by René, Dani
He chuckles, blowing out a plume of white smoke, before arching a dark brow at me. He loves to hear about my escapades with them. I’m not sure if he actually gets off on it, or if he’s simply comparing notes. It’s no secret that once they’ve fucked me, they jump into the beds of my men.
“Why? You want a piece of her?”
“Perhaps. She was…inocente.”
Shaking my head, I chuckle, before rising. “I have a meeting. Find Hector, take him to the warehouse and I’ll meet you there. I want him captured before sundown.”
“Cualquier cosa por ti.” Anything for you. He winks confidently, offering a grin, before I leave him in my office. The only man in my organization who’s allowed in there while I’m away.
4
Sofía
It’s been a long afternoon and weariness has settled on my shoulders. My lashes flutter, threatening to shut, but I force myself to stay awake. The bell on the door chimes, causing me to meet ice blue eyes. The man seems familiar somehow, but for the life of me, I can’t place him, and I wonder just who he is. Dressed in a charcoal suit, he looks like he’s far too wealthy to be inside this shit hole.
Don’t get me wrong, I love the small run-down store, but nobody comes in here anymore. The instruments sit gathering dust, and the old bookshelves with autobiographies have seen better days.
His mouth quirks when his golden gaze lands on me. There’s a darkness that seems to follow him around like a foreboding entity as he saunters into the small space of the store. He nears the desk silently, then taps two fingers on the countertop, leaning in before he speaks.
“I’m looking for a Mr. Hernandez.”
The thick baritone of his accent is nothing short of perfection. Silky smooth and filled with richness, reminding me of a black coffee with no sugar—strong and thick. He could melt panties with just one word, but it doesn’t faze me, at least, that’s what I tell myself.
“He’s out. Meeting with someone.”
His dark brow arches as he regards me. “And he knows how you speak with customers, niñita?” He calls me little girl like he’s decided who and what I am before he’s really spoken to me.
Rising from my seat, I round the desk, realizing my mistake as soon as I step in front of him. The man is easily over six foot four, his broad shoulders and towering frame dwarf me as if I’m insignificant.
“If you need something, I can help, but like I said, Mr. Hernandez is out. And I’m not sure when he’ll be back.” Crossing my arms in front of my chest, I watch him through narrowed eyes. I’ve never seen a man more devastatingly handsome before. Granted, I’ve never had a boyfriend, or even bothered to look for one, but Mr. Dark and Handsome over here has my interest piqued.
A dark chuckle rumbles in his chest, and it vibrates through me, making my heart catapult wildly in my chest at the sound. It reminds me of a bass strumming right at the heart of me.
“Feisty,” he remarks, offering me a slight bow before he turns for the door, leaving me at the desk with nothing more than a sly glance. As soon as the bell chimes, telling me he’s gone, I release the breath I’d been holding. The moment I take another inhale, I’m assaulted with the faint scent of cigars and spice.
Even though there was a danger to the man, I wonder who he is and if I’ll ever see him again. Settling in the small stool at the piano, I close my eyes and allow my fingers to dance along the keys. As the melody echoes around me, the golden eyes of the handsome stranger haunt me along with his sensual voice.
I fly through two songs before the door opens and my boss walks into the store. He’s smiling from ear to ear when I glance up, his face lit by happiness.
“Sofía,” he calls to me as he enters, setting his briefcase on the desk. “I’ve found a wonderful student. She’ll be coming in to help when you go to school.” I told him two weeks ago that I want to study in America. My father, even though he doesn’t want me to go and will attempt to stop me, can’t deny it will be good for my future career. I’ve wanted to study music and going to New York would be a life changing move.
At first, I wanted to stay home and look after papá, but when the scholarship was granted, I knew I had to make a move. I had to leave here before I ended up in a dead-end job. Even though papá has pleaded with me to stay local, I can’t help the wanderlust that drives me each day.
I know he can tell when he looks at me that his little girl is growing up. I’m becoming a woman and he doesn’t have a choice any longer. He’s going to have to support me. I know my mother would’ve wanted it, she always told me to fly like a bird. My mother was a free spirit, someone who could easily pack her bags and head out onto the long empty road.
“That’s great, Mr. Hernandez,” I tell him with a smile. “Someone came by looking for you.” My words give him pause. “A man in an expensive suit. He didn’t say who he was, just walked out after I told him you were away.”
“Ah, don’t worry about it.” He waves me off, seemingly not too bothered by the stranger’s visit. “Tomorrow, we will have a client come for the piano.” He rushes into the back office, then comes flying out and hands me a cloth and waves his hands about. “Clean, girl, we need it shining. The man is one of the most important in this country.”
“What?” I sound like a dumbfounded imbecile when I realize he may be talking about the one man I hate. The only man who can instill cold fear inside my veins.
“Mr. Cordero, he is coming for the piano.” He seems excited, happy even, that the Devil of Colombia is going to be in his store. I’m not working tomorrow, thankfully, but the thought of my father’s boss walking into my safe space puts me on edge.
While I shine the instrument, I wonder what he’s going to use it for. It’s stupid, I mean, what else would someone use a piano for? To play music. But I can’t see how a man like him would even enjoy music, or anything that resembles something normal.
Once I’m finished, I rise from where I’m kneeling on the floor, placing the cloth on the desk, and make my way to the back to let my boss know I’m leaving. As soon as I step out of the store moments later, I feel the sweat trickling down my spine, causing me to shiver. Even under the heat of the setting sun, I know it’s not the only reason I feel uncomfortable.
5
Victor
There have been many times I wondered what it would be like to have a normal life. Perhaps to live in another country, to spend time with a woman who loves me, rather than one who fucks me as payment for her husband not returning the loan he’d begged me for. There are times I think about how it would feel to not be the most feared man in Colombia, but then I laugh because I know I’d never be able to live that life.
I am proud of who I am. And I never regret the things I do because that’s the way I’ve been taught. My father made sure I learned that guilt and regret are two emotions I never fall prey to.
Today, I have a job. One that requires me to make sure the man in question learns his lesson for trying to steal from me. When someone encroaches on my territory, they pay dearly. They pay with limbs, and some are tortured for a long while before they pay with their lives.
My men lead me through the empty parking lot, flanking me in the event one of my enemies makes an attempt on my life. They watch me diligently. It’s what I pay them for. Pulling out a cigar, I snip off the tip and place the fat stick between my lips. One of my bodyguards flicks a lighter, ensuring the cherry burns bright red before killing the flame.
Inhaling a thick drag of the intoxicating nicotine, I smile as they jerk open the heavy metal doors of the warehouse as I near it. The screech of wheels at the bottom of the door that haven’t been oiled in years is the only sound besides the screaming from inside the building.
The gravel underfoot crunches with every step I take toward the warehouse. I was told the man I needed to see was here. My men have him bound to a chair, naked, with two large fans blowing cold air on his wet body, which will keep him shivering and weak. It might sound easy to sit through, especially in thi
s fucking heat, but it’s definitely not.
I don’t fuck around when it comes to torture. I revel in it. And when I find out the men who work for me want to steal my product, I don’t take kindly to it. That’s why my name is whispered in fear amongst the various criminal organizations around the country, amongst dealers, and even my own men. It’s how I earned the respect of each one of them. I ensured they knew what would happen if they decided to fuck me over.
But for now, I’ll focus on the fucker who decided to shove a few bags of coke up his ass to resell. He figured he’d be able to make money off my product, what he didn’t know is that I’m the only one in the city, in the country, who pushes the white powder, and it’s easy to find out if anyone else attempts it.
“He’s been mumbling about his daughter,” Javier, my right-hand man, tells me.
“And what has he been saying about his daughter?”
He shrugs. “Her medication is late, or something, his jaw is fucked, we can’t really understand much.” There’s a glint in his eye, and I know that it’s probably his fist that broke Montero’s jaw. When Javier walked into my office the first time, I refused to allow him to work for me. I told him he was far too young. He told me to fuck off. We knew each other too long, and I finally relented.
He was full of fire and that’s what made me hire him to clean the weapons. Even though I was only twenty at the time, I knew what I was looking for. The need to become someone in this dark, criminal world shone in his wide eyes convinced me. I taught him everything I know, and he moved up in the ranks within two years. Now, he accompanies me everywhere.
“Well, I best go inside and hear it for myself,” I tell him, as I step into the large building. An immediate chill seeps through the material of my crisp white shirt and I can’t imagine how Hector Montero must feel sitting on a metal chair with no clothes on and two industrial fans blowing directly onto him.
My footsteps are silent on the concrete floor as I near him. His face is indeed fucked, blood drips from his nose, mouth, and one ear, which tells me that they’ve blown an eardrum. His hands are bound behind him, his legs tied to either side of the chair.
“Mr. Montero, el hombre de la hora” I say, keeping my voice level, causing him to jerk his head, then wince as pain must’ve shot through his neck. “My men have told me you’re co-operating very well.”
“V-Victor,” he mutters my name in his thick accent. “Mr. Cordero, por favor, te lo ruego,” he gurgles. “I beg, please.” His repetitive words are frustrating to say the least, but I nod once to let him speak. “If you kill me, my daughter will die.”
I drop the cigar to the floor, the toe of my shoe grinding it into the ground, ensuring the red cherry is snuffed out, just like I want to do to Hector. I glance at him once more. “And I’m supposed to care?”
“Please, I can’t, she’s innocent.” His words intrigue me. There’s so much affection in his bloodshot eyes for this daughter, which only makes me see my father was right. Love, and any sort of emotion like it, makes a man weak, and Hector certainly is the weaker one here.
“How old is your daughter?”
His one eye focuses on me, watching intently as he responds. “Eighteen. She’s the only thing I have left in this world.” Even though I can barely make out what he’s saying, it’s clear the man is more worried about his daughter than the fact that I’ve got him chained in my warehouse. “She… she’s too young to be alone in this world.”
I wonder what this sweet innocent young woman looks like. Perhaps I can bring her here as my payment. I can toy with her and watch her suffer for her father’s stupidity. I generally know everything about the men I work with, but Hector used to work for my father, then he continued on when I took over, so I never learned more about him, other than the fact that my father trusted him.
“And what is the name of your daughter?”
His mouth opens, then closes, and I’m certain he knows why I’m asking her name. I don’t do things just for the sake of doing them. When I ask a question, it’s because I have a plan.
“I don’t like repeating myself, Hector. Con rapidez.”
“Sofía. Her name is Sofía, but—” Finally, he offers what I need.
“That is all, Hector,” I bite out. The sweet little Sofía Montero will be brought to me, and I’ll keep her as payment for what her father took from me.
“Please, Mr—”
“Bueno. You’ve pleased me today. I will allow you to live, for now.” I stalk closer, lifting my foot. I place one shiny black sole on the chair between his legs, causing him to cower in fear. “I’ll pay a visit to your home, ensure your daughter is taken care of.”
“Please, don’t hurt her, Victor, Mr. Cordero,” he pleads tearfully. His face is contorted in agony as I press the toe of my shoe against his crotch, which is shriveled from the cold.
“You stole from me, Hector, which means only one thing.” I allow my sentence to hang in the air between us. I don’t have to tell him what I plan to do because it’s obvious.
“No, please, por favor.” His voice cracks, and I know there’s no wife to speak of, because if there was, he’d have mentioned her.
“Where is she?” He stares at me dumbstruck. Even if he refuses to tell me, I’ll find her. “Hector, you know I have contacts, I’ll find her.”
“Señor, por favor, por favor.” He repeats his plea, only making me angrier with each passing second. My shoe makes contact with his dick, pressing down harder, causing him to cry out in agony when I feel the flesh give way under the pressure.
“Put him in a holding cell down at the dock, I want to find the girl first.” Turning, I leave my men to clean up the mess and the stench that’s been burning through my nostrils for the past ten minutes. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I hit dial on the number of one of my contacts who I sent earlier to Hector’s house.
“Sir.”
“Have you found anything?”
“The house is empty, doesn’t look like anyone has lived here for a few days. And there’s no sign of a girl.” Shaking my head, I hang up without responding to him. I pull out a packet of cigarettes, tapping one out, before lighting it with the silver Zippo with the crest of my organization emblazoned on the side.
As we make our way to the black SUV, I turn to my right. “Javier, I want the best man for this job. The girl is my payment from Hector, and I would like to ensure my payment arrives safely,” I tell the only man I trust with my life.
“I’ll call Díago,” he tells me, with an efficient nod, while pulling out his cell phone.
Díago is an expert in making a kill. I’ve heard whispers about him, and I’m certain he’s heard about me. Today, I will ask for his help in collecting the girl, and his payment will be substantial. What he’s best known for is slicing men from head to toe, but today, he’ll work for the king of Colombia.
6
Sofía
The moment I step into the house, I wonder why my father isn’t home. It’s almost eight, and he never stays out this late. Setting my purse on the table, I pull out my cell phone and hit dial on his number. It rings a few times before going to voicemail. I try once more finding it going directly to the messages this time which sets unease coiling in my stomach.
“Papá, where are you? Call me.”
I hang up, resigned to making ramen noodles for dinner. Even though my father works late at times, he never, and I mean never allows his phone to go to voicemail. An eerie feeling overtakes me and a cold shiver trickles down my spine.
If my father doesn’t come home soon, I’ll have to call his work. I’ve never needed to call the number that’s pinned to the fridge, but if I have to, I will.
Sighing, I grab the pot from the sink and give it a quick wash before filling it and setting it on the cooker. My phone vibrates, and I’m sure it’s papá, but when I glance at the screen, I notice it’s the reminder to take my medication. The same medicine that’s running out. I should lower my dosage to make sur
e I have some left until we can afford more, but my head is spinning from the heat and not having eaten, so I open my purse and find the tablets.
Swallowing two tablets, I gulp them down with a swig of water from the bottle I keep in the fridge. I should’ve eaten first. They make me drowsy, and the water is only just boiling now. In five minutes, I’ll be almost passed out on the sofa if I’m not careful.
There’s nothing I can do to stop this sickness that’s eating away at me. The doctors did tests, but we ran out of money before they could offer me any advice as to what they can do. I’ve read up on it, and I know there’s a surgery to halt it in its tracks, but with the cost of my mother’s funeral, and the expenses of my father’s car, the house, and school, there’s no money left for my medication.
I drop the brick of noodles in the bubbling water, watching as it softens in the heat, and I wonder if Victor has ever done something like that to a person. I’ve heard stories about the man who lives in the castle on the hill, but I’ve never come across him.
It reminds me of the movies I’ve watched on TV of bad men who end up dying for the things they’ve done. But for some reason, Mr. Cordero has survived years of torturing innocent people.
Anger bubbles through me like the water in the pot that’s cooking my dinner. As soon as they’re completely soft, I turn off the heat, and my head spins wildly for a moment. Swiftly, I hold onto the countertop to keep from keeling over, until the dizzy spell passes.
“Where are you, papá?” I whisper to the empty house. My phone buzzes, startling me. With one hand still gripping the counter, I reach for it with my free hand. Hitting the green button, I press the device to my ear. “Papá?”
“Sofía?” The deep rumble of my father’s good friend Guillermo comes from the other end of the line. “Are you at home?” he questions in a voice that has me turning cold.
