Page 14 of Sick Little Devotion

“Where are you, boss? I don’t wanna deal with this guy on my own.” My associate—or maybe he’s more like an employee—sounds nervous.

I chuckle. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“He’s gonna be here before then,” he mutters.

“Yeah, and you’re gonna tell him I had some shit to take care of this morning, so I’m running a little late. If he feels disrespected, he can go fuck himself. In fact, I wouldn’t be mad if he did, anyway.”

Carlos lets out a muddled groan but doesn’t object. He knows the drill. He knows that I show up when I want to. That I’m the fucking king of this empire. I earned it after years of being the shit on the bottom of someone else’s shoe.

“I’ll be there shortly,” I say and hang up. I don’t feel like spending my entire driving time coaching Carlos not to be a pussy. The drug dealing business isn’t an easy one, and I make sure our cocaine is cut properly. It’s high value, not like the shit that you find in the middle of a dank, dark alley somewhere. We only work with the best.

We are the fucking best.

I don’t use though. When I ended up being Ben Grenado’s little bitch for years, he was the one who taught me never to use what I sell. Or anything else, for that matter. Why? Because if you’re using, you’re taking cuts into what could be money—and also, you don’t want to get addicted to the stuff. You need to be clear-headed and focused.

So, I’m squeaky-fucking clean. You’re never gonna catch me snorting a line with my clients, and now, I don’t even see the product. I have people for that. Ben works his territory, and I work mine.

Five minutes later, I’m pulling into the parking lot of an old warehouse on the industrial side of town. We don’t store all our gear here, but I’ve created a sort of front business—which looks like an ecommerce storage location. We sell random shit on the internet, and strangely, it makes a lot of money in and of itself. It’s a legitimate business, and in the mix is the not-so legitimate business.

I step out of my black Mercedes and head for the building. Everyone who works has the day off today, so it’s empty. That’s how I prefer it when I’m meeting high-caliber clientele—especially when they belong to the Mexican cartel.

“Good morning,” I greet Sam Hernandez, extending my hand.

The dark eyed, intense man returns the notion. “Buenos dias.” His voice is thick and deep; the kind that rattles your core, no matter how many times you hear it. His wavy hair is tussled from the whipping morning wind. It’s borderline chilly for spring, but I don’t let my weakness show.

Drug lords don’t feel the cold.

“Shall we head inside to discuss things?” I offer, eyeing the area around us. It’s busy here for a weekday, even if my compound is quiet. The razor wire around the top of my chain link fence stands out, but thankfully it’s never questioned.

“Good idea,” Sam says as Carlos rocks back on his heels. He’s a stout, chirpy man. He was a gift from Ben, when I was given my own territory, and while he’s antsy at times, he’s helpful.

“Sorry for being late,” I add to Sam as we head for the main entrance. “I had something to take care of this morning.”

“Your late is still my early,” Sam laughs. “I understand you’re a busy man. I am, too, which is why I’m glad you still arrived two minutes before our meeting time.”

I smile coolly, but the guy’s a dick. Clearly.

“Should I make coffee?” Carlos asks as we step inside, and I lead him toward my upstairs office. I keep the place nice, a mix of luxury and modern day industrial. I give him a nod, and he scurries off toward the lounge.

“Ecommerce, huh?” Sam laughs as we arrive on the second floor. He eyes the ornate glass railing overlooking the main storage area. “Never would’ve thought Ben would approve of this front.”

“Well, it’s hardly suspicious, don’t you think?” I glance over at him. I need to be working on my plans for Sara, and maybe that’s why I’m internally in an atrocious mood. But I hold it together, opening the black steel door that leads us into my domain. I have many of them. This is just one.

I gesture toward the black leather chairs facing my desk, as I walk to my own behind it. The walls are lined with shelves full of books—most of which I have read several times. I like that they give the appearance that I’m an academic. But in truth, the only thing I want to read is Sahara Walker.

“So, Ben says you want to expand your territory to include Houston.” Sam grunts as he takes a seat. “You know that’s going to step on a lot of toes, amigo.”

“And that’s why I need you.”

He tsks at me, shaking his head. “And what is in it for me?”

“What do you want to be in it?” To be honest, I’ll bend to just about whatever they want. I need as much territory as I can get. I’ve built myself an empire, but the bigger it is, the more I have to pass down to my future children. Of course, I don’t want them in the drug business, but I’m building trust funds for them. Sara will be proud.

“You know the family doesn’t take lightly to making small cuts where profit is concerned,” Sam says, just as Carlos enters the room with two mugs of coffee. I hope like hell he used the expensive shit, but I don’t question him as he hands one to each of us. He then goes to stand in the corner of the room. Sam glances over his shoulder.

“No security. We already decided that, Aiden. Send him out.”

I laugh. “You think he is my security?”