Page 39 of Hostile Rival
Jorge glances back over his shoulder, his eyes narrow, and darkness creeps from his aura. “You’re responsible for the girls being here, aren’t you?”
“Not her.” Ruben points at me and swallows hard, like he knows he’s trading lives.
My heart rate is through the roof and chills of fear are pricking my skin.
“You know who I work for, right?” Jorge glares at him. “I won’t fuck with the Souzas or sell product from rival cartels. You know who Elias Souza is?”
“Of course I do,” Ruben replies, tugging at his collar.
“So, you also know I have to do this…” In a flash, he raises his handgun and fires.
Margo screams and I just stand there, stunned, staring at the small hole in Ruben’s forehead. The blood pools around his head on the floor.
This is my fault.
“Shut the fuck up!” Jorge backhands Margo across the face, causing her to stagger and drop, landing next to her dead boyfriend. “My guys are trying to enjoy their night and you’re squealing like a fucking pig. Search him,” he orders the closest guy. “Something isn’t right. Is he wearing a wire?”
Jorge turns to me next, his teeth bared. “You.” He jabs his gun into the air. “Show me what you’re selling.”
Quickly, doing as he asks, I pull out half of what I have and hold it out for him to see, not wanting to reveal the full amount. “It’s my personal cocaine. I wasn’t planning on selling all of it.”
Jorge steps into me. “Bullshit!”
His gaze cuts away from mine when the guy who’d ripped open Ruben’s shirt and emptied his pockets speaks. “Nothing here, boss. I’ll put the word out to search his place.”
Jorge nods. “Strip them both.”
The next thing I know, I’m fighting a muscled guy who’s built like a brick shithouse and isn’t fazed by my furious punches. I’m not a worthy opponent and he easily gets the job done.
Standing in my bra and panties, I look over at Margo, who’s shaking uncontrollably, her face whiter than snow and her eyes bloodshot. I want to tell her I’m sorry. Reverse the clock to the moment she’d invited me here and say no. Except it’s too late now. Ruben is dead and Jorge is a psychopath.
Jorge’s goons uncover the rest of my stash and throw the small bags on the coffee table. “That’s a street value of like a thousand dollars, boss.”
“Wow!” Jorge laughs, throaty and menacing. “That’s some coke habit you have, princess. You must be one of Blanco’s bestcustomers.” He sneers. “The Souzas have the purest cocaine and the monopoly on trade. Fuck knows what that shit is cut with.” A smile plays on his lips. “You’d better not waste it. Set a few lines up for yourself and your friend.”
“She’s not my friend.” I trip when I’m pushed from behind. “I hitched a cab with her to save cash and followed her in here when I heard about the party.”
“Greedy little cunt, aren’t you? More for you if you hate sharing, princess. You came here with Blanco’s shit stuffed in your bra and you’re not leaving my condo until it’s all gone.”
He wanders to the couch, picks up a silver tube, holds it to his left nostril, leans over the coffee table and clears a powdery line.
Sitting back, he spreads his arms out to either side of him, pointing his gun at Margo, and kicks his boots up on the mirrored surface, crossing his ankles. “Come on, princess. Let’s see how you party, or your pretty girlfriend will have a hole in her skull soon.”
My stomach knots and Margo whimpers. This is bad. “I said she’s not my friend,” I mutter, cautiously walking towards the coffee table and lowering to my haunches. “You can let her go. I’m the one who had the coke. Not her.”
“Oh, princess, if you weren’t so dumb, you’d be sweet. This is the Souza way. You have a whole lot of nerve speaking to me.” Jorge drops his boots to the floor and sits forward, staring at me, his expression eerily calm. “Your life isn’t your own anymore. You're caught up with the Souza cartel. Now start snorting.”
I’ve never used narcotics before.
The repeated lines of cocaine Jorge had forced me to hoover up my nose started off moderately. I’d felt alive. The surge of dopamine in my brain didn’t feel that bad.
Had I not been at the mercy of a gangster, I might have even enjoyed it. However, after the sixth…seventh…eighth consecutive line mixed with some other powder, my nose started to bleed. A thumping ache spread across my brow, probably due to the way my heart rate was all over the place and my sinuses were swelling.
The more I ingested, the more my muscles twitched. Jorge had chuckled under his breath, his amusement short lived. Eventually, he grew bored of watching me sweat and hearing my teeth grind. He stuffed his gun into my face and said I might be useful.
Half-naked, Margo and I were held at gunpoint, bundled into an elevator, and shoved into a waiting van in the underground car park.
That all seems so far away now. Hours, maybe days. I have no concept of time or awareness of where I am, given I’d come around drenched in a cold sweat and unsure whether I was alive or dead.
