El Gringo (The Sicarios of Navolato Book 3)

by Yolanda Olson

  She immediately brings the fucking thing to life and holds it against Cankle who lets out a low, painful moan.

  “You live to see another day, Gringo,” Pops tells me without so much as glancing down at his “favorite” solider dying at his feet. “But he does not. Extend the lesson, then kill the son of a bitch.”

  I nod and run a hand over my chin, waiting until he turns his back to leave. When Hector shakes his head and signals to Sofi to follow him, I hold up a hand and shake my head. He gives me a critical look, his hand still extended toward her, but Sofi rebuffs the gesture as she’s so fond of doing with me and tells him to leave.

  “Someone has to stay behind to make sure the lesson is well learned,” she says when her father turns to look at her. “Permit me, Papa. I’ll make sure that your will is carried out in a way deserving of the Cancio name.”

  I chuckle quietly.

  She’s here to steal the glory and that’s okay. I think that him seeing what I’m capable of so far is better than nothing at all.

  “I want you back in your bed before morning,” he tells her. Sofi nods as she walks over to him and returns his prod. He hands it to Hector, takes his daughter’s face in his hands, and gently kisses her forehead. “Que Dios te bendiga.”

  She smiles up at him and nods, but before he leaves Pops casts one more dangerous look in my direction, then walks out with, I’m assuming, his new favorite soldier in tow.

  “That’s a damn shame,” I muse after Hector pulls the door closed behind him.

  “What?” Sofi asks casting a curious glance at me.

  “Hector. I like him, but if this is what happens when you’re Daddy’s favorite,” I say gesturing down at Cankle, “one can only hope that he fucks up in a way that doesn’t mean death.”

  She makes her way across the room toward me and stops a couple of inches from where I’m standing. Mimicking my moves from the shower the other day, she presses herself against me as she reaches around to retrieve her butcher knife.

  “Anyone that crosses Papa is expendable. Anyone,” she says, giving me a level stare. “Santiago, Hector, you … even me.”

  “Is that what happened to your sister?” I ask when she turns and walks back toward Two-Face.

  “That’s none of your fucking business,” she barks at me as she kicks off her slippers, then straddles him.

  “Isn’t it, though? Think about it, Sofi. At this point, we’re practically family, so maybe a little secret shared here and there might do both of us good.”

  Even in a room now full of only passing moonlight, I can see her clench her jaw.

  “Let’s finish this, Gringo,” she says, bypassing my friendly suggestion.

  I shrug as I walk over to her. Giving her arm a gentle tap, I motion for her to get out of the way so I can prop Cankle and the chair he’s strapped to back up.

  “Thoughts on how you want to do this?” I ask her in complete disinterest.

  I don’t need a buddy when it comes to finishing off Cankle, but she’s already told Pops that she’ll be getting her hands dirty too, so I’m going to have to let her do a little something. Maybe a haircut so she doesn’t bitch me to death at being made to stand by and watch.

  When she doesn’t say anything, I shrug and pick up my torch again. “You ever handle one of these? The last time I got to play with one was in Tierra Del Fuego. Come to think, most of the bullshit I’ve ended up doing was there, but yeah. I owed some people some money and instead of being on the receiving end of twenty-six hundred degrees of white hot rage, I was basically handing them shit. It was their way of teaching lessons. Kind of a scared straight thing I guess which coincidentally worked in a roundabout way. But the look of fear in eyes of that guy that got fucked royally kinda like Cankle here … that always stayed with me. Made me wanna try it once in my life.”

  Sofi’s giving me an odd look and I sigh.

  Seems I’m babbling again, so I decide it’s best to pick up where I left off and get this over with.

  “Wanna try?” I ask her as I fire up the device and hold it out to her. When she shakes her head I shrug and lean close to Cankle. “Hm.”

  He looks like he’s close enough to death that the kind thing would be to just have Sofi cut his throat and let him bleed out, but that’s not what any cartel I’ve come across is about and I can’t show that kind of mercy.

  “Hand me that bottle of lighter fluid, would ya?” I ask as I settle down on the floor. “Oh and if he pees again, feel free to cut his dick off.”

  She shakes her head as she tosses me the bottle then gets behind him again, placing the sharp end of the knife under his chin.

  I reach down and start to unlace the boot on his left foot, then toss it over my shoulder before I get his sock off. Inching back a bit, I squeeze some of the fluid onto the top of his skin, then hold the end of the flame against it.

  He makes a weird sound. Something between a gurgle and a sob, and as Sofi holds him in place, I tell myself to keep my hand steady. Once I’m satisfied that I’ve burrowed deep enough, I slip my fingers in and begin tugging at the bones. It’s a fun little anatomy lesson I learned once—the bones and tendons can still cause the extremities they’re attached to, to work, and I kinda feel like he should go out doing a dance.

  It’s the nice part of me that wants him to go on his way in the best mood he possibly can.

  I sigh as I keep tugging at his bones until I finally manage to snap one and then twist and turn it, forcing it out of its place.

  I move to the next one and think about my time in Tierra Del Feugo again.

  I find myself remembering every last thing that was done to that poor fuck back in Argentina and wishing that Cankle could only realize how lucky he is.

  I didn’t pull his teeth out with a rusty wrench, I didn’t use a knife to pull up his fingernails and I didn’t use a hammer to smash the bones in his toes.

  If anything, he’s getting off a hell of a lot easier than that other fucker.

  “Ay Dios,” Sofi says, breaking my concentration and I look up her briefly. I see her face buried in the crook of her arm and I chuckle.

  “What’s up?”

  “That fucking smells,” she says in a muffled tone.

  “Yeah, that tends to happen when you’re burning something,” I explain with a grin. Goddammit. Getting to my feet, I swat at the back of my pants and look at Sofi. “Well, looks like I’ll be needing a shower tonight. He pissed himself again.”

  She shakes her head as she motions for me to move away from Cankle. I do as commanded since that’s how it goes in this damn place, switch off the torch and watch her curiously. She leans down and whispers something into Cankle’s ear and gives him a gentle kiss on what’s left of his cheek.

  Just when I’m starting to think this is turning into an impromptu love fest, Sofi puts her foot on the base of the chair, steadies herself, and with one powerful tug of her arm, cuts his throat so fucking deeply that his head lops to the side.

  “Um … are you gonna finish that?” I joke nervously.

  She holds up a hand to stop me from talking without looking in my direction. I guess there’s a method to her almost decapitations and I simply have to wait and see what happens next.

  Sofi makes her way around Cankle and stands in front of him. Pushing his head back upright, she grips a fistful of his hair, places the blade against the end of his neck that’s still holding on. She lets out a grunt as she delivers another powerfully, precise strike that I would never have believed she was capable of just by looking at her, and then she’s holding his head in her hand.

  I begin to clap.

  I can’t help it.

  It was insane to get to witness her blade skills, but when she glares at me, I stop immediately and shove my hands into my pockets with a sheepish grin.

  “So I take it that’s how you got your nickname?” I ask her fondly.

  She nods her head once then tosses Cankle’s head at me. I don’t make a move to catch or
swat it away, instead letting it bounce off my chest and hit the floor.

  “Go to sleep, Gringo. Tomorrow is going to be a busy day.”

  Chapter Twenty

  When I wake up the next morning, I feel a little different than I have in days. Almost hungover in a way and I can’t tell if it’s from the blow or the thrill of the kill.

  Regardless of what high I was chasing the night before, I know I won’t be able to rest easy until I feel it again and that has the potential of becoming a huge problem.

  I smack my lips together a few times, then turn onto my side and almost instinctively roll in the other direction.

  How the hell she managed to slip in while I was sleeping is beyond me, but at least she isn’t watching me like a toddler after a nightmare.

  “Good morning,” I croak out.

  Sofi glances to the side to acknowledge that I’m awake but doesn’t return the greeting.

  Maybe she’s still upset about having to watch one of her besties become a S’more in front of her, or maybe she’s pissed that her father thought she couldn’t handle it.

  Either way, I have no choice but to get out of bed now and get ready to face whatever fresh hell is going to be coming at me today.

  “What’s shaking, Sofi?” I ask, lying an arm across my eyes. I get not wanting to be in the mood for conversation first thing in the morning, but considering she’s here, I expect at least a hello if nothing else.

  “You missed the announcement at breakfast,” she finally says quietly.

  I reach down and place a hand on my belly. Even the word breakfast made my stomach growl. It also reminds me that the first order of business today is to get that damn sandwich out of the car and give it a power wash.

  “Oh?”

  “Papa was impressed with what you did to Santiago,” she continues, her voice talking on a melancholy tone. I guess maybe I showed her skills up after all, and now she’s in the throes of a pout tantrum. Nothing to worry about since that was a once in a lifetime kill.

  “Nice,” I reply with a chuckle.

  The bed creaks as she sits down on the left side of me, and I move my arm to the back of my neck. She looks dangerously close to tears and I’m trying my best right now not to ask her what’s wrong. I figure anything that gets a female this emotional is not my business until she wants to share it with me.

  “And he decided that today is the day we get married.”

  “What?”

  I prop myself up on my elbows and look into her eyes. I get the almost tears now, but somewhere in the back of my mind, I was hoping this shotgun wedding thing was a long running joke.

  I guess I was wrong.

  Deciding to lighten the mood, I grin at her as I lean over to slap her thigh. “So, how’s the sex thing gonna work? I’m a one woman kinda guy and you’re a … well, a woman-woman kinda gal …”

  “This isn’t a joke, you asshole,” she snaps at me. I let out a sigh as she uses her forefingers to stop the tears as they’re about to fall.

  “Sorry, chalk it up to defense mechanisms,” I reply with a shrug. “Anyway, I can live without pussy, I guess, but that means you’re going to have to as well. Since I’m no cheat, I don’t expect you to be either. Ready for a dry, sexless life together?”

  She reaches over and slaps me one across the face and I shake my head as I push the blanket off my body. I’m used to making jokes to lighten situations, but if she doesn’t stop slapping me soon, I’ll leave her at the fucking altar on my way out of Mexico.

  When I swing my legs over the side of my bed and ruffle my hair with my hands, Sofi continues, “As I was saying, this isn’t a joke. Papa is going to expect grandchildren to carry on the Cancio name.”

  “Rubbing your pussy against some other chick’s isn’t going to end up in pregnancy.”

  I close my eyes tightly as soon as the words leave my lips. I can feel her staring daggers at me right now, and it’s only now that I’m starting to realize how much trouble my mouth has gotten me into in the past.

  “Last one, I promise,” I tell her sheepishly as I cast a quick glance over my shoulder.

  Sofi grinds her teeth together as she tucks her hair behind her ears and looks away for a moment.

  “I’m not gay, you know,” she confesses quietly.

  I turn my body to face hers and give her an incredulous look. From the way she worked over those twins, there’s nothing that I saw that told me she didn’t enjoy it.

  “I like men too,” she says with a shrug.

  Looks like sex is back on the table.

  I feel kind of proud of myself that I didn’t say it out loud since I promised her no more jokes on her sexuality.

  “But not me?” I question with a grin.

  Her face blushes a slight crimson color and I chuckle. “Hey, it wouldn’t be the first time, and clearly not the last. No big deal, Sofi.”

  I give her a wink as I get to my feet and stretch my arms over my head, bending first to the left, then to the right. Once I’m satisfied that I’m limber enough for whatever the fuck is gonna happen today, I head toward the door.

  I never did get to shower last night, and I don’t think anyone would be too pissed if I soaked in the tub for the next two hours or so.

  “Wait,” she pipes up in her Queen Bitch tone of voice, and I sigh as I roll my eyes at the ceiling.

  “Yeah?” I ask turning to glance at her.

  Sofi chews her bottom lip for a second before she takes a deep breath and gets to her feet. I wait semi-patiently as she makes her way toward me. When she stops in front of me, I arch an eyebrow curiously. When she pushes herself up onto her tiptoes and presses her full lips against mine, I let go of the knob.

  Wrapping my arms around Sofi, I hold her tightly against my body, in an attempt to deepen the kiss she initiated. But as soon as I slip my tongue into her mouth, she puts her hands on my chest and gives me a gentle shove back.

  “Save it for later, Gringo,” she tells me with an impish smile. I think she wanted to try it on for size, and I’m hoping that it fit her as nicely as she thought it might.

  “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” I groan as she opens the door and walks out.

  I step into the hallway, watching the way that only she can walk, with those hips swaying from side to side, and that luscious ass of hers tempting me more than anything else I’ve ever come across. And I keep watching until she turns the corner, casting me a grin over her shoulder before disappearing from sight.

  Again.

  The small washcloth lying across my face feels good. It’s as hot as the water that’s caressing my body as I lie in the tub and try to not let my nerves get the best of me.

  I don’t think it has anything to do with that kiss or the fact that I’m going to be someone’s husband in a few hours. It’s more that I feel so fucking hungover that it makes me feel like a failure.

  I had done so goddamn well at staying sober and in a moment of necessity, I tossed it all out the fucking window.

  Even though it felt amazing to get that feeling coursing through me again, I know that fighting the next time is going to be way harder. Because there always is a next time, and a time after that, and even one more not long after.

  It sucks and I hate being that guy, but I know it’s who I have to be if I’m going to stay alive long enough to see … anything.

  I let my body sink a little lower into the tub until the water is just below my nose. I like the smell of the lilac bubbles I poured before I got in, and how at ease it helps me feel in a place where relaxation is something that seems a million miles away.

  I do miss my little home, though.

  I miss being able to come and go as I please and I know that the noose is going to tighten once I slip a ring on the Cocaine Cowgirl’s finger.

  With a sigh, I sit up and let the cloth fall off my face.

  Lying around and wishing things were different isn’t going to change shit, and I still need to scrub the death off my body bef
ore I can present myself as whatever the hell they need me to be today.

  Besides the obvious, that is.

  Reaching forward, I pull the plug and step out of the tub. I wait for the water to disappear down the drain, before I lean in and spin the knobs to get the water nice and hot again.

  I move a few steps toward the linen closet and retrieve a couple of towels, one to sling over the top of the shower curtain and the other to wrap around my waist while I shave. I know this is a chick bathroom, but I’m sure I’ll be able to find a razor and some shaving cream in the medicine cabinet once I’m done cleaning myself up.

  I make quick work of my shower.

  I don’t forgo scrubbing myself as best as I can, but I’m starting to feel that goddamn familiar ache in my belly that I’m hoping I can stall with a fuck ton of sugar intake.

  I wipe the fog off the mirror of the medicine cabinet after I’ve secured the other towel around my waist.

  Opening the small door, I immediately find a can of girly smelling shaving cream and roll my eyes as I set it down on the edge of the sink. I’m going to smell more feminine than Sofi at this point, but it’s something I’ll have to live with until I can go shopping—or go home and get my own stuff.

  A quick glance around the small shelves inside and I pull out what I’m hoping is an unused razor. I use my thumb to slip the plastic cover off and peer at the blades for a moment before I shrug and decide not to let it bother me if it’s not.

  Spraying a generous amount of the shaving cream into the palm of my hand, I set the can down again as I begin to rub it on my chin. I’m not exactly looking like a hairy beast, but not having had the opportunity to breathe, let alone shave the past couple of days, has started the five o’clock shadow thing that most chicks froth over.

  Raising my chin a little, I press the razor against my neck and catch sight of my eyes. They’re red, dimmer than normal, and somewhat sallow looking.

  I shake my head as I start to shave. Cocaine is a motherfucker; it’s actually kind of a cheat. It lasts for about ninety minutes then the withdrawal starts to kick in. It makes me think that I should have tried something stronger, in a weird way; at least then I wouldn’t feel like I’m being keelhauled down the fucking aisle later.