“It’s the newpozolero. They left the lab, and someone broke into it.”
Pozolero—soap maker. It’s the chemist who creates the formula for Colombia’s number one illegal export.
I appear focused on Humberto, but I’m still observing the woman. She doesn’t care for that excuse. Why?
“It’s not like the lab is in some building in the worst part of Bogotá. It’s in the middle of the fucking Amazon. It’s difficult to find on purpose. Your security is shit if someone followed yourpozolerothere or someone stumbled upon it.”
No one fucking stumbles upon our labs. They’re purposely hidden in the most obscure, nearly impossible-to-reach parts of the rainforest. And why the hell did he say “they?” Humberto isn’t a forward-thinking man. This isn’t gender-neutral language. He doesn’t want me to know the new scientist he hired is a woman. That only raises my suspicions about the one at the table.
Our enterprise is massive, and we’re the leading suppliers of the world’s third-most-popular substance. The fine white powder—cocaine? What cocaine?—is a chemical compound requiring true science to formulate. There are plenty who think mixing the various parts together will create something worth selling. If it doesn’t kill the user, it’s such inferior quality that it’s not worth the money spent to make it.
How do I know beyond being a leading purveyor? I have an undergrad degree in chemistry and biology from Harvard. I dida semester abroad at Cambridge. I have a grad degree in chem from MIT. Short of a PhD, there are few better educated than me in the field.
“Excuses,Tío. You know you’re responsible for overseeing our trade deals down here. Alejandro has plenty of proof that this shitstorm is your fault.”
My cousin is the second coming of Houdini. He slips in and out of places with no one knowing. He can disappear while you’re practically looking at him. He’s been like that since we were kids. He was always in the thick of the trouble all of us got in, but he was gone before the adults could catch him. He escaped punishment until our mutual cousins and I doled out our own. He never feared us as much as his mom.
He’s our leading spy when we need to know what’s really going on. He brought home plenty of intel to support our suspicions that Humberto is falling down on the job.
Mytíoabuelo’sface reddens. He didn’t know Alejandro’d been down here.
I rest my elbows on the armrests and steeple my fingers. It makes my suit coat’s sleeves strain around my biceps. That gets the woman’s attention. Her gaze is slow to meet mine. Then she smirks.
Fucking smirks.
That doesn’t bruise my male ego at all.
La reina—the queen.
Her self-assuredness.
Her imperious stare.
Her entire bearing screams a woman not easily intimidated and usually in control.
It’s fucking hot.
“What do your records show,señorita? How much did these thieves take? It must be in your notes somewhere.”
Mytío abuelois an utteridiotaand actually writes shit down. Fortunately, it’s in code. But he still keeps records. No one in my immediate family—we barely acknowledge he’s related to us by blood—can get him to stop because no one lives down here. We all live in New York or New Jersey. When the cats are away, this mouse will play.
Too bad he’s just found himself in a trap.
“Um…”
The woman peers over at me before shifting her attention to Humberto. She’s waiting for him to intercede on her behalf, but he won’t say shit. He’ll let her take the fall. He’ll blame her crappy record keeping for not knowing how things stand, that somehow, she’s to blame for it happening.
“Señorita, what’s your name?”
Oh!
She definitely doesn’t like that question.
She probably thinks I’m going to find where she lives and have her whacked in the middle of the night. Her eyes are practically shooting fiery arrows at me. I feel scorched at how intense her gaze has become.
It’s fucking hot.
It’s doing way more to my dick than it should, especially if she’s his latest conquest. I cross my legs to make sure she can’t tell. Thank God for boxer briefs that have little room for my cock to stand out. I definitely don’t need Humberto to know I’m attracted to her. He’ll be a prick toward her, and then I’ll really have to kill him.
