“I know their crest. You’re not marked.”
I lifted my foot, aiming it back at his dick to get him going again.
“I’m a part of a crew of independent contractors for hire.”
The teasing huff I released was followed by me shaking my head at him.
“In other words, you’re disposable. They don’t give a shit if you die.”
I paced, thinking about how to approach what I believed was another sticky situation left by my uncle. I cast a lingering glare at the man, before I turned, preparing to walk away.
“Wait, don’t leave me like this!” he yelled.
A devious smirk appeared on my face at his assumption but was swept away when a glance down at the heel I used to crush his dick made me want to puke.
“You’ve cost me a pair of $2000 heels, you dirty dick fucker.”
After only a few steps away, I paused, closed my eyes, and let my mind go into what I called, the quiet. Sound eased away and the chaos that swirled inside like a tornado rose to the surface. In the quiet, evil waited. It flooded my mind with its biting grip and squeezed my sense of remorse into dust.
When I spun, I pulled HB from the waistband of my skirt and aimed at the man’s head. His loud screams bounced off my body. His mouth was gaped wide open, his body tensed, and his straining vocal cords were making an attempt to push their way out of his neck.
I tilted my head, glaring at him losing his shit over me aiming a gun at him. Why was he so upset? Hadn’t he just asked me not to leave him that way?
As fast as my finger flexed on the trigger, his head contents splattered onto the dirty carpet, the rest was seeping out in bloody bubbles. It wasn’t the sight of death, his fear-frozen eyes, or his gaping mouth that excited me.
It was the metallic scent of fresh gun-smoke that I inhaled, closing my eyes to savor the fragrance. Only when the rusted scent of blood disrupted the relaxing scent of oil, fire, and gun metal, did I open my eyes and step away.
Now, I was faced with one pressing question. Why was the Cardenas Cartel watching me?