El Gringo (The Sicarios of Navolato Book 3)

by Yolanda Olson

  I go as fast as I can without nicking myself or missing anything. I splash some water onto my face, then use another washcloth to dry my chin before I lean into the mirror to inspect my work.

  When I see that I did a better job than I initially thought I might have, I turn off the water to the sink and toss the washcloth into the open hamper.

  Using the towel I wrapped around my waist, I pull it off and begin to dry myself completely, before it dawns on me that the only clothes I brought in here with me were the death-stained clothes I’d slept in.

  Wrapping the damp towel around my waist again, I flip the light switch on my way out of the bathroom. I poke my head out, glancing up and down the hall before I power walk toward my current room.

  But when I step inside, I find something I wasn’t expecting. Someone, I’m assuming one of Anabella’s merry maids, is bent at the knees, ass in the air, and pulling the sheets off my bed.

  I roll my eyes.

  I’m not in the mood for this, or her.

  “You about done?” I ask loudly in an even tone. The young woman startles, then turns to glance at me over her shoulder, a nervous giggle escaping her.

  I suck my teeth and place my hands on my hips. Maybe I’m reading too much into it, and that’s just the way she cleans things up, but she needs to fuck off so I can find something to wear.

  “Sorry, Señor,” she purrs, her eyelashes fluttering slightly. I cock my head to the side and give her a withering look.

  “My name is Frank. Anything else you wanna know about me you can get from Sofi,” I tell her pointedly.

  Her face turns slightly of pale as she climbs onto the bed and manages to strip the sheets off in record timing. Gathering them up in her arms, she damn near runs past me on her way out the door, sheets bundled neatly in her arms, and I slam the door shut behind her.

  Had Sofi not told me that she’s into dick and not just pussy, I may have run the idea by her of watching her with whoever the fuck that just was.

  Not sexually obviously, but maybe a couple of lap dances or something.

  As it stands, I’m not interested in … well, anything really, and if anything, this teaches me to let shit go after a while.

  Holding on to grudges and bets for longer than they’ve been laid on the table clearly doesn’t do anyone any good.

  Shaking my head I decide to raid the dressers. If I’m lucky, I may be able to find something to—Oh for fucks sake.

  I pull out a top that’s much clearly too small for me and too … pink. But considering that the rest of my options seem to be bras, I pull the fucking thing over my head and do my best to pull it down my torso as far as it will go.

  Gritting my teeth, I open the drawer beneath it and let out a heavy sigh. Why it didn’t dawn on me that this could potentially be a female’s bedroom next to the damn girly shower is beyond me, but I guess I have to make do with what I’ve got.

  I quickly pick through the shorts until I find a pair that might fit me comfortably enough for now. I grunt a few times as I yank them up my legs, jumping in place a few times like it might help before I tuck the goods safely inside.

  I walk over to the large mirror that’s hanging on the outside of the closet door and look myself up and down for a moment.

  I look like a goddamn idiot.

  A pink crop top, a pair of black girly sporting shorts, and nothing else to put over them. I pull open the closet door and glance around the floor for maybe a reprieve in the footwear department of this shit show, but when I notice that everything is way too small for my feet, I slam the door closed, then head toward the door.

  I don’t know how the hell anyone is going to take me seriously looking like this, although I assume if I flick a lighter here and there, I might still be able to hold onto some of the respect I believe I earned last night.

  Oh well. No better time to start the day than the present.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Naturally, the first person I run into is Pops. He’s giving me a look like he’s trying desperately not to laugh, while simultaneously wondering what the hell this getup is all about.

  “You look nice today,” he says, his lips twitching slightly, and I shake my head. I can’t say what I really want to, which is something along the lines of directing him to shut the fuck up.

  “My clothes are being washed,” I reply curtly as I take the bowl of cereal I’ve fixed myself to the island and sit down. A ripping sound greets me, and I grit my teeth as I glance down the left side of my body. The damn shirt now has a tear in it, but considering these clothes clearly weren’t made for men, I’ll be damned if I’ll take any grief over it.

  “Hm.”

  I glance over to where he’s standing at the other end of the island and sigh before shoveling a spoonful of cereal into my mouth. I guess it’s nice to see him smiling for once, I just wish it wouldn’t have to be at my expense.

  “Did Sofi give you an update on Santiago?” I ask through a mouthful of my late breakfast. Changing the subject is going to be the only thing to keep him from outright laughing at me. And this subject can remind him that regardless of the shit I’m wearing, I’m valuable to him in some fucked up way.

  He nods as he picks up what I assume is a cup of coffee, takes a sip, then sets it down. “She did. I’m curious to know what you think of her skills.”

  “Not bad,” I say as I shove the spoon into bowl and scoop out some more cereal. “I get why she has her nickname now, though.”

  He raises an eyebrow at me.

  I may not be looking at him directly, but I can see it out of the corner of my eye. I don’t know if that was the right thing to say since the tension in the room has now been turned up all the fucking way.

  “You know,” I say as I make a slicing motion across my throat with the spoon. “The butcher thing.”

  “There’s no one better with a knife than my Sofi,” he finally remarks proudly, and I widen my eyes at my bowl in an attempt not to roll them, before scooping up some more cereal. “She’s self-taught. Picked up her first blade when she was eight years old.”

  “Nice,” I remark as I crunch another spoonful.

  “And you?” he presses conversationally. “Where did you learn your skills?”

  “Dodging angry drug dealers in Chile. Well, that and spending some time on the wrong side of the tracks in Argentina too.”

  Pops begins to drum his fingers along the island top and I glance up him curiously. He’s not looking at me—if anything he seems to be a million miles away, though I’m sure he’s expecting me to expand on what I just said.

  “I’m not an addict,” I pipe up defensively. “As a matter of fact, before last night, I hadn’t touched a line in almost a year. Sometimes a little lift is needed when things go crazy, but it’s not like I’m going to be snorting up any stash you may have hidden somewhere.”

  “And what makes you think I have drugs?” he asks curiously.

  I roll my eyes, “Because this is a cartel, and normally there are only a few big things you guys run.” I set down my spoon so I can tick the items off on my fingers as I name them, “Drugs, guns, or women.”

  “Neither of those things are any of your concern, of course,” he states testily.

  I turn my attention back to my almost decimated bowl to hide my smile. Why he thinks it’s none of my business is actually kind of funny to me considering I’m about to be thrown into a marriage with the only heir that I know of to his empire.

  “If you say so,” I mumble as I lift the bowl and drink down what’s left of the milk.

  Getting to my feet I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and walk over to the sink to deposit everything, then turn to face him. Leaning back against the counter, I start to drum my fingers along the edge of it and smile at him.

  “Anything else? Or can I go see if my laundry is ready?” I inquire as pleasantly as I can.

  Pops looks at me, holding me in place with those stern eyes of his, before he reaches for h
is coffee cup, lifts it to his lips and waves a hand at me.

  With a chuckle and a shake of my head, I walk out of the kitchen, leaving him to his mid-day coffee and whatever other thoughts he may be having about me.

  Blowing out a breath I wander down the corridor, completely unaware of where the laundry room happens to be, but I’m sure it won’t be too hard to find.

  I’d pushed open all of the doors on the main floor the other day trying to find the dolly, so the only other place to go is down.

  Which means there has to be a door around here somewhere that leads to the underbelly of Murder Estates; I just have to find it is all.

  Luckily for me, the ass shaking merry maid who was in my room earlier is busy picking up the living room area.

  “Hey,” I call out to her, leaning an arm against the doorway while I wait for her to acknowledge me.

  “Yes, Señor?” she asks nervously when she glances over at me. She stands up, tucks her long, black hair behind her ears, and begins to fidget with her hands.

  “Frank,” I correct her again with a sigh. “Anyway, I’m looking for the laundry room. Which way do I go?”

  She raises a finger, “Go back the way you came. Right next to the cocina, there is a door.”

  I nod as I turn around and retrace my steps. I decide to let the funny look she gave me slide because who wouldn’t give me the fucking side eye when I’m dressed like this?

  As I start walking, I reach down and tug a little more at my stand-in shirt. Luckily for me, I’m a guy who likes to eat so cocina was one of the first Spanish words I learned. I hope the actual Señor has left already so I don’t end up bumping into him again.

  The door that the ass shaker was referring to opens suddenly and I have to pump the brakes before I hit it face first. I chuckle at the frantic gasp that greets me and then reach for the pile of shit Anabella is holding.

  “I was looking for you,” I tell her fondly.

  “I’m sorry, Se—uh, Frank,” she says, her eyes wide at my almost collision and I shake my head.

  “Don’t worry about it. I should have been looking where I was going. Anyway, I was wondering if any of my clothes are in the next load? I really need to change,” I say, glancing down and making a face.

  Anabella holds a hand to her face to hide the amused smile after she gets a load of my ensemble and I grin.

  I mean at least I’m not walking around naked, right?

  “Follow me,” she says with a smile as she turns and leads the way down the stairs. I bunch up the pile I’m holding in my arms, so I don’t bust my ass down the stairs, then glance around the huge room I find myself in at the bottom.

  “Damn, this is bigger than my house,” I remark as I spin around slowly to take it all in.

  “I can take that,” she says, holding out her hands for the load in my arms, but I shake my head. “Finders keepers.”

  Anabella grins at me and I return it in kind. It’s nice to see her smiling so damn much, since something tells me that might not have been such a regular occurrence since her daughter went missing.

  “So … my clothes …”

  “In this wash,” she assures me nodding at an array of industrial sized machines. “As soon as they are ready, I will bring them to your room.”

  “Speaking of my room,” I begin, shifting from one foot to the other. “The girl up in the living room right now? Any chance you can keep her out of it?”

  Anabella raises an eyebrow as she thinks. I’m assuming she’s probably trying to figure out who’s in there now, but when I see a look dawn on her face, she raises an eyebrow at me.

  “Por que?”

  I know she’s not being nosy, and because of that, I tell her the truth.

  “Because I don’t need to walk into a room and find someone with their ass hiked in the air unless it belongs to my soon-to-be wife.”

  “I will speak to her,” she promises me solemnly and I smile.

  I don’t want the girl to lose her job or anything—I only want to be show some respect.

  “Better you than him, eh?” I say, raising my eyes toward the ceiling quickly, then back to Anabella.

  The look on her face tells me that I shouldn’t have even mentioned Pops, because it brings this entire thing back to her daughter and my promise to look for the girl.

  “I haven’t had the chance yet,” I tell her softly.

  “I know. You gave me your word and I trust you,” she replies quietly as she reaches for the load in my arms and gathers it up in hers.

  “Your clothes should be ready in a couple of hours. I will lay them on your bed when they’re done.”

  She walks by me quickly before I have the chance to thank her. Both for being the one who’s going to deliver my stuff and for having a talk with the girlie upstairs, but I’m fairly certain that the next time I get to have a quiet chat with her, she’s going to want some information on … um … Magdalena.

  Jesus Christ, I almost forgot her damn name. I really need to lay off the coke.

  I take the stairs two at a time on the way back up, which of course tears the goddamns shorts I’m wearing damn near in half. With a heavy sigh, I reach up and pull the shirt off, then twist and turn the goddamn thing until I can get the goods covered. I have to get back to my room and just sit there and wait, even if it drives me crazy.

  On the way up the hall, I hear someone raising their voice in anger, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say that Anabella has a temper on her. The accent matches, but at the moment, it’s just a guess.

  I grimace slightly and slow down a bit. The faster I walk, the more things are starting to chafe. If I were at home, I’d free ball it all the way back to my room.

  Actually I would more than likely just sit around buck ass naked until I felt like getting dressed for the day.

  But I’m not home.

  Nothing I say matters here unless it’s graced by the backing of Pops or his knife wielding daughter.

  I’m not used to this.

  It’s that goddamn totem pole I like to scale myself on.

  Being somewhere in the middle always suited me fine, though in this place, I keep getting pushed farther and farther down the line.

  I doubt that going through with this sham wedding is going to move me up higher than the bulldogs, and the longer I let it sit, the angrier it’s making me.

  I shove the door open to “my” room when I get there, swinging it shut behind me with a bang.

  The mirror hanging on the back of the closet door topples down from its perch, and shatters. What’s seven years bad luck in the grand scheme of things, when I’ve ridden on the back of it for almost thirty years?

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Twenty-five minutes and thirty-six seconds. That’s how long I was able to last before I picked up the small, ballerina statue off the dresser and hurled it out the window.

  The rage I feel inside of me isn’t rage at all… it’s the hunger that comes with wanting another line.

  I fucked up last night, pure and simple.

  I did the one thing I’d been trying so desperately not to do, and now I’m littering what I’m sure is going to be the venue of our wedding with anything I can get my hands on.

  I don’t know; maybe there’s a hope inside of me that if I make a big enough mess, Pops will call it off or maybe push it to another day.

  Do I want to marry Sofi?

  I still haven’t decided, but the want to protect her, to put her first, and maybe get her out of this fucking empire keeps me in place.

  And it’s all because I’m waiting for her to make good on her “not being able to play this time” bullshit.

  I take a deep breath as I walk over to the dresser and put my weight into it. I know I won’t be able to toss this fucking thing out of the window too, but it’s the next best thing to hurtling myself down there instead.

  Calm down, Frank. Try to be normal, try to regain your composure. Destroying things that don’t belong to you is
how you always end up on the wrong side of every situation.

  With a grunt, I put some force into it, the scraping sound echoing so goddamn loudly that I almost don’t hear the knock at the door.

  The cell—where I keep getting tossed into when the bulldogs, the help, the Boss, and his daughter are done with me, at least until they need me again.

  “What?” I bark over my shoulder.

  “It’s me,” comes the timid reply.

  I sigh as I leave the dresser where I’ve managed to push it to, then rake a sweaty hand back through my hair.

  These highs and lows that come with sketching are dangerous, and unfortunately, I’ve never learned how to get those under control.

  And clearly, I still haven’t.

  Pulling the door open, I look down into Anabella’s eyes. She’s got the girl with her who was trying to entice me into bullshit earlier, and while I bet this has already been taken care of, apparently there’s more of a point to be made. The young woman’s eyes are on the floor, her hands are clasped tightly in front of her, and she doesn’t look up. Not until Anabella gives her a nudge.

  “What?” I ask again as I let out a breath.

  “Lupe has something she wanted to say,” Anabella says in a stern tone. And in the oddest of ways, it makes me smile. She’s treating her like a daughter who’s been caught doing wrong and now has to own up to it.

  “Well?” I press as I shift from one foot to the other.

  “I’m sorry for earlier, Mr. Frank,” Lupe mumbles. I shake my head as I reach over and place a hand on her shoulder, when she looks up at me I give her a tight smile.

  “It’s okay. I wasn’t expecting it, is all, and I don’t want you to think that things are something they aren’t. Does that makes sense?”

  She nods, wiping a tear away from her cheek and I glance at Anabella. “Is that all??”

  “Yes, I’ll be back later with your laundry.”

  I nod as she turns and grabs Lupe by the forearm then proceeds to drag her down the hallway. Closing the door after they’re out of sight, I walk over to the bed and sit down, then throw myself onto my back.