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It seems like a man can’t even enjoy a cold beer nowadays without being shot at by one of the Cartel’s spineless opportunists. And the only reason I’m still alive to be mad about it is because they can’t aim for shit. Otherwise, this trip would’ve ended halfway through a pilsner.
I really shouldn’t be shooting back, but I can’t stand it when someone interrupts me when I’m having a drink. Jasha has done it a time or two, minus the gun, and I nearly shot him on both occasions.
This time, I have a good enough reason to pull the trigger, and I let shots loose in the building as it erupts into chaos. The slight buzz takes some of the stress away, and I shoot better because of it, hitting my attacker on the first shot and finishing him with the second.
He goes down hard, but I doubt I’m in the clear yet. Around here, bar owners don’t take kindly to people who put bullets in their customers, even if those customers happen to be the ones who instigated the fight.
I don’t waste time getting out of there, tucking my gun into my pants and leaping off my barstool with a half-finished beer in my fist. I take a drink as I run with everyone else toward the door, pretending I wasn’t the obvious cause of this mayhem.
“Pendejo!” I hear the owner yell as I leave, but I’m already too far outside to reply with my own insult. My Spanish isn’t as polished as it used to be.
Word travels fast in a small town like this, and I suspect that once the locals figure out who attracted the Cartel to their little town, they’re going to grab their pitchforks and come after me.
Normally, that wouldn’t bother me, but I have Dream to worry about, and she won’t be able to face the locals like I would. If she’s in danger, we need to leave. I won’t have any harm befall her because of my recklessness. I promised to keep her safe and I’m a man of my word.
My shoulder slams against the front entrance of the hotel as I burst inside, charging past the woman at the front desk and up the stairs to the bedroom. Dream is already out in the hallway, a panicked expression on her face that melts into relief when she sees me.
“What’s going on?” she asks as I rush past her into the room.
“A little scuffle at the bar. Nothing major.” I take a swig of my beer and set it down on the dresser. “We need to pack up and go. The Cartel knows we’re here.”
“Seriously?!”
“Not my fault, babe. That’s just the way things go when you’re prancing around in public, buying dresses when you should be hiding away inside,” I say as I gather our stuff and shove it into my bag.
“I needed clothes. I hardly think that’s my fault. You’re the one who was out drinking in the middle of the day.”
“That’s the least busy time,” I mutter, but I know she’s right. I shouldn’t have gone out. This could’ve been avoided, but I got sloppy and we’re paying the price for it.
What’s worse is that the Cartel is going to get word that there’s a Bratva boss on the loose in Mexico, and if they’re capable of doing math, they’ll put one and one together and realize that Dream and I are in this together.
Eddy might be inheriting more trouble than he already has, and Dream is never going to forgive me if she thinks I’m the one who got him killed.
We have to be preemptive about this. Contacting Diego and requesting a temporary truce in exchange for the drugs is the only way we’re going to be able to pull this off. Dream isn’t going to like it, but we’re already past keeping this operation covert.
It’s time to air some dirty laundry.
I grab my bag in one hand and Dream in the other, yanking her out of the room and down the stairs. The woman at the front desk is scared and bewildered as we rush past her, but I don’t have time for explanations or apologies. Even Dream seems to realize this and doesn’t say anything until we’re in the car.
“You really screwed this up,” she says, slouching in her seat as I pull out onto the road.
“Now isn’t the time,” I grumble, pressing my foot down hard into the accelerator.
“No, now’s a perfect time. You were supposed to take this seriously, and instead, you were out drinking and getting into fights with the Cartel,” she says, her voice rising to match her visible anger.
“That wasn’t my fault,” I insist, unwilling to admit my guilt. I hate being wrong, and I hate it even more when someone else is right. It makes me look weak, and I refuse to show that side of me to a woman again.
She’ll take advantage of me.
That’s what they always do.
Dream doesn’t buy my excuses, shaking her head and breathing out loudly as we barrel down the open road toward the next town. “Where are we going, anyway?” she asks.
“Well, you wanted to go to one of the big cities before, so that’s where we’re going,” I reply, trying to sound like it’s a good thing.
Like it’s her choice.
She sighs. “This is going to get Eddy killed. I knew I couldn’t trust you.”
