Birdy (Upper Echelon Duet Book 1)

by Dee Garcia

  But sometimes these pendejos think they can pull a fast one on me because I’m a female, almost like they forget who I am when they devise their little plans to screw me over.

  Sucks balls to be them because la Jefa always comes to collect.

  And that’s the exact lesson Enrique Martinez is, unfortunately, going to learn today. Damn shame, really. I never thought I’d have to roll up on him in this fashion. The man has always been a loyal, reliable client—mostly green with random sprinklings of white—so when he got laid off and his bills were piling up, I gave him five grand with the understanding I expected the sum returned within ninety days.

  He agreed, took the check, and went on his way.

  Well, his ninety-days was up a week ago.

  He may be loyal and reliable, but that doesn’t excuse him from paying his dues. Not to mention, I gave him seven additional days, and I’ve not heard from him once.

  “What time is it?” Ángel’s raspy voice husks out suddenly from my bedroom.

  My stomach coils at the sound of it, hand freezing mid-air around the mascara wand. Not only did he stay the night—sucking what remained of my soul from my body with that wicked tongue—but I woke up to him still in my bed.

  I expected him to be long gone by now, only the ghost of his scent lingering on my skin.

  “Nine-thirty,” I answer, applying a second coat to my lashes.

  “Fuck,” he hisses, scrubbing his hands down his face. “I’m gonna be late.”

  Late for?

  I don’t get to ask. I’m too caught up watching him through the bathroom mirror, my mouth drying at the sight of him lazily sitting up, butt-ass naked. Broad shoulders and a wide back that tapers in, every muscle ripples beneath his ink as he stretches. His back piece is my favorite: harshly shaded angel wings with the Upper Echelon’s all-seeing eye in the center, New World Order scripted beneath the pyramid.

  I’ve got the same one etched on my left sleeve on a smaller scale. All of us who work for him do.

  A monstrous yawn erupts from deep within his throat, breaking through the silence of my ogling. He must sense the burn of my stare because sheer seconds later, he’s peeking over his shoulder, our eyes meeting in the glass.

  That fucking, sexy-ass grin slowly claims his sleepy expression. “Coño, mami. Good morning to you, too.”

  My brow arches. “What?”

  “Those little shorts.” He tips his chin at me. “Where you going dressed like that?”

  Like what? All I’m wearing is high-rise jean shorts and a tied-up white tee, my hair held back in a high, wavy pony. I shrug, capping the mascara and screwing it shut. “Gotta play collections today.”

  Ángel rises from my bed and effortlessly slides into his briefs as he saunters into the bathroom. He looks nothing short of a giant in the small space. “You roughing him up or seducing the motherfucker?”

  Seduce Enrique? That’s fucking sick, and my face relays as much. “Neither. He’s fat, balding, and sweats profusely. Not my type, papi.”

  Ángel’s arms wrap around me from behind, our stares locked in the mirror as his fingers dig into my stomach. “What about me? Am I your type?”

  Absolutelyfuckingyes.

  “Isn’t the answer obvious?”

  Well, isn’t it? I let him fuck me raw. I’ve never let another man take me without protection, and he knows this. I made it known the first time I allowed it.

  “It is,” he laughs against my shoulder. “I just want to hear you say it.”

  I roll my eyes. “Don’t play stupid. You know you look good.”

  “And so do you, muñeca.” He tightens his hold on me, sliding one hand up to my neck. “We look good together.”

  I don’t even know how to respond to that. He’s not wrong; we seem to fit one another seamlessly—a fact I like a little too much, but the point of the matter is, where is this coming from?

  “You’re going to be late,” I remind him, breaking the spell of his intense gaze with a glance downward at my makeup bag. “And you still need to drop me off.”

  There’s no way in hell I’d dare to open that can of worms right now. For as badly as I want to know, we don’t have time for it, and who knows what bullshit feelings that answer might elicit.

  Feelings I have no business feeling when our arrangement has been clear since day one.

  “Benni…” He spins me around, caging me between the sink and his hard body. “Que pasa? Why are you shutting down on me?”

  I don’t miss the urgency in his tone, but it’s all the more prominent in those stormy irises. “I’m not shutting down on you, Ángel.” My throat bobs through a swallow, harder still when his head cocks aside, brows shooting up to the top of his head.

  “No? ‘Cause I tell you I wanna spend the night with you and all I hear is, ‘Why, Ángel? Why?’ Then I tell you we look good together y se te va todo el color de la cara.” All the color drained from my face, or so he claims. It’s definitely gone now as he steps closer and lifts me onto the counter’s edge, invading every molecule of my space with his intimidating frame. “Let me ask you something… Why are you so surprised I want you for me?”

  “I’m not,” I lie—right through my fucking teeth—earning me a hushed laugh.

  ”You sure act like it.”

  “We said no strings.” I’m sure he doesn’t need a review of the memo, but I put it out there regardless, snapping my head away. I can’t look at him, an action that doesn’t fly with him remotely. A quick hand claims my jaw, turning me back toward him. That stare sears me down to my core.

  “It worked for a while, a long while. But it’s not working for me anymore. I told you last night...quiero más.”

  Why, Papá Dios? Why the fuck is he doing this now, right before he leaves for two months. “We can’t.”

  “Why? Tell me what you think is stopping us,” he demands.

  “You.” That one little word comes barreling out of my mouth of its own accord, making its way into existence before I can stop myself.

  Ángel’s head rears back, dark brows cinching together. “Me? How?”

  If only that weren’t another obvious answer, but I mean, we just went through this last night, did we not? He knows damn well why I’ve labeled him the roadblock.

  “We need to go,” I repeat, gently pushing at his chest, but again, that doesn’t fly.

  He presses himself impossibly closer, warm palms squeezing my thighs. “Nah, you need to tell me.”

  I’m not repeating myself.

  It’s a waste of time, a waste of my breath. Firm and resolute, I drag my gaze up to his, setting my hand flat on his hard chest a second time. “We need to go, seriously. You’re going to be late for whatever you have going on, and I need to catch Martinez before he leaves for the day.”

  Several excruciatingly silent moments tick away as he holds my gaze, no doubt a test of my resolve until finally, he realizes I’m not backing down on this and eases away with what sounds like a semi-defeated sigh. “Fine. Tonight though. We’re finishing this conversation tonight, you hear me?”

  “Tonight?” Even I can hear the dubiety in my voice.

  Ángel grins, giving a quick tip of his dark head. “I’m not leaving until tomorrow, which means that tonight, we’re going out to have some fun. Then, I’m coming back here with you, and we’re going to finish talking about this.”

  Why? Why now?

  “You’re trying to kill me,” I whisper, spreading his grin further.

  “Nunca.” Never. “I just want you, Benni. Acéptalo.”

  I can’t accept it, I think to myself, squeezing my eyes shut. It’s so sudden, so out of left field that I hadn’t seen it coming. Or is it? How long hasn’t this worked for him anymore? How long has he supposedly wanted more?

  The real question is, why aren’t you happy about it?

  I nearly gasp as my subconscious jars me with the verity of my opposing reaction. I’ve laid awake countless nights thinking about this man, wonderi
ng who he really is, where he is, when he’s coming back to see me again.

  Shouldn’t I be more ecstatic we seem to be on the same page?

  “You ready to go?” I ask quietly, sliding onto my feet in hopes he’ll retreat.

  He does, but not by much. He’s still so damn close I can smell me on him. “Where am I dropping you off?”

  “My car. We left it at my job, remember?” Slipping past him, I pad into my room, grabbing my gold hoops from the porcelain dish on top of my dresser.

  Ángel’s watching me put them in from the threshold. “And where is it you’re visiting Martinez?”

  “He’s by Calle Ocho.”

  “That’s on the way. I’m going with you,” he states, cutting my curious gaze upon him.

  “You said you’re going to be late, though.”

  Chuckling, he hitches a shoulder. “I’m already late, bella. They can wait.”

  “El Jefe making them wait?” My lips curl in mock dissent. “Not a good look, papi.”

  Another shrug as he stalks toward me, caging me against the dresser. “It’s not the first time, and it won’t be the last, Jefa. They’ll be fine.”

  I hear that shit all the time; everyone involved in our doings calls me that, but when it comes out of his mouth? I love it. Smirking, I try pushing past him. “Dale, hurry up.”

  “Gimme two minutes.” He looms in closer. “I just need to take a piss, wash my face, and rinse my mouth.”

  I nod and lift two fingers, wiggling them in his face. “Two minutes.”

  Said fingers wind up in his grip, his lips brushing over mine. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Gimme your phone,” Ángel says as we park beside a run-down white van outside of Martinez’s house. The bastard’s car is still here, which means I’m probably right on time.

  “For what?” I ask, brow quipped.

  “Just give it to me, Benni.” His tone is no-nonsense, palm extended for the device in question.

  Sighing, I fish the phone out of my back pocket and hand it over, watching with a keen eye as he whips out his own and starts fucking around with both of them.

  Two seconds later, my phone lights up, his contact ID plastered my screen. My heart shoots up to my throat in embarrassment. I’ve got him locked in as Papi with the black emoji heart beside it.

  Ángel grins, cutting me a sideways glance. “Papi, huh?”

  “Please,” I scoff, throwing in an eye roll. “You act like I don’t call you that all the time.”

  “I’m laughing ‘cause we think alike.” He holds out his phone for me to see, and I nearly melt into a goddamn puddle. He’s got me as Mami with the crown emoji. I’m still staring at it as he pulls it away and passes back my phone. “Keep the call connected.”

  I take it, but not before asking, “Why?”

  “‘Cause I know damn well you’re not about to let me go in there with you, and you need ears, that’s why.”

  He thinks I need ears? Really? Do I look like a newbie to him? “I got this,” I grit, lifting my chin proudly.

  Ángel scoffs an amused laugh through his nose and gives a little shake of his head. “Never said you didn’t, so just listen to me. I’m already muted on both ends. Lock the screen, tuck it in your pocket, and forget about it. If some shit goes down, I got you.”

  Yep, he’s trying to kill me.

  I almost melt again, about two seconds away from jumping in his lap and doing what we do best. I can’t help it, especially not when he’s sweet like this—makes him more addicting than he already is.

  Leaning over the center console, I invite him closer, dragging a claw under his chin when he does as I’ve asked. “Drive away, okay?” My eyes fall to his soft lips. “I don’t want to risk anyone seeing you.”

  Chuckling, he slides one of his large hands around the nape of my neck, reeling me in all the way. “Not a chance in hell, mami. I’m not leaving this lot until your ass is back in the car.”

  “Ángel…” I warn, but I’m shut down with the softest kiss as he shakes his head.

  “The answer is no. Now go, fuck his whole day up.”

  Este hombre… This man.

  I smile like a fucking loon against his mouth, pecking him one last time as I maneuver my phone into my pocket. “I’ll be back.”

  I’m out of the car after that, lightly shutting the door behind myself, the weight of my diamond-crusted 9mm pressing into the small of my back. Trotting up the porch steps of the small house, I slither my way to the weathered door and give four short knocks, noting there isn’t a peephole. A wicked grin carves itself on my face as I all but press myself against the entry to avoid being seen through the windows. That familiar rush of adrenaline tied to this lifestyle floods me, amping me up from zero to one-hundred in sheer seconds.

  Oh yeah, this is going to be fun.

  Just a few moments later, I hear Enrique approaching, the locks coming undone, and then the door swinging open.

  “Surprise,” I chime, cocking my dark head to one side, wicked grin firmly in place.

  Enrique pales almost immediately, his brown eyes bulging from their sockets. He starts sweating just as quickly, too, stupidly rushing to close the door.

  Fortunately for me, I’m still faster than his predictable reaction. I shove my arm in through the gap, effortlessly blocking his escape. “Eh, eh, eh…not so fast, Martinez. We need to have a little chat, mi socio.” My friend.

  And yes, I’m using that term loosely.

  The fat fuck stumbles back as I wedge my way inside his home and shut the door, motioning for his wrinkly wifebeater and stained boxer-wearing ass to lead the way. “Let’s sit, shall we?”

  Enrique nods, still wide-eyed at my abrupt visit and shuffles down a small hallway lined with pink floral wallpaper. It’s dirty and as worn as the door, much like everything else. The frames are covered in a thick film of dust, the floors littered with all kinds of crud, cigar guts, and trash. I’m almost positive I remember him telling me once that his wife died suddenly a few years back. It looks like he hasn’t cleaned up at all since then. This place is a fucking pigsty.

  He leads me to what I presume is the living room and points to one of the smaller couches. I’d say I’m not keen on sitting on this grimy piece of crap, but before Tommy and I had enough money to buy Ma new furniture, ours looked like this too. I’m no stranger to the slum life. Hell, it was worse in Cuba, and my current place isn’t luxurious by any means.

  Dropping into the proffered seat, I fish my phone out and set it face down on the weed-dusted coffee table just as Enrique claims a seat on the sofa across from me. He eyes me warily as I proceed to pull out my handgun and set it right beside the phone, rays of the sun glinting off the tiny diamonds. His eyes widen impossibly more, bouncing from the weapon to my now reclined form.

  “So…” I cross one leg over the other, smirking at the knowledge that Ángel is about to hear this entire exchange play out. “Where’s my money, Martinez? You’re past ninety days. A week past, actually.”

  “I don’t have all of it,” he answers, his obvious Cuban accent thick. It’s thicker than my mom’s.

  My brow arches, hands clapping quietly. “And why not? I gave you what? Three months, right?”

  “I know pero no es tan fácil.” It’s not that easy.

  “Do tell,” I urge him. “How so?”

  Enrique shrugs, his lips thinned nervously, glistening beads of sweat clinging to his wide forehead. “I have bills to pay, Jefa, y el hombre que vive aquí no me ayuda aunque tiene dinero guardado.”

  Evidently, his roommate doesn’t contribute around here, yet seems to have money stashed away for a rainy day. Interesting. “So why haven’t you kicked him out?”

  I swear the man’s sullied white tank top goes from dry to drenched in a millisecond, highlighting the yellowed sweat stains beneath his arms. He blanches, too, and shakes his head briskly. “No puedo.” I can’t. “He’s bad news, already threatened to blow my head clean off once when I asked
him about rent. Yo no quiero problemas con nadie.”

  “Well, I hate to tell you, Martinez, but you’re surely asking for problems when you try avoiding the inevitable. You’ve been coming to me for…how long now? Two years? Tu sabes como yo soy, which means you knew I’d come around sooner or later. Lo siento que you have such a shitty roommate, but that’s not an excuse. Had you come to me and said you needed more time—”

  “I need more time,” he blurts desperately. “Porfavor, Jefa, te lo juro. Just give me a little bit more time, and I’ll have it all for you.”

  “Sorry, Enrique.” My head swings side to side solemnly. “It’s too little too late for an extension, so here’s how this is going to go. You said he’s got money stashed away, right?”

  He nods.

  “Fantastic. Go find it, take what you need, and voila…problem solved.”

  “Estas loca?” He shoots to the edge of the couch in alarm. “He’ll kill me!”

  “No, he won’t.” My gaze snaps to the phone for the briefest moment, then out the window to my far left where Ángel’s waiting. “You tell him it was for la Jefa, and if he has a problem with it, he’s welcome to come see me.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing, socio.” I meet his awaiting stare. “That’s my money you’re playing with, and I don’t like it. I have bills to pay, too, y no tengo tiempo a estar sentada aquí el día entero.” I don’t have time to be sitting here all day. “Maybe this will get you moving…” Leaning forward, I snatch up my phone and open up the timer, punching in three minutes. My thumb hovers over the start button. “Tienes tres minutos, and you know they go by quickly, so you better hustle. Aaand go.”

  Within the first ten seconds, Enrique still sits before me, his mouth popped open, brown eyes drifting back and forth between me and the hallway.

  “Muévelo, Enrique.” I flip the phone around to provide him a view of the screen, my fingers strategically placed over the active call symbol. “Time is ticking.”

  He must’ve thought I was joking about the timer because that gets him moving, shuffling through his home with rushed, heavy steps. I’m listening in great amusement as he speeds from room to room when my phone buzzes.