When Lies Unfold

Chapter 49

When Gordo doesn’t immediately giveme shit about havin’ Lola in my bedroom while we stride down the hall, I know somethin’s off.

I’m proven right when he mutters, “Hidalgo’s fuckin’ increased his numbers. We just intercepted a hundred and forty girls just over the border.”

My steps falter. The fuck? Rage pollutes my veins. I wish I’d been in the position to kill that bastard years ago.

We stop in front of a closed door and Gordo punches in a code on the keypad beside the handle. When the light on the keypad flashes green, I shove it open with more force than necessary.

After grabbin’ our usual vests along with a few more weapons and extra ammo, we stride out and head for the vehicle parked out front.

I slide into the passenger seat while Gordo gets behind the wheel and starts the ignition. “Everybody else is on the way, so they’re waitin’ on us.”

It’s his way of sayin’ he knew what I was doin’ and gave me as much time as he could back there in my bedroom.

“But it’s not good, boss. Got guys there, tryin’ to sort shit, but…” He shakes his head as he peels out of the driveway, haulin’ ass down the steep paved path. “Some of the women didn’t make it. We got some to talk—the ones who were in rough shape but still hangin’ on. He’d pumped ’em full of shit, so they were crashin’ hard.”

I fist my hands so tightly, the short, blunt tips of my nails dig into my palms. “Goddammit.” It was that bastard’s MO. Pump the girls full of his trademark synthetic drug and sell ’em off like cattle goin’ to slaughter.

That drug of his is bad news, and I flat-out refuse to deal with anybody who has a role in distributin’ it. That shit has a fuckin’ death toll connected to it.

“Fucker’s pushin’ his luck by pullin’ that shit in my territory.” I grit my teeth.

Goddamn Hidalgo and his love for human traffickin’… Over the past few years, he’s grown bolder—and progressively more reckless.

“This shit needs to end once and for all. Where the fuck is Juarez on this?” Potent frustration threatens to suffocate me, and I barely resist punchin’ a goddamn hole in the dash. “How long does it take to get him and his team to help shut this shit down?”

I may sell drugs, but I don’t sell humans. People may think my disgust toward Hidalgo is hypocritical, but I sell substances, not people. No livin’, breathin’ person deserves to be sold into slavery—sexual or otherwise.

“I get it, boss. I do.” Gordo exhales loudly. “But convincin’ people not to do business with him anymore is one thing.”

He casts me a glance before returnin’ his attention to the road. “Goin’ head-to-head with Hidalgo means outright war. And Juarez can only do so much to help us.”

Frustration rages through me. I rip the tie out of my hair, rake my fingers through it, and smooth it back before securin’ it again.

“I know it.” My tone is curt and icy, but Gordo knows it’s not directed at him. “Thing is, I’m too fuckin’ tired of dealin’ with this shit.”

We fall quiet as he speeds down the highway toward Paso Canoas. No one’s on the road this late, thank fuck, which makes our travel smoother. “Dari’s down there, in charge and keepin’ things under wraps till we get there.”

Dari’s one of my best, so I have all the confidence in the world he’s handlin’ shit and doin’ it well.

“What’re you thinkin’, boss?”

“What am I thinkin?” Shakin’ my head, I stare sightlessly out the windshield. The temptation to punch somethin’ is still potent as hell. “I’m thinkin’ I wish I knew a way to dismantle every facet of his business.”

“Yeah.” Gordo shifts in his seat like he’s just as antsy as I am to beat the shit outta Hidalgo. “Same.”

We pass the signs indicatin’ it’ll be twenty-seven kilometers till we get to the border. Then we’ll head to Santa Marta, where my men are waitin’ with the women they’ve rescued.

My mind wanders back to Lola. I bet she won’t set foot in my bedroom again while I’m gone. Stubborn-ass woman.

“You know what you’re doin’?” Gordo’s muted voice draws my attention. I glance at him, but his concentration is on the dark, unlit road. “With her, I mean.”

“Marcelo talked to you.” I don’t bother phrasin’ it as a question.

“He’s worried you’re compromised.”

“He needs to mind his own damn business.”

Gordo grunts. “I get where he’s comin’ from, though.”

I whip my head around to stare at him. “The fuck?”

“Just sayin’.” He lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “It’s not exactly far-fetched. Hidalgo’s pulled other shady shit before.”

He hesitates. “Gotta watch your back, especially now that…” When he trails off, I know how to fill in the rest. “Gotta watch your back, especially now that…you’ve fucked her.”

Pissed as hell, I squint at him. “You think I’m compromised after just fuckin’ her?”

“Santy… You don’t fuck women in your bed. Ever.”

He’s not wrong. Still… My muscles feel like they’ve been reinforced with rebar. “You know my gut instinct is never off. I can fuckin’ assure you, she’s not partnered with Hidalgo.”

“I’ve just never seen you like this with anyone.” He pauses. “Sure as hell didn’t expect it, especially after she tried to leave tonight.”

I grind my palms against my eyes as bone-deep weariness takes hold. “Look, I get what you’re sayin’, but it’s not like that. You saw her. She coulda emptied those bullets into Andro, but didn’t. And she talked to me tonight—really talked.”

“’Bout what exactly?”

“’Bout how her ex carved up her body before she got away from ’im.”

His head snaps around, eyes narrowed. “Carved?”

“Yeah. That’s what most of that ink is coverin’ up.”

“Jesus, fuck.”

“She’s been feelin’ trapped all over again, and that’s why she was plannin’ to leave.”

“Makes sense. Especially if she was abused like that, there’s a good chance he controlled her life like a dictator.”

“Exactly.”

A beat of silence passes before he voices his quiet question. “You think she’s still gonna try and leave again?”

“Don’t think so.” I shake my head. “Then again”—a coarse-soundin’ laugh falls from me—“never can tell with Lola.”

“Huh.” Gordo cuts me a sharp look. “So she’s Lola now, and not Miss Arias?” There’s far too fuckin’ much smugness in his voice. “Interestin’.”

“Fuck you.”

“Nah,” he counters quickly. “Don’t want her leftovers.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose and mutter, “Just fuckin’ drive.”