Page 11 of Cartel Cobra

“You say that now. We both know what you meant before.”

“You jumped to that conclusion, which tells me you’re thinking about us.”

“There’s no us. You work for mytío. That makes you utterly despicable. Maybe you’d be good for a quick fuck now that I know you kiss like a porn star, but you’ll never prove it because you’ll never touch me again.”

“You only know what you’ve heard about me, Lucy. Make sure you heard right before you assume you know me.”

He lets me go and slips out of the room like he was never in here. Like we weren’t practically mauling each other. Like I didn’t practically commit adultery.

What the fuck have you done?!

I’ve never cheated on any guy before. Never. Not even come close to it, even when I’ve found other men attractive. Not even when I’ve been too drunk to make good decisions.

I want to regret it. I know I should regret it.

But I don’t.

That makes me a horrible, horrible person.

I’m in a committed relationship. I’m marrying Domingo in like six or seven weeks, and I just had another man’s tongue down my throat. As though that isn’t bad enough, I liked it. I’d do it again if not for Domingo and mytío.

Esteban, Esteban wherefore art thou Esteban?

Why does he have to be him? Why can’t he be someone—anyone—besides a man who works forTíoHumberto?

I fish around in my purse for my phone before pulling up my contacts and hitting the second one.

“Ana? Is everything okay?”

“Enrique, what do you know about Esteban Cardenas?”

I can’t believe I just blurted that out.

Why isn’t he answering me immediately? I’m certain he has to know who he is.

“How do you know Esteban, Ana?”

“Don’t answer me with a question. You’re trying to give yourself time to come up with a lie. Tell me the truth. What do you know about him?”

“His family is from Medellín. They control the poppy fields up there. His family works with ours.”

“PapáorTíoHumberto?”

“Papá.”

“Then why have I heard his name linked to ourtío? Why did he enter the restaurant I’m in with three oftío’smen?”

“He isn’t his father. He chooses who he works for.”

My brother’s being purposely vague. It means he knows a shit ton more than he’ll tell me. I assumed he would, but this is a sign there’s nothing good that can come of this conversation.

“Did something happen with him, Ana? Did he scare you?”

“No.” That’s the truth.

“Did Domingo do something, and Esteban stepped in at the restaurant?”

“What? No. Why would you think that?”

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