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I hold my thumb and index finger together. “Almost.”
“Jesus fucking christ.” He rubs at his jawline as he demands, “Who?”
“Nooo,” I sing. “I’m not telling you any more. Clearly, I’ve already said too much. There are rules for a reason—”
“Estrada’s advisors are too old, but…” Lory squints at me. “Didn’t we go to school with Davies’ kids? Their mom is a Barker, the European socialite, or some shit.”
I shrug, noncommittal, as I ask, “Did we?”
“Jasper,” he grumbles. “No.”
“Then no,” I agree. “We didn’t go to school with them. Don’t we have work to do? This conversation can wait until another day.”
A quaint suburban house rests ahead of us, nestled smack in the middle of the most boring neighborhood I’ve ever seen. But to the naïve eye, they wouldn’t guess hundreds of thousands of dollars move through the white brick cookie-cutter home every month.
And that’s exactly what they’re moving.
Bricks of cocaine and heroin. Probably a few other substances, too.
This is our fifth and final stop of the day, so I don’t voice my complaints about how the neighbors overlook the frequent visitors and cars piled along the curb. It’s just sloppy.
There’s something bittersweet and thrilling about robbing Estrada of the steady cash flow from his drug enterprise. Chills crawl over my arms as the anticipation settles in my core, mixing with the adrenaline that’s been riding me all afternoon.
Javier pulls the black Merc to a crawl at the stop sign across the street, not bothering to be discrete. It’s not a flashy car, but it is bulletproof, and apparently fucking bomb proof, though I don’t want to find out for sure. The outrageous price tag came with all kinds of neat features, none of which I want to test.
“Now?” Javi asks, a little too excited after the day we’ve had.
“Take us in,” I order from the backseat with Lory.
Two cars sit against the curb in front of the house, blocking the mailbox and garbage cans. Three cars are in the driveway, one of which is ridiculously ostentatious. The garage is closed; I’m guessing there are two more inside. The last house had eight living people inside, four when we left.
“Try to not shoot everyone this time,” Lory gripes.
I scoff. “Sure. I’ll do my best.”
“Gem,” he says with a sigh. “For the love of God, can we please keep this one somewhat clean? We’ve already left a trail that Estrada can’t overlook.”
“I said I’d do my best.”
He turns to glare at me. “You also said that at the last house. My ears are still ringing.”
“And I only shot four people,” I remind him. “I thought those were decent numbers, all things considered. I do have a reputation to uphold, you know?”
“She’s got a point,” Tomas chimes in. “She should have killed them all.”
“Don’t help her,” Lory snaps. “We need to move this shit along before Estrada catches up to us. We don’t have time to fuck around.”
By the time Lory finishes his rant, we’re already parked at the end of the driveway. Javier slowly climbs out of the car, straightening his suit jacket before he opens my door.
I slip my gun into the interior pocket of my leather jacket and step onto the sidewalk. Lory and Tomas stand slightly in front of me, with Javier taking up the back. The protection used to feel odd, especially considering I’m the danger here…
But protocols are in place for a reason. My grandfather feels as though this setup makes us appear more powerful. It makes me feel weaker, like they think they need to stand in the way of an attack. Maldonado Senior would pop a hernia if he knew Lory was shoulder-to-shoulder with the foot soldiers instead of being shielded by them.
As we reach the front porch, I move to the right, farther behind Lory, so I’m out of the way for this part. Tomas tilts his head from side to side as he checks out the door. Without warning or fanfare, he slams his size fourteen boot into the solid wooden surface, busting it open.
This is the fifth highest earning drug dealer working under Estrada, and now it’s mine.
They don’t know it yet.
