“You’re relentless—like a dog with a bone. You want me to go to a strip joint owned by the Colombian cartel? Where do you come up with these ideas, Page?”
“It would be rude of me not to ask,” Page stared at her friend, awaiting her answer. She smiled, an effort to convince her best friend to go with her. Judy might be a worrywart, but she was sharp as a tack and as smart as they come. Page had mad respect for the woman.
“Well, it is a classy establishment. Diego doesn’t allow any bullshit, and they have peace treaties with other cartel, so you’re safe there. I’ll go, but I’m only going to watch your back.”
“Oh please, you’re hoping you get a glance at Antonio Wayne like you did the last time we went.”
“That man is too pretty for words,” Judy swooned. “He’s got that whole GQ thing going on with that undercurrent of danger vibe; the man takes hot to a whole new level.”
“That man is a sadistic Sicario who enjoys his line of work,” Page warned.
“I can only imagine how hot that man is in bed,” Judy purred.
“His wife is a cage fighter. I wouldn’t recommend trying to move in on her man.”
“It can’t hurt to look.”
“It can do more than hurt; his woman Roxanne has a reputation for being able to beat a grown man’s ass. You better not get me in trouble. I’m more scared of cartel women than I am their men. Those bitches are crazy.”
“Now who is being a bore?”
“Self-preservation, Judy. Self-preservation.”
Chapter Two
Mano pushed his dark hair out of his stark green eyes as he studied the woman’s picture on the blog ‘Narco’s Verdad’, he laughed at the irony of the words narcos and truth being strung together. He’d been stalking the woman for months and she had no idea. There was a method to his madness and precision to his plan. He’d searched for her blog when she made the mistake of piquing his interest. He couldn’t deny it would be easy for a man to be enraptured by her beauty and the fact she had balls of steel made it hard for him to keep his mind on the task at hand sometimes. Page had the same long blonde hair and striking green eyes his mother had. It would be so easy to be convinced she needed to be rescued; poor little damsel wandering through the forest where cartel wolves denned. She needed to be taught a lesson about putting other men’s lives in danger. The fixer who had been killed was a friend of his and part of Mano blamed her for it. It was the journalists who rode off the backs of fixers that put their lives in danger. Anything to sell a paper or run a blog they made money from. She needed to be pursued, captured, and taken down, and he had every intention of doing just that. He wanted to systematically dismantle her life and ultimately destroy her, and he wanted to take his time doing it. The mixture of her beauty, intelligence, balls, and his fantasy, made his cock hard. This was going to be fun.
When a narco wanted a woman, he would have her and he’d damn sure make certain no other man could have her even if he couldn’t. They would go so far as to kidnap, kill families, and buy off fathers to force their daughters to marry. That…was a narco’s truth. There were unwritten rules in the cartel world and any seasoned made man knew them. Mano had grown up in that culture and it was a seed that had taken deep root in his personality. He wasn’t a man accustomed to hearing the word no and when he did, he did whatever was necessary to ensure he got what he wanted; he also made certain the person who had said no was never tempted to do so again. Rudeness simply wasn’t tolerated, and to tell Mano no was rude. Mano settled in to read Page’s latest post:
As many of you already know I started this blog to give the public insight into the cartel. Many people aren’t aware it is the poor people of Colombia, Guatemala, and Sinaloa who are forced to grow and cook the cocaine and heroin that makes its way into the hands of the cartel. Children as young as five and six years old help their parents with the crops that will provide the money needed to survive. They are taught in school that growing poppies is an honorable way of life and the cartel they sell to are their friends. The military is an enemy and in many cases that’s true. This is a country where politicians and police are paid to turn a blind eye.
I know this firsthand because these are the people I interview for this blog that will one day become a book. These people want their story told. They want the public to know their horrific truth. The unsung heroes who are termed ‘fixers’ are the people who make it possible for me to do real life interviews. They are the ones who prepare the way for me to go through doors that are otherwise closed to the outside world. They are the men who convince the locals I can be trusted to keep my mouth shut and write the truth.
I regret to inform you my fixer was killed on a job he was doing in Colombia for a reporter there. I was supposed to be going on that trip and as fate would have it, I wasn’t able to go due to having pneumonia. I never thought I’d say, “Thank God for being sick”, but in this case: it saved my life.
Please keep the family of my fixer who was killed in your prayers.
Mano noted how vague the woman was in the article: no naming names or distinct locations. Smart.
She would be looking for a new fixer. This might be a blessing in disguise. He would have to watch her closer. The idea of having an excuse to continue stalking her made his blood pump and his cock twitch.
Chapter Three
“I’m not wearing this, Judy.” Page tugged the hem of the dress down that barely covered her ass. If I sit down, it’s going to be a Brittany disaster. How am I supposed to have any fun if I feel uncomfortable in my own skin? Second-skin, that is. Help me get this thing off.” The dress was molded to her body, making it impossible to get off alone.
“You have to pull off the look if you’re going to get information. This is the Colombian cartel; you must have them thinking with their small heads. Believe me, that dress has ‘interrogation tactic’ written all over it. Those boys will be singing like birds.”
“No…they’ll be slobbering like wolves circling a kill. Thanks. You’re all about the logic until it’s time to pimp me out.”
“It’s a scientific fact a man thinks with his cock and not his brain.”
“I feel so much better. Could you please at least make sure I don’t get roofied?” Though Page was being sarcastic, she saw the shadow of sadness pass over her best friend’s face.
“I’ve always got your back.”
“Ditto,” Page answered, the sincerity showing in her eyes. Judy eased over and unzipped the salamander-colored second skin. Page wiggled her way out of it, turning around to see her friend looking at her with a somber expression.
“I’m not pimping you off, Page. It’s a scientific fact, men think with their cocks.”
“So, you said.”
“You wanted to do this job.”
Page breathed out a heavy sigh as if relieved to have the dress off and tossed the article of offensive clothing aside, sitting down at the makeup table. “I can breathe now. You don’t need to defend yourself, Judy. I just don’t think you realize I’m just as conflicted about my job as you are. It’s like I’ve got this good girl with this dark side living inside me, and ‘it’s complicated’ is a very relevant term for me. I can’t settle down with a regular job. The research part of my work is as addictive as the writing is. It’s the only job where I can give voice to all my alter egos.”