Page 37 of Secrets

I knew when I first “ran into” Julio that he would be nothing but trouble, but I told myself it was a means to an end. That this deep set affliction I had with Alexi needed to end once and for all, and it would be worth it. And yet…serving as his therapist has been anything but.

Not only does Julio have a severe God complex, otherwise known as Narcissistic Personality Disorder, but he was raised with dysfunctional family patterns—particularly with his father—has Intermittent Explosive Disorder and also exhibits major traditional gender role stereotypes. He’s literally the worst person I’ve ever met, which says a lot considering the people I’ve encountered in my field, and I very much hope our arrangement ends soon.

‘Arrangement’ sounds like an odd way to say I listen to the inner workings of his fucked up mind while he feeds me niblets—no, scraps—of information on Alexi. He’s supposed to help me find some concrete evidence through his girlfriend or something, but really, he’s just a little rat to his own cartel organization, and likes to regurgitate gossip.

Julio sucks in a massive breath through a single nostril, vacuuming up the white powder in one fell swoop. After doing a full body jiggle, he runs his hand through his hair again. “No. I’m telling you. My boys are salivating to get a hold of him.”

It takes all the self control I can squeeze out of myself not to roll my eyes. Julio keeps insisting he is some big head over the cartel when he and I both know he’s too fucking stupid and high to be anything more than a liability. But until I know why they need him, I have to keep my mouth shut. Because at the end of this, I’m for sure bringing all this information to my uncle and taking down the gangs alongside the Babins.

“So tell me what’s the plan this week?”

Julio’s phone dings and, after inspecting it, a face I know all too well transforms his features. “Maldito idiota.”

He stands in a huff, his eyes roving over the small table between us before falling on his wallet, which he snatches up. “Our session is over. My driver got a flat with Dominique and let some random fucking pendejo take her somewhere.”

I don’t argue or say anything as I stand, simply nodding as I tell myself next week is a long way away and maybe by then I’ll get lucky and won’t need him anymore. But even as I think it, I know my only end with this man comes when either he dies or I do. Maybe both.

I’m not sure what I feel worse about. That Julio is dead, and I likely accelerated it by pushing him to get more information on the Babins, or the fact I’m not sad about it.

I lift my hand and knock on the door. “It’s Frances.”

“Come in.” My uncle’s voice is stern.

I twist the knob and open the door to find a situation that in no way warranted my earlier fear, but definitely reeks of it. There’s a man in the chair across from my uncle’s desk, and my eyes make quick work of memorizing him and analyzing his body language. Dark brown eyes and hair—ear length—a long crooked nose, possibly having endured two or three breaks, week old stubble, various tattoos covering majority of his exposed skin, leather jacket, tattered jeans and grass stained Nikes. One leg is thrown over the other, and his demeanor is nothing short of relaxed. Confident, even.

This man isn’t a messenger. He’s a broker.

“So what?” my uncle starts as I walk around and hop onto the edge of his desk. I know he’s called me because he wants me to profile him. Pick up on everything he’s putting out. Find the lie or catalog the truth. So I start reading him as if he’s a fresh new file on my desk. “You give us information on the Babins and we look the other way to the cartel infesting the city?”

He lifts one shoulder in an arrogant shrug, the corners of his lips tilting in a knowing smirk. “Hey, I’m not saying what you should do, amigo, but if we scratch your back, isn’t it right y’all scratch ours?”

My eyes narrow. I absolutely hate cocky, entitled men. And this one is about to eat his fucking words when he realizes Agent James walks the line better than those adrenaline-chasing tightrope walkers.

My uncle clears his throat. “And what if we simply take the information you give us and then turn around and arrest you all?”

See?

“I mean, the fishes gotta eat, so they’d be grateful for your contribution.” He shrugs again, his smile growing as he hints at our death, making my hands curl into fists. Again, I go over the features of this man’s face, memorizing the ink embedded in his skin, the insignias on display. Counting the moles and freckles, noting the chip in his front left incisor. I want to look into who he is. What his rank in the organization is. Though I only ever met Julio at his house, there were the rare occasions I saw a few higher-ranking members. This guy wasn’t one of them. At least, not then.

This gets a laugh out of my uncle. It’s high and strained, exposing how exasperated he is. “Federal agents are a little above your gusto, no?”

The man makes a show of rolling his eyes before inclining forward. “Nothing is above my gusto, mi hombre. Especially when it comes to getting what I’m owed.”

“And in this case, Babin’s arrest,” my uncle interjects.

“Sounds good to me.”

“Of course it does.” He sighs. “But here’s the problem. Alexi Babin isn’t currently ruining my city. He isn’t flooding my streets with drugs or using the adolescent children to peddle it. But what we do have is a known, active gang member in my office, bribing a federal agent in order to cover illegal acts. Sounds like an easy arrest to me.”

I have to hold in a laugh. Idiot. The cartel doesn’t know shit about my uncle if they thought they could get him to agree to anything.

“Stop with the bullshit. We know you want him.” He adjusts in his seat, completely unbothered by my uncle’s threat. “Bad enough that you’re willing to do some pretty illegal shit to get to him.”

“Enlighten me what you think we have done?—”

I know before the words come out of his mouth and my core tightens for the impact.

“Her.” The man nods toward me. I may not have seen him, but he knows me. At least, my below the table relationship with Julio. I should have anticipated this at some point. It’s not like I was discreet about it. Blinded by rage and all that. He continues, “Word on the street is shorty here will do anything to see that little shit behind bars.”

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