Page 19 of Rebel
He stares me down, back rigid and straight, testing me out some more. When I don’t back down, he gives me a single nod. “What’s your name?”
I tell him. A flicker of recognition flashes across his face. He turns his back to us and begins speaking into the discreet radio he has stowed in the breast pocket of his tailored black suit.
“So much for a surprise visit,” Carnie grumbles.
“Yeah, well. I guess it’s better she knows we’re coming than getting shot in the belly by one of these punks.”
“Oh, so that’s an option, is it? Fantastic.”
“You two can go up. But I’ll need to accompany you.” Maria Rosa’s man has stopped murmuring into his radio. He stares at both of us as he reaches forward and hits the button for thirty-five. We wait in silence. A group of tourists come stand behind us, talking loudly and giggling—four overweight adults and three overweight kids. When the doors to the elevator open, Carnie, the guard, and I get on. The holidaymakers are about to follow suit but then they see our faces. The casual bulge of the gun on Maria Rosa’s henchman’s hip. The tattoos that cover the majority of our visible skin.
They make the smart choice and don’t get on.
The doors close and we begin our ascent. “Give me your guns,” the guard says. “You won’t be admitted into her presence without surrendering all weapons.”
We already know this is how Maria Rosa operates. Smart, really. She commands the most lucrative gambling and drugs ring in the country. There are people who would kill her for that reason alone, to take her business, regardless of the fact that she’s faintly psychotic and slices off people’s skin for fun.
“We left our guns at home,” I tell him. He gives me a look—he clearly doesn’t believe that. “You can have our knives, though. That make you happy?” I grin at him, which doesn’t seem to ingratiate me to him any further. Holding out his hand, his cold eyes travel over us, as though searching for the telltale bulge of a gun that we’re claiming we don’t have. I start pulling out my knives—one from the waistband of my jeans, one strapped to my side, one strapped to my ankle. Carnie has more; the guy overcompensates when Margo’s not on his hip. All told, the guard has nine knives in his hand by the time we’re done giving them up.
He draws his lips into a tight line—not impressed.
The doors to the elevator open then, and a housekeeping maid—a skinny woman with a neat ponytail and sensible shoes—is waiting on the other side. She nearly jumps out of her skin when she catches sight of the sharp blades clutched in the guard’s hands. “Sorry, I’ll…I’ll just…” She doesn’t enter the elevator. She spins on the balls of her feet and hurries off down the corridor, glancing over her shoulder at us as she flees. The guard gestures to us that we should follow him.
“She gonna cause problems?” Carnie asks as we follow the hallway around, passing room doors on either side of us.
“She might tell her superior,” the guard grunts. “But he’s one of ours. They’re all ours. It won’t go any further.”
“Sweet.” Carnie pulls a face at his back. Fucking child. I give him a warning look, wondering why the hell I brought him and not Cade. That wasn’t really an option, though. There are times when Carnie just can’t behave himself, or hold his tongue, for that matter, but in this instance he was the sensible choice. Cade and Maria Rosa… Cade and Maria Rosa have history. She swore a long time ago that she’d have his balls if she ever laid eyes on him again. And Maria Rosa is a very literal woman.
I smack Carnie on the arm, sending him an expression that I hope conveys how much shit he will be in if he fucks this up.
The guard leads us to the end of the hallway, to the very last room on the right. He knocks twice, quietly, and then steps back, presumably so whoever is inside the room can see who’s at the door. A rattling, scraping sound follows—the chain being undone—and then the door opens and a huge guy in sweat pants and a muscle tee is standing in front of us, face drawn into a dramatic scowl. Rico Mendez. Rico has been Maria Rosa’s personal guard for the past twelve years, by all accounts. He’s her personal trainer. He drives her anywhere she needs to go. She fucks him when the mood takes her, although I’m pretty sure she prefers American men. The first time I met him was in Colombia, when he was trying to kill me. He didn’t succeed, of course. I kicked his ass and gave him the gnarly scar that still twists the flesh down the left-hand side of his face.
“Rebel,” he says, as though my very name is a statement in itself.
“Rico.”
The man looming in the doorway breaks into a broad grin, booming laughter filling the hallway. “It’s fucking good to see you, man. It’s been a long time.” He holds out his hand. I take it, letting him pump my arm up and down. Slapping me on the shoulder, he pulls me into the suite, still laughing. He points to Carnie, giving me a questioning look. “Who’s this? I haven’t met this one.”
Rico thinks it’s hilarious that I took him down. He decided that we would be best friends after Maria Rosa declared she wasn’t going to have me skinned alive for breaking into her house. Ever since then, whenever I’ve had occasion to meet with his boss, Rico’s treated me like a long-lost brother. I’m no fool, though. As with all gangs and cartels, camaraderie and hospitality are part of a very tenuous front that will vanish in a heartbeat if you do anything to piss them off. If Maria Rosa decides she no longer likes me, Rico will rip my throat out as soon as look at me. And I wouldn’t have a hope in hell of fending him off. Not again. He’s not the sort of guy anyone would ever beat twice.
“This is Carnie,” I tell him, clapping him on the back when he draws me in close for some semblance of a hug.
“Carnie? You guys are all crazy. None of you have proper names.” Rico turns to Carnie, not offering out his hand for him to shake—Carnie hasn’t earned that privilege yet—and asks, “What do you call yourself that for? You like meat?”
“Carnie, not carne,” my boy says, emphasizing the difference between his nickname and the Spanish word for meat. “I’m fucking vegan.”
“You don’t eat meat?”
“No, I don’t. I don’t eat anything that used to haveeyes. That’s fucking wrong, man.”
Rico runs his tongue over his teeth, narrowing his eyes at Carnie. He makes a low humming sound in the back of his throat—I don’t think he’s impressed by my prospect. “Men were bred to hunt and kill, my friend. They learned to do that to survive. To feed their families. To assert their dominance over weaker, less intelligent men. That’s the natural way of things, huh?”
Oh boy. I’ve heard people have this conversation with Carnie before. It never ends well. He folds his arms across his chest, flexing his muscles. “Actually prehistoric man survived mostly off things he foraged from the land. Meat was an infrequent substitute to his diet. He survived where other species failed and suffered extinction because he was smart. Because he had a bigger fucking brain than any of the other animals. And look at me, man. You think I have any problems asserting my dominance over weaker, less intelligent men? Do you?” Pulling up to his full height, Carnie leans back, giving Rico a less-than-friendly smile.
The click of heels on tiles breaks the silence. “Are you boys done measuring dicks?” Maria Rosa appears behind Rico, as beautiful and deadly as ever. I always wonder whether it’s possible to catch the woman without a full face of makeup and her hair done. I’ve dated enough girls, really girly girls, to know that even they have their down time. Days when they don’t feel like sucking in their bellies and getting dressed up to the nines. Days when all they wanna do is lounge around on the couch in aT-shirt and tracksuit pants, eating Ben and Jerry’s from the tub.
Maria Rosa is always perfect, though. Always. And she doesn’t look Colombian, either. Bleached blonde hair, green eyes, light olive skin—she looks like Penny fromThe Big Bang Theory. That’s no mistake. She’s obsessed with the show, addicted, or she used to be. It doesn’t look like much has changed since the last time we met.
