El Gringo (The Sicarios of Navolato Book 3)

by Yolanda Olson

  The one thing I do know, however, that Sofi is playing a dangerous game she thinks she can win against me.

  Cartel Princess or not, if she keeps fucking with me like she did last night, Pops is gonna end up burying another daughter sooner rather than later.

  When someone starts knocking gently on the door, I reach underneath my head and throw the pillow as hard as I can the moment I hear it open.

  A startled gasp greets me and that’s when I peek out from under my arm. I sit up instantly with a sheepish smile on my face and offer an apologetic shrug.

  “Sorry; thought you were the Cocaine Cowgirl.”

  The head maid returns my smile with a frazzled one of her own as she smoothes her hair back, and then straightens out that little apron I’m so fond of.

  “What’s your name?” I ask as she enters the room and picks up the blanket from the floor.

  “Anabella,” she answers quietly.

  She has an accent like almost everyone else in this place and it only makes me smile a little wider.

  “I’m Frank,” I say, sliding off the side of the bed and grabbing the blanket from her. “And I’m more than capable of making my own bed. You can have a seat somewhere and we’ll act like you did it, okay?”

  She looks at me nervously for a moment but agrees with a small nod and sits on the edge of the bed. It bums me out that she’s so goddamn worried about taking a break.

  Man, I can’t wait to take over this fucking empire. I’ll make sure she gets a raise and all the breaks she wants, I tell myself as I fold the blanket over my arm, smooth it out, then drop it on the pillows.

  “See? Easy enough,” I tell her with a chuckle.

  She nods, the nervous smile still on her face, hands clasped in her lap and presumably dying to get out of the room.

  Don’t know why, though.

  I don’t make a habit of hurting women.

  At least, not on purpose.

  “So, how long have you worked here, Anabella?” I ask her cheerfully as I walk over to the window. I try to pry it open to get some air into the room which I’m sure smells like sweat and balls since no one told me where the shower was. What the fuck? I grunt in frustration when it doesn’t move even an inch and she chuckles quietly. “Parlor trick?” I ask with a laugh.

  “No.”

  Anabella gets to her feet and walks over to me. With a quick glance over her shoulder toward the open door, she quickly moves the curtain to the side to show me a lever of some kind on the window frame, then clicks it a few times before the goddamn thing finally gives way. I watch patiently as she uses the palms of her hands to push the frame at the top, and then inhale a deep breath of fresh air the moment it begins to waft into the room.

  “Go to the dining room. Breakfast has already been served,” she says in broken English and I smile at her.

  “I don’t like to eat when I’ve just woken up. It messes with my stomach. I would like to take a shower though,” I state, pinching the end of my nose and making a face.

  Anabella laughs, genuinely this time, and shakes her head as she signals for me to follow her.

  She leads me down the hallway toward a room three doors down. I give her a nod in thanks after she pushes the door open and lets me in.

  Once she’s gone, I close the door and place a hamper against it, then the trashcan, and then a big package of toilet paper. I strip my clothes off, grab a towel from the linen closet and lay it down on top of my fort before I pile my stuff on it.

  Granted, I know it won’t hold if anyone wants to barge in, but it’ll be nice to have a warning.

  I walk over to the shower and push the curtain back, turn the knobs, and get the water just right before I step in.

  I let out a happy sigh as the hot water begins to scald my skin. It’s nice to be able to wash the sweat and blood off properly. That reminds me, I still have to give my kicks a good scrub at some point today, too.

  I place my hands against the bathroom tiles as I let the water run down my back. Nothing is more relaxing than a nice, hot shower. Even in a place that I don’t know with people who want to kill me.

  As I turn and run my hands back through my hair, I could almost swear that I hear the door open, but I didn’t hear my fort get disturbed, so I just chalk it up to the paranoia of being in the house of a cartel death squad.

  At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if sweet, ole Anabella could karate chop my nuts off.

  I spend another solid twenty minutes just standing in the torrent before I finally reach for the brand-new bar of soap, peel back the wrapper , before bringing it to my nose to sniff it briefly. I’ve always had a thing for how things smell, but this doesn’t seem to ring a bell at the moment.

  With a shrug, I begin to lather my body up, humming quietly to myself as the suds begin to form on my skin.

  Lilacs?

  I rub the bar across my chest and reach out to pop one of the small suds that floats away from me. Bringing the tips of my fingers to my nose, I chuckle.

  It’s lilacs, alright. I’m using chick soap.

  I turn to face the shower head and let the water roll the soap off me. I set the bar down inside the small shelf next to the knobs and use my hands to wipe the rest away.

  Once I’m satisfied with that, I reach for the bar of soap again and roll it a few times in my hands. As soon as they’re nice and slick, I reach down and begin to lather my balls. I mean, if they want me to smell nice, I may as well put some effort into it. I slide a hand up to my dick and give it a good lathering too before I set the bar down again and reach for the showerhead.

  I turn it a few times until I’m able to pull it down, then aim it at the goods, making sure that they’re nice and clean.

  I clear my throat as I reach for the knobs and twist them until the water stops pouring. Setting the showerhead back in its place, I reach for the curtain and push it to the side.

  And almost instantly I snap it back into place, my heart racing at being stupid enough not to inspect the noise I heard earlier, and kind of impressed that she was able to slip in and stay silent for as long as she did.

  Running my hands back through my hair, I grin as I flick the curtains open again, then step out onto the bathroom carpet.

  She’s sitting on the sink, legs crossed at the ankles, and hands gripping the edge. She’s giving me a death stare I’ve become familiar with during my travels, but I think the best way to repay her misdirected rage is to give her a little show.

  “How long you been there?” I ask as I take the three steps toward the sink. She flinches and jerks back as I reach past her and brush my chest purposely against her arm as I grab a towel from the small rack just outside of the linen closet.

  “You didn’t do it, did you?” she asks, swatting at the damp feeling on her arm.

  “Nope,” I reply, my grin widening slightly. I take my time wrapping the towel around my waist. I’m watching her carefully out of my peripheral and if she really isn’t into dick, she’s not doing the best job of hiding it.

  “So,” I begin conversationally, as I fold the top of the towel into place and lean against the counter next to her, “you really don’t think much of me, do you?”

  “What’s there to think of?” she scoffs.

  I chuckle and cross my arms over my chest. My eyes go over her arms, the tattoos, the perfectly, tan skin, and I have to force myself not to get hard right now.

  “’Daddy’?”

  “What?” she barks at me.

  I nod at the top of her arm piece. She glances down and sighs, “He deserves it.”

  “Where are you gonna put my name?”

  “Fuck off, cabrón,” she snaps at me.

  “In due time, Sofi,” I reply with a sly grin. “But really. You thought a small baggie was gonna take me down?”

  At this point, I’m curious. She doesn’t seem to want to talk about anything, but she felt the need to sit here while I was showering? It doesn’t make sense.

  Eithe
r she wants something, or else she needs something.

  Everyone does and it always boils down to a matter of pride. Some have too little, others have too much.

  As for me, I like to think that I’m somewhere firmly in the middle.

  “Alright, enough of the cute shit,” I say to her curly, as I unfold my arms and begin to drum the along the countertop. “What is it that I can do for you?”

  She bites her lower lip for a second as she looks away, but after she takes a deep breath she recoups, and turns to look at me like the hardened bitch that only comes out to play when her father isn’t around.

  “I want you to kill someone for me.”

  “Okay, who?”

  She hops off the sink, looks me square in the eye and places her hands on her hips.

  “Omar Rodriguez.”

  Sofi waited for me to get dressed. She helped me put all of my fort materials back where they belonged, and we left the bathroom in silence.

  I have no idea who the fuck this Omar person is, but she must want this pretty bad if she’s asking me to do it.

  I reach that conclusion easily enough.

  She’s seen my random spurts of violence and she more than likely thinks that’s all there is to me.

  Unfortunately, that’s not entirely true. It’s why I had to have the Pirates of the Pacific Ocean save my ass.

  “Can I get more than just a name? I need somewhere to start, and I doubt there’s only one Omar Rodriguez in all of Mexico,” I say to her quietly.

  Sofi holds up a finger to her lips as she leads the way into the same damn dining room I had my little hoedown in the night before, and I sigh.

  Covert ops have never been my thing, but I guess while Pops is around, I can’t ask her anything else.

  So, I fall into line and shut my mouth.

  Eventually, she’ll have to give me more to go on because I’m not going door to door asking for “Omar Rodriguez” only to end up getting my fucking head lopped off with a dull machete.

  I clear my throat as I sit down at the table across from Sofi and nod my good morning to her father. He’s been watching us over the top of his newspaper ever since we walked in, and I really don’t want to start today on his bad side too.

  “Sleep well?” he asks indifferently before he turns his attention back to the paper.

  “Um, yeah. Thanks,” I reply awkwardly.

  I’m not entirely sure what the fuck I’m supposed to say, however, I’m assuming throwing a thank you in is better than not.

  “Que vas a hacer hoy?”

  I quirk an eyebrow and glance at him, my hand hovering over the basket of fresh fruit. When I realize he’s talking to Sofi and not me, I breathe a sigh of relief since I only caught today in his question.

  “Nosotros vamos de caza,” she replies quietly.

  I didn’t catch any of that, so I rub the apple I picked on my shirt before I bite into it. The crunch is so goddamn loud that they both stop their conversation to look at me.

  Him with stern eyes, and her in slight amusement.

  “Sorry,” I mumble through a mouthful of the fruit.

  He scoffs as they go back to their conversation, in a language I haven’t fully grasped yet, and a decibel lower than before.

  I tell myself that whatever it is they’re talking about is clearly none of my business, as I set the half-eaten apple down and reach for a couple of pieces of toast.

  Anabella walks into the room with a glass jug of orange juice and comes to fill a glass next to my plate. I smile up at her when she’s done, then reach over to the chair next to me and push it out.

  “Have a seat. I feel like a third wheel right now,” I joke to her. I can see her look over at Pops who must have given her the go ahead, because she plunks her ass down next to me.

  “Want some?” I ask as I reach for a few more pieces of toast and place them on the plate in front of her. I don’t give her the chance to have to ask for permission, or decline. Instead, I grab one of the butter knives, and begin to spread butter on her pieces of toast, then mine.

  She clears her throat nervously, so I glance over at the head of the death squad and snap my fingers. When I get their attention, no matter how sinister it happens to be, I jerk my head toward Anabella, “She’s good to have a break and some food, right?”

  “Cometelo,” he says to her with a nod after some silence.

  She’s hesitant at first, so I decide to turn my chair to face her directly and block them as best as I can with my body. I’m not super beefed up, but I would place respectably in the hot bod contest—if there ever was one.

  “How’s your day been?” I ask, trying to distract her. She smiles slightly as she finally reaches for one of the pieces of toast and begins to nibble on it.

  “Good.”

  “Good,” I echo with a chuckle as I pick up the rest of my apple and take another bite.

  I don’t have much else to say since I’ve never been much in the way of starting a conversation before, but I would think that someone who works as seemingly hard as she does should be able to kick her feet up every once in a while and have a snack.

  “Do you want some help with anything?” I ask, wiping away the juice that’s trailing down my chin. I reach for a napkin and rub it between my fingers, while watching her expectantly. I know she has a brigade of happy housekeepers, but until I find out who the hell this Omar person is, I think it would be best to keep myself occupied.

  She shakes her head and I grab another napkin, offering it to her, which she accepts with a smile.

  It’s nice to be appreciated for little things. After growing up in the hellhole that I did, kindness and appreciation is something that’s been lost to me for years.

  “Vuelve al trabajo, Anabella,” Pops says to her, and I roll my eyes. Clearly, I’m going to need to learn the lingo around here if I want to be in the know on what’s being said.

  She gets to her feet and picks up her plate. Next, she grabs the little trashcan I made of mine—used napkins, half-eaten toast, and an apple core, then gives me another small smile before she leaves the room.

  I blow out my breath as I start to drum my fingers on the table. I would love nothing more than to be part of whatever plan they seem to be hatching, but I can’t understand most of what they’re saying.

  Should have paid attention when I was in Argentina, I think with a chuckle. Not that I haven’t lived in Mexico long enough to be able to hold a conversation or two, it’s just that I never really paid much attention.

  Money for blow—there’s nothing clearer cut than that.

  Well, that and blinding violence whenever the occasion calls for it.

  Both are universal languages that need no translation of any kind, and I used to be fluent in both.

  Nowadays, I spend my time wishing that I could control the high I feel after a line, and until that moment comes, I have to stay clean.

  Chapter Seven

  I’ve been standing in Sofi’s murder shack for the past twenty minutes, hands on my hips, and another defiant word lingering on the tip of my tongue.

  Raiza is with us and she looks scared, even though I’ve already said I’m not going to harm her about a hundred times.

  The Cocaine Cowgirl seems to have a different plan in mind, and I’m beginning to think this bullshit is supposed to be part of my training.

  “Do as you’re told,” she barks at me from the chair she’s sitting in.

  I scoff and shake my head. Putting my hands on my hips, I give her a level stare as I grit my teeth, then spit my answer as venomously as she did her command.

  “I’m not going to hit her.”

  Sofi sucks her teeth as she turns the chair around, propping it up next to some long table with a variation of sharp objects on it, and kicks her feet up on the surface. She arches her back slightly as she stretches and gets comfortable, then clasps her hands on her stomach.

  “I have all the time in the world, pendejo. Can you say the same?” she
asks with a smirk.

  I shift from one foot to the other, and shrug. “If you’re going to kill me, then go for it. I won’t make it easy, though… fair warnings and all that.”

  Her eyes linger on me for a moment before they drift toward the dolly. I glance at her and feel a glimmer of pity. She looks like she’s going to piss herself at any given moment.

  “I’m not going to hit you,” I promise her in a loud voice. I shift on my feet again as I give Sofi another defiant glare. “And no one can make me.”

  She smiles, but it honestly looks more like she’s baring her teeth than anything else. If it’s meant to scare me, it doesn’t. I let out a laugh as I drop my hands and decide to ignore her again until I want to needle her.

  “Well, Dolly, it looks like you and I are the only reasonable people left in this termite chapel. Wanna go for a walk?” I ask her with a grin.

  Raiza takes a step backward as she steals a glance at our referee. I shrug and dismiss her when I realize that she’s more the ‘needing to be told what to do’ type and make my way to the opposite side of the room.

  Shoving my hands deep into my pockets, I begin to walk the perimeter. I know I must look like an idiot right now—to anyone who doesn’t understand how I work, that is.

  By counting my steps, I know how quickly I have to move or where I can get to easily enough to gain an advantage.

  Not that I’m expecting any of the bulldogs to join the party, but one never knows.

  As I follow the wall, I can see Sofi in my peripheral vision. She’s watching me through those damn narrowed eyes of hers, arms now crossed over her chest, and more than likely wondering why I didn’t ask how high when she said jump.

  I crack my neck and lick my lips as I begin to walk along the wall toward her. I turn my eyes to the floor and continue counting. What I’m about to do is going to take balls, and now that mine are clean and fresh smelling, I think it’ll be fun.

  I quickly glance over at Raiza who’s watching me with confusion written all over her face.

  I quickly realize that she isn’t going to be of any help, so I dismiss the notion the closer I get to Sofi. And when I’m on the other side of her, I clear my throat before making my move.