Page 4 of Liar
A rainbow of bandanas surrounds me.
“Did he send you?”
I turn my head to search his flushed and angry face. “No one sent me.”
“Then what are you doing on this side of town?”
“Your scouts have been gone a long time,” a man in a green bandana interrupts, waving his gun toward the street up ahead. “You sure El Bastardo has a home here?”
“You questioning my information?”
Both men glare at each other, with me wedged between them. I swallow hard. My brother always chides me about placing myself in the middle of everyone’s business. Now, I’m literally dead center, and if things get ugly—dead.
Surprisingly, it’s the large man who tackled me who backs down first. Confirming he’s willing to collaborate with a rival in order to fry a bigger fish.
Not fish ...Lobos.
That’s why they’ve gathered in Loreto, right? To overpower the Lobos.
And I’ve interrupted them.
“We better get out of the street. What do you say we drag her inside that building and deal with her there?”
The big beast of a man relaxes while waiting for the Mexican Machote to decide my fate.
I act.
Sliding my foot behind my captor’s, I swing my arms up and around, ignoring the sting from the bullet wound as I use the momentum to break free of his hold. I pitch my shoulder into the large man with all my weight, knocking him off-balance and causing him to trip over my foot.
He falls back with a shout, taking a few other men down with him. I’m too frightened to appreciate their shocked expressions or consider how proud Diego’d be after the hours we spent perfecting the move. Taking advantage of the element of surprise, I escape and get a running start on them as I race south.
Mercifully, they don’t shoot at me, probably because a hail of gunfire will alert the Lobos. But I won’t outrun them.
I need to hide, then pray.
I veer right, heading off the street and inside an abandoned warehouse. The dim light makes it hard to see, yet it’s not dark enough to vanish into. The space is empty, with no crates or heavy machinery to hide behind.
Wildly, I circle around, knowing I’m in deep trouble.
A man grabs my arm and begins barking orders. “Find out what happened to those motherfucking scouts. And give me El Bastardo’s exact location,en seguida.” His grip is firm and my chances of escaping once more are slim.
I swallow hard as men filter into the warehouse, weapons lowered and looking to the man holding my arm for direction.
Two things occur to me at once. It takes a powerful man like this Mexican Machote to unify three rival cartels.
And if it takes three cartels to overthrow the Lobos, what does that say about the kind of power the Bastard must have?
Neither thought helps my predicament.
What I need is a bargaining chip. Something to offer in exchange for my release.
“I know where the Bastard is.”
Not only do I have no clue where the man could be, I don’t even know what he looks like.
The fingers around my arm squeeze tighter.
“Where?”
