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I’m eager to get this over with and tend to my queen.
In my expensive, well-tailored suit, no one bats an eye as I cross the lobby of the Waldorf and take the elevator up to the presidential suite. Standing at the door, I pull the gun from the back of my pants and screw on the silencer before knocking on the door.
I don’t bother with the mask in my pocket, because none of these men will be alive to tell others who I am.
The door opens and I immediately squeeze off two shots into the man before me, before pushing him out of my way and closing the door behind me. Two other men stand from the couch, and I place bullets into each of them before they can do the same to me.
Opening the bedroom door, I find the man that I came here for. The fat, sweaty fuck is balls deep in a tiny blonde on all fours beneath him, feigning her enjoyment as he slaps his gut against her ass.
So engrossed in the pussy before him, he doesn’t have a clue that I have killed the three men protecting him or that I am crossing the bedroom behind him. The way he startles as I press the muzzle of the silencer to the nape of his neck, I am almost certain he’s going to blow his load into the poor girl beneath him.
“What the fuck?” he yells as he stills, drawing the attention of the paid pussy beneath him.
“Face in the fucking pillows, sweetheart,” I growl before she has the opportunity to look at me. “Keep your face in the fucking pillows and there’s no reason you won’t get to leave this hotel room. Understood?”
“Yes,” her reply is muffled with the pillows.
“Be thankful, sweetheart,” I grab the hair of the man still buried in her and pull him from the bed, “I’m keeping this fuck from coming inside of you.”
“Do you know who the fuck I am?” the naked man on his knees before me snarls.
“Benecio Garcia. Soon to be known as a fucking dead man,” I press the silencer roughly against his forehead. “Do you know who the fuck I am?”
“I’m a fucking lieutenant to the Padilla Cartel,” he pushes his face against the muzzle, “Do you have any idea what killing me will mean?”
“Yes. It’ll send a pretty clear fucking message that you don’t fuck with the Diaz Cartel,” his eyes widen as I slowly annunciate the last two words, watching as my finger slowly pulls against the trigger.
The naked woman on the bed screams into the pillows at the muffled gunshot.
“You’re doing good, sweetheart,” I commend her upon seeing her face still buried tight against the mattress. “Just a few more minutes.”
Grabbing the cigar cutter from the nightstand, I kneel beside Benecio and slide it over his plump finger. Squeezing hard, it crunches through the tendon as his severed finger falls into my palm.
With the gun tucked back in my pants and Benecio’s finger in my hand, I make my way to the service entrance, where Paul is waiting as directed. Climbing into the backseat, I give him the address for Alexys’s apartment. He begins the drive across the city without batting an eye.
As we make our way to her borough, I drop the finger into a box, wipe my hands, and scribble a note to Benecio’s brother.
Stay the fuck out of my cities, or you might not be lucky enough to be dead when I start removing pieces of you.
I place the box on the front passenger seat as Paul pulls up in front of the building, “Have one of the guys see that this gets to Padilla. Don’t wait, I’ll get myself home.”
In the light of the apartment stairwell, as I climb up to her apartment, I realize that I still have blood on my hands. I pick the lock and let myself into Alexys’s apartment, ensuring not to touch anything with my soiled hands as I make my way to her master bathroom. Pressing the door shut gently with my shoe, I flip on the light and thoroughly scrub his blood from my hands.
As much as I want my hands on her body, I’d never want to mar her beautiful flesh with another man’s blood.
twelve
ALEXYS
The sound of running water wakes me from my sleep. Groggily rolling over, I swear the light of the adjoining bathroom flips off as I open my eyes.
Fucking paranoid, Lex…
The faint sound of footsteps approaching across the hardwood floor immediately tells me that I’m not paranoid. I feel my heart beginning to thump in my chest and I scramble backward until I am pressed tightly against the headboard.
“Mi reina,” a deep voice whispers from the shadows at the foot of the bed.
“Your queen?” My words ooze with disdain as I try to hide my fear.
