His son was the heir to the dynasty, a dynasty of killers, cutthroats, and mercenaries who would do anything to keep the power. Yuńior Delgado was no different. He would rule it all and continue his father’s legacy.
Or create a new one of his own.
It was only a matter of time before the young man would understand his power and flex his muscles. Ryanne shivered at the thought. Yuńior had a tender side and one that was equally ruthless as his father. He was a killer who had yet to enjoy the taste of death.
“You will be the difference in the man he shall evolve into,” Ryanne said. “The reason you are forced to marry young is to provide a grounding, put stakes in the game to prevent hasty decisions from being made in a moment of recklessness. A wife and child can change the way a man conducts himself, especially if his actions will put his family in danger.”
Irena wiped away a tear that rolled down her cheek. “Thank you, Señora, for taking the time to speak with me,” she said in a soft voice.
“This will be your home, Irena,” Ryanne told her. “Until you make friends, it will be me and you running this house. I shall train you to become the Lady of Lands and pass the torch to you. From my perspective, we are in this together.”
Chapter Four – We’re in This Together
AUGUST 7, 2019
The plane landed well after Yuńior changed into a pair of black cargo pants which held his favorite knife laced with venom from the eyelash viper native to his country. A pair of well-worn black boots covered his feet, along with a lightweight deep gray jacket, a black button- down shirt, and a skull cap. He wouldn’t take any weapons outside of a few Ninja stars and a small flask of water.
“Melissa is going to get a firm talking to,” he mumbled as he sat on the back seat of the car service he’d ordered from his phone.
A contract driver for hire drove him through the streets, letting him off in the midst of a crowded park. Lowering his head, he walked along, looking for the hotel, easing in a side door unseen to locate the room Melissa said was hers for the weekend. A few light taps on the door and there was no answer. Yuńior sent a text.
The response came back that she was at the waterfront.
“Que?” he sounded out in a low voice, activating the locate my phone app to find the silly woman. The red dot on the screen was moving rapidly, which became the state of his heart rate.
“Merde,” Yuńior exclaimed, sliding out the same side door and heading into the crowd at the park. Several people had left running motorized scooters unattended, so he stepped onto one, putting the device into gear and rolling through the throng of people headed down the hill to the waterfront.
The sound of seagulls sang out into the darkness as his eyes adjusted, looking at the red blip on the screen. He stopped, left the scooter, moving fast on foot and coming around the side of a large building. The dot was close by as he maneuvered in and out of the shadows, getting
closer, his eye on the blip and his focus on locating Melissa. Deep male voices shared stories about tonight’s catch, their intentions of enjoyment as they got out to sea, and the young women they planned to break in over the voyage. His stomach lurched hearing adult men talk about young girls in such a manner. These were bad people who did bad things.
As much as his father attempted to deter such actions, Yuńior understood that as long as there were buyers, the demand for the product would overshadow any edicts of decency. Nothing he could do about it tonight; tonight’s focus was to find Melissa, have several conversations with her, and get home before Friday. He checked his phone again. The blip stopped moving. So did Yuńior.
Cries and screams could be heard as he came around the corner. At least 50 kids were being herded onto a mid-sized cargo boat. He searched for the name of the ship and couldn’t find one, but what he did find was Melissa. She fought a large man, trying to free herself from his grasp, the blond hair he’d grown to love hidden under a hat, but if it came off, the young lady would be in trouble.
Killers Page 4