El Gringo (The Sicarios of Navolato Book 3)

by Yolanda Olson

  The tease is responded to with an elbow jab to the stomach and I let out a pained laugh. I’m hoping that before all is said and done, Sofi might learn to take a joke or two, but I doubt it.

  I can tell when Sofi finally gets comfortable because her body loosens up some. A few moments later, her breathing is even, and it makes me feel good to know that she trusts me enough to fall asleep in my arms so damn fast.

  In the distance, I can hear the crickets starting to chirp and the muggy feeling of the daytime is finally starting to give way to the cool, crisp night air.

  If things were different, I might almost be neurotic enough to feel like this is as good as life can get.

  I mean, what’s not to feel good about right now?

  I’ve been basically kidnapped by a cartel boss, have a shotgun wedding set up, lost said boss’ favorite soldier, have no idea where the fuck my neighbor may have wandered off to, have to take out a Federale, and find a missing girl.

  And I have to do it all while sober.

  Oh yeah, this is definitely the good life, I think irritably.

  Come to think of it, I hope Romero is actually okay. I haven’t been outside of the gates of Murder Estates at night time but Navolato isn’t exactly one of the safest states in Sinaloa and I’d feel like shit if I found that he had been randomly hanged from a highway overpass.

  With as morbid as it sounds, it’s a common occurrence in gang territories, but even more so when the cartels are involved. That would actually be considered a merciful death in their eyes.

  There have been times that I would be walking around Culiacán to score some blow and wander past neatly staged piles of body parts with signs admonishing them for what they had done, and why their sentences were death.

  And from what I understand, the cartel likes to keep people alive while they cut them into itty bitty bits.

  God I hope this ends with a bullet to the head if I fuck up anything I’ve been asked to do.

  I shiver at the thought of having an arm sliced off or something, causing Sofi to shift slightly on my lap.

  I rest my cheek against the top of her head, letting out a soft sigh.

  Omar is trying to scare me away from Sofi.

  La Carnicera—The Butcher.

  Whatever the hell she’s done to earn that charming moniker is none of my business. Making her feel like she counts for more than just being a hired hand by her father is what does.

  Honestly, I’d much rather be her friend than her husband, but if that’s what it takes, then that’s the sacrifice I’m willing to make.

  Even at the brothel I was able to tell that she was desperate for some kind of attention—affection, even. That’s why I approached her and refused to leave when she tried to shoo me away.

  It’s why I watched like a good man would do when asked not to play, and it’s why I took Inez.

  And if I want to be honest with myself, it’s why I haven’t walked away even when I’ve had every opportunity to.

  Sofi needs to know that she’s worth more than she feels, and I’ll do my best to help her that way.

  Then I’ll get the hell out of dodge.

  I walk into the house with Sofi still safely tucked in my arms. I want to put her in bed, but I have no idea which room is hers, nor do I want to piss off Pops by being in there without permission.

  His or hers.

  As I wander the halls aimlessly, I find myself wondering if maybe I should just run out the front door with her and maybe try to start a new life.

  Not together—or at least not in that way. It’s just that the more it sits, the more it bothers me that she’s been turned into a seemingly vicious killer after such a tragic childhood.

  “Hey.”

  I turn slightly and glance over my shoulder, nodding at one of the bulldogs who was in the kill circle when I refused to hit the dolly.

  Wait; where the hell did she go, anyway?

  I do my best not to let my agitation show at realizing that it’s yet another fuck up on my list of things so far.

  “Hey,” I reply with a nod.

  “Where are you taking her?” he asks, craning his neck to peek at Sofi.

  “Her room. Any idea where that is?”

  He nods and motions for me to follow him. I fall into step next to him, completely aware that he’s armed to the teeth and more than likely dying to put a bullet in my head the second he gets the chance.

  “I’m Frank,” I say quietly.

  “Hector,” he replies with a half-smile.

  It makes me feel a little better that he’s attempting to be friendly, but not enough for to let my guard down.

  He leads me to the door a few down from the bathroom I’ve been using, and I raise an eyebrow when I realize just how close she’s been this entire time.

  Hector puts his hand on the doorknob and quietly pushes it open, then walks inside before signaling for me to enter as well. He waits patiently while I lay Sofi down on her bed, then pull a blanket up over her. I run a hand briefly over the top of her hair before I smile at her then turn to walk out of the room, satisfied that she’ll be safe for tonight.

  “Thanks,” Hector says when we’re in the hallway again.

  “For?”

  “Being so good to her. I know how difficult Sofi can be, but it’s just how she is. It’s nice to see someone standing up to her, but in a nice way,” he explains with a grin.

  I scratch the back of my head as I give him a once over.

  He’s about as tall as I am, has that damn naturally-tanned skin that Sofi has, and big brown eyes, framed with straight black hair. He’s got some ink on his arms, but not nearly as much as I do. I don’t know—he seems nice enough to have a beer with, so I decide to make the offer.

  “You on duty or do you wanna grab some brewskis and sit outside for a bit?” I ask him, returning the grin.

  “Always on duty, but El Señor allows us to take breaks whenever we want them,” he replies as he produces a walkie-talkie from his pocket. He says something in rapid fire Spanish, listens intently when he gets a reply, then replaces it and nods at me.

  “Lead the way, brother.”

  I smile.

  I never once expected anyone here to accept me, but for him to address me as a brother makes me feel good.

  We walk into the kitchen, making small talk in hushed voices as I retrieve two bottles and hand him one. Once we’re outside, I sit down in the chair I was in again while he grabs one of the smaller ones and brings it closer.

  “Salud,” he declares as he taps his bottle against mine, then spins the cap off his.

  I give him an amused smile as I tip mine in his direction, then twist the cap off and drink down half of the brew.

  “Goddammit,” I say suddenly, and Hector raises an eyebrow. “Sorry, it’s nothing important. I’ve just been getting forgetful lately.”

  My car is going to smell like rotten ass by the time I get that half-eaten sandwich out of it in the morning.

  “Tell me how you met Sofi,” Hector says with a smile.

  My mouth goes dry because I don’t know how brotherly he would find me if I tell him that I watched her fist fuck a couple of twin hookers.

  “Huh? Oh, a bar. In Culiacán. She stopped a brawl by buying a round of drinks. We ended up hanging out until closing,” I lie with a shrug, praying that the story I just told him matches what I initially told her father.

  He lets out a laugh as he sits back and glances up at the night sky. “Yeah, that sounds like our Sofi.”

  On the outside, I’m cool as a cucumber. On the inside, I’m doing fucking cartwheels that he bought it.

  “El Señor seems to like you too,” Hector suddenly says in a thoughtful tone.

  “That’s a good thing I hope?”

  He smiles at me and nods.

  I feign relief by wiping my brow with my hand as he takes another sip of his beer.

  “Well, I’d like to sit here longer and keep talking, but I have to get back to work,
” he says getting to his feet and letting out a sigh.

  “It hasn’t even been ten minutes,” I object as I look at him in disbelief.

  “A Sicarios work is never done. Besides, they caught someone wandering the premises, so we have to get him prepped for El Señor, then Sofi if the situation calls for it. Have a nice night, Frank.”

  I nod and give him a quick wave as he wanders off, but I’m wondering who the fuck would be stupid enough to wander the property here at the palatial Murder Estates.

  Unless it was an accident and now they’re fucked more than they realize. I wonder if maybe I can intervene somehow. I wonder if Pops would even fucking entertain it.

  With a rueful shake of my head, I settle on the notion that it’s best not to get mixed up in business that has nothing to do with me.

  I’ll be getting thrown into more bullshit soon enough.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Three beers later, I’m on my way to my room. Part of me wants to stop and check on Sofi, but the common sense part of me makes me keep moving with horse blinders on.

  Busy or not, I’m fairly certain that Pops would be able to smell out someone in his daughter’s room that he didn’t direct to be in there. After Hector let it slip that “El Señor” has taken a shine to me, I’d rather not do anything stupid to put that in jeopardy.

  However, on the way up the hall, I notice one of the doors is slightly cracked and the sliver of light pouring out gets my attention. Knowing better than this, I quietly walk toward the door and peer inside.

  Pops is perched on the edge of a heavy, wooden desk, there’s a semi-kill circle blocking my view of the center of the room. The way he’s looking down intently gives up the rest of that puzzle. Clearly, there’s someone in a chair directly in front of him and the occasional grunts and groans tells me that whoever it is, isn’t having the best time.

  Pops runs a hand over his face before crossing his hands over his chest and saying something I can’t quite hear. But even if I could, it was that rapid fire Spanish I don’t understand.

  I linger a moment longer than I should and damn near shit myself when he cuts his eyes toward the door. I can only hope that I stepped out of his line of sight fast enough as I haul ass toward my room and damn near knock the door down on my way in.

  My heart is racing, and my breathing is becoming erratic. I’m worried if I don’t calm down soon, I’m going to have a heart attack and potentially end up buried in the backyard or worse—become one of those neat “don’t fuck with us” piles somewhere in the middle of the road.

  I haven’t done them wrong, but it would be an opportunity to use my bits as a lesson and if I were him, I wouldn’t pass it up myself.

  I pull my shirt over my head and toss it to the floor as I walk over to the window and almost break my wrist trying to open it. Taking a deep breath, I tell myself to slow down and calm down. Running the tips of my fingers down the side, I locate the switch that Anabella had revealed to me, then manage to bring the window up halfway.

  Moments like this make me wish I was high. I’d jump out of the window and head for daylight but sober me is far too cautious to take that chance and it’s starting to piss me off.

  But then it dawns on me that somewhere in this room is that fucking temptation beckoning to me.

  Don’t do it.

  Another mantra I have to start reciting to myself. If I don’t find a way to stay clean, I’m going to become a different kind of man—and I already know that her father isn’t going to like me then.

  Being high doesn’t only hurt me.

  It makes me take advantage of the people around me. It makes me a thief, a liar, a desperate motherfucker that doesn’t give a shit about anyone else.

  But even then, it makes me feel better.

  It clears the fog that sometimes rests inside of me and once I have that high coursing through me, I tend to keep to myself until it’s time to chase it again.

  I sigh as I go back to the bed and lie down. I run my hands back through my hair before crossing them behind my head and staring at the ceiling.

  In a room, not two doors down is a girl I’d inexplicably give my life to protect.

  In another room, a few doors further, is someone who’s about to give their life for being in a place they should have never wandered to.

  And in this room is a man faced with a choice and fighting an internal war to keep a clear head on his shoulders until it’s absolutely necessary.

  I lower a hand to my belly and grimace as the pain of just thinking about a clean line starts to settle in.

  I find myself wishing again that I had fucking stayed home that night a year ago, but when I saw her swaying those hips all the way down the street, I became hypnotized.

  I had to talk to her.

  To see her face, and maybe even touch her.

  That’s another thing about blow—it clouds even the simplest common sense that told me to keep it moving and just go the fuck home.

  And all of the consequences of my actions have led me here. Even the most miniscule ones that didn’t seem like a big deal at the time.

  I guess things could be worse.

  I could be Anabella’s missing daughter. I could be Raiza—wherever the fuck she is. I could be the poor bastard getting beaten and interrogated.

  Or I could even be the bloodstains all over Romero’s kitchen.

  I sigh as I turn on my side and look out the window. I have to find a way to calm the fuck down or I won’t be able to go to sleep anytime soon and that’s not something I can afford to lose for another night.

  I need more than a few hours here and there, otherwise I’ll crack and fall into the temptation ahead of schedule.

  I close my eyes and try to steady my breathing now that my hands have finally stopped shaking. I can’t help but let out a tired chuckle, though. It amazes me that almost being seen somewhere I had no business being has only now started to bother me.

  I’ve been in loads of places I didn’t belong before and thought nothing of it.

  Oh well.

  I let out a yawn as I roll my shoulder and start to finally get comfortable when the sound of a fist rapping against my door makes me open my eyes again.

  This can’t be fucking happening, I think miserably as I sit up.

  Rubbing my eyes with the palms of my hands, I sigh before I give the okay to enter the room.

  Hector pokes his head in and gives me a solemn look, “El Señor wants you in his office.”

  Of course he does, I think miserably as I get to my feet and climb out of bed.

  I take a deep breath as I follow Hector into the kill room. I know that’s not what this normally is, but I have this nagging feeling that it’s more than likely about to transition into one.

  “Frank,” Pops greets me with a grim smile, “Come sit with me.”

  I exchange a nervous glance with Hector as I leave his side and go saddle up next to the boss. Even though the invitation was to sit, I’d much rather lean on the desk and keep my eyes on Pops until I get an explanation as to why I’m in here.

  Crossing my arms over my chest, I hold his eyes and wait. Time feels like it’s slowly leaking by instead of ticking at a normal pace and I’m starting to feel on edge.

  “Tonight, you’re going to step into Sofi’s shoes,” he begins, his eyes turning toward the man in the seat. “My daughter has had a troubled few days and I’d like to give her the opportunity to rest.”

  I nod as he rubs his chin thoughtfully and continues, “And I’d like to see what you’re made of.”

  I lick my lips nervously.

  All I can hope is that whoever is in this seat deserves what I’m about to do to them, because in this situation it’s either their life or mine.

  “Just give me the space to work in and I’ll get it done,” I agree quietly.

  Pops grim smile widens slightly as he sighs and clears his throat. “Y tu--te dije que no volvieras.”

  His growl is enough to elic
it a whimper of fear from whoever disobeyed his request to leave and stay gone. I find myself losing hold on the curiosity that’s kept my eyes looking everywhere but the chair. And when I finally cave and turn my eyes toward the center of the semi-kill circle, my eyes widen in shock.

  “That’s why I couldn’t find you,” I blurt out.

  Cankle is strapped to the chair, bruised, bloodied, with a look of absolute terror written all over his face.

  “This cabrón,” Pops begins as he glances at me, “failed at his job. He was to stay with you and Ana Sofia while you were in Culiacán. As it stands, when the two of you left your home, he decided to come back—without my daughter. That’s something I cannot forgive and a lesson that must be taught with the severest of penalties leveled.”

  My mouth goes dry.

  All he had to do was stay put and he wouldn’t have been in this fucking situation, but unfortunately for him, I’m in no position to decline my future father-in-law’s first official request of me.

  “Now,” he continues as she stands up and rubs his hands together, “My daughter is fond of knives, hammers—things of that nature. However, since you’re stepping in her place tonight, I’d like something a little different. This motherfucker doesn’t die until I say so,” he warns me in an even tone. “Keep him alive and make sure that with each brutal touch you bestow, he fully understands why it’s happening to him.”

  I let out my breath as I stand upright and drop my hands to my sides. If I could talk for Cankle, I would. I’d explain to Pops that this wasn’t exactly his fault and that maybe he should give him another chance.

  Instead, I walk over to stand behind him, grip the sides of the chair he’s strapped to and glance over my shoulder.

  “Move,” I instruct the bulldogs quietly.

  Pops walks over and slaps Cankle across the face as hard as he can before I have the chance to start moving him, then looks up into my eyes, “Take him to Sofi’s shack. They will bring you whatever you need to get this done.”

  We’ve been in Sofi’s romper room for the past twenty minutes. I’ve been leaning against the wall, foot propped up in place, and arms crossed over my chest.