Page 76 of Shadow Man

“Motherfucker,” I wail, sliding down from the counter to collect my panties from the floor. This is just the start of us.The push and pull of us…

It’s not until I’m back in the bedroom like an obedient little lover that I feel that heavy hand across my mouth again.I knew you couldn't resist me, Joseph Grayson.

I wriggle my ass into his crotch, but something’s not right. Then I look down at a swathe of skin that’s dark not tan, and at a cheap silver watch that’s definitely not Patek Philippe, and a horrible realization dawns. At the same time, a needle drives deep into the side of my neck, and my world sinks slowly into hell again.

30

Joseph

Gomez is whining like a bitch. Since Fernandez declared war on us last night, the Costavo’s green and black viper has sunk its poisonous fangs intoLos Cinco Grandes. The order has fallen. The National Police Special Operations Command took out two of the cartels—Perez in Medellín and Hurtados in Bogotá—in dawn raids a couple of hours ago, citing a load of bullshit charges. Unfortunately for them, that kind of crap sticks when you don't have the connections to make it go away. It comes as no surprise to anyone in this room that their processing plants were being looted at the same time that their asses were getting thrown in jail. Insider trading is alive and well in any business.

The fifth cartel, Luis Ossa’s organization, has retreated back to the relative safety of Puerto Carreño. Word on the street is he’s already formed an allegiance with Fernandez, a detail that Gomez seems super pissed about this morning.

“We should have cut a deal with him too,” he says sulkily, shifting in his seat.As if an ass that size can ever get comfortable.“We could have given him the two bitches as a goodwill gesture. They’re the ones who murdered his son and started all of this.” He leans back with a self-satisfied huff, as if he’s just unveiled the mother of all solutions to us.

Spineless asshole.

Dead asshole.

Anna’s not going anywhere, and I’ll happily prove it to him now. My hand strays toward my gun, but Dante catches my eye and gives me a brief shake of his head. I can tell he’s about two minutes away from blowing a hole in the Colombian himself.

“I’m more interested in why Fernandez chose to disbandLos Cinco Grandesnow,” muses Dante, knocking back his third bourbon of the morning. “This isn’t just about his dead son. Someone’s playing the old man from behind the scenes.”

I nod in agreement. “Russians?”

“Too subtle,” he says. “Bratva aren’t known for their refinement. They would have taken Perez and Hurtados out themselves, and not involved the cops. We’re dealing with an organization with a bigger picture for us to burn.”

“Any ideas?” I drain my drink too, and pour another. I’m self-medicating. The morphine’s wearing off again, and the pain’s even worse since I pounded Anna’s sweet pussy into oblivion an hour ago. She’s the worst and the best kind of influence on my dick, and another who doesn’t advocate subtlety. But if it makes her feel the way she needs to feel, then who the fuck am I to deny her?

“Who cares!” shrieks Gomez, rising to his feet as panic makes another weak man look even more foolish. “Unless you’re planning on leaving your army here permanently, Señor Santiago, I will forever be looking over my shoulder for Fernandez. He’s too powerful now… Perhaps we need to rethink our distribution agreement.”

“Sit down,” Dante replies coldly, flashing that fucking smile of his, and I start the countdown to Gomez’s demise in my head.

“I’ll talk to Fernandez myself,” Gomez blusters, refusing to acquiesce. “Maybe we can come to some arrangement once he accepts that I had nothing to do with his son’s death.”

Five…

Dante laughs. “Would you like another limp to go with the one I’ve already given you, Gomez, or shall I remove the leg completely this time?”

Four…

Three…

Gomez face swells up like a bullfrog. “You’ve grown weak and stubborn in the last few years, Señor,” he accuses, moving his chess pieces from ‘foolish’ to ‘suicidal’. “Your pretty new wife has turned your head.” Heaving his trousers over his gut, he turns to leave as Dante and I both lift our guns in unison.

“Señor Santiago! Señor Santiago!”

Gabriela bursts into the room, making all of us spin around. She’s left her usual composure somewhere in the hallway outside, and her eyes are streaming with fear. Her forehead is bleeding, and the collar of her black shirt is torn.

“What the hell happened?” demands Dante, striding up to her.

“They attacked me! They took Viviana!”

“Who did?”

“Three men,” she cries, clutching at her chest. “I’ve never seen them before.”

“Fernandez,” Dante rumbles, his expression failing to hide his rage. “How the hell did they get in here? We have a hundred men patrolling this estate.”

---