My heart sinks. I’m “that girl.” I’m that girl! What is he going to use me for? A million unanswered questions go through my head. But Abe seems to be on top of it. “Don’t worry about her. I’ve got plans. In fact, I think it’s about time…”
There was a click by my hand, as I felt the door slightly vibrate under me. I attempted to run back towards the bed, but I only got three steps in before the door swung open and Abe’s arms found their way around me. His hand clasped around my mouth while the other pulled me into his chest and hips. The hand lingered by my waist, as he pushed me into him.
His hot, sticky breath lingered on the side of my neck, as he gently stroked around my chin and jaw. “Oh Sierra. What have you gotten yourself into?” With one push, I’m on the ground in a heap. My arms just barely catch myself from hitting my head against the table. But I’m not that lucky. As I turned to face Abe, his boot comes crashing into my chest, and I tumbled down onto the ground.
“You got messed up with the wrong person, girl. I gave you a chance and you run to him? Am I not good enough?”
I curled myself into an even thicker ball with my back pointed towards him, but that didn’t stop him. He reached down and pulled me up by my hair. The tug caused my neck to snap backwards and my hands to shoot upward. He threw me into the wall, my head hitting it first, as I felt a small drip of blood run down my forehead and past my nose.
Two men walked into the room to see the source of the noise. They sneered at me, but with lecherous stares that make me think they want to either beat me or fuck me -- maybe both -- and maybe at the same time. Whatever their deal, Abe didn’t seem to pay them much heed. He sauntered over towards me, as I backed further against the wall. He grabbed my arms—dangling at my side—and lifted them up above my head, pinning me in place. His other hand lingered at my chest, tracing lines side to side over my cleavage. Then he pulled my dress lower and lower, practically stripping it off me, leaving me with zero opportunity for modesty—and leaving nothing to his own imagination.
“Y’know,” he says wryly, almost apologetically. “This could have gone differently, Sierra. I wanted it to be nicer. Now I’m going to have to do bad things to you.”
My mouth went dry, as I tried to conjure up a response. But my mind drew a blank, and my voice wasn’t working anyway. All I could do was stay speechless, unmoving, in the hope that I could make it through. He reached his hands down to his pants, and my head went completely blank. I tried to think of everything else but this moment—Carmen in the hospital bed wondering where I am, the cops on the hunt, my mother back at home waiting for a phone call, my professors happy that I’m not there to be argumentative.
Everything went still until I watched Abe bring his hand back to his face and push himself away from me. And then I heard him—Tank—calling my name over my phone clutched in Abe’s hand. The men around him laughed on cue, as if this was all planned—until they thrusted the phone my way. And I knew exactly what I need to do. I needed to tell him that Abe’s plan was a trap, that whatever he was saying or doing was a lie, that trying to save me would only lead to his death.
That’s how I ended up on the floor of this bedroom, blood caked on my face, rug burn on my thighs, and a swollen eye keeping me from seeing. As soon as the phone is hung up, Abe attacks me, laying in another barrage of fists and kicks. I manage to get him to back off his hands that travel under the skirt and up my bare thighs by fighting back and screaming even louder till his men have to come and drag me away for another beating.
“You think you’re in love with that fool? You’re a dumb bitch, Sierra! He doesn’t care about you. All he wants is to take over the Aztecs for himself, and you’re just a pawn—a stupid, pathetic pawn like your roommate.” He removes his shirt slowly and tosses it on the bed before leaning down to my face. He spits his words directly into my eyes. “You know, beating her was actually pretty hard. I hate hurting someone like her who has nothing to do with this shit. But beating you has actually been fun. You deserve each and every last bit of this.”
Another kick, and I roll away. My body is merely a conduit, just reacting to whatever he throws at me. But my heart swells with something more furious—hope. I had said the words that have been on my lips since earlier today. I love Tank. I love him. And now he knows. And I can take all the beatings in the world if it means that Tank understands that what I am doing for him is from my heart.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Abe continues, clearly turned on by all the power I’m giving him. “I’m not going to punish you too much—just enough to make you learn your lesson. After all, I need you to look good when I sell you off to our friends in the cartels. They’re always looking for fine pieces of ass like you.”
I turn slightly, just enough to see him lick his lips. Fingers gently lift at my tight skirt until his hands are pressed against the folds of my sex. He pets at me softly, as if this is part of the plan. “Then again, Sierra, I may just have to keep you for my own personal sex toy. You in this dress, down on your hands and knees, has me changing my mind on your price.”
Without hesitation, I grunt and bring up the lump in my throat. My spit launches in his face, hitting him right on the nose and mouth. He shudders and spins away before standing and walking off. His men, who have lingered in the background, follow him and slam the door shut tightly behind them.
Silence sets in again as I try to count the seconds once more. Only a few hours ago. While Tank had told me not to get hurt, to not put myself in danger, I was not going to let him die for me. As I try to remain still so that my bones may magically put themselves together, I promise myself that I will not die here or in Abe’s cartels. And more importantly, I wasn’t going to let Tank die out there without me.
I had a plan, and it was going to work.
Chapter 25: Crossed Off
“What’s happened, boss?” Rafael stares at me under the pale streetlight. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”
I pull him by the jacket towards the side of the road and quickly explain my call with Abe and Sierra. When I finish, he runs his hands through his thinning brown hair nervously and pulls out another cigarette. “Jesus Christ” is all he can manage to say. “You’re not going to actually go out there, are you? I mean, that’s suicide. And while that girl’s gotta have a great rack and pussy to get you like this, no chick is worth dying for.”
I don’t even hesitate to answer. “This one is.”
“Fuck.” He places the cigarette in his mouth and turns it over with his lips. He turns back to the riders from Guzman’s crew who are all waiting impatiently by their cycles and cars. He lowers his voice to a low growl as he asks me, “What are we going to do about these guys then? We bring them back to headquarters, they’re gonna attack as soon as they think you’re out.”
I hadn’t thought about that. If Guzman was really working with Abe and the Aztecs on this messed up plan for revenge, he was going to use his own team of inside men to take out what’s left of the Apache hierarchy. The deeper we get in this shit, the more I see we need to shovel out.
I look down at the old, beat up watch on my wrist. It was my father’s, one of the only things I have of him. It’s nine forty-five, and suddenly everything seems to be moving much quicker than I had planned.
“We’re going to have to return the guys to their leader and get them back on my side”
“How in the hell do you plan on doing that?” Rafael scratches his head impatiently. He knows that the easiest solution would be to kill the riders and leave Sierra to the wolves. But he isn’t going to question me like that. As much as I have questioned other men’s loyalties in the past, I could never doubt that Rafael would be on my side and ready to ride when I gave the orders.
I swallow hard as I answer, “I’m going to give him exactly what he wants.”
I raise my arms towards Guzman’s men and walk towards them shouting instructions that we were riding to Guzman. Each of them look to the next, as they try to so
rt out what I am trying to pull. Finally, the smallest of the men steps off his bike and strides next to me. His voice growls as he says, “Muchacho, we do not take orders from you. Guzman said to stay in the States with you, no?”
I grab the man by the collar of his gray t-shirt and, with all my might, body slam him to the dusty ground. His head reverberates against the cement, as he looks up at me with wide, terrified eyes. I reach behind me and pull out a gun faster than the rest of his friends can. The man lifts his arms up in defense and the rest of his crew follow suit, their guns going back in their holsters and pockets.
I shout loudly at him as he cowers, “Guzman’s not here, is he, muchacho? And if I remember correctly, Guzman ordered you to do what I say while he wasn’t around.” The man looks down and away from me, giving his power up. “Now tell your men to ride to Guzman’s headquarters. And if one of them disobeys me, I’ll personally see they are buried in the same grave they just dug up.”
He spins, as I back off, and twists to standing. In Spanish, he shouts my orders again, but this time, the men move. Their engines rev and the first two head out into the darkness towards the Southern border. Rafael follows the back on our own bikes, weaving our way through the light traffic of men and women coming back home to Mexico from their jobs in the States. As we near the border, we see the homes get further apart and replaced by the lights of the fences and guard posts in the nearby distance.
Guzman’s men ride right through border patrol with a wave. It doesn’t shock me. The cartels have control over both sides, and at night, it’s easier to slip through with a well-placed dollar in a man’s hand. We, of course, have our own guy waiting at the post. He ushers us through as we attempt to catch up to the rest of the riders nearly a half mile ahead.
We finally tag one of the slower ones, as they make their way into the central district of Juarez. The group slows, as they pull alongside street vendors with their food carts, women dressed in brightly colored dresses, and children hawking goods to tourists. It all slows down as we enter a shanty neighborhood with green metal roofs and tan plaster siding. There’s not a soul on the street, save for a few men dressed in black long-sleeved shirts, carrying large AKs over their shoulders. The men nod to Guzman’s crew, as if they are allowing them to pass. When we follow slowly behind, I spy them speaking into talkies and phones, warning the next man ahead that we had arrived.
Rafael is riding even slower now, as we pull into a gated compound. A metal, barbwire fence closes behind us with a long rattle and moan. And I watch as Rafael jumps and its locks slam into place. I don’t blame him for letting down that guard and letting fear take over. It’s a crazy plan, but it has to work. I am running out of time, options, and patience for this. And every minute I’m not with Sierra, the more beatings she is taking in my name. I had to be quick.
I stop my bike and shout loudly to the men ahead. “Guzman! Get Guzman! I want to see him now!”
Everything stops when I say his name. The men loitering around the plaza look at me transfixed. The riders pull their bikes to the side, unsure of what to do. And even the men at the gate lower their weapons to their hips, as they try to make out their next move. We all wait in this hushed, communal silence that takes even my breath away.
And when no one follows my order, I shout even louder, “GUZMAN! GET THE FUCK OUT HERE!”
A door from the third floor swings open, and Guzman saunters down the side of the stairwell, fully dressed in an impeccably pressed white suit and hat. “Tank! Señor! Why are you shouting at all hours of the night? Don’t you know where you are? This is my private home, where my children sleep!”
I wait till he is all the way down the stairs and standing just a few feet before me before I reply, “Cut the crap, Guzman. We need to talk. And we need to do it now.”
His eyes sparkle in delight, as he removes his woven hat and gestures towards his ear. “Go ahead,” he says menacingly, “I’m listening, my friend.”
“Don’t you dare pull that bullshit with me, Guzman. We need to speak. Now. In private.” I don’t want to be cute or play games. I had enough of that with Abe. What I want is answers.
Guzman clicks his fingers and two men with guns strapped across their chest come running towards him from opposite ends of the plaza. In Spanish, he says, “Clear the third bedroom. My guest and I will chat there. No men.” The guards run off towards the house, speaking loudly into their walkie-talkies. He then turns back to me. “Your wish is my command.”
I dismount from my bike and follow slowly behind him. Rafael has my back until Guzman notices him. “This man cannot join us. If you want to speak to me alone, we do it without him.”
I nod to Rafael who backs off and returns to his bike. He takes out his phone and begins to type furiously on his phone’s keypad. Guzman’s men stare at him in wonderment and then return their attention back to me, marching towards the home with the large pistol in my back pocket.
The room Guzman leads me to is lit only in white candlelight. It’s empty, except for a black leather lounge chair placed oddly in the center of the room. From the way the candles dance off of their own reflections, I spot a large mirror covering half of the far wall. I walk slowly towards it, looking at myself for the first time in a long time. Even in this lighting, I can see just how tired and run-down I look…nothing like Tank the warrior. Being Sierra’s protector these last few weeks has managed to wear me down.
Around the mirror is an old ornate frame with gold leaf details. I touch it gingerly, trying to figure out just why it is here in this empty room. Guzman approaches slowly behind me, “You like? It’s an antique from the city. Nineteenth century craftsmanship. It may be imported from Spain. None of my art dealers can decide. So I put it in here. It… comes in handy.”
I feel around the edges once more before turning back towards him coldly. “I don’t want to talk about the damn mirror, Guzman. I want to know why the fuck you’re working with Abe and the Aztecs after all that we have been through and every promise that we have made. Do you not remember my threat when I saw you just a few weeks ago?”
He places his hands around his neck, as he remembers my grip around his throat. “I do. Yes.”
I walk towards him, my arms crossed tightly around my chest. He backs into the chair, falling into the seat as he follows my walk around him. “And if you’re working with Abe, which I know is true, then you also know that I have nothing to lose. That woman he has isn’t just one of my whores, and if he kills her, there would be nothing stopping me from making good on those threats.”
“And what is stopping me from just killing you right now and preventing that from happening?”
“Because you know that I’m going to beat Abe. Because you know that you lined up against the wrong guy. And because you know that Abe is crazy enough to double cross you when everything's said and done and he gets what he wants.” I walk around Guzman once more and place a hand upon his shoulder, pulling him further into the leather chair. “And you know that Abe won’t stop with just being the president and head of two motorcycle clubs. He’ll want more. He’s already scoping out the cartels here in Mexico, you said it yourself. So what’s going to stop him from taking his army of men and marching here on this poorly guarded complex?”
I pause, waiting for an answer. When Guzman remains speechless, I whip out my gun and point it towards the mirror. Without hesitation, I pull the trigger, firing ten rounds towards the wall. Guzman ducks, his hands covering his head as he crawls towards the door. I hear shouts and screams from the other side of the mirror as bits and pieces shatter in the hail of my bullets.
The room fills with smoke, dust, and ash, but I spot Guzman attempting to open the door. I reach out, whipping him back into the chair, as I hold the gun to his head. “Your men are so weak they can’t even manage to guard their kingpin.” I point my gun towards the bodies of two men sitting behind where the fake, antique mirror was. The dummy room is splattered with red streaks of blood.
“No. I want you to keep going with Abe’s plan. Lead him on. Play his game, you get me? And then, I want your best man, your sniper. I know you have one. You have enough guard towers here to have trained someone, maybe an ex-soldier or something. You tell him that he’s ridin’ with me tonight, and he’d sure as shit better follow every single goddamn one of my orders. And I’m not playing fucking games here either. You don’t just get me the guy. You get me the names and addresses of his family. Something goes wrong, they pay. That’s the long and short of it. Comprende?”
“Sí,” he says and nods. “Yes. I hear you.” I turn to walk away, but he calls after me, “And… what’s in it for me?”
I spin on my heel and stare a dagger towards him. “What’s in it for you?” I repeat incredulously.
“Yeah,” he says, nodding and stroking his chin.
I take a deep breath. “You’ll be… repaid,” I say slowly. “Handsomely. See, I get you. I get how you play the game. So you want cash? You’ll get your cash. A third of the haul for the next ten years. But I call the shots, and your men answer to me. They stay in the U.S. and ride along the border. But you’ll get what you need to pay them. We got a deal?”
Tank: Apaches MC Page 18
