I dig my fingernails into the palms of my hands, making indentations. Nearly drawing blood as I recall the past few months and all I’ve learned.
Preparing for the task I’ve been assigned.
Get in with the motorcycle club. Earn their trust in any way I can and report back to Hector and Jose. I’ve been playing my part, like a good soldier. This is my ticket out of here.
This isn’t the first time they’ve asked me to gather intel on a business partner. This is, however, the first time I’ll be doing it outside of this estate. Away from the watchful eyes of their men.
Sure, there will be men in Anarchy who report to Hector and Jose, but this is a long game.
I have no plans of giving the Juarez brothers any information they can truly use.
By the time they figure out I’m wasting their time, I’ll be on the run or dead.
The good thing about this place is I’ve not felt anything for years.
My expectations of what’s to come are extremely low.
Honestly, if I make it out of Mexico alive, it will be a miracle.
I try not to look bored as I resist the itch to pick at a hangnail on my thumb.
Hector hates when I fidget.
“Do you need your VP to hold your dick?” Hector chuckles, and all his men laugh as he thrusts Tonya forward.
One glance at Tonya and the biker’s top lip curls in disgust. He shares a look with his partner, but they won’t challenge Hector. Not like this. They may have men outside of the gate, but behind these heavily guarded walls, that means nothing.
There’s probably fifty soldiers with eyes on them, not to mention their guns.
Hector snaps his fingers at me. “Don’t let me down, pequeña flor.” He leaves me with Jose.
“You fuck this up and you’re a dead bitch,” he warns.
I’m dead either way.
The bikers don’t take long with Tonya.
“Your whore’s dead,” Big Daddy tells him.
I close my eyes. Part of me is sad, while the other half of me is jealous that she’s escaped.
“Don’t worry. This one won’t break.” He pushes me forward.
Big Daddy looks me over, irritation evident in his features. He’s a big guy. Intimidating.
Not a man you want to be on the bad side of, but I’ll take my chances.
“What’s your name?”
“D-d-Daisy,” I mutter.
“You have a passport?”
I nod. It’s not a real one, but it doesn’t matter. Border Patrol will let me through.
“Good,” he grumbles.
I follow Big Daddy and Hero through the gates with nothing to my name other than the skimpy clothes I’m wearing.
