“¡¿Efren?!Why’d you stop?” Adrian snaps, dragging me back to reality.
I scoop the remaining dirt with the shovel and place it over the wooden square door that leads to the underground tunnels.
“How are we going to know where it’s at?” Ricky asks.
“There’s an AirTag in the bag we left behind,” Adrian explains.
Adrian’s wearing all black, a Santa Muerte chain around his neck, and sweat beads at his temples from the Texas heat. Since I got out of prison, it’s hard to look at him the same. We’ve been through so much, and yet we’re more connected than he knows. He walks to the van, Ricky and I following.
“Ricky, you got the address?” Adrian asks.
“Vidal just said the bus stop on Harrison Boulevard.”
Adrian speeds toward the Greyhound bus station, and I turn up the radio.
“Pull around to the back. Vidal said he’d be waiting for us,” Ricky says over the music when we turn onto Harrison Boulevard.
“There he is,” Adrian says when we round the corner of the bus station.
“That’s one tall motherfucker!” Ricky exclaims.
I jump out of the van and make my way to the man waiting outside with the camo duffel bag. Ricky’s right—the dude’s tall as fuck with shoulders stacked like cinder blocks. I don’t get the opportunity to ask if he’s the guy we were ordered to pick up. The tall motherfucker launches his duffel bag at my chest, and I almost fall over from the impact.
“Baltasar Ríos?” I hear Ricky ask the man as he approaches the sliding van door. “I mean, Carnicero?”
El Carnicero, as we were instructed to call him by Vidal—a fact Ricky failed to remember—grunts once, then climbs into the back seat. He slides the side door closed with a hard clunk, and I take my spot in the passenger seat.
Adrian’s wearing black sunglasses, but I can still see his brows twitch behind the lenses as he takes in our newest crew member. The man grunts again, a deep sound from the back of his throat, and Ricky pulls out the box of nut rolls wewere instructed to bring. None of us knew why, only that Vidal Montalván saidbring them, so we did.
Adrian and I had pledged loyalty to the Colombian kingpin when we were in prison at the Houston Federal Detention Center. Vidal ran the yard, the guards,everything. And word is, the man behind me now,El Carnicero, is his most trusted protector. His right hand.
The same man is now chewing through a nut roll like it’s his first meal in weeks. I hear thecrinkleof the wrapper first, and then… themoan.A low, guttural sound that makes me straighten in my seat uncomfortably. I immediately regret looking back at him when our eyes meet.
Ricky’s eyes flick to the side, but he doesn’t dare turn his head. Adrian starts the engine, and I turn back to the front window. None of us speak. Not even when another moan slips out of El Carnicero’s mouth. I can hear his lips smacking, the tearing of yet another candy wrapper.
“What the fuck.” Adrian mouths silently, gripping the wheel.
I don’t look back. Irefuseto make eye contact with him again. Instead, I stare straight ahead and pray he runs out of nut rolls before I’m forced to jump out of this van.
We return to the construction site where Vidal is building his mansion. There’s a small house sitting at the back of the four acres where I’ve been staying with Ricky.
“Remember when you offered me your penthouse?” I ask as soon as El Carnicero gets out and walks toward the house.
There’s no fucking way in hell I’m living with that freak.
“What about me?” Ricky pleads.
“Efren can take the penthouse, but you gotta stay with Lurch.” Adrian laughs.
“Lurch?” Ricky looks back at the house then at us. “Come on, fool, don’t leave me with him.”
“Hey, fool, talk to your tio, not us.” I chuckle.
Adrian’s phone rings, and his expression hardens.
“Get the fuck out of my van, Ricky.”
Ricky slowly gets out and approaches the passenger window.
