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She says nothing, but I see the fight in her eyes, the war between who she wants to be and who she’s been forced to become.
“Would you like to come with me?” I ask, ducking until I’m staring into those blue eyes of hers. She nods. I skim my lips across her cheek, and she trembles as I whisper against her ear. “Then say it, sweet Anna.”
“Please, can I come with you?”
“Yes, but I warn you, you might not like what you see.”
“I know.”
“Put on some clothes, before I change my mind and tear that fucking dress off you.” She lifts a brow, her eyes hardening. “I’ll bring the car around.”
I pull away from the main gate, acutely aware of Anna’s presence next to me. She stares out of the window as I guide the sports car out onto the desert road that leads into the city. I love Juarez, but as soon as I rose above street level, I craved open space and clean air. Juarez seems to live under a cloud of oppression and desperation, filled with men willing to do anything and everything just to survive, and for those really willing to take chances, like me, even thrive.
She turns to face me. “Are the horses yours?”
“You went to the stables?”
“I saw two in the paddock.” A small smile touches her lips.
“My grandfather used to have a small farm. He used horses to work the cattle.” She watches me with quiet curiosity. “I breed them. Call it a hobby if you will.”
“How many do you have?”
I shrug one shoulder. “Twenty maybe.”
She turns back to the window. “You’re full of surprises, Rafael.” She says nothing else for the rest of the drive until I pull up next to an old factory. I own it but haven’t had any use for it yet. One of my Hummers is parked, and I pull up beside it.
“Stay here,” I say to Anna. She glances at me, then at the scene past the windshield. Samuel and Carlos are leaning against the hood of the Hummer, watching as two of Sam’s guys keep hold of a teenager. At her silence, I stare at her, my jaw clenching. “Anna…”
“I’ll stay here,” she says.
I turn on the radio and crank the volume, sending classical music blaring through the speakers, before I get out and slam the door.
Samuel watches me approach and take up position next to him against the hood of the Hummer.
“You okay, boss?” He glances at the car behind me, a smirk working over his lips.
“Fine.” I’m not fine. I look like a soft fuck because I have her here with me. The muted tones of violins blasting from inside the car reach us, adding dramatic effect to what’s about to happen. Everyone here is waiting to see what I’ll do. The kid fights the hands pinning him down as he stares at me, fire spitting in his eyes.
“Do you know who I am?” I ask.
“Fuck you. I don’t –“ I pull my gun and have the barrel pressed to his head in a split second.
“I’m Rafael D’Cruze, kid.”
His eyes go wide. “I didn’t do shit. It’s a free country.” He tries to maintain his bravado, but it’s crumbling under the knowledge that he’s in deep shit. At least he has some semblance of a brain cell.
“That is where you are wrong.” I jab the gun into his forehead, and he swallows heavily. “Juarez is my city. How stupid are you to think that you can just start selling shit on my streets, hey?” In any other situation, I’d actually applaud him. He’s got a whole team of kids working for him, a mini enterprise, but there’s no room for start-ups around here. Any competition, no matter how small, is damaging.
He’s wearing jeans and a jacket, but they’re expensive. Designer. He’s no street rat. “Or maybe you don’t know.” I turn to Samuel, but my gaze drifts to the Mercedes parked beside the hummer. Anna watches me. Her eyebrows pulled into a frown. I don’t want her to see this shit, but she needs to. She needs to stop looking at me like I’m going to fucking save her, and I need to stop thinking I can. This is what I am, and neither she or I can change it. “You get his wallet?” Samuel digs into his pocket and throws me a leather wallet.
I take out the driver’s license and read over the address. “Nice digs, Antony Gastrello.” I smirk. “That name ring any bells, boys?”
“No fucking way,” Samuel groans behind me.
I laugh. “The senator’s son is a dealer.” I tut. “What will daddy say about that?”
“He’s my uncle,” the kid spits, trying to shrug out from the guys holding him.
I grab him by the throat and his eyes go wide as I squeeze, feeling his carotid artery throb erratically against my fingers. He coughs and squirms, jerking to try and get free. I yank him close. “This is not your private school, you entitled little fuck. This is the cartel.” I release him, and he falls to the floor, choking and crying.
