Copyright © 2021 by Yolanda Olson
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
BLURB
Playlist
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
About the Author
Also by Yolanda Olson
BLURB
I was raised a poor girl in the streets of Sinaloa.
When my family died during a turf war, I was taken away to Navolato to start over anew.
I thought I would be safer here.
That the life that had been taken from me in a hail of bullets and rage would stay where I left it.
And that’s when he found me. Crying, begging in the streets for spare change, hoping for someone to see me instead of through me.
El Señor.
He took me in.
Cared for me as one of his own, raised me next to his daughter, and made me into the killer that I am today.
In his name, I shed the blood of his enemies and reap whatever rewards he deems fit.
My name is Ana Sofia De la Cruz.
Everyone knows me as La Carnicera; one of the most feared Sicarios of the Navolato Cartel.
Either you’re with us or against us.
And if you’re against us …
Corre pequeño conejo.
Playlist
Silverstein – A Great Fire
Parkway Drive - It's Hard To Speak Without A Tongue
Chevelle – Panic Prone
In This Moment – Beautiful Tragedy
Kittie – Slow Motion
Butcher Babies – C8h18
Prologue
I lean back in my chair and blow out a cloud of smoke. I’ve been waiting for this piece of shit to wake up for hours now, and I’m starting to get bored.
Patience is a virtue, and I didn’t earn the title as one of the best sicarios of El Señor by being sloppy.
Information is a delicate thread that needs to be carefully unraveled as to not undo the proverbial sweater before its time.
Raising my legs, I bend my knees and
run a hand down my thigh. The feeling, the taste, and the sight of blood has always been something of an aphrodisiac for me, but not this time. And definitely not with this fucking traitor.
One of the men who was supposed to be guarding the second most prosperous farm in Culiacán was not only caught sleeping on the job but, more importantly, allowing sicarios from a rival cartel to come in and reap El Señor’s profits.
Was he upset about it?
No, but I was.
I asked him to let me take care of it, to make an example out of this fucking pig so that no one else would ever take advantage of his goodwill again, and when he agreed, I felt my heart swell with pride.
“Anything for my little girl.”
I smile at the memory.
He ruffled my hair and gave me his blessing as he often tends to do when I really want something, because he knows I will always be eternally grateful for his hospitality.
I think he also knows that I’m on the hunt for the bastards who shot down my innocent family during the turf war.
It’s been fifteen years since it happened, but the wound is still fresh and bleeds regularly.
Tatiana, the young girl I met the day he brought me home, the one who would become my new sister, has always tried her best to take my mind off the past, and sometimes, she even succeeds.
But it’s moments like this that I revel in, and even she knows my lust for revenge isn’t something that will be quenched until I’ve killed the men responsible.
With each bastard who falls at my feet, I feel like I’m another step closer to accomplishing my goal.
Maybe one day, I think with a chuckle as I place my bare feet back on the dusty, wooden floor and stand up.
“Levántate,” I command the traitor loudly as I roughly shove the handle of the knife into the gaping wound in his neck. “I don’t have all fucking day for this.”
A whimper.
A gasp.
A sob.
The smell of fresh piss as it runs down the legs in fear.
It’s always the fucking same.
Next will come a plea of mercy, which I’ve become quite good at ignoring. No one listened to my mother’s cries for mercy before she fell to the ground, cut down while holding me in her arms. She did her best to protect me from the gunfire and, in return, forfeited her own life.
I’ve had a slight limp ever since.
A stray bullet ricocheted off the ground and hit me just below the knee as I ran, but I didn’t stop.
I couldn’t.
If I died too, who would restore my family’s honor?
“Please,” he sobs with a pain-filled voice, “I didn’t mean to. I would never—”
With the handle of the knife I spin it in my hand and press the tip against the wound I’ve just spent twenty minutes carefully digging.
He whimpers again, and I smile.
If I continue to dig this little hole, in about an hour, I’ll be able to see through his neck without killing him.
The human body is a marvelous thing.
It can withstand high levels of pain and fight desperately to stay above water. Eventually, it capsizes like all boats caught in the fury of the ocean, and that’s when I know my job is done.
For the moment, at least.
There are always more men who will attempt to betray El Señor in the hope for a better payout with another boss.
And I’ll always be there to teach them the error of their ways.
It’s the last lesson they learn before being sent straight to hell where they fucking belong.
“Tell me why,” I say to him softly as I twist the knife a little deeper. “You were always one of my favorites, Mateo. It’s not just him you hurt by doing this. You were like a brother to me, cabrón.”
Mateo takes as deep a breath as he can, the sound slipping like a hiss through the hole in his neck, and I grit my teeth. He’ll answer me one way or another, and then I’ll end his life if I can still find the love for him that I held before.
“Tell me, and I’ll make it quick,” I promise him.
“Liar,” he spits at me, jerking his head away from the tip of the blade. “You never loved me, Sofi, because if you did, you wouldn’t be doing this.”
I smirk.
He forgets that love and loyalty are two completely different things, and that’s the reason why he’s tied to my favorite chair in the small shack that El Señor built for me to do my work.
“I guess neither of us will ever know the truth then,” I say as I walk to the other side of the chair, grip a fistful of his hair, and begin to dig a brand-new, bloody hole on the other side of his bruised flesh.
Mateo lets out another agonized scream as I meticulously start to twist the knife through to the other side.
Slowly.
In a way that will haunt him when he finally enters the halls of Hell.
But, I don’t want him to die.
Not like this.
I want him to remember me when the flesh burns and slips off his skin.
I want
him to remember that the price you pay for betraying your family is higher than can be imagined.
“Abre la boca,” I tell him as I pull the tip of the knife from the fresh wound. He shakes his head vehemently as another stream of piss flows down his leg.
“Mateo, don’t make me ask you again.”
He relents because he knows he doesn’t have a choice in the matter. No level of defiance will save him now, and this will be a much quicker death than continuing to carve this hole and being able to see the other side of the room through his flesh.
Leaning back in the chair as best as he can, he opens his mouth, keeping his eyes shut tightly, and a prayer loosely on his lips.
“Tell the Devil I’ll be along soon,” I say to him softly as I slip the blade between his traitorous lips and let it rest against the roof of his mouth.
Reaching for the mallet on the table next to us, I pull my arm back, and with all of the strength I can muster, I drive the knife up into his skull.
One final guttural sound escapes from deep within him, then his body slumps over. I’ll miss Mateo, but he should have fucking known better.
And in this place, you lay your life on the line for loyalty.
Chapter One
I’m sitting in the bathtub with Mateo’s head in my hands. I’ve washed his hair, cleaned his wounds, and have used my favorite comb to make him presentable. Once I clean him up, I’ll give him to Papa to show him that I did a good job and that he doesn’t have to worry about him anymore.
I clear my throat as I place my finished piece on the side of the bathtub, then take a deep breath as I submerge myself below the water.
Opening my eyes, I welcome the slight sting that accompanies the movement. It bothers me that I wasn’t as hurt as I should have been after Mateo took his last, gasping breath, and this is my way of punishing myself as much as I can for that.
Maybe he’s right.
Maybe I am a liar.
I was born with the devil inside of me, and he's been trying to claw his way out since the very first breath I inhaled, to the last one I can see on the horizon.
I don’t like to think of myself as a bad person, but I must be if I haven’t shed any tears for him yet.
For any of them.
Not a single life that I’ve taken for El Señor has affected me in one way or another, yet this should have been different.
I may not have grown up with Mateo, but he did hold much more meaning for me than any other pig I’ve slaughtered.
I break my submersion, pushing my hair out of my face before resting my cheek on the side of the tub. I move his head down a little to see the side of his face and do my best to commit what he used to look like to memory.
I guess in a way, this is my funeral for an old friend who became a traitor.
A soft knock at the bathroom door startles me, and as I sit up, I accidentally end up splashing some of the water onto the floor.
“Fuck,” I mumble under my breath as I glance over the side and sigh. I lean down and rub the tips of my fingers against the small puddle before I settle back into the bathtub. “Come in,” I call out.
The door creaks open slightly as Anabella, Papa’s maid, peeks into the room. Her eyes immediately settle on Mateo, and I see her startle before she shakes her head and looks at me.
“This one is special, huh?” she asks in her broken English, and I give her a small smile in return.
Most people think that “the maid” knows everything that happens in a household, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. That’s not how Papa runs his house, and those of us living here know when to keep our mouths shut regardless of how much his hired help may see.
“A little bit,” I reply softly.
She smiles kindly at me as she walks over to the linen closet and pulls out a fluffy, white towel, spreads it out, and waits patiently for me to exit the bathtub.
I rest my head back against the cool, ceramic structure for a moment before raising my fingers and looking at how shriveled they’ve become. I guess getting out of the tub would be a good idea at this point.
With a sigh, I push myself up to my feet and step out, careful not to knock Mateo’s head over and step into her waiting embrace. She wraps the towel around my body and gives my arms a warm, yet gentle rub, before she glances around me and takes him in again.
“Do you want me to dispose of that?” she asks uncertainly.
“No,” I reply, the small smile returning to my lips. “It’s for Papa.”
Anabella nods as she quickly dries my wrinkled skin. I like her; she’s in her mid-forties, has beautifully natural tan skin, keeps her straight black hair in a neat bun, and doesn’t question things further than she should. She’s a foot shorter than me but still treats me like a little girl when she thinks I step out of line, and I don’t mind it.
It’s nice to have a mother figure sometimes, especially since no one knows what happened to Papa’s wife.
She left one day to run errands and never came back.
Tati thinks she ran away to be with another man, though I doubt it. And if she did, maybe her disappearance wasn’t an intentional thing on her part. But if it is true, the worst thing she could have done was remain in Navolato because if I find her, I’ll kill her for abandoning Papa.
“I’ve laid your dress out on your bed,” she tells me as cheerfully as she can. “It’s one you haven’t worn yet. I’m sure that Señor Cancio will love it when he sees it.”
I give her a sharp look, but it almost instantly fades when she begins to chew her lower lip nervously. My father is never to be addressed by his name, first or last. Had anyone else but me heard her, she knows that she’d be turned out on the street and hunted like a dog.
“I can finish this,” I say, gently slapping her hands away. “And be careful how you address Papa, Anabella. I’ll allow it this one time.” When she begins to wring her hands, I reach forward and rest a hand on her shoulder, “We’ll blame in on Mateo.”
Anabella looks up at me, a small but relieved smile curving the edges of her lips, and I wink at her.
She’s used to the smell of death and decay that accompanies me home after a few days in the shack doing my father's work, but she’s not used to me physically bringing it into his home.
And I’ve known her since I was brought to this house. There isn’t a mean or traitorous bone in her body; she has nothing to fear from me.
“What’s Tati wearing?” I ask as I reach down for Mateo’s head and cradle it against my side.
“I don’t know, Sofi,” she responds with a nervous smile. “Would you like me to find out?”
I shake my head as I lead the way out of the bathroom. I’m sure that spending longer in the tub than I intended to will make me late to Papa’s gathering, so I’d rather not waste time on inconsequential matters.
“Thanks, Anabella,” I say to her with a wave as we part ways in the hallways. She nods before she turns and quickly walks out of my view.
It’s clear to me that while I know she loves me as if I were a daughter, she’s still afraid of me.
Everyone is.
Even the people I love.
Maybe one day, someone will show something other than fear in my presence, and then I can finally know what that feels like.
“Come on,” I tell Mateo quietly as I push the door open to my room. I close it behind us with my foot then rush over to place him on my dresser. “I’ll give you to Papa later.”
As I set him down, I drop onto my bed, cross one leg over the other, as I wonder what I’ll end up doing with him.
He’s a gift for my father so he’ll have to be presentable which means that I’ll need to find a way to fix the damage I’ve caused.
While I like to think that it’s only for Papa, I know it’s not. I have to show Mateo even now that I did love him at some point—he was one of my favorite sicarios and this is what’s become of him.
It’s his own fault but I know he would have shown me
the same respect had I been in the chair instead of him.
Though I know he wouldn’t have taken my head, or his sweet time.
The reason I’m feared the most among my father’s soldiers is because I like to make every second count. I sometimes count them silently as the screams echo throughout the room, and sigh when I realize that things haven’t lasted as long as I’ve felt they should have.
I lay back onto my bed for a moment, resting my hands on my face as I think of my old friend who’s become nothing more than another fallen soldier.
And I have to tell myself over and over that this wasn’t my fault. It’s the only way I’ll be able to live with myself.
He did it to himself.
Chapter Two
Mateo’s head sits quietly on my dresser as I lean into the vanity and apply my lipstick. Flamenco red—a gift to me after he taught me the dance. We performed it many times during parties for the Mexican high society. Of course, Papa would have preferred that I learned more traditional dances to show off, but I’ve always been fond of the artistic values that the body can bring when set in the perfect, fluid motion.
“Want some?” I ask Mateo as I smack my lips together, then glance down at him. When he doesn’t answer, as expected, I chuckle and turn the small screw at the bottom, replacing the tube's cap. I’m feeling better after what’s happened and while I’m wearing this lipstick to honor him, I still want him to know that he brought the Carnicera out of me.
“Things could have been so different, you know,” I continue quietly as I reach for my favorite brush and begin to run it back through my hair. “Omar just became a Federale, and I know how much you would have enjoyed going after him with me, but you went a different way.”
La Carnicera Page 1
