Page 20 of Blurred Red Lines
Immediately regretting the images flashing through my head, I almost excused myself to the restroom when a buzzing in my pocket distracted me. Pulling my phone out, I glanced at the number before answering in a hushed tone.
“Si?”
“Situation is handled, boss,” Emilio said, his voice slightly out of breath, and the sound of traffic roaring in the background.
“Bien.” Ignoring my intuition, I abandoned my native tongue and broke into English. “So, what have I gained tonight in assets?”
Emilio paused, as if choosing his words were of the upmost importance. “We got eight g’s between the safe, register, and night deposit bag, so we took two fingers, and…”
“Why do I hear hesitation in your voice?” I scanned the perimeter of the bar again. Something didn’t feel right in my gut. Experience taught me that my gut never betrayed me, but men did.
“Lachey isn’t what I expected, boss,” he explained, waiting for me to respond. When I remained silent, he continued. “My crew, who knew him, talked like he was a junkie and scared of his own shadow. You know, set in his ways…realestúpido.”
I grew tired of his hesitation. “For fuck’s sake, what happened?”
“He didn’t seem high. I don’t know, boss. Something just felt off.”
With a single nod of my chin, I threw a twenty-dollar bill down on the bar. The shitty tequila wasn’t worth the spit it would take to disgrace it, but it wasn’t the bartender’s fault she was a moron.
As I pushed open the door to the pub, I growled into the phone, my patience gone. “Of course, it felt off,estúpido.Cutting off a man’s fingers isn’t supposed to feel like hitting a piñata and watching a fuck-load of candy fall out. Go back in there, clean it up, and get him back where he belongs.” Jerking the phone away, I strode to the car before hauling it back to my ear, confident he’d still be there. “And stop calling me for stupid shit.”
Hitting the disconnect button, I glanced around before tossing the burner phone into a trashcan on the side of the street and slamming the car door.
* * *
Droppingthe keys to the Lexus on the small table lining the hallway, I watched them skid across the polished wood and crash to the tile on the other side. Exhaustion pulled at every muscle in my body, reminding me it’d been weeks since I slept a full night without interruption. I barely cast a glance at them as I rounded the corner toward my bedroom.
Fuck it.
They could stay there for all I cared.
With three million dollars spread strategically in offshore bank accounts, and another two million stashed in a safe underneath the baseboard of my house, I was still forced to drive around in an ordinary Lexus. A man of my wealth should be able to pay cash for a Bugatti or Maserati—not one that could cart a family of five around for afternoon picnics. But those were the unwritten rules of the business, and they were followed, or you got taken out. Stateside cartel members weren’t allowed to draw unnecessary attention to themselves.
I understood the rules. It didn’t mean I had to like them.
Anyone driving by my house wouldn’t give it a second glance. That wasn’t by accident. I came to this country with specific instructions from my father on where to live, what type of house to buy, what to drive, how to dress, who to surround myself with, and who to trust. No decision was my own. It should’ve bothered me, but taking orders from Alejandro Carrera was nothing new. The moment I’d decided enough was enough and demanded entrance into his world, I forfeited the right to an opinion.
Sitting at the small desk in my bedroom, I tried for over an hour to find a new unloading drop to distribute the next shipment, but fatigue kept me unfocused. Nando’s fuck up and untimely demise left a major hole in my well-orchestrated hubs. The extra work it left for me made me want to raise Nando from the dead just so I could kill him all over again.
Resigned to the fact that my productivity was shot, I’d just exited out of my computer when a ring pulled my attention to the end of the desk. The nondescript, black phone had sat there undisturbed for weeks, quiet and gathering dust.
I stared at it, rubbing my eyes as if that had anything to do with the sound. Only one number would call on that burner phone. One voice on the other end of the line would answer. There could only be one reason why he’d call.
Running a hand down my face, I let my palm hover over my mouth as my thumb and fingertips dug into my cheeks. I listened to it ring again and again, while the sound pierced my ears as if he were already screaming his tirade. There’d be no voice mail to pick up and no end to the ring. It’d continue as a game of wills until one of us cracked.
It wouldn’t be him.
Swearing under my breath, I slid my palm from my face and slammed it down on the phone, pressing the answer button with force. “What?”
“What took you so long?”
I fought to control the tone in my voice. “I wasn’t aware I was being summoned.”
“Show respect, boy. Family doesn’t matter in business.”
My fingers tightened around the phone as blood pounded in my ears. “I know that more than anyone,sir.”
A rare pause of silence passed between us before a rumble of laughter filled the line.
