by Alyssa Breck
Holly nodded. Her phone buzzed on the dresser. She handed him the cigarette. “Can you put that out for me?” She got up to check it. “It’s my mom. She wants to know if I can go to lunch with her tomorrow.”
“Just her?” Hunter wasn’t going to play the possessive boyfriend, but he was concerned about her father. That prick was bad news.
“She didn’t say, but my dad will probably go play golf with his bank cronies.” She typed a message then put the phone back down. “Want to take a shower with me?”
There was no way he could refuse that request while she stood there naked.
As soon as her head hit the pillow, she knocked out. He watched her for a while. Her wet hair fanned out over the pillow, and the white sheet was tucked under her arms, concealing her breasts. A lot of women had passed through his revolving bedroom door, and few had left a lasting impression. Even if this thing he had with her didn’t work out, she’d be hard to forget. He was almost remorseful at the scar he’d likely leave on her at some point.
He’d feel better if she stayed at the clubhouse while he was gone. El Paso was a nine-hour drive from Dallas on a good day. He trusted Hem more than anyone else, but Hem would be with him for this pickup. They were meeting Mescalito near the border of Mexico. They trafficked heroin but only inside the states. Crossing the border was out of the question. Too risky. So the cartel paid some other poor dude a grand to take that risk.
Hunter smoked another cigarette before he rolled over to lay beside her and sleep.
Chapter EIGHTEEN
Hunter
Hem drove the SUV with Hunter riding shotgun and Maddox in the backseat. Barring any mishaps, they’d be in El Paso by six, just before sundown. Holly had messaged Hunter to tell him she was going to her house to pick up clothes then going to meet her mother for lunch. She’d be back at the clubhouse that evening. Kol and Sin would be there if she needed anything.
The run to south Texas happened about once a month and netted the club a big chunk of cash. The welding business was thriving, so they weren’t hurting. The money from trafficking was play money. Half went into the club’s fund, and half was divvied up between the members. Hunter, Hem, and Maddox would get a bonus for making the pick-up.
Nester Mescalito was a cartel lifer. Pretty much anyone brought into the cartel was. They either spent all of their days in service or they left in a body bag. The Columbian cartel, also known as El Cuespo, had hired the Russians to handle their trafficking and dealing inside the states. The Mexicans didn’t like the competition and had hired the Knights to traffic, but the club refused to deal so that task was delegated to the local street gangs.
Hunter had only met Nester a couple of times. He rarely made personal appearances and preferred to have his second-in-command make the trade-off. Several duffel bags stuffed with cash and blocks of heroin would be given to the Knights. The cartel had several El Paso cops on their payroll, so they’d never had any problems there, but they had to be careful leaving the city. About forty miles inland from the border, there was a second customs checkpoint for people coming in from Mexico. That was a critical spot.
The drive was almost a straight shot out I-20. They stopped in Odessa for gas and for Hunter and Hem to trade off driving. The truck stop was always busy and filled with people passing through and regulars, who drove that route every day. Hunter filled up the SUV while Hem and Maddox went inside for coffee.
A woman in a silver Mercedes pulled into the pump across from Hunter. The leggy brunette wore a tailored business suit and big sunglasses. The perfume she wore was strong enough that it mingled with the smell of gasoline. She set the automatic pump lever and sauntered toward the store. Her black bag had gold chain links for a handle, and her heels clicked across the pavement.
Hunter watched her. Next to him, Maddox and Hem, she was the most out of place person. Truckers weren’t always nice guys, and truck stops weren’t really safe for women alone. A few minutes later, Hem held the door for her as she walked out with a large Styrofoam cup. Maddox trailed behind them as the lady spoke to Hem. She smiled, and her teeth were almost too white against the red lipstick. Hem followed her to her car, where she reached inside her purse and handed him a business card.
Hem nodded and tucked it into the pocket of his cut. He finished pumping her gas and then opened her door for her. He leaned inside to say something, then, he shut the door. Hunter and Maddox had climbed back into the SUV. When Hem slid into the passenger seat, Hunter turned the key in the ignition.
“What was that about?” Hunter asked. Traffic wasn’t too bad, and he pulled out onto the service road to get back to the interstate.
“She wants to see me later,” Hem said.
“Are you serious?” Hunter asked with a grin.
“Yeah. I told her I’d be in El Paso tonight, and she said she’d be in Las Cruces and told me to call her.”
“Damn, man. That’s some high-class pussy right there,” Hunter commented and laughed.
“Right? And she wants the D.” Hem took a drink of his soda.
Maddox handed Hunter a cup of coffee from the back. “This little fucker pulls all the chicks when we go out.”
“When you’re young, you should get all the pussy you can,” Hunter said.
“Damn straight,” Maddox added. “But I still get all the pussy I can.”
Hem put his finger to his lips. “Shhh, Mad. Hunter is whipped now. He can’t have all the pussy anymore.”
Hunter laughed. “I’m probably getting more pussy than you two right now.”
“You probably are. We all know you got some last night.” Hem plugged his ears. “Holly is loud as fuck.”
“No way you guys heard her last night with all the commotion going on.”
“Wanna bet?” Maddox asked. “I almost went and knocked on the door to make sure she was okay.”
Hem chuckled. “It sounded like you were killing her.”
“Please, don’t ever tell her that. She’d die.” Hunter took a sip of his coffee and put the cup into the drink holder in the console.
“We know when to keep out traps shut,” Hem said. “But I think she gave everyone a boner last night. That was porn quality.”
Holly
Holly stashed some clothes into her duffel bag and grabbed an iced coffee from the refrigerator. Lately, she’d spent more time at the clubhouse with Hunter than she did at her house. She thumbed through the mail that had stacked up in her absence. A big white envelope from UNT was on the bottom. She tore open the top end and pulled out the stiff white piece of paper. Her Master’s Degree. She smiled. Another accomplishment she was proud of.
Proving to herself that she could be better was important. She never wanted to be her mom. While her mother was educated, she had a bachelor’s degree in nursing and was a registered nurse, she was both emotionally crippled and dependent.
The restaurant was a French café that Holly and her mother used to go to before her folks moved to Florida. Holly missed those lunches. The times her mother could be herself and not walk on eggshells around Holly’s dad.
The fondue was hot and gooey, and the bread was steaming hot. Holly pulled off a piece and dipped it into the cheese.
“I really shouldn’t eat this,” her mother remarked and tore off a small chunk of bread.
“Mom, no one is here to worry about it. I won’t tell Dad, you ate bread.” Every time Holly saw her mother, she was a little more inside her shell, a little more guarded.
The waiter poured them each a glass of Chardonnay. Holly took a sip. “Is he still hitting you?”
Her mother’s blue eyes widened. “Oh, my goodness, Holly. Don’t say that in public.” The pink sweater set Brenda wore was probably brand new. The woman had more clothes and shoes than a department store.
The section of the restaurant they sat in was nearly empty.
“No one can hear me, Mom. Unless Dad put a wire on you.”
Brenda waved her hand in the air. “Don’t b
e silly. I don’t want to talk about me. Tell me what you’re going to do with this new degree.”
The diversion tactic was another of her mother’s favorite things to do.
Holly popped another piece of bread into her mouth. “I’m not sure yet. I think I’ll stay on as a staff writer for now.”
“That would be lovely. I know you’re happy there.”
“Mom. Why don’t you come stay with me for a while? I have that spare bedroom.”
“Oh, honey, I couldn’t. Your father needs me.” Brenda held up her empty glass as the waiter passed by. He stopped and backtracked to pour some more Chardonnay in her glass.
“Can I have a glass of water, please?” Holly asked.
“Sure. I’ll be right back.”
Holly continued. “Just tell Dad that you’re going to keep me company for a bit while I figure out what school I want to go to next. We could drive down to Galveston and go shopping. Go to the museums in Houston. It would be nice.”
Brenda’s face softened, and she smiled. “That would be great.” She reached across the table to touch Holly’s hand. “I miss my girl.”
“I miss you, too.”
They shared a crème brȗlée and coffee.
“Maybe your Dad could do without me for a week.” Brenda sipped her coffee. “I’ll talk to him when I get back to the country club.”
The Farris family had been members of the Dallas Country Club for three generations. Holly had grown up attending pretentious functions and gaudy balls.
“You know, Holly, Michael Claymore asked about you.” Her mother smiled. “He’s so handsome now. He just finished law school in California, but he’s home for the summer.”
Sometimes Brenda Farris was like a dim lightbulb.
“Mom, I’m seeing someone.”
“Not the gentleman you brought to dinner?”
“Yes. I’m seeing Hunter.”
“Oh, Holly. Isn’t he too old for you?”
“He’s in his thirties.” Holly spooned some custard into her mouth. “I like him. A lot.”
“Listen, dear. Older men have a way of charming, innocent, young girls.”
Holly laughed. “God, Mom. You make him sound like a pervert. I’m not twelve.”
“I just want what’s best for you, sweetheart.”
“I know you do. I’m happy right now. Isn’t that what’s important?”
Brenda smiled and squeezed Holly’s hand. “Of course, it is. If he makes you happy, that’s what I want for you.”
“He treats me really good.” She made eye contact with her mom. “He’d never hurt me.”
The linen napkin slipped out of her mother’s hand, and she reached down to pick it up. “I said that once, too.”
Holly leaned across the table. “You don’t have to live like this, Mom.”
“Nonsense. It’s not that bad. He just loses his temper sometimes. Happens to everyone.”
There were the denial and excuses. Whenever they were alone, Holly tried to convince her mother to leave him, and it always ended with her mother making excuses for him.
Her mother’s phone beeped. “Oh, I have to be going, honey. Your father is waiting for me.”
God forbid the bastard have to wait. “Okay, Mom.” Holly wiped her mouth and laid the napkin beside the half-eaten bowl of crème brȗlée.
Brenda paid the bill and kissed Holly’s cheek. “I’ll call you in a little while.”
“Okay.” Holly headed back home instead of going to the clubhouse. If her mother decided to stay with her, she’d need to be home.
Chapter NINETEEN
Hunter
The pink and yellow streaks in the sky gave way to purple as the sun slipped behind the horizon. They passed into El Paso about ten minutes ago. The pick-up location was always different. Hem figured out the location based on the coordinates the cartel had given to Paul.
“There’s going to be a dirt road up here on the right, about five hundred feet.” Hem pointed at the windshield.
Hunter slowed the SUV and turned on his bright lights. The road was narrow, and if he hadn’t been looking for it, he would have driven right past it. He opened the center console and pulled out his Glock. There was always a round in the chamber, and he rested the piece on his thigh. “Look alive, guys.”
Like clockwork, Hem pulled out his 1911 and racked the slide. The sound of Maddox doing the same came from the backseat. While they had a congenial relationship with the cartel, shit could go bad at any time. When it came to brutality, the cartel was only second to the Irish Sons. Hunter had come to the conclusion a long time ago that white people were crazy.
About two miles down the road, he spotted a small cabin. The porch light was on, and two white Escalades were parked in front. A Mexican dude wearing a brown cowboy hat stepped out of the front door. He held an AR-15 rifle across his chest. The cartel were some flashy motherfuckers from their Stetsons to their ostrich skin boots. They loved their rodeo belt buckles that were almost as big as their hats. Drugstore cowboys.
Maddox got out first with Hem and Hunter a few feet behind him. The cartel liked to deal with the higher-ups in the club. Maddox wore the VP patch, so he did the talking.
The good life had made Julio Reynoso chubby. Too much food and booze would do that. Julio stuck his plump hand out, and Maddox shook it.
Hunter and Hem scanned the area, making sure an ambush wasn’t in progress. There were a few trees around the cabin but no dense brush. Still, Hunter kept his eyes peeled.
“Good to see you, man,” Julio said as he walked with Maddox toward the back of one of the Escalades.
Two more men stood on the porch, and another followed Maddox and Julio. They were all armed with rifles. Six duffel bags were stacked neatly in the back of the SUV.
“Three with heroin, three with dinero, my friend.”
The club didn’t exchange money with the cartel. They were paid strictly to transport. Profits and losses on the street were negotiated directly with the street gangs. Hunter would deliver the goods to the gang and walk away with the cash for services rendered.
Hunter and Hem loaded the duffel bags into the back of their SUV and waited for Maddox to finish talking to Julio. The deal had gone down in less than five minutes. Back out on the road, they headed for the hotel. Ten hours on the road made for a long ass day. After they slept, they’d likely head back home. The pick-up trips usually took two days, sometimes three if there were any hiccups.
Hem pulled out his phone and the business card the hot businesswoman had given him earlier. He punched in her number.
Hunter looked over his shoulder at Maddox and whispered, “Hem wants to get laid.”
Hunter listened to the one-sided conversation.
“Hey. It’s Hem … I’m on my way to the hotel now … yeah, sure.”
Hem started to laugh. “Are you serious?” He tucked his hair behind his ear. “Sorry, sweetheart. I don’t pay for pussy.” He ended the call. “She’s a fucking call girl.”
Maddox laughed from the backseat.
“I have never in my life paid for pussy.” Hem shook his head. “She charges a grand for straight sex and a two grand if I want to put it in her ass.”
“Wow,” Hunter said. “That’s an expensive piece of ass.”
“If I’m gonna pay a grand, her pussy better be gold plated and sing the Hallelujah chorus when I come.” Hem rolled the window down and tossed the business card onto the side of the road.
Hunter laughed. “She’s driving a Mercedes Benz. She must not have a problem selling that shit.”
Hem shuddered. “High mileage pussy is kind of gross.”
“I bet you like those little Catholic girls, virginal types, huh?” Maddox asked, still laughing. He put his hands together like he was praying.
“Jesus Christ. No. Who wants that kind of responsibility?”
The desolate road slowly transformed into a cityscape. They passed a string of strip malls and fast food joints before Hunte
r pulled into the parking lot of the motel. The vacancy light was lit up, but a couple of the letters were burnt out. Upkeep obviously wasn’t a priority. When they did pick-ups, they preferred to stay in the kind of places that accepted cash only and didn’t keep records. The coyotes bringing illegals across the border used motels like that, too.
The office was a small square room with a bell on the chipped, white counter. It smelled like patchouli, and Hunter suppressed the urge to gag. A young woman came out from behind a red and white curtain.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“I need a room for the night.” Hunter held a wad of cash in his hand.
She slid a piece of paper toward him. “Fill this out. Fifty dollars for one night.”
Hunter scribbled a fake name and address and dropped a fifty-dollar bill on top.
She gave him a key attached to an orange plastic tab. “Room fifteen at the end of the building.”
The motel was a single story set up that probably rented rooms by the hour. Paint peeled off the stucco, and the red-tiled roof was cracked, and pieces were missing. The room had two beds that were supposed to be queen size but were more like doubles. The ugly bedspreads were a shiny brown and green pattern circa 1978. The television was old, but the sign out front said they had cable.
There had never been a problem, but before they left town, they had to count the money and weigh the goods. Everything was solid, and Hem settled back on one of the beds to switch on the television.
“I’m going to take a shower.” Hunter took his backpack into the bathroom. It was barely big enough to turn around in, and he had to duck to get under the showerhead.
After he cleaned up, Hunter checked his phone. He hadn’t heard from Holly, and it was nearly eight o’clock. He called her, but it went to voicemail. He didn’t leave a message and called the clubhouse.