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“He took her—”
“Cállese, hijueputa!” The man beside Jimmy, the quieter of the three yells out, and I smile. The action causes him to shrink back when I turn from his friend to him. “Let us go, Mr. Lucas.”
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t make out what you said beneath the rattle of your teeth.” Turning my head, I meet my mother’s stare and then Emiliano’s. “Did you two get that?”
“No, Hijo.”
“No, brother. Not a word.”
“Daniel?”
“No, Patron. Unintelligible.”
I turn back with a raised brow. “Repeat. No one here speaks bullshit mumbles.”
“This is false imprisonment and is punishable by time in jail.”
Four distinct laughs reverberate throughout the warehouse, but it’s my mom’s that sticks out. It’s also coming closer, from right beside me now, and I don’t stop her when she throws her arm back and forward, breaking the glass of water she’d been drinking from in Juan’s face.
Multiple gashes appear at once. Some small and some deep, but I don’t pay the rivulets rolling from each any mind and take her hand in mine, inspecting it.
I won’t fault her for wanting to hurt these three sons of bitches, but getting injured while doing so isn’t allowed.
“Close and open your hand, please.”
“I’m fine. Promise.”
“Humor me.” With a huff, she does as I ask, and her movement seems fine. There’s also no sign of pain, and when Mom sees I’m satisfied, she rolls her eyes. “You still have two cuts I want looked at.”
“Superficial.”
“No arguing.”
“You’re a good son. Both of you.” Emiliano, who is now on the other side of me, reaches over to squeeze her hand before we turn our attention back to our guests. Ire pours from our veins and patience is running thin, each one addressing a wounded man.
Blood stains the floor below as blows are landed, cuts are made, and stab wounds are added to the list of injuries. However, it’s as I bring the wooden handle down across Jimmy’s nose, shattering the bone and opening a gash over the bridge, that the little brother decides to speak.
“He’s taking her out of the country, Mr. Lucas.”
“Where, kid?”
“To Venezuela, with the help of the Cortez family and the president.” Emiliano’s hold on the back of his neck is tight as he holds him up, carrying most of his weight as Edwin’s bruised body sags from lack of strength. He’s the most innocent of the three, but his hands are dirty, and this will be his atonement. “Chiquito will have immunity in exchange for your capture.”
“Thank you, Edwin. I appreciate the cooperation in this—”
“He’s lying!” Juan’s a bloody mess with over thirty cuts varying in sizes adorning his flesh. “Let us go and I’ll tell you the truth. Who’s really involved.”
“You’re a piece of shit, and your mother will be ashamed,” Mom spits out after delivering a shallow slice across his neck. “Rot in hell.”
After leaving her request with that action, she retakes her seat on the other side of Chiquito’s soon-to-be widow, entwining their fingers together in support while Daniel waits patiently. He’s been silent and following my orders to stand back, but his moment is coming.
The two bullets in my 1911 are a gift.
“Tell me, parce. Win me over with your bountiful knowledge.” As I say this, Daniel presses a few buttons on the remote control I’d placed in his hand earlier today. The whirling of mechanical parts moving fills the room as does the voice of Salazar from Mom’s property as the screen lowers and flashes—the scene now playing matching the words coming from the soon-to-be-a-dead-man’s mouth.
“We need to leave, Lourdes. That son of a bitch brother of yours will be on us soon enough.”
“Did you leave her?” Lourdes's voice is angry, her body language tense. “Are you getting a divorce like you swore you would that first night?”
