Corrupt

by Elena M. Reyes

  The recording stops and everyone remains quiet. My guests are breathing hard, and poor little Edwin is whispering the Lord’s prayer.

  “Daniel.”

  “Yes, Patron.”

  “These two are yours,” I say, pointing at the two tired and bloody bodies bound to the metal. “He walks.”

  Flicking my eyes to Salazar’s brother, I nod, and Emiliano pulls him toward one of the chairs. And it’s when he’s close that Mariana makes a sound. The first in hours.

  It’s part whimper, part sob, and the room takes in how she hugs him tight and he apologizes. No malice. No fear. They were forced to do things or accept the cards my ex right-hand dished out.

  “Why did you help him?” The question comes from Daniel right before pulling the trigger twice. Both heads bounce back, slamming into the pole as blood sprays out. They sag against their hold, and horror-filled, vacant eyes stare at us. “You’re not a bad kid, Edwin. I know you.”

  After a moment, he pulls back from his sister-in-law’s embrace and swallows hard. “He threatened to kill my mother.”

  Same father, different mother.

  “You could’ve come to me. I would have—”

  “He shot her in the leg that night in warning, and I... I couldn’t take the chance. I’m sorry, but I had to protect her and Mariana. It was the only way to get close and try to help her escape. Both girls if it came to that.”

  “If?” I ask, taking my Cabot back and placing it in the holster.

  “I was hoping he’d chicken out. He’s terrified of you.”

  “Good to know, and you’re forgiven.” Walking over to Mom, I bend at the waist and kiss her forehead before doing the same with Mariana. The men will be coming with me as we have another meeting to attend, but Edwin will be staying here for the time being. “I’ll be transferring your brother’s pension to your name, and I hope to never cross paths this way again. Go to school and make me proud.”

  “Yes, Patron.” He’s wincing, and the swelling on his face is becoming grotesque.

  “Mom, get him checked out and in bed to rest. I’ll be back.”

  “Already called, and the doctor will be here shortly.”

  “Thank you.” With that, I exit the warehouse while pulling out my phone. I press the number five on my cell, and the call is picked up on the second ring. “Give me an update.”

  “All accounts have been emptied and your message delivered.”

  “Thank you. I’ll be in contact and don’t leave the city.”

  27

  “SHE’S BEEN SPOTTED, Patron.” Geronimo rushes through the entrance that leads to the outdoor dining area in my mother’s home twenty-four hours later. I’ve been here since Lourdes disappeared—searching every inch of this country for the past few days—and have no intention of leaving until she’s been found. Solimar understands this and supports my decision while waiting for my return, making herself at home where I plan to retire with her someday.

  “Where? When?” I ask, placing my coffee cup down and sitting back.

  “Lourdes was seen thirty minutes ago walking alone near the southern border to Venezuela. The informant owns a small eatery nearby and recognized her, calling us once back at her locale. About fifteen ago, and after getting confirmed visual, I came to you.”

  “Who confirmed?”

  “The woman’s son, who owns a smartphone. He managed to take a picture undetected and promised to stay close and report back.”

  “Thank you.” I take his phone and go through the series of frames taken. There’s no mistaking my sister in them, but it’s the last one that makes me pause. “Who are these two?”

  “She’s being watched by two armed men in a truck keeping their distance, completely unaware, but no Chiquito near the vicinity.”

  My mom’s cry of relief and Emiliano’s curse in the background reaffirm my earlier thoughts; this is too easy. Too much of a coincidence that she’s been left to wander and the culicagados keeping track are a sad excuse for a trap.

  Our president is either scared or overconfident.

  My money is on the latter.

  But I’ve expected as much and have a few back-up plans in place.

  “Load up the car and gather eight men. We leave in ten.” I’m already standing from my seat when Mom’s hand shoots out and grabs my wrist, halting my moves. “Something wrong?”

  “I’m happy, Mijo...thrilled, but worry is filling my heart. I want everyone back safe and sound.” Those eyes hold so much sadness—fear. I’ve seen this same expression on her face before, and it boils my blood with ire. It’s the same helplessness from the day Jose Quintero began this war.

  “Always three steps ahead...” I trail off and raise a brow, wanting her to finish for me.

  “And no witnesses left behind,” she adds with a nod and a small smile. It’s her job to fret, but I’m a man who looks at problems from all angles. Truth be told, it doesn’t take a genius to see who’s behind Chiquito’s actions and how they conned him into becoming my Judas.

  If Quintero wants a distraction, I’ll play along. Emiliano and I know what’s coming, and we’re counting on his idiocy. It’s why he’s staying behind, and my mother will wait inside the special bunker along with my sister-in-law until it’s safe to move, and then we’ll convene at my hacienda.

  They want to kill me and capture him to display as a trophy.

  A plan destined to fail, but I’ll humor him. For now.

  “We’re ready, and two armored SUVs are waiting. I took the liberty of moving men to the front to await orders.”

  Laying a kiss on my mother’s forehead, I walk toward him and clasp his shoulder, squeezing it. “We need to speak about your promotion when this is all said and done, Viejo. You’ve earned it.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “You’re a good man.” With that, I turn my head and give my brother a look to set the rest in motion. Carlos and another of Solimar’s guards confirmed Matias plans right before they removed her from the presidential home.

  Quintero is too cocky. He likes to hear himself talk—paying no mind and looking down upon those who work for him—which they resent.

  It creates hostility. Anger.

  They hold no qualms in selling him out, which I appreciate.

  We’re out the door and speeding toward the nearest highway heading south in less than five minutes. Traffic is light in these parts, the seclusion of the mountains and various farms keep it so only those who reside here use these streets.

  Geronimo merges without looking and those traveling with us pass our vehicle while we get off two exits later. There, I house a private helicopter on a small landing strip which is already set in motion when we arrive.

  It’ll take a few hours by car to reach my sister, but I’ll be there sooner. Watching over her. Killing those who stand in my way.

  Geronimo’s nephew is there when the car swerves to a stop right in front of the aircraft; he’s holding our headphones and a few essentials Lourdes might need. “Patron, we can leave as soon as you wish. It’s refueled and ready.”

  “Gracias, parce.” I take the headgear and climb into the pilot’s side. Once they follow, I check the gages and our communication line. “Strap in, and keep your weapons drawn, men. I expect blood will be shed.”

  We’re inside of an unmarked vehicle a few parking spaces behind the men following Lourdes, watching, and taking account of everyone that comes within distance of their car. So far, there have been two other oversized hijueputas with AKs in their grip. They come, say something, and leave.

  Not once do they survey their surroundings.

  Not once do they turn down a free grope from a local whore.

  “Ten minutes on the dot,” I muse, scratching my jaw as once again they do their rounds. My sister walked inside of an old hostel-looking building not far from here, her exhaustion palpable, and disappeared behind a closed door after hearing my call.

  A sound we’ve made since kids that resembl
es a croaking rooster, but I saw her shoulders sag with relief.

  “Looks like they’re delivering food and beers.” Geronimo’s right. All four stand outside and clinks bottles, placing their weapons on the hood of the vehicle without a care or worry. They’re eating and laughing—making lewd gestures at anything that walks by in a skirt.

  “How far are the men out now?”

  “Thirty minutes.”

  “Tell them to start cleanup the moment they arrive.” The last word hasn’t left my lips when Lino slips into the car, his lips thin and his eyes narrowed. “Report.”

  “They’re on Cortez’s payroll and he paid the guards on patrol tonight a million pesos each to look the other way. Unfortunately for him, those two were sent home with food poisoning, and the substitutes were amenable to our request for half the price.”

  “Good.” My 1911 Sacromonte glints under the streetlight right above our vehicle. I check the magazine and the other two men follow with their Glocks. “Any extra bodies to look out for?”

  “Two more in a small bar not far from here. They’re on a rotation system.” As he says this, the group of men laughs at something and the one on the left fires a single shot into the sky.

  “Drunk?”

  “Yes, Patron.”

  “Head there and end it. I want two dead bodies by the time you come back.”

  “It’s a privilege.”

  “Hagale, Mijo.” Geronimo looks on with pride as his nephew exits again without drawing attention, not that the drunk fucks take notice of anything other than a set of tits.

  “Thank you for accepting him, Alejandro. It means a lot to me.”

  “He’s a good kid and impresses me on merit, not familial ties.” Geronimo nods and we turn back to watch the idiots. The next ten minutes come and go with the men now passing a bottle of Aguardiente between them, and it’s when the first one drops his gun and it goes off, hitting a nearby parked car, that we exit.

  Our doors open but don’t close, and before they notice our presence, two drop to the ground with bullet holes to the center of their chests. There’s a scream that follows; a woman walking the streets in a neon green outfit stumbles away and her face becomes ashen when it's my face her eyes land on.

  I bring a finger to my lips, and she nods, scurrying away without another word.

  “What the fuck! Show yourself, hijueputa!” the shorter of the two left standing screams, his stumbling form waving the gun in the air as if it were a sparkler. He’s too shitfaced to realize I’m but a few feet away, his friend all but frozen in his spot while Geronimo delivers a single gunshot to the head of each man struggling on the ground.

  “You have five seconds to drop to your knees, asshole,” I grit out, my aim on his knees. This one I’ll be taking back alive; his bravado is amusing. “Three.”

  “You’ll pay for…motherfucking son of a bitch!” he howls, dropping like dead weight to the asphalt when a bullet lodges itself into his right kneecap, then the left. He’s bleeding and crying, the gun and swagger long gone.

  “What was that?”

  “Lucas.” It leaves him in a faint voice and his hand trembles, the gun slipping from his fingers when the fear kicks in. He’s like a deer caught in the headlights and when fight or flight kicks in, his flesh scrapes against the jagged ground to flee. Three small movements, the trail behind him bright red, and he gives up. Theatrical and a waste of time. “I’m sorry.”

  “I know.”

  “I’ll tell you anything—”

  “In exchange for your life?”

  His head bobs in affirmative and his bottom lip trembles. “I’m just a paid Sicario with no affiliation. It’s just a contract.”

  “Geronimo, please attend to our dear friend who pissed himself. I’ll need your help with this one.”

  “Si, Patron.”

  “Hagale.” Three cars come to a screeching stop and doors open a second after Geronimo empties his magazine in the body of my friend, the Sicario’s compadre. Each bullet ricochets off the ground and empty businesses behind us as blood splatters, becoming a light mist surrounding us. And as the body drops and his chest no longer expands with a ragged breath, the rest of my men begin to dispose of the scene. “Get him into a car and delivered to my home. We have much to discuss and at the moment, understandably, he’s gone into shock.”

  “Of course. Consider it done—”

  “Tombos!” Lino yells out, coming around the corner and limping. There’s a bloodstain growing on his right side, his teeth are gritted from pain, but I’m more focused on the hand he’s holding. In the handprint across her cheek. “Three squad cars just pulled into the bar and we had to take the long route. I don’t know how long it’ll take for them to come this way or if anyone mentions hearing something.”

  “What the fuck happened?”

  “He saved me, brother. That man…he,” Lourdes breaks out into a sob, her body shaking so hard, and I pull her into my chest. What she’s been through will leave a mark, and it’ll take years for her to recover. “The one they call Chucky broke into my room and he…he almost!”

  “I shot him in the dick, then shoved my gun down his throat and pulled the trigger.” Lino finishes, but his story leaves more questions than answers. His eyes are not on me, though, and I watch him take her in. Not with lust but with respect. With a mixture of admiration and guilt.

  I clear my throat and his eyes meet mine. “Thank you, Lino. I owe you one.”

  “No thanks needed.” He tilts her head in Lourdes's direction and cups one hand over her ears. There are things he doesn’t want her to hear, and I take the hint. “Both are dead, and I only followed the tracks his friend left toward the asshole in her room—boasting about it in the men’s bathroom—before I blew his brains.”

  “Explain later.” At my command he nods, the wound on his side making him stumble when he turns toward his uncle, who’s watching with concern. I give them both a head shake that all is fine. “Get him in the car and jump behind the wheel. These two need a doctor and fast.”

  “We’ll be back to the copter in ten, sir. I’ll call ahead and have medical aid waiting.”

  “Hagale. Let’s get out of here.”

  “Q’hubo, cousin. How are the States treating you?” I say as soon as he picks up. He’d left me a voicemail earlier in the day for me to reach out but it’s been impossible until now, especially as I’m transporting a wounded soldier and my sister back home and the news of Emiliano’s arrest along with two guards have dominated all forms of domestic media.

  Quintero’s preening like a peacock one second and dodging questions on the disappearance of his family the next.

  “Can’t complain,” Javier chuckles, the sound of a door opening and closing coming through the line. “Been a few busy months, but things are beginning to calm down now.”

  “You good?”

  “I am. Getting engaged soon.”

  “Is that so?” A chuckle escapes me and I close my eyes while Geronimo drives us back to my home where my Preciosa and the others wait for me. “You sure Mariah won’t run? Spending her life with your ugly mug isn’t a prize.”

  “Fuck you, asshole.” His amusement ceases almost as soon as it appears. “We’ll catch up on that later because you will be attending, but I don’t have much time and I need you to call someone in Miami. He has what you’re looking for.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Guns and targets.”

  “How many and what kind?” I’m already calculating the slight change in the course. I can stay here and search for Salazar while Daniel goes to Florida with a few of my men. My priority is here, but bulk purchases like these are necessary for what’s to come. “My men can—”

  “You have to attend, primo. It’s impolite otherwise as this is a business associate of Mr. Asher.”

  “Javier, my sister and Solimar come first.” My eyes flick behind me where a sleeping Lourdes snores lowly. She’s tired and bruised—alive, and that’
s all that matters.

  “Just trust me.”

  “Hagale.” I rub my jaw, scratching the five o’clock shadow there and for a brief moment, I remember the pretty way my little flower whimpers when she feels the stubble between her thighs. “Send me the information and I’ll make the arrangements.”

  “It’ll be in your email shortly.” Javier disconnects the call before I can thank him, but I don’t take offense. Not in our way of life. Calls are only made through encrypted lines and kept short and to the point; anything longer and the DEA could pinpoint your location or discover dealings.

  “Everything okay, Patron?” Geronimo asks, meeting my stare through the rearview mirror.

  “Yes.” Looking down at my screen, I bring up Solimar’s phone number and type out a quick I’m coming home before pocketing the device and staring ahead. “Just a slight change of plan, my friend.”

  “Whatever you need.”

  “We’re taking a family trip to Miami soon.”

  28

  I WAKE TO a pair of lips on my skin and a scent that fills me with calm.

  He’s here and smiling against my skin when a small sound of need leaves my lips. And yet, I don’t move or touch him or disturb this quiet moment between us.

  His skin on mine feels like heaven, and more so when each movement is followed by a kiss or nip. By the feel of his cock, hard and thick, skimming up my thigh and settling on my hip as he lays behind me and wraps me in his arms.

  I don’t know how long we lie like this with soft touches and silence, letting our contentment speak for itself.

  There’s no need at the moment for screams of pleasure or words of love; I know how he feels.

  Can feel it with each rumble that builds in his chest and leaves his lips while he lavishes any inch of skin he can reach with kisses. Then, there’s the way his hardness slips between my thighs and lightly touches my entrance—a gentle rhythm of kisses that makes me tremble in his hold.