Rafael tended to be heavy-handed.
I couldn’t decide if I appreciated the preemptive gesture or resented being denied the pleasure of inflicting the pain myself. After all, it was my business he’d screwed with.
“José,” I acknowledged, clasping my hands around my back and walking a full circle around him. His swollen eyes tracked every move I made, and I had to give the guy credit; he didn’t plead for mercy. Most of the assholes who’d been in his position had already pissed themselves twice by now.
Of course, he was still gagged.
The legs of the chair slammed against the concrete again. “He kept trying to give me bullshit excuses,” Rafael explained with a shrug. “I didn’t want to hear any more.”
The attorney in me decided to let him plead his case. Years of litigation were too ingrained in me. Plus, I couldn’t walk away from a trial without a closing argument. Stopping in front of him, I jerked the sock out of his mouth.
“Where’s my shipment, José?”
“I don’t have your fucking blow.”
I should’ve punched out his teeth. Instead, I smiled. “Let’s try this again. Where’s my goddamn shipment?”
“Harcourt,” he rasped, licking his lips through a labored wheeze. “I’m surprised you’re still alive. I thought the sicarios would’ve taken you out by now.”
I gave his cheek a tap, sending him spinning again. “José, you’re acting real fucking stupid for such a smart man. I’m first lieutenant. You know I only answer to two men.”
He spat at the floor by my feet, smiling with blood-stained teeth. “Rezarás por tu vida a nuestros pies, Americano.” You will pray for your life at our feet, American.
Two steps forward and we stood nose to nose. “I’m not the one hanging from the ceiling, dumbass.”
José’s forehead wrinkled, and I didn’t bother hiding a smirk.
“Didn’t expect that, huh? Well, seeing as how I run an entire stateside cartel, I thought knowing some of the language might come in handy someday.” I tapped his cheek again. “What do you know? It did.”
“Pinche pendejo.” Fucking asshole.
“You know,” I noted, hooking my foot under the bloodied lead pipe and kicking upward into my hand. “The disrespect seems to have gotten out of hand. Maybe Rafael needs to beat some manners into you.”
José’s eyes widened as Rafael rose from his chair with his arm outstretched as if we were running some sort of demented relay race. “It’d be my pleasure.”
“No!” José yelled, twisting violently. “I swear I didn’t do shit!”
“You really shouldn’t swear unless it’s under oath. But I don’t blame you. I know you’re just the ‘yes’ man, José, so tell me who’s trying to reorganize your psychopathic bunch of assholes, and I might let you keep your eyeballs tucked inside your face.”
He stopped twisting, and his face blanked. “Me. It’s me.”
Curiouser and curiouser.
“Bullshit. Okay, let’s try another question. Why Chicago? Why not come straight back to Texas where the Muñozes had ties?” All I got in return was a glare of pure hatred, causing me to wave a dismissive hand. “Never mind. It really doesn’t matter.”
“Fuck you.”
“Last chance. Who’s calling the shots, José?”
“I don’t know.” He shook his head violently, the motion causing his body to sway even harder.
“Ah, but you’ve already said that.” Cocking my chin over my shoulder, I caught Rafael’s eye and tilted my head back toward José. “There’s only one thing I hate more than a thief.”
Rafael lifted an eyebrow. “An asshole?”
“A liar.”
“I’m not lying! I swea—” I narrowed my eyes, and he stopped himself. Inhaling a labored breath, he started again, choosing his words more carefully. “Okay, fine. But you won’t believe me.”
“Try me.”
“It’s Marisol Muñoz. She’s calling herself Adriana Carrera now.” He smiled, his teeth coated in a thin layer of blood. “But I guess you’d know that better than anyone.” When I didn’t answer, his smile wavered. “Come on, Harcourt. If someone was after Val or Mateo, would you hand them over to the enemy? You’d do the same thing in my position.”
He was right. I’d hold on to that shit until my dying breath.
He took my silence as an affirmation, his confidence elevating. “As long as you need a name, you needed me.”
Only, I didn’t. There was always another asshole left holding a smoking gun who eventually tucked his balls in his vagina and ran like a little bitch. Whether it took two more days or two months, I’d find him too.
This wasn’t the first time I had to fight my way out of a corner, and it wouldn’t be the last. Stopping my circling, I stood behind him and leaned in close. “Here’s the thing, José. I really don’t.”
With those last words, I stuffed his sock back in his mouth and pulled my gun. Aiming it at the back of his head, I pulled the trigger, watching as his broken body danced its way toward death.
“You know what to do.”
Rafael dipped his chin in acknowledgment as I wiped my hands on a handkerchief from the breast pocket of my suit jacket. When not a speck of blood remained on my skin, I left them both and stepped back out into the pouring rain
I didn’t waste time with small talk.
I had a queen to catch.
Chapter Three
Adriana
Appraising myself in the mirror, my lip twitched, curling up on one side. I looked the part. The pencil-thin black skirt fit like a glove, just as I suspected it would. The snug white blouse was a different story, but it’d have to suffice.
Sometimes assets were a liability.
No one would ever mistake the woman looking back at me for the one who stepped off that bus. Disguise had always been my specialty. Growing up in a family as notorious as mine, blending in wasn’t just a learned skill, it was basic survival. There was always an enemy lurking around the corner, just waiting for me to let my guard down.
The air was thick with justice, and it was time a certain counselor choked on it.
My heels clicked against the polished tile as I made my way toward the lobby elevator.
People crammed into the tiny box like migrants sneaking across the border. My chest tightened, but I forced myself to join them, tapping the toe of my high heel as the elevator stopped on each floor, depositing and acquiring passengers.
Fourth floor.
Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.
Fifth floor.
Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.
We made it to the seventh floor when a woman behind me let out an exaggerated sigh. “Do you mind?”
She looked like the woman I used to be—a revelation that made me want to sink a blade deep in her chest while watching that pretty white shirt turn dark red.
I could’ve stopped. I should’ve stopped. Adriana Carrera would’ve stopped. Unfortunately, there was still a tiny piece of Marisol Muñoz left inside me, and she stopped for no one.