I glanced to my right side and gave Cash a look. “Why would I expect anything less from you?”
“What else would we do?”
“We’re sure as fuck not going to kill her,” I said. “She didn’t do anything.”
He looked at me like I’d missed the point. “We kill her before she does anything.”
Cash was six-foot-six, weighed two-fifty, and was muscle from head to toe. His hot-headed temper often put him in sticky situations. His answer to most problems was to either beat his way out of them or shoot his way out of them.
Reasoning wasn’t his strong point.
“Hell, with that logic, we’d be walking around town shootin’ every motherfucker we bumped into.” I looked at Baker. “That’s not an option, is it? Killing her?”
“It’s an option,” Baker responded. “But not one I’m interested in. Not right now, at least.”
Ally leaned forward and peered in my direction. “The entire reason you shot the guys in the first place was because they were a threat to her, right?”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
“They were sent by this cartel guy? El whatever?”
“Alacrán,” I said. “El Alacrán.”
“And she used to see that guy? They were a couple, or whatever?”
“Sounds like it. Yeah.”
“He’s not going to give up, is he?” she asked. “No matter what happens with the drugs, he’s not going to stop pursuing her.”
“Probably not. Why?”
“I’m just wondering how to approach this,” she replied. “We’ve got two issues. One: the drugs. He’s going to come after them and whoever took them. And, two: he’s going to continue to pursue her. So, if you truly want to keep her safe, something will need to be done with him.”
I stood and faced her.
Ally was petite but had the attitude of a two-hundred-pound pit bull. Her intelligence and attitude earned her the respect of every man in the club.
With brown hair that she normally wore twisted up or in a ponytail, she looked like she should be selling high-end clothes on Rodeo Drive in LA or selling handbags in one of Vegas’ many Casino malls.
She sure didn’t look like a safe cracker or getaway driver.
“Let’s get one thing straight,” I said. “She asked me for help, and I gave it. All I was going to do was run those two fucktards back to Mexico, but one of them decided to be a hero. Then, things went to hell. It’s not my responsibility to keep her safe or to protect her.”
“So, you don’t care what happens to her?” she asked. “You just don’t want this cartel guy coming after us?”
“He won’t come after us. There’s a five million-dollar bounty on his head in the United States, so he’ll send his underlings after her. He won’t cross the border.”
“But you don’t care about her? That’s what I was asking. You’re not trying to protect her, are you? You’re trying to protect us, right?”
I crossed my arms. “Well. I mean. I don’t want anything happening to her if it is preventable. There’s no sense in letting anything happen to her if—”
“God damn it, Reno,” Baker said from behind me. “You’re fucking her, aren’t you?”
I turned around. “No. I’m not fucking her.”
He rubbed his beard for a moment and studied me. “You may not be fucking her, but you did fuck her, didn’t you?”
“I don’t see what that’s got to do with anything.”
“I think it complicates matters,” Tito chimed.
I spun around. “How? Explain to me how. We had sex. Tell me how that complicates anything.”
“One word,” he responded. “Vegas.”
Years prior, during a poker tournament in Vegas, I had a mental melt-down. It was early after my return from war, and the crowds, lights, and noises of the busy casino brought about memories I’d attempted to suppress.
My Post Traumatic Stress Disorder reared its ugly head, leaving me incapable of doing anything but staring at the walls. Scared, frustrated, and embarrassed, I relocated from the MGM Grand to a seedy motel on the outskirts of town without saying a word to the men in the MC.
Weeks later, I resurfaced, only to find out that Baker had filed a missing person report on me. Ashamed of my inability to handle the stresses of war, and unwilling to admit what really happened, I concocted a story about meeting a waitress and running away with her for a month-long sexual romp.
“I’m done hearing about that five-year-old mistake,” I snarled. “Find something else to talk about.”
Tito raised his index finger. “Okay. Here’s another angle. Her association to El Alacrán ties him to her. You’re tied to her through sex. We’re tied to you, which ties us to her, by association. Subsequently, being tied to her ties us to El Alacrán. That’s the complication. The Devil’s Disciples are in El Alacrán’s sights.”
“That’s so far-fetched, it’s confusing,” I said. “It makes my eye sockets hurt to think about it.”
“He’s got a good point,” Baker said. “You fucking that waitress isn’t doing us any good, that’s for sure.”
I shot Baker a glare. “I’m not fucking her. I fucked her. Once. I figured she owed it to me.”
“I think we need to stay as far away from her as possible.”
“We?” I chuckled. “You mean me.”
“I think there needs to be a separation. You know how you are.”
The MC was of the opinion that my disappearance in Vegas was a result of my addictive personality causing me to shack up with a waitress for nearly a month. I wasn’t willing to admit the truth. Doing so would require me to admit I had PTSD, which was something I wasn’t willing to do.
Nevertheless, I didn’t need anyone telling me what I could and couldn’t do or who I could and couldn’t see.
I gave Baker a shitty look. “Oh, so now you’re going to tell me who I can fuck, and who I can’t fuck, huh?”
“According to you, it’s over,” Goose said. “A hit it and quit it scenario, right?”
I looked at Goose. “Pretty much. Yeah.”
“What do you mean, pretty much?” Cash asked.
I felt like I was being attacked from all angles. “Pretty much,” I said, alternating glances at everyone as I spoke. “It means pretty fucking much.”
“So, you might fuck her again?” Cash asked.
“I’m not sure,” I muttered.
Cash chuckled. “Must be some good shit. Last time you banged a chick more than once was with that waitress in Vegas. You said that was never going to happen again.”
I wanted to live a normal life but realized I couldn’t. Fearing my PTSD might surface at any minute left me with no other choice but to remain single. The men believed I couldn’t commit to a woman. I knew otherwise. I could. I simply refused to.
I’d been with a long list of women over the years but had yet to be in one long-term relationship.
Hell, I’d never been in a short-term relationship.
“The last thing we need is another Vegas,” Goose chimed.
I glared at him, and then at Baker.
“I’ll toss this out there,” Tito said, directing his comment to Baker. “Sooner or later the drug lord is going to have someone here looking for his men, and for his drugs. He’s got the financial resources to continue that search until he finds them both. He’ll begin with the waitress, go to the Filthy Fuckers, and end up right here. The only way to stop it is to stop him.”
“Thanks for that insight,” I said in a sarcastic tone.
“My point, asshole, was this,” Tito retorted, shifting his focus to me. “We need to lure him here, kill him, and end this mess. If not, we’re going to be looking over our shoulders until our time comes. Considering El Alacrán’ s track record, you can rest assured our time will come relatively soon. This is more serious than anyone is giving it credit as being.”
“Maybe you didn’t hear me,” I said. “El Alacrán won’t come here. There’s a bounty on his head.
DEA is waiting for him to cross the border. Five million in bounty money makes sure that won’t happen.”
“Remember the cop Crip was talking about after we robbed that bank north of here?” Ally asked. “The guy that wanted to clean up the streets one MS-13 member at a time?”
The cop she spoke of was a former Navy SEAL who was loyal to Crip because of the brotherhood SEALs felt toward one another. They had a gentleman’s agreement when it came to the commission of crimes.
The Filthy Fuckers cleaned the streets of drug dealers, and the detective looked the other way.
As fate would have it, the last bank we robbed was investigated by that very same detective. When he figured out the Devil’s Disciples were the masterminds behind it, he went to Crip and reported his findings. So far, he hadn’t arrested us.
His knowledge of the crime loomed over us like a dark cloud.
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“Crip said the cop was a friend of his.”
I didn’t see the point. I looked at her like I was clueless. “Okay?”
“What if we used the money from the last bank robbery? If we acted like we wanted to make a multi-million-dollar drug buy? We could have that cop waiting for him on this side of the border. The cop could get the arrest. It’d make him look like a hero. We could trade giving him the drug lord for him leaving us alone on the bank robbery.”
“I like it,” Baker said.
“There’s only one problem,” I said. “Luring El Alacrán here. It won’t be easy. If it’s even possible.”
“We’ll need to find out what his strengths and weaknesses are,” Tito said. “Once we know those things, we can put a plan together.”
“Sounds like Brother Reno needs to pay the waitress a visit.” Baker looked at me. “Press her for information about her former lover. Just remember, it’s in everyone’s best interest that you keep your dick in your pants. We don’t need another Vegas.”
To be fair to Carma, I intended to keep my dick in my pants. Only time would tell if I was able to succeed at completing the task.
169
Carma
The circumstances surrounding his visit may have been unfavorable, but having Reno stop in and see me was nice, nevertheless. I wasn’t about to tell him that since I ‘d met him I couldn’t stop thinking about him. How his sexual tirade left me wanting more.
I locked the front door and turned toward the dining room.
I wished I’d met him under different circumstances. That I didn’t have a psychotic ex-boyfriend after me. That sooner or later the same drug dealing maniac wouldn’t be hunting the man whose cock fit me like a glove.
Knowing that each step I took placed me one step closer to death, I thought of what life would be like if Angel didn’t exist. If Reno wasn’t a heartbreaker. If two of the cartel’s drug mules hadn’t been killed in the parking lot less that twenty-four hours beforehand.
Lost in a delusional world of what-ifs, I waltzed toward where Reno was seated, wishing there was a way to fix everything. I sat down across from him and let out a breath of frustration before telling him the sad truth.
“He hasn’t been here since he was a teenager,” I explained. “With the reward the DEA is offering, I seriously doubt there’s a way to get him to cross the border.”
“What’s important to him?” Reno asked. “What does he care about?”
The only person Angel truly cared about was himself. Family meant nothing to him. He had no friends. The only reason he continuously chased me was because he felt that I was his. That he owned me. When I left, I stole something that was his.
“He cares about nothing,” I responded. “Look at me, for instance. He’s so angry that I won’t be with him that he sends men here to kidnap me nearly ten years after I left him. But he won’t come himself. That’s because I’m not worth the risk.”
“There’s nothing that’ll cause him to come over the border?”
“He doesn’t care about the things normal people care about, I can tell you that. Kidnapping a family member won’t work, if that’s what you’re thinking. Family means nothing to him. He killed his own brother. Kidnapping his friends for ransom is out of the question, because he has no real friends. Even if he did, he’d tell you to kill them before he’d give you a cent in exchange for their freedom.”
“What about money?” he asked. “Do you think we could lure him here with money?”
“Money is the only thing that matters to him. I’m sure you could lure him here with the promise of financial gain, but it would take a lot of money to do it.”
“How much is a lot?”
It would take a seven-digit figure to coerce Angel to cross the border. I had a little over twenty thousand dollars saved. I didn’t know what Reno had available, but I doubted it was the difference between twenty grand and two million. I wondered what difficulties would come with obtaining Canadian citizenship and further wondered why it took me so long to consider it.
“I’m sure it would take a few million.” I fidgeted with the hair tie at the end of my braid for a moment and then looked up. “Do you know anything about getting Canadian citizenship? Is it difficult?”
His eyes lit up.
Going north must have been the answer. I straightened my posture in anticipation of organizing an impromptu trip to the Canadian border. I wondered if Reno would come, or if he would take his chances with Angel. Either way, I’d have to get some cold weather clothes. Heck, I didn’t even own a sweater. I envisioned buying a sled and a team of Huskies to take me to work at a ski lodge high atop the Canadian Rockies. Angel would never find me there. He detested cold weather.
“Do you think he’d come for a few million?” he asked.
The look on his face led me to believe that obtaining the money would be no big deal.
My older brother always said the filthy rich never looked rich. With his tattered jeans, worn boots, and faded gray tee shirt, anyone’s guess of Reno would be that he’d have a tough time gathering up the money to pay for the taco dinner he ate.
Maybe my brother was right.
I cast my sweater shopping plans aside and nodded in agreement. “I think under the right circumstances he’d come here for money.”
“What kind of circumstances?”
“A few million.”
He smirked. “A few, like two million? Or a few, like ten?”
“I know he’d come for ten,” I responded. “He’d likely come for two. So, somewhere between two and ten. People think the cartel makes hundreds of millions on each drug deal, but they don’t. A big deal to them is a million dollars. Two or three million is a huge deal. You don’t have two million dollars, do you?”
“I need this prick to vanish just as much as you,” he responded matter-of-factly. “Let’s say, for the sake of saying it, that I know people who can gather that kind of money. How would we lure him here?”
“I guess there would have to be a drug buy set up where you said you’d only deal with him. But, he’s no fool. He’d immediately assume you were with the federal government. That you were a DEA agent, or whatever. I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it.”
He balled his hand into a fist and pressed it against his palm. His gaze dropped to the table. He stared at nothing for some time, seeming to be lost in thought.
Amidst the complications of killing the two men, Reno continued to smile, joke, and continually undress me with his eyes. Now, it seemed his attitude toward me had changed completely.
He was all business.
It was understandable. We were both on Angel’s list of people who were least likely to live another week.
Saddened by the reality of the situation, I tried to pry him from his semiconscious state. “What are you thinking?”
He appeared to have an epiphany. “What’s his biggest fear when it comes to life? Not spiders or snakes or dumb shit like that. What does he fear when it comes to his business, and in life?”
I didn’t have to th
ink about it for long. “Two things, I suppose. In life? Someone else having me, sexually. The thought of that drove him insane. In business? His men losing their loyalty to him. Snitching or going to work for the competition.”
“What if I got word to him that his two men were still alive, and said they were now working for me instead of him? And, if I explained that you and I were together, and said he needed to back the fuck off, forget about you and forget about them? Would that get him—”
“If you said those things, he’d come here for sure,” I said, interrupting him mid-sentence. “But he wouldn’t be very happy.”
“I don’t want him happy, I want him so fucking mad he’s incapable of seeing straight.”
When Angel was happy, he was a savage. When he was angry, words couldn’t describe his demeanor. I had no doubt that Reno’s plan, if implemented properly, would have Angel angrier than I’d ever seen him. That anger would force him to react.
“If you do that, he’ll be so mad…” I shook my head. “I don’t even want to think about it.”
He smirked. “Then that’s what I’ll do.”
170
Reno
Considering the Filthy Fuckers’ experience at killing drug dealers, Baker, Tito and I were gathered at their clubhouse in the hope of formulating a plan to kill one more.
Their building looked like what a Motorcycle Club’s clubhouse should look like. It was no more than a large metal warehouse with a concrete floor. A fingerprint-stained refrigerator was positioned at the end of a long workbench, and one corner of the building was filled with motorcycles that were one bottle of beer away from being ready to ride.
“Breaking the code was simple,” Tito said.
“What big revelations are there?” Crip asked.
“There were names, addresses, and telephone numbers. That’s it. I’m guessing we’ve got the numbers and addresses of every drug dealer and front business in the area, though.”
“El Alacrán’s phone number is in there?” Crip asked.
Tito nodded. “There’s several phone numbers in there with his name.”
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