Текст книги "Rebel"

Автор книги: Callie Hart

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“Bullshit. You’re holding me against my will. You may not like the sound of it but that makes me a captive. And it makes you my kidnapper. If you expect me to do something for Rebel, then you’re dreaming. I’m not performing sexual acts for anyone. Not willingly. If you make me, then you guys won’t just be my kidnappers. You’ll be my rapists, too.”

Cade’s head turns so he’s looking at me, mouth slightly open. There’s a look of disbelief on his face. “Man, no wonder Hector got rid of you. You’ve got a tongue on you, you know that?”

I just shrug my shoulders. No way would I have spoken to Hector or even Raphael like that. I would have been too scared. Being in the car with Cade is different, though. “Why did you help me back in that alleyway? Why did you even bother if this is what you wanted to do afterwards?”

“This isn’t anywhere near as bad as you think it is. I helped you because we don’t like women being abused. The club has morals. And believe it or not, so does Rebel.”

“I doubt that.”

“Doubt it all you want. You’ll see for yourself soon enough.”

“Who is he, Rebel? Who is he to you? The way you say his name’s like he’s freaking god or something.”

Cade smirks. He must press his foot to the floor, because the Humvee picks up the pace until we’re speeding into the early dawn. “He’s the president of the Widow Makers,” he says. “He’s one of the good guys. He’s also my best friend.”

******

REBEL

181. That was the number advertised on Hector’s members-only website. I called back to the clubhouse and had Danny, our resident computer hack, check the records, but that’s all there was on her. No real name. No background information. Just 181.

She’s fucking beautiful, of course. That fact isn’t acknowledged or discussed as Carnie and I mull over what to do with her; it doesn’t need to be discussed. It just sits there between us, her beauty an obvious truth that’s making me seriously fucking antsy. Things would have been a lot more straightforward if she was ugly. I wouldn’t feel bad for her, for starters. That makes me a shitty guy, I know, but I’m honest. No point in trying to sugarcoat it. The fact that she looks like a younger, hotter, curvier Penelope Cruz is making it hard for me to think of her as a means to an end. It’s making me think of her as someone to be pursued, and that is a bad fucking deal. I don’t have time to deal with that. I can’t afford to be thinking of a girl when there are important plans to be made. Vengeance to be plotted out. Information to be gathered.

“If you leave her at the clubhouse, we can probably keep her there, out of sight, for three or four days before anyone notices. If we can keep her quiet,” Carnie says.

If. That’s a big fucking if. I somehow doubt very much that we’re going to be able to keep this girl quiet for any length of time. “She can’t stay in the clubhouse, Carnie. For starters, which room would we put her in? Everything’s being used. And secondly, Keeler and Brassic are nosey as fuck. We tell ’em they can’t go into a certain room and what’s the first thing they’re gonna do?”

“Go into the damned room. You’re right. Fuck.”

Carnie swerves a little closer to me so that our intercoms don’t crackle quite as much. These aren’t the lame, bulky intercoms dentists install inside their helmets while they’re touring around on the weekend. For starters, we don’t wear helmets unless we can avoid it, which we can most of the time. Our intercoms—sleek, small button radios that fit into our ears—were created by Brassic, the Widow Makers’ resident tech genius. He was in the army up until three years ago, when he lost the lower half of his right leg. He’s fitter, faster, more capable than well over half the other Widowers, but the US Army decided he wasn’t fit for active duty so he gave them the finger and joined our ranks—a different kind of army, but an army all the same.

“You know what you’re gonna have to do, don’t you?” Carnie asks. I hear him laughing, even with the wind whipping away his voice.

“What?”

“She’s gonna have to bunk in with you, brother.”

“Nope. No. Not happening. She can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I need my fucking space, Carnie. Shit.” I paddle the gears with my left foot, switching up so I can go faster. I leave him behind, though I can still hear the bastard laughing in my ear.

“Just sayin’, boss. If you want your little witness protection scheme to work, it’d be smart to keep the witness out of the way. At least for a little while, anyway.”

I narrow my eyes, glaring at the road. “My little witness protection scheme only needs to work if my plan for all-out violence fails first. And when has all-out violence failed us before?”

Carnie sounds grim when he says, “Never, boss. Not once.”

We arrive in Vegas three hours after we leave Cade and the girl. Should have taken four, but we’re heavy on the throttle. The city in the desert is roaring already, despite the fact that it’s still early in the morning. We rumble down the strip, dodging piles of puke and Nevada PD cruisers pulled up onto the curb, as the local law enforcement round up the wasted people being ejected from the casinos. Gotta love Vegas, city of the damned. Maybe that’s why the cartel we’ve come to see set up their base of operations here—so many drunk people, addicted to one thing or another, to abuse and manipulate.

This is the first time in four years I’ve been to visit the leader of the Desolladors—the skinners. The Colombian cartel earned their name and their reputation by actually flaying the skin from their enemies’ bodies, usually starting on the chest first. That’s where most organizations and gangs wear their colors and ink.

I haven’t been back here in so long because Maria Rosa, the brains behind the Desolladors, hates coming to America. She’s obsessed with the culture, but she hates the people. Like, really hates the people. Quite the contradiction. If she steps foot on US soil, there’s a good fucking reason for it.

I know she’s here now because I pay one of her guards to give me a heads up when he finds out she’s on her way in.

Carnie and I turn down one of the side streets off the strip and park up our rides—Carnie grumbles about abandoning his twenty-thousand-dollar baby next to a dumpster behind the Bellagio, but machines like these aren’t exactly inconspicuous. Ideally, Maria Rosa won’t know we’re rolling up on her until we’re knocking on her suite door.

Sweat runs like a goddamn river between my shoulder blades, even though it can only be sixty degrees. It takes fucking forever for us to walk up to the MGM Grand. When we reach the entrance to the hotel and casino, Carnie’s making noises about getting a beer.

“You really wanna face Maria Rosa after a beer?” I ask, trying not to laugh. Carnie’s a lightweight of epic proportions, and Maria Rosa is a deadly viper. She draws on people’s weaknesses. I’m pretty sure she sucks out their souls; I just can’t prove it. To spend time with her even faintly mentally compromised is asking for trouble. Carnie’s never met her before, but he’s heard the stories. He lifts one eyebrow, one side of his mouth lifting into half a smile—good point.

The MGM is buzzing. People checking in. People checking out. Groups gathered around the casino tables still in their clothes from last night, gin and tonics still being placed into their open hands. The place smells like Vegas glamour and sweat, tinged with just the faintest hint of desperation.

“So, she’s on the thirty-fifth?” Carnie asks, already stabbing at the button on the elevator call panel. I grunt, pushing my hair back out of my eyes.

“She’s a creature of habit. I can’t imagine she’s changed.”

“Excuse me, gentlemen. Are you visiting a guest this morning?” I turn around and end up facing a wall of muscle, dressed in a suit. The Hispanic guy—a good three inches taller than I am, shaved head, tattoos peeking out above his shirt collar—looks mean. Really fucking mean. He doesn’t work for the hotel, that’s for sure. The MGM are used to people coming and going from the hotel rooms, no questions asked. Their security detail would never bother people trying to access the guest floors—not even super shady-looking bastards like me and my boy. No, this guy…this is one of Maria Rosa’s men. Has to be.

“We’re not here to cause trouble. We just want to talk to her,” I say.

The guy scowls at me, two deep lines forming between his eyebrows. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Nuestra madre nos dijo que siempre estábamos bienvenidos. ¿Quiere que le digamos que nos diste la vuelta?” Mother said we were always welcome. You want us to tell her you turned us away?

Of course, Maria Rosa isn’t my mother, nor is she Carnie’s mother, but she insists that those she keeps close call her that. By using that name, I’ve demonstrated who I am to this blank-eyed bodyguard. I’m someone his employer trusts, and I won’t have any qualms in telling her he denied us access if he causes any shit.

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 have eyes. 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 a  T-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 from The 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.

“Rebel,” she says, holding out her hand. “What a pleasant surprise.” I take her hand and kiss the back of it, knowing that she’s lying. My visit is about as pleasant as a rough enema.

“Beautiful as always, Mother. So good to see you, too.” I lay it on thick, giving her no reason to suspect there are about a million other places I’d rather be than right here, right now, with her. “How long are you staying in the country for?”

She pouts, resting her weight over one hip. If I didn’t know her already, the extraordinarily tight red dress she’s wearing would have me thinking she is just on her way out to a nightclub. She’s not, though. It’s just how she dresses, even at ten in the morning. “Oh, I don’t know. I’m just checking on a few new business enterprises I’ve invested in. After that…I could stay a week. I could stay a month. Depends on whether I have any reason to hang around.” She strokes a taloned finger down my cheek, tracing her nail along my jawbone and down underneath my chin. She’s a notorious flirt. I know better than to even consider going there, though. Cade did and it nearly cost him his life.

I smirk at her, playing the game. Letting my eyes rest on her cleavage a little longer than I should because I know she likes to be appreciated. “Are you going to spend a few days with me here, baby?” she asks, stepping closer to me so that her chest is pushed up against mine. Her tits are almost spilling out of her dress, skin soft and golden and smooth, and it’s really fucking easy to see how men get caught up by her. She’s sexy, she’s powerful and she has stones. I don’t know a guy who hasn’t been given a boner by the Bitch of Colombia. I’m hardly innocent, myself. I am sensible, though.

I take hold of her wrist and kiss her lightly again, on the wrist this time. “I wish I could. We have to be heading back to New Mexico right away, though. I’ve come here strictly on business.”

“Is that why you’ve brought this one with you instead of that coward Cade Preston?” She actually sounds pissed that Cade isn’t here.

I laugh, but it takes serious effort. I can’t put a foot wrong here. I can’t say the wrong damn thing. If I do, my balls will be forfeit and Carnie will probably end up dead.

“Forgive me for saying so, Mother, but I didn’t think you were all that fond of my vice president these days?”

She flicks her wrist at me, making a derisive sound at the back of her throat. “Don’t be so ridiculous. I love him. Mateo, everything is fine. You can head back downstairs.”

I didn’t even realize that the guard—Mateo—was still behind us, loitering in the doorway. He gives her a short bow. “Yes, Mother. I’ll be available if you need anything.”

I don’t like the way he says that, like he thinks she might want us brutally murdered in about half an hour or so, and he’ll be ready to oblige her. Mateo leaves, pulling the door closed behind him, leaving the four of us behind in the entrance of Maria Rosa’s suite. To say things are a little tense would be an understatement. Rico and Carnie are still utterly unimpressed by one another, and Maria Rosa remains irritated that Cade’s nowhere to be seen. She pivots on her skyscraper heels and struts back into the main area of the suite, grumbling under her breath.

“Fucking men. Wouldn’t know what to do with…too much to handle. It’s his fucking loss, anyway. I wouldn’t…” She carries on muttering, the sound of her voice carrying as she vanishes. Rico gestures for us to follow after her, and we do. Inside the suite, a wall of glass stretches from the floor to the ceiling, displaying a panoramic view of the strip, the major artery that supplies the beating heart of the city. It’s an ugly, beautiful thing, all at once.

Maria Rosa clucks her tongue, lowering herself gracefully to seat herself at a large glass desk, covered in papers. “So tell me. Why have you come here this morning? I have to say, I’m accustomed to people waiting until they’re supplied with an invitation to call upon me.” She glances down at her papers, sifting through them, apparently looking for something, and I see it now: she’s pissed. I knew she would be. She’s just hidden it well until now.

“We’ve come to discuss a matter of mutual interest with you,” I say. Her hand stills on her papers, but she doesn’t look at me. She’s like a wild animal, aware of our presence, frozen solid, ready to bolt at any moment. Except in this instance, her bolting means her losing her temper and ordering one or both of our deaths. Not only do I have to pick my words carefully here, but I have to say them the right way, too. She needs to be handled with such caution. I’ve seen guys get their fucking tongues cut out for muttering a sentence she hasn’t liked. Thank god Carnie knows to keep his goddamn mouth shut altogether, otherwise I’d be leaving here with a mute prospect.

“What could you possibly have to discuss with me that could be to our mutual benefit, Rebel? You run a small-time club for boys on their bicycles. I run an international business.”

“I know, of course. Your organization is in a completely different league to mine, but still, we share common grievances every once in a while. I’m sure you know what I’m talking about.”

She does know what I’m talking about. It’s well documented that Los Oscuros have been a thorn in my side for years. However, the Mexican cartel has been an equally big thorn in Maria Rosa’s side for just as long. Longer. It would be easier for her to ship her drugs up through Mexico and across the border into the states than to fly them direct from Colombia. US border patrol have a keen eye to the sky at all times. It’s hard to bribe an air traffic controller at a small airfield, because there are more people to witness a single prop coming in to land. If she were to send her drugs by road, bribing a single border control officer would be a piece of cake. Only problem is, Hector’s got all the border control officers on his payroll. And his men protect their investments fiercely against trafficking from outside sources.

He would rather have all-out war in the streets of Mexico than allow one of Maria Rosa’s trucks to pass through his turf. In fact, it’s come down to that on more than one occasion.

Maria Rosa slips her feet from her heels and holds them out in front of her. Rico reacts instantly, taking a seat so he can lift her feet into his lap. He begins massaging them, mumbling softly to her in Spanish as he works his thumbs into the arches of her soles. “I assume you’re talking about the Ramirez dog? Take a seat, please.” She jerks her head toward the plush couch a couple of feet away from the table where she’s sitting. Carnie and I do as we’re invited to and sit down. Carnie lifts an eyebrow in response to the scene playing out in front of us.

He gives me a look I can read all too well—what the hell is this all about?

Rico’s getting more and more aggressive as he massages Maria Rosa’s feet. She lets her head to fall back, one hand rising to touch the skin at the base of her throat. Her eyes slowly close, full lips parting. The whole thing is sexual. Really fucking sexual. I’m used to this kind of bullshit around Maria Rosa, but I didn’t exactly give Carnie a heads up.

“So,” she whispers. “I heard about your open declaration of war against Los Oscuros. I have to say, I’m very intrigued as to why you would do such a thing. Hector has more men than you. More weapons. And you have, what? A death wish?”

“I have men and guns enough, Mother. Don’t you worry about me. As to the why, Hector had someone murdered. Someone I care deeply about. I won’t allow that to go unanswered.”

Maria Rosa’s head lolls, rolling so that she’s finally looking at me. Her eyes are burning, filled with the promise of sex. “A woman? Did he snuff out one of your pretty women, Rebel? How cruel.”

“Someone of consequence,” I say. I refuse to tell her who I wish to avenge. Since he was my uncle, she’ll be able to figure out who I am if she discovers Ryan’s name, and I can’t have that. That information has been well guarded, protected, since the day I founded the Widow Makers, and I don’t want that changing any time soon.

Maria Rosa groans, eyes shuttering as Rico reaches what must clearly be a very sensitive spot on her feet. Her back arches off her chair, giving her body an inviting curve to it—the kind of curve that begs a man to touch. Carnie clears his throat, throwing his left ankle up to rest on his right knee. He’s clearly trying to hide something, probably the fact that his dick is getting hard, knowing him. I’m immune to this crap now.

“So Ramirez murders someone of consequence and you declare war. And then you show up on my doorstep, looking so good, bringing me some eye candy to enjoy, and I’m not supposed be suspicious, Rebel? Come on.” Rico raises her foot up even higher from his lap and licks at her toes, making her gasp. “You think…you think I don’t know what you want from…me? Ahh!”

“Fuck. Me,” Carnie groans.

“You’re a smart woman, Mother. I have no doubt you know why I’m here. And because you’re smart, I know you’ll also see the wisdom in providing support to the Widow Makers. We take down Hector, you get his business. You can ship through Mexico. You strengthen ties to the Widowers, who can then provide extra protection to you while you’re in this country.”

“And…” Rico traces his tongue across the bridge of Maria Rosa’s foot, making her breath catch in her throat. Her whole body shivers. “And you’ll contract to run my products for me when I need you to.”

This isn’t a question. This is a statement that I don’t really know I should be agreeing to. Providing protection is one thing. Running drugs is another entirely. The Widowers aren’t strangers to transporting the odd key of weed or blow from one spot to another, but what Maria Rosa’s talking about is something else entirely. She’s talking huge quantities, across long distances. “Our outfit’s too small to take on distribution of your operation, Mother. You just said so yourself—we’re a small concern compared to the empire you’ve built for yourself. But I’d be happy to organize local shipments. Share my contacts with you in the east. Set up an expanded network of trusted people who would be happy to work with you.”

“I already know people in the east. I don’t need more people in the east. I need you.” Rico’s working on her calves now, rotating his thumbs into her flesh, making her squirm in her chair. Unfortunately, I know what’s coming next. I doubt it’s avoidable at this stage, no matter what I say. I’ve lost count of the times when I’ve been witness to Maria Rosa getting fucked. It’s all just part of her madness. Should be a treat for Carnie, though.

“I can help you where I can, Mother. That goes without saying, of course.”

Her mouth pulls back into a lazy smile, as Rico’s hands climb higher and higher up her legs. “You’re a sneaky bastard, Rebel. Don’t take me for a fool. I need something from you and you’re dancing around it, like you always do.”

I just smile. There’s nothing else I can do, bar agree to something that will mean I am her employee and no longer her equal. She grins back, just as Rico reaches the apex of her thighs. His hand disappears underneath the skirt of her dress. Her whole body tenses for a moment, then she stretches languorously, like a cat. I wouldn’t be surprised to hear her fucking purring.

“All right, Rebel,” she says, her voice tight under the pressure of what’s happening between her legs. “I’ll help you. But you’ll need to sweeten the deal a little first, since you won’t give me what I truly want.”

This is how it is with her. Always something she needs in payment, regardless of whatever she may already be gaining. “What do you want, Mother?” I prepare for her to ask for my first-born son. Good job I don’t plan on having any kids.

“Hector Ramirez isn’t the only problem I’ve been encountering recently. A few of my shipments have been seized out at Baker. The DEA have been ramping up their interest in my business transactions the past couple of months. It’s very—ahh!—inconvenient.”

I keep my eyes up, front and center, careful not to let myself get sidetracked. “And you want the Widowers to lean on a couple of people? Get the DEA to turn their attention elsewhere?”

She shivers again. Rico’s hand is quickening under her dress, working faster. He grins at me, though with his lower lip fastened between his teeth, the action looks more like a grimace. Maria Rosa groans, rocking her hips upward. Carnie curls his hands into fists, looking at me out of the corner of his eye. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he hisses.

I ignore him. “So you want us to lean on someone for you?”

“I don’t…I don’t want you to lean on anyone,” Maria Rosa gasps. “I want you to bring me the agent’s fucking head in a…fucking bag.”

So it’s murder, then. There’s no love lost between the Widowers and the DEA, that’s for sure, but murder? That will draw all the wrong kinds of attention.