The Pimp (Colombian Cartel Book 2)

by Suzanne Steele

  When I’m certain there’s no coke in my establishment, I lean a hip against one of the suede parlor chairs neatly lined up along the makeup table, fold my arms and take a long look around.

  My eyes linger on the closed closet door in the far corner of the room, where the more formal outfits are kept. I step toward it for a quick look but abruptly change my mind – I’ve spent more than enough time in here already. I turn for the door that leads to the hall.

  But the premonition seems to swirl in the air around me. There’s a storm coming…

  Caden

  Bootsontheground: Hey. You there?

  Cadmiss: Hi

  Bootsontheground: What’s doing? Up to no good?

  Cadmiss: Nothing that exciting, I’m afraid. How about you. How’s your night.

  Bootsontheground: The usual. Little this, little that.

  Bootsontheground: Thinking about you mostly.

  Cadmiss: You’re sweet. You shouldn’t.

  Bootsontheground: So you say. I know, I know. Doesn’t matter though. Still do. How’s the asshole anyway?

  Cadmiss: Not talking about him tonight. I don’t talk about cheaters.

  Bootsontheground: Fuck. You ok?

  Cadmiss: Will be.

  Bootsontheground: You deserve better.

  Cadmiss: Yes, I do. Let’s talk about something else.

  Bootsontheground: Got it.

  Bootsontheground: So I had that dream again.

  Cadmiss: Oh no. You ok?

  Bootsontheground: It was pretty intense this time. Third night in a row. Don’t know what to do about it.

  Cadmiss: The one about the firefight?

  Bootsontheground: No. The one about you.

  Cadmiss: Boots. Stop.

  Bootsontheground: Tried. Can’t.

  Cadmiss: Please.

  Bootsontheground: Ok.

  Cadmiss: Ok.

  Cadmiss: So which one

  Bootsontheground: You know the one.

  Cadmiss: I do not.

  Bootsontheground: You do.

  Bootsontheground: Pretty sure it’s your favorite. But that’s just because I haven’t told you about the other ones.

  Cadmiss: My favorite, huh

  Bootsontheground: Sure is.

  Bootsontheground: You can’t stand it. You want to know. Admit it.

  Cadmiss: I admit nothing.

  Cadmiss: Fine. Tell me.

  Bootsontheground: You sure? Seriously, I don’t want to go there if it would make things weird.

  Cadmiss: I’m talking wet dreams with a guy I’ve never met. That’s weird.

  Bootsontheground: How’d you know it was a wet dream? You spying on me?

  Cadmiss: Funny.

  Bootsontheground: So not funny.

  Cadmiss: Tell me. Which dream is it?

  Bootsontheground: The one where my mouth’s on your pussy. The one where I’m starving for you.

  Bootsontheground: Still there?

  Cadmiss: I haven’t heard about that one before.

  Bootsontheground: New dream. But I can tell it would be your favorite.

  Cadmiss: You have quite the collection.

  Bootsontheground: Yes, ma’am.

  Cadmiss: Don’t call me ma’am.

  Bootsontheground: What should I call you then?

  Cadmiss: Caden.

  Bootsontheground: Beautiful. Nice to meet you, Caden.

  Bootsontheground: Hey u ok?

  Bootsontheground: Ok. Goodnight, Caden.

  Brook

  I’m glad I overhear the woman using his name because now I can piece together the rumors I’ve heard. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think Diego came from money rather than a barrio in Colombia. One thing about the streets is people love to talk, and Diego Dias has a reputation for being a force to be reckoned with. When people in Sinaloa found out he’d offered me a job and was paying my way over here, they were all too ready to fill me in on Diego Dias.

  People like talking about how he grabbed the brass ring of the American dream, pulling himself out of the streets and into a successful life in the cartel. They like it because it’s what we all crave—to do better, to be better, and to have all the trappings of the good life. I’ve been poor. I’ve never been rich, but I’m certain rich is better. Judging by my current surroundings I’d have to say I’m right in my thinking.

  I steady my breathing as I peep through the slats of the closet door. The designer gowns work perfectly to ensure I’m hidden, and I stay completely still to avoid any fabric rustling and drawing unwanted attention. I just hope he doesn’t open the door.

  Everything in this huge walk-in closet is so organized that I’m beginning wonder if the people around here are OCD. Even though I know he doesn’t know I’m in here, his presence makes me nervous. I don’t need anyone to tell me that this guy runs on pure primal instinct. You can take the boy out of the barrio but you can never take the barrio out of the boy.

  I’m beginning to second guess my decision to spend the night here and I’m definitely second guessing revealing the fact that I’ve arrived from Sinaloa. It didn’t hit me until just now that Diego Dias already has access to plenty of women who work for him, so I can’t be sure what he really wants from me. Santiago is an asshole, I know that – who’s to say that Diego Dias is any different?

  For now, I’m stuck here. It’s too late to sneak out of here now and I don’t have anywhere else to go. My heart is beating so loudly I can hear the blood rushing through my ears. I steady my breathing—in through my nose and out through my mouth. Fuck. It isn’t working. The only thing that’s going to calm me down is for this guy to turn around and leave. I guess nothing is off limits because he’s turned his attention to fingering the girl’s personal stuff like it’s his. He goes from one section of the makeup table to another, looking at each woman’s personal belongings like he’s searching for something. I wonder what he’s looking for but the desire for him to leave far exceeds my curiosity.

  I breathe a sigh of relief when it looks like the guy is going to leave. This guy is so good looking it’s distracting me—not good. He goes for the door but stops and turns, looking around the room like he can sense I’m here. Please don’t open the closet door. Please, please don’t open the door.

  He’s tall with long, glossy black hair that’s tied back in a ponytail. His eyes are so dark, they’re nearly black. What captures me the most, though, is the danger they hold within; so much so, that they look like they hold a threat within them. What I can’t figure out is why I feel like the danger they possess could pull me in if I let it. I’ve always been an adrenalin junky and it would be damn easy to get addicted to the sexy drug standing just ten feet away.

  I’ve heard the rumors about this guy and, now that I’ve seen him for myself, I believe them. A dark energy overtook the room as soon as he entered and I don’t know what to make of it.

  Finally, he leaves the room, shutting the door softly behind him. I stay put. After a brief burst of noise and chaos when the last shift of girls comes in to wash off makeup and tidy up, all is quiet. I burrow down into the far corner of the closet and settle in for the night.

  I’m so exhausted that I can barely think straight. All I know is that, for the moment, I’m safe. I’ll sleep here tonight and figure my life out in the morning.

  Chapter Five

  Diego

  “You two need anything before you close up?” I ask innocently as I head for the back stairs.

  “No, thanks, man. I think we’ve got it covered, no problem,” Jorge says with a wink to The Club’s head bartender, Rosie.

  “Alright, then. Have a good night.”

  Neither one of them knows that I know all about how they’ve been fucking for the last six months or so. They know I don’t like my boys fucking around with the women who work for me. It always leads to drama—drama I don’t need. But so far these two aren’t causing any problems, so I see no need to cock-block either of them.

  I amble over to th
e back stairs that lead up to my private suite of rooms. I originally intended to keep the set-up for convenience but it’s pretty much become home to me. My needs are simple; after all, it’s just me, myself, and I.

  I loosen my tie as soon as I get to my room and stretch my neck, enjoying the freedom before I start dealing with my weapons. I place my holster and gun on the end table. Next, the gun in my ankle holster. A man can never be too prepared. One more weapon -- a blade I keep sheathed on my other ankle. And finally, the knife I keep strapped to my upper arm. With the hardware dealt with, I peel off my shirt and pants.

  When I’m finally one step away from naked, I pour myself a shot of tequila and toss it back, relishing the heat that spreads through my body. I fill the shot glass again and set it on the table by my piece. As I sprawl my long frame onto a leather club chair next to the table, I open the drawer to grab a spiff—a cigarette laced with Colombian cannabis. It’s my one weakness I’ve yet to give up. Armed with a smoke and a shot, I head over to my bed to get comfortable. The crackle of the spiff when I light it after I lie down is calming, almost as calming as that first inhalation of sweet smoke.

  I gave up the coke as well as the coke business years ago, but a man has to have some guilty pleasures. I figure, it’s this or pussy and lately I haven’t had the patience for pillow talk.

  Every woman I fuck is certain she’ll be the one to wipe out Selena’s memory. The only problem is: I’m not clinging to any memories. Why everyone’s convinced I’m heartbroken is beyond me, but I don’t have the desire to explain myself to anyone. Let them think what they want.

  Selena was fun to party with but it wasn’t like we were monogamous. Not by a long shot. At that time in my life, I had two or three women in my bed every night and Selena was always there in the mix, always up for a party and happy to share drugs – and me. As long as the coke flowed freely, she was up for anything, and I do mean anything. By the time she left me she was a full-blown addict and needed a doctor to get her off the shit – and the rest, as they say, is history.

  Sometimes I regret giving her such easy access to the coke, but if I hadn’t she would have just gotten it somewhere else. At least I kept her from buying it on a fucking street corner. Ironically enough, she was safer with me than she would have been with any of the bosses or pimps in this town. Sure, we bonded, but not in a deep, meaningful way. That’s something I’ve yet to experience and, frankly, I’m not convinced it exists.

  I’m not talking about some mushy, romantic bullshit. No, I’m talking crazy obsession, primal ownership. The beast in me needs to be sated and it’s going to take a hellcat to endure what I have to give. The next time I get involved – I mean, really involved -- with a woman, there’ll be no holding back. The more I think about it, the more I’m curious about the woman Santiago has yet to deliver. If she’s half the woman I think she is just from seeing her photo, she might be able to handle what I have in mind.

  Anyway, it’s been one hell of a day. Another deep inhale, which I hold for quite a little while, gets me to my happy place. I entertain myself by releasing four perfect smoke rings, one after another, and let my thoughts wander where they may…

  I can’t ignore the way my hackles rose when I was in that dressing room earlier, and I can’t help but be convinced that Santiago has something to do with it. That fucker… I want to know why my woman I paid to have delivered to me isn’t here yet.

  I grab my phone and dial up Santiago’s direct line but I know he won’t answer. When it goes to voicemail, I call Foxy instead. Santiago has always been hot for her, to the point that he practically ignores the other girls that work here. In fact, she’s the only woman I’ve ever seen him come in and spend money on. He’s one of her best customers, showers her with attention and cash -- and all they ever do is talk. Foxy focuses on her stage show, doesn’t provide any additional services to Club customers. But she’s good at what she does and makes a shitload of money by flirting and barely touching, just enough to lead a foolish man to believe that maybe, just this once, she’ll give it up.

  If anyone has the inside scoop on what Santiago’s up to, she does. Foxy’s not only my eyes and ears in this place, she’s a trusted friend. No doubt that’s one of the reasons the girls are always trying to pin shit on her she’s not guilty of. It’s exactly what Maria was trying to do by insinuating Foxy was ripping her outfits off and doing coke during work hours. I know none of it’s true but letting Maria continue to underestimate me keeps her cocky. And that keeps her more likely to run her mouth about Club gossip that I need to know in order to run things. Some days I want to fire her ass and be done with it, and maybe one day I will.

  Foxy answers on the first ring. “Diego. I know you’re not calling me after closing time to discuss the weather or how fine my ass looks in this dress… So, what’s going on?”

  “Are you at home?”

  “I was but I came back in a few minutes ago. Just restless energy, I guess. Couldn’t sleep so I’m helping to close up.”

  That makes me laugh. “I don’t think those two need any help.”

  “Yeah, I know, that’s what makes it so entertaining. They want to be alone and I have a sudden desire to be helpful. Go figure.”

  “Devil woman…” I laugh, choking on smoke from my spiff. “Thanks for that. You really are one of a kind. Hey, find somewhere you can talk without being overheard, okay?”

  My words are met with bawdy laughter. “Around here? Are you kidding? I’ll head down toward your office. It’s locked, right? I’ll just hang out around the corner.”

  “Do the best you can, I need to talk to you.” I wait and can hear voices fading and then silence.

  “What’s up, love?”

  “Did you see anyone come in alone tonight, anybody who isn’t a regular?”

  “Yes, actually. One of Santiago’s men came in, snooping around. Not one of the usual crew that comes in. I don’t like it. I don’t know what Santiago’s up to, Diego, but you and I both know your new girl should have been here by now. It doesn’t take much imagination to figure out that Santiago’s probably got something of yours, and you know he’s expecting you to come looking for her. I mean, the minute she walks in here—”

  I laugh before I finish her sentence, “—she’s mine. Damn right. I don’t know what’s going on or what kind of game Santiago’s playing. He thinks I can’t touch him and doesn’t believe a hit would ever be sanctioned. It pisses me off that he has that kind of power.”

  “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I make sure I milk him of every dollar in his wallet whenever he comes in. Sounds to me like you both are being typical men, wanting what you can’t have. You want your Sinaloan chica and Santiago wants…me. We always want what we can’t have, don’t we?” she says wistfully.

  “What is it that you want, sweetheart?” I ask, genuinely curious. She’s been through a lot recently with Jack’s betrayal and general moodiness. I don’t think he’s ever been physically abusive, but I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that there were aspects of their relationship she kept to herself.

  “Don’t worry about me, I’m fine. I’m just enjoying not having to worry about what kind of day that asshole’s having. That’s enough for me, believe me. Now, you, on the other hand…you love to flirt with danger. You’d love nothing better than a good fight with that asshole. Maybe he’s decided he wants to keep your woman – then again, if she’s half the woman you think she could be, then maybe the she’s proving to be more trouble than he thought. It’s been a while since you’ve had a challenge, had to really work for something more than just pussy.” Her next words are delivered in a feminine, sing-song way, “Diego Dias, you might just finally have your hands full with this one, baby.”

  I grunt in response to her laughing comment. “Whatever. I may have to call on you to use his interest in you against him. Keep your eyes and ears open. I don’t need any cartel sucker punches, and I don’t need that fucker poaching any of my women. As much as
I hate him, he can cause problems for us.”

  She hums into the phone, sounding quite pleased with herself, “I always knew that, eventually, it would all come down to a woman.”

  “Fuck that, there is no woman, only rumors of one. Speculation. We both know rumors are all it takes to fuck up peace treaties. Hell, for all I know, he may not have even brought the girl over.”

  Suddenly Foxy’s voice is muffled as she holds the phone away from her mouth. The reason is obvious when she snaps, “Get the fuck out of here, Maria. You’re so nosey.”

  Great. Maria’s eavesdropping, as usual. If she noticed Foxy was on the phone, she wouldn’t be able to resist trying to listen in. Poor girl can’t help herself. At least she’s predictable.

  “I’m just going to the bathroom – is that illegal all of the sudden?” Maria says in her breathy, high-pitched whine. “And by the way, Diego gave me a lock because he wants you bitches to keep outta my shit.”

  I can hear her mouthing off in the background. A visual of her waving her arms and snapping her neck back and forth goes through my head and I enjoy being the one amused in this conversation for a change.

  “Okay, you -- stop laughing,” Foxy says to me, sounding like a no-nonsense teacher correcting the class clown. She directs her attention back to Maria, her voice once again muffled as she declares, “I don’t need any of your cheap-ass makeup or your secondhand costumes. I make good money, bitch. And we both know it isn’t me you’re after, it’s Diego. Wise up. He doesn’t want your skanky ass. You’re too much trouble.”

  “Fuck you, Foxy.”

  “Fuck you dry, how ‘bout that?! And go use another bathroom. Nobody wants your crabs in here.”

  I pull the phone away from my ear and look down at it in wonder, shaking my head. Men may have superior muscle mass and all that, but a woman can cut you off at the knees with just a few well-chosen words. Note to self: Do not piss off Foxy. “Excuse me, Foxy…but where the fuck are your manners, woman? You do realize I’m still on the phone, right?”