They even moved things around on my work bench. Those fuckers. I had everything exactly where I wanted it. Each thing was in its own special spot. Why would someone do something so evil? I place the items back where they belong, fitting them perfectly back into their previous positions that remain free of dust and cobwebs. This atrocity must have just happened. I probably barely missed them--.
Then I see it. A diamond earring. I can recall every woman I’ve brought here, and none wore diamonds. Mierda! Diego’s bitch, no wonder she kept touching her earlobe during the meeting. They sat there acting like everything was normal when they had probably just been here touching my things?
I have no doubt Diego was here with her since he’s not letting her out of his sight. He fucked that pussy when it was supposed to be mine. I was going to keep it. I’m not a selfish man, though; I was going to let all my men have her after I broke her in. After I was finished, I was going to just tie her up in that cage and let my men, quite literally, come and go – my own version of cartel team building. Then I was going to bring her here.
But now they’ve ruined everything. They’ve sullied my workshop. Things have to be done in a certain way. Now those two have messed everything up.
The question is, how did they know about this place? Have they been following me? My book’s missing but nobody could figure out my code. Anybody who attended the party at my house could have taken it. No one would ever suspect that this place belongs to me. My cartel home is impeccable, immaculate, and clean; however, the things I do here are so vile and ugly that cleaning this place would be a farce. So I don’t.
I crave the grotesque, the more depraved the better. I have ever since I was a little boy. I would hide beneath the house and kill neighborhood pets. It wasn’t enough to choke the life out of them and be done. When they were dead, I would skin them. No broken bones, though. They had to be perfect. The perfect sacrifice.
The real brutality began after they were dead—I am not without mercy. I wanted to see what was inside them, what they looked like, what they smelled like; I wanted to know how their blood felt as it ran down my forearms and coagulated between my fingers, finally dripping onto the ground to mingle with the blood and bones of my previous kills.
I liked to spend time at the spot in the woods where I killed and buried all the pets. There, they became my pets. I felt safe there. It felt like home, there with all my little pets.
Of course, I knew there was something wrong with me. But I knew better than to let anyone else suspect anything. I learned to be a loner and to keep a lot of secrets -- so many secrets. Secrets I still keep. Well, until now.
No… she doesn’t have the book sense to figure out the code in my book. Diego? Now that’s a different story. That quiet, calm demeanor of his might fool everyone else but not me. I know he’s crazy. I also know he’s smart. He’s spent a lifetime studying surveillance – the technical aspect of it and the psychological nuances too. I’ve always believed he became a pimp because he likes a challenge and God knows women are complex creatures. But that’s not it, or at least that’s not all there is to it. It’s not just that he likes a challenge; he understands that if you can understand and manipulate the inner workings of a woman, you can make them do whatever you want. And it must work because his women willingly do his bidding. Dammit, even Foxy. I’ve never seen anything like it.
If it weren’t so fucking maddening, it could almost be funny—a pimp with a heart of gold. Diego cares about the women who work for him, would do anything to protect them. He sees it as a matter of pride; I’m going to ensure that it’s his downfall. I need him to fly that plane into Colombia for me, to do this one, last, big deal – a deal that will get me away from this life before the cartel discovers I’ve been skimming money for myself.
I’ll go to a remote island in the Caribbean and spend the rest of my days drinking margaritas on the beach – and having my pick of unsuspecting women for my favorite pastime.
The most challenging aspect of this business isn’t making money, but living long enough to enjoy it. Most bosses just die off and then the others fight amongst themselves for power and money like a bunch of animals. There’s no room for love, for a heart, in this life. That’s Diego’s biggest weakness and, when I use it against him, it will prove to be his undoing.
He can keep that puta, Brook. No, I have someone else in mind, someone who’s been on my mind for a while now.
A muffled sob draws my attention back to my current guest—the skank huddled in the corner. She’s still sniffling like a big baby. At first her tears entertained me, but now they’re just getting on my nerves. I just want quiet. She won’t stop crying and I just want her to shut the fuck up.
“You lying bitch!” I hiss as I approach her. “How could you sit there with a straight face when you had been here going through my things?”
“You’re crazy, man. I’ve never been here before! This place is a dump.”
No one talks to me like that. Not Brook, not anyone. I have to make her pay for what she’s done to me. I pick up the crowbar hanging on a hook on the side of my work bench and test its weight in my hand. Perfect. It’ll do nicely.
Someone needs to be taught a lesson.
I pull the crowbar back and swing it at her head as hard as I can, aiming for the bleachers. Her head cracks open like a watermelon and I’m mesmerized by the gore. I’ve never seen anything like that before—an exploding head. I must remember to do it again to someone else someday.
Might as well finish the job so her face will be unrecognizable. I swing the crowbar again and again like I’m chopping wood, until her face is gone. If she’s ever found they’ll call it blunt force trauma. I just call it splitting a bitch’s wig.
In cartel, we all kill. Just because I happen to enjoy it doesn’t make me evil or a serial killer. Even though I know that, the people I work for wouldn’t understand. No, I will take the steps necessary to protect my secret and pave the way for my future.
Chapter Thirty Three
Diego
I put the phone on speaker when I see who it is. Santiago’s calling. I lean back in my chair and cross an ankle over my knee, curious to see what he wants. Although I have my suspicions.
“Santiago. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you miss me.”
“You. Violated. Me.”
His voice sounds different. Panicked. Sounds like moving things around in his creepy shack may have paid off. I’ve known him long enough to understand that he’s OCD about certain, specific things.
“Oh, now, that’s not true and you know it,” I drawl as I pick a piece of imaginary lint from my pants. “I would never do such a thing without buying you dinner first, asshole.”
“Fuck you, Diego. That bitch violated me, too. You know what you’ve done. You’re either going to fly into Colombia and pick up that load at that airstrip or I’m going to keep killing. And if any other women die, their blood will be on your hands. It’ll be your fault, Diego. You’re fucking ridiculous, you know that? A pimp with a heart of gold. It would almost be laughable if it wasn’t so pathetic. Women are chattel, they’re cash cows. But you? You treat them like they’re your treasures. It’s disgusting.”
“I’m not doing shit for you. What makes you think I won’t drop a hint to the cops about those dead bodies? Even Malverde won’t be able to help you then.”
“Did you fucking touch my shrine, motherfucker?! Did you? Don’t you worry about the bodies; I’ll just dump acid down that well and turn it into soup. Dead. Bitch. Soup.”
His laugh sickens me but what he says next gets my attention.
“Don’t want to work with me? Support the peace treaty between our organizations? Don’t want to play nice? Then I’ll have to make sure you have no choice.”
The phone goes dead and the hairs on the back of my neck bristle as the all-too-familiar sense of dread rolls through me. I frown and shake my head to clear it as Brook says what I’m already thinking.
&nbs
p; “That sick son of a bitch is more interested in playing some game with you than he is getting you to fly his drugs into Colombia.”
“I know. The only way to stop him is to kill him. He thinks he’s off limits because of the peace treaty. I’m going to keep on letting him think that. Fucker’s coming unhinged. He’s bound to make a mistake, get sloppy -- and when he does, I’ll be ready for him.”
“You’ll have to talk to the Ramirez brothers again to have them sanction the killing.”
“We don’t have a lot of time. I need to put this in front of them now. We’ll have to do it online.”
We sit down at my computer. I see it as a good omen when I manage to catch them both at home and available. I get right to the point.
“Ricardo. Antonio Wayne. I appreciate you taking the time to speak to me. This situation with Santiago is out of control. Brook and I managed to get his book.” I make sure I give her credit for getting it. “We figured out that part of the code provided coordinates of latitude and longitude. When we went to one of the locations, it was bad. I never would have expected what we found.”
I hold up my phone and scroll through the photos of the well while I have their undivided attention.
“Damn. That’s some sick ass shit.” Coming from Antonio Wayne, who makes his living torturing people, it says a lot.
“That’s got nothing to do with cartel business, that’s the work of a fucking serial killer,” he continues solemnly. “I think our boy, Santiago, has crossed a line and lost his soul. He’s killing for pleasure, for sport. We don’t need that kind of heat from the federales. You’re talking about the FBI getting pulled in if this gets out. Turner and Murphy are the last people I want to see. We have an understanding with them but he walks the straight and narrow. Those two aren’t on anyone’s payroll, which presents us with a dilemma.”
“Let me rid you of this problem today. Sanction the hit. Let. Me. Kill. Him.”
“No.”
My heart drops because I know where this is going. “What the fuck do you mean, Antonio?”
“Yeah, what the fuck do you mean?!” It’s the first time his brother, Ricardo, has spoken.
Antonio leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as he directs his attention to Brook. “I want her to kill him. She wants to work side by side with you? She needs to prove herself. She wants to be part of the life, part of cartel? She needs some incentive to keep her mouth shut about the things she’ll see if she stays with you.”
“She shot Santiago. Isn’t that proof enough she can do the job?”
“She has got balls of steel, I’ll give her that. But you and I both know there’s a big difference between shooting someone and killing someone.”
“She did what she had to do, without a second thought.”
“Doesn’t matter.” He hasn’t taken his eyes off her and I know he’s studying her face for any trace of fear. With that memory of his, he can run it back through his head over and over like a movie. He’ll hit replay until he figures out every thought she’s thinking right now. “When you kill someone it isn’t the kill shot that fucks with your head, it’s the fallout. It’s the moment of truth when you find out if your conscience is going to drive you crazy. No, I need to know if she has the stomach for the cartel life. And she needs to find that out about herself.” He returns his attention to me, saying almost casually, “She kills him or there’s no hit.”
And just like that, he reaches up and the screen goes blank.
One thing about the Ramirez brothers: when they make a decision, they do not fuck around.
Caden
Cadmiss: Boots? You there?
Bootsontheground: Hey beautiful. All ok?
Cadmiss: Too much drama. You know how it is.
Bootsontheground: You’re better than all the drama, whatever it is. You know that, right?
Cadmiss: Thanks. Guess so
Bootsontheground: I know so. What can I do to convince you?
Cadmiss: Don’t worry about it.
Bootsontheground: Too late.
Cadmiss: Sweet.
Bootsontheground: You’re sweeter.
Cadmiss: How can you possibly say that?
Bootsontheground: Because I know.
Cadmiss: How?
Bootsontheground: My dreams don’t lie. So sweet.
Cadmiss: Do you do this on purpose?
Bootsontheground: Do what, sweetheart?
Cadmiss: Make me crazy.
Bootsontheground: Yes. Is it working?
Cadmiss: Maybe. Just dealing with a lot right now.
Bootsontheground: You can lean on me Caden. Don’t have to be strong all the time. Broad shoulders here.
Cadmiss: I don’t doubt it.
Bootsontheground: You’ve imagined them, haven’t you? The shoulders. Admit it
Cadmiss: I’ve imagined a lot of things.
Bootsontheground: Want to meet you.
Bootsontheground: Caden? You there?
Cadmiss: I’ll think about it. Gotta go. Friends don’t let friends text and drive. Goodnight Boots
Bootsontheground: You at work? Somebody walking you to your car?
Cadmiss: Big girl here.
Bootsontheground: Shouldn’t be out alone this late. Just say the word and I’ll find you. Bout time we met anyway.
Cadmiss: Too late. On my way. Not a bogeyman in sight. See? I’m fine. Goodnight Boots
Bootsontheground: Goodnight, beautiful Caden. Be safe.
Chapter Thirty Four
Her Capture
Click clack. Click clack. Click clack. The staccato snap of her stilettos striking the parking lot pavement lulls me into a type of dream state. As always, I can’t take my eyes off her. She grins as she texts, shaking her head indulgently before tucking her phone into her purse. Her tan legs go on forever. Lush, platinum blonde hair ripples over her shoulders as she walks to her car. A Mercedes. She must be doing well for herself, making really good money off more men than just me, to be driving a car like that. I’ve always known it, but it still rankles. God knows there have been nights I let her empty my wallet just so I could continue sitting with her, so I could have all her attention.
She’s an aphrodisiac that goes straight to my dick. As far as I’m concerned, she might as well be the only woman at The Club. I keep that money flowing so she doesn’t get up and go to the next guy. I got deep fuckin’ pockets and it’s always business that pulls me away, not lack of money. Or lack of interest.
I wonder why Diego didn’t choose her rather than Brook. Brook’s beautiful in her own way but she isn’t like so many of the cliché Barbie doll types that work at Diego’s place. He’s a fool if this woman isn’t his type. She’s damn sure mine.
I watch every detail of her movements: the way she bends ever so slightly to open the car door, unknowingly jutting that ass my way; the way she gently tosses her hair to the side so she can see what she’s doing. I wonder…will she want to see the things I’m going to do to her, or will she prefer a blindfold?
She slides into the driver’s seat, giving me one delicious glimpse of the lace at the top of her sheer, black thigh-highs. She’s perfect. Beautiful. So very sexy. And soon, Diego will know what I’ve known for so long: she’s mine.
She pulls out of the parking lot and I follow at a discreet distance behind her. And so it begins. Sometimes capturing prey is more fun than the kill. I want to play with her. And I’m going to take my time. She’s so pretty, so sexy, and so very special. And even better, she’s Diego’s best friend. I wish she was mine. If I can keep her near me long enough, I bet I can win her over.
It’s almost too easy. Earlier tonight, I placed a 1.5-inch screw behind her back tire. I stood it up so it would puncture it when she left. The thing about deliberately putting a slow leak in a tire is that sometimes the screw will plug up the hole -- unless you drill a hole into the screw so air can escape. So, that’s exactly what I did.
I’ve known where she lives for a whil
e now. I started following her initially after she declined my repeated efforts to see her outside The Club. But recently, I’ve found myself lingering outside her bedroom window at night simply for the view, finally getting to see all that luscious flesh that she has only teased me with at The Club.
I follow far enough behind her to keep her in sight without alerting her to my presence. Even though she sits with me in the bar most every night, she’d be pissed to realize I know where she lives. I’m a fucking drug lord, but to her I’m just a customer. Like everyone else. Even though Diego despises me, he knows my cash is as green as everyone else’s so he doesn’t stand in my way and I am welcome to come in and spend money on her. Oh, the power of the almighty dollar.
Well, tonight that shit’s changing. I’m different; I can slit a woman’s throat without guilt but this woman has me wrapped around her finger. My cartel brethren rag me about it sometimes. Well…they used to, until I put a steak knife in one loudmouth’s hand during a poker game one night. Nobody’s said much since then.
Now when I come into The Club, other customers stay away from her. That’s probably from me cutting in, so to speak, when I show up to find that she’s sitting with someone else. That never lasts long. I don’t put up with it. A guy stood up to me one night, after I walked in to see Foxy sitting in his lap, laughing at something he’d said. His hand was sliding down her hip and I had to put a stop to that shit. After he got up from the floor, he started mouthing off about it being a free country. I shoved my Glock between his eyes and enjoyed watching him piss himself. When Diego heard about the altercation, he called me and I had to listen to his speech about running a nice establishment and how Foxy was an employee and that I needed to let her do her job. Well, fuck him.
Her tire still hasn’t gone flat by the time she reaches her exit and I hope like hell the screw will do the trick. It’s the first time I’ve tried it like this. I don’t like the sense of dread that comes over me at the thought of not being able to keep her.
The Pimp (Colombian Cartel Book 2) Page 14