Whoever this guy is on the other side of the phone has no accent. Not one that hints at a foreign language, or even one that tells me a region in the U.S. As I listen to the two men go back and forth, I’m positive now this group of cartel men is from Boston.
“SeñoritaAguilar.”
“Sí, señor.”
“You have a choice to make. I know you’ve understood everything you’ve heard so far.”
That declaration surprises the men who realize they’ve talked, and I’ve understood everything.
“You have information many men want right now, probably even several women. It’s dangerous for you to be in New York. You can’t rely on the Diaz family to protect you.”
“Why is that?”
“Because they’re using you.”
“And you’re not?” I barely keep myself from snorting since his claim is so fucking ridiculous.
“Oh, I am, but at least I’m honest about it. I won’t play you for a fool like Pablo is.”
“And just who are you keeping me safe from? Is it only the Diaz family or someone else?”
“It’s everybody else,señorita. You have people on every continent but Antarctica interested in your knowledge.”
“And yet, you won’t pay these men you hired as much as a single mercenary would’ve made if they’d killed me.”
“You don’t need to worry your pretty little head about who’s getting paid how much. My men know this job is worth it.”
I ignore how he tries to antagonize me. It won’t get me anywhere if I let my irritation fog my mind.
“If you want me to believe all this shit you’re shoveling, then let me speak to Pablo.”
“I already talked to him. He knows I have you, and he knows I’m keeping you safe.”
“If that’s the case, why didn’t your men tell me that from the beginning instead of trying to coerce information out of me?”
“Because if they have to keep you company, you may as well have something to talk about.”
“You know I don’t believe a word you’re saying about Pablo, but I don’t doubt there are people after me. You’ve made that obvious, but I know I’m safest with the Diaz family, so I can be patient.”
“You’re smart not to trust me, but it doesn’t change who you are in this scenario and who you’re with. Your choice,señorita. Tell my men what they want to know, and we keep you safe, or we’ll turn you over to the wolves.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Pablo
“Why?”
I’m surrounded by the O’Rourkes at their shitty strip club 4Play. None of us are interested in the women in next to nothing—or entirely nothing—since they’re all married, and I have Flora. What the fuck do I need to look at another woman for when I have mychiquita?
“You’re going to have to be more specific, Pablo. Why the feck are you such a fucknut? Why the feck are you such a shitstain? Why the feck are you bothering us?”
I called Dillan, the mob boss, and demanded a meeting. This isn’t about swapping pleasantries. Hell, it could devolve into something far more violent. The strip club is the closest place to anonymity since it’s dark, and the fuckers here aren’t interested in anything but the women and their hard-ons. It’s also still public enough to remind us we shouldn’t shoot each other’s brains out.
I ignore Dillan’s questions or how he uses “feck” to irritate me. It sounds ridiculous to begin with, then it sounds utterly stupid when he uses fuck in a common phrase but feck foreverything else. Instead, I sweep my gaze around his cousins. Fucking red hair and green eyes. Fucking leprechauns. All six of them share the same features.
Dillan’s cousins—Seamus and Cormac—are built like fucking oxen and are standing on each side of Dillan. I’d like to say they’re as dumb as beasts of burden, but they’re both lawyers. Finn, the second-in-command, and his twin brothers—Sean and Shane—stand to the right of their other three cousins. My family is freshly from Colombia, so no wonder we still all have Spanish names. But the O’Rourkes have been here for like four generations. A fucking stereotype based on truth.
“I can tell you’re cursing our names, Pablo. We’ve heard it all before. I want to be home with my wife. Get on with it.”
