Would there be a way to track her back here? I stepped into the steamy water. I didn’t think so. And, even if there were a way, I’d catch wind of it before anyone came looking. I had more than one dirty cop on my side and even more moles in the police department. The Mexican police didn’t have anything on me; the Americans had even less.
Actually…I had little idea exactly what the Americans had on me. Ellie might. Was my curiosity worth keeping her alive? I needed to rationalize why I hadn’t pulled the Glock from my waist and blown her brains out. I’d get someone to clean up the body—like I had before—and be done with her.
As soon as I saw her, I wanted her. I closed my eyes and tipped my head up into the water. She was just one woman. How much trouble could she be?
*
I dreamed about Ellie, about her tied up in the closet, with her dress riding up around her waist, her pussy peeking out from between her smooth thighs. She was bound, writhing around on the dirty closet floor in the warehouse.
The dream shifted, and she was in my bed, hands bound above her to the headboard. My cock was hard, pushing against the seam of my jeans, begging to push inside of her.
She struggled when I moved closer, shoving me away. Her complete execrate for me so obvious it was tangible. It turned me on even more. She called my name when I parted her legs, pushing between them. She fought me, but she wanted it too.
My phone rang, waking me from the dream. I grumbled, rolling off my stomach and onto my back. My hard cock rested against my stomach, precum dripping from the tip. I licked my lips, thinking of Ellie.
The phone was still ringing. It was my business line again. I sat up, glancing at the clock. It was four in the morning. Fuck. Nothing good was coming from that call.
I answered the phone, not speaking, and put it to my ear.
“Alejandro, señor?” a voice on the other end said.
“Yes,” I responded, recognizing Diego’s voice at once.
“Carlos,” he spoke in Spanish, quieter this time. “He’s dead.”
I blinked. “How?”
“Shot in the head. Police found him in his apartment. His stash is gone.”
My pulse rose. Carlos was one of my small dealers. He worked the outer city limits, selling mostly to teenagers. He’d been with me for a few years and was expanding his clientele.
“All of it?”
“Yes, sir,” Diego said. “Francis called me right away. There is nothing.”
I took in a deep breath. Francis was one of my dirty cops. “Do they have suspects?”
“Not yet, sir.”
“Keep me informed,” I said and ended the call. I didn’t need to question Diego or even Francis. I had a sinking feeling I knew who robbed Carlos of his stash. It had been a problem twenty years ago. I remembered it when I was just a child, remembered hiding in the closet in my mother’s arms while gunfire rained around us. I remembered my mother crying, and I remember thinking I would never see my father again.
The Morales, another cartel family, were beaten down by my father and his men. The gang was broken; most were killed by my family and fell apart. They didn’t pose a threat anymore. No one messed with the Calaveras after that. Engaging in war with the Morales cost us as well. I didn’t know the body count, but I knew my father had to replace most of his small-time dealers after that.
Taking down the Morales opened up more business for us, and my father started smuggling weapons as well as drugs across the borders. If the Morales were back, they’d want vengeance and would try to claim their spot.
I ran my hands over my face. My hard-on was gone, but the memory of Ellie tied up in my bed still lingered on my mind. I’d rather think about her than waging in another gang war.
I lay back down. I was tired. I never thought I’d be run ragged as the boss, either. I thought it would be dictating what to do. I never imagined the old adage “if you want it done right, do it yourself” would become my mantra.
It wasn’t that I didn’t trust people…I just didn’t trust anyone.
I had no proof yet that it was the Morales. They hadn’t shown up on my radar in years. Why would they come back now? I didn’t know Carlos well. He was overseen by someone else. Maybe Carlos was sloppy? Maybe one of his clients wanted more?
I closed my eyes. My heart was still pounding. I didn’t have the luxury for wishful thinking. Yeah, dealers got thumped by their clients from time to time. It was possible; it was likely, even.
But I didn’t take risks. I didn’t let anything fall to chance. I had become an all-work-and-no-play kind of man. It got shit done and made me a ghost to the law. Besides the occasional one-night stand and hired hookers, my life was devoted to the business. It had made me a very rich man. Shouldn’t that be enough? Fuck, it wasn’t. I wanted more, though I’d be damned if I allowed myself to possess that thought for more than a second.