AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Still watching me, he saunters back across the kitchen and puts down two cups on the table with heavy thuds. He grabs the back of my chair, towering over me, causing me to crane my head back so I can maintain eye contact. We silently watch each other like this, and for the first time ever, I don't feel like shying away from that powerful stare of his. I feel strong in standing my ground.
“You know,” he half smiles at me, reaching out and gently pinching my chin, “I actually believe you.”
I scoff at him, tugging out of his grasp. So he fucking should believe me. I'm not a liar.
———
We reach a turning point after I tell Charlie I won't speak of his business. I don't know what changes between us precisely but something does. I can feel it in the air in the coming days, the way he looks at me with more than desire in his eyes... the way he speaks to me now... There's no holding back on his behalf anymore—he's not once left the kitchen to have private conversations on his phone. And I find I'm more comfortable around him now than ever before. I want to open up to him on a level. Connect with him.
Over breakfast on Wednesday morning, I boldly confess, “I know you lead the Los Zetas.”
He smirks at me, sprinkling crumbs of toast from his fingers onto his plate. “I gathered that when you told me you studied them.”
“Oh.” I glance away, feeling like I've betrayed him or something. “I have been meaning to tell you that I know. I just-”
“S'all right.” He shrugs as if he doesn't much care. “I haven't exactly hidden the fact from you, have I? You've been listening in on my phone calls for days now.”
“Yeah, I guess...” I don't feel bad for too long, partly because, as he just said, 's'all right', and partly because I have other things on my mind.
“Are your services for sale too?” I ask, thinning my eyes with curiosity. “Or do you just hire out your men?” He's not long gotten off the phone to someone and I'm almost certain he said he's available in a few months’ time.
“No, people can hire my skills,” he says between sipping his coffee. He explains that he charges double for himself to personally commit to a job.
“You’re obviously good at what you do then?”
“Yeah. My mother ensured my skills by putting me into a secret military camp when I turned thirteen, so of course I'm good at what I do. Guns and physical combat is all I've ever known. I trained all my top ranked men, who now train their own details.”
“What do you do though, exactly?” I want to imagine what he's like in action.
He tells me that he and his men sometimes commit terrorist attacks so the American government can blame other religious communities in pursuit of oil and gas. “But my men and I typically carry out search and rescue missions... political correctness—in our own fashion.” He laughs when saying this.
“Political correctness?”
He nods. “We want Mexico returned to us—others out there don't realize how kind my people are, Blaire. We don't want Mexico overpowered by the puppeteer Americans. So, when the Americans try to implement New World Order rules in our country that ensure us no economic equality, we retaliate in ways we know will force them to back off, mostly fiddle with the stocks and shares. American cares about nothing more than money.”
Cupping my chin, I soak up everything, falling further and further down the rabbit hole that is Charlie, a good image of him in my head wearing army gear. I even conjure up the courage to ask about his sister. She's been on my mind the past few days—I've no idea why—and with things being light and intense free between Charlie and me, I feel comfortable enough to ask.
“You don't have to tell me if you don't want to,” I say softly.
“My, you're a curious little cat this morning.” He smiles at me with indulgence. His phone buzzes on the table with an incoming call but he cancels it, pressing the 'end call' red button.
“I'm not prying,” I say. “As I said, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to.”
“No,” he puts down his cup, “it's fine. I like talking to you.” His face softens as he speaks of his sister, Gina, telling me that I remind him of her in so many ways. “But you're evidently a lot stronger and more perceptive than she was.”
“What happened to her, Charlie?”
He gestures for the chocolate on the table so I pass it to him, and he cancels another call.
“My father was a conceited, greedy French pig,” he says, peeling open a bar of Galaxy Caramel.
“Your father was French?” I give him a surprised look, widening my eyes.
“Yeah, but when he married my mother, he became an American citizen and took her name.” He tells me that his mother was a Latin American who fell deeply in love with his father. They had nothing, so his father joined the American army, though he abandoned them to create the Los Zetas when he saw that if he had enough soldiers, he could take over Mexico. “The organization he created grew stronger and my father thirsted for money and the wrong kinda power.”
I learn that his father started trafficking young girls to fund his men because back then the Los Zetas didn't have any connections with the American government. “I was the one who solidified a political connection and other ways to earn money. As you know, I won't deal in sexually exploiting children.”
“Yeah,” I whisper. “I've heard you mention that.” I want to ask why he associates with men who do abuse young kids if he's so against it, but I hold my tongue for a while as he continues talking to me about his sister; telling me of a dark story.
