Things are tricky with cartels because there were so many off-shoots. You never could be sure if assholes like the Sanchez Brothers were doing side work for themselves.
“You got a Tech Captain in your club?”
Cannon nods. “Name’s Motherboard.”
I laugh outright. “Awesome. I want to talk to him first.”
We stand together just as the swinging doors open, and two cowboy-boot-wearing men in giant gold buckles, bolero ties, and Stetson hats walk inside and survey the place.
“Friends of yours?”
“Fucking Eli Sanchez,” he says and nods toward the man in red boots. “And that asshole next to him is Honcho, his muscle.”
Not much muscle from my perspective. “Introduce me?”
“That’s not a good idea.”
“Trust me.”
Cannon nods, and I follow him to the wannabe cowboys.
“Eli. Honcho. What brings you to Topaz?”
Eli sneers and then laughs. “A little bit of shopping. Heard you got some new chicas in, and I wanted to check them out.”
“Well, you heard wrong.”
Eli shrugs and looks around the bar with forced calm as if he’s comfortable. He’s not. A closer look reveals tension in his shoulders and around his eyes, posture a little too erect. He’s playacting. A fucking pretender.
“You know what they say. A real man protects what he considers his.”
“Is that so?”
Eli barely spares a look for me, but it was enough that I can tell he’s a fucking bully, only looking for fights he could assure victory. “It is.”
Not today, asshole. “Good to know.” Without another word, I lift my knee and pull it back before letting it spring into action right between his legs.
Cheap shot. I know.
Eli falls to his knees, groaning and cupping the family jewels. He coughs in pain a few times before looking up at me with a frown.
“What the fuck, man?”
I shrug. “Just testing your theory about a real man protecting what is his. Either I just proved you’re a lying piece of shit, or you’re not a real man.”
Cannon laughs along with a few other saloon patrons.
Eli stands and lands the full hatred of his glare on me. “You don’t know who you’re fucking with, asshole.”
I have an inkling of just who the fuck this guy is. “Tell me, Eli. Who am I fucking with?”
He takes a hesitant step forward. “We are Sinaloa.”
“Are you now?” I scratch my chin and stare at him for a long time, doing my best to make Eli uneasy. “Are you Sinaloa, or do you work for Sinaloa because there is a big goddamn difference.”
Honcho, his so-called muscle, steps between us. “There is no difference, Gringo. As far as you are concerned, we are Sinaloa.”
Honcho is a big motherfucker. Six foot four, at least two hundred plus pounds of muscle and blubber. Big meaty fists and gnarled knuckles tell me the man is a brawler like me. On top of that, he’s loyal to Eli.
Or just plain fucking stupid.
I take a step back and wave a hand between us. “Shit, man, how much dick did you suck for breakfast this morning?” Provoking dudes with cartel connections isn’t something I normally do, but these assholes are asking for it.
“What did you say to me, gringo?”
“You heard me, or do you got cock in your ears too?”
Honcho smiles. “Hope you can back up all that shit talk.” His head leans left and then right as he cracks his neck and smacks one fist into the palm of his hands. “You want me to prove my manhood? Let’s do it.”
“I’ll tell you like my dad used to tell me, if you gotta prove you’re a man—newsflash—you ain’t a man. You’re a bitch.”
I duck the fist that flies my way and follow up with two jabs to his gut.
Honcho is a good, capable fighter, but too many years of excess have taken a toll on his physical fitness. He still hits like a son of a bitch, hard and well-placed, but he’s slow. More brute force than agile fighter.
“The only thing I like better than white boys is dead white boys.”
I smile. “So you admit that you love the cock? Especially white cock.”
Honcho grunts and lunges forward at the wrong time. His eye connects perfectly with my fist, and he falls to the ground, giving me a chance to get on top of him and shower him with hammer fists until he begs for mercy.
“Stop!”
My smile is bright and satisfied as hell. “Enough?”
“The fuck it is,” Eli spits outs. “Finish this motherfucker off, Honcho.”
“You can try,” I tell him as I stand and offer a hand to Honcho, which the asshole refuses. “But I’m staying a while, and I plan to do my homework on you fuckers. See how close you are to the cartel.”
Fear flashes in Eli’s eyes, and that tells me everything I need to know about him and his brother. Fucking posers.
“Then I’ll figure out what needs to be done next.”