Chapter 18
18
B lood and I reentered the club feeling pretty good about twisting shit out with Sandoval.
“I think this deserves a shot.” Blood went behind the bar and retrieved a bottle of Jack and two glasses.
I pulled out my phone and hit Jameson’s number, then looked up at Blood. “I think I may have our ticket home.”
After the fifth ring, I prepared for the away message when the call connected.
“Yeah,” Jameson’s gruff voice filled the phone.
“I’m assuming your products were delivered.”
“Absolutely. Our customers are gonna be very happy.”
“Premium goods.” I paused. “Had a visit before from the local authorities. They expected to catch us with our dicks out, but the laugh was on them.”
“Interesting.”
“What’s even more interesting is the big man himself sent them. The whole thing was a setup, but I was five steps ahead of him.”
“Nice.”
I didn’t expect any pats on the back, but Jameson’s one word answers were starting to piss me off especially since I shut down a huge fuckin’ problem, got the drop on Sandoval, and managed to get the guns delivered.
“I’m thinking some compensation is in order.”
“Compensation?”
“Yeah, I proved the Bastards can’t be pushed around, and also delivered the goods, so I’m thinking our time down here is coming to an end.”
I heard the flick of Jameson’s lighter then a deep drag off his smoke. “Your time down there will be over when I say it’s over.”
I drummed my fingers on the edge of the glass. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re nowhere near paid your dues. You’re down there for a few months and send up one shipment and you think you’re done?”
Exactly what I thought, but I stayed silent.
“If you’ve got such a handle on the man than make a deal for regular shipments and after I’m satisfied, I’ll think about your future.”
I hissed in a breath. “And when will that be?”
“When I’m good and fuckin’ ready.”
“This is bullshit and you know it.”
“Are you telling me how to run my club, cause the way I see it, you’re a fuck up and it’s gonna take a lot more than one shipment to make me forget how much you fucked up.”
My hands balled into fists and if Jameson was standing in front of me, I’m eighty percent sure I would’ve landed one of them on his jaw.
“Don’t forget, you’re a liability so don’t be so impatient.” He drew in a breath. “And don’t ever question me or tell me how to do my fuckin’ job again. Understand?”
“Yeah.” I grunted then punched the disconnect button, tossed my phone on the table, and downed the shot Blood pushed my way.
Blood refilled my glass. “I’m guessing that didn’t go the way you planned.”
“You guessed right.” I gulped the second shot of the smoky liquid as fast as the first, and he refilled my glass again.
What the fuck? I hadn’t gotten my drink on since I landed in this hellhole. The last three months had been about work, work, and more work. Then I hook up with an innocent woman who’s all wrong for me in every way, and yet somehow we clicked—until she must’ve come to her senses and realized what I was really about.
Then for a grand finale, I hijack a gun shipment from Sandoval, and have it shipped up to Jameson with the hope my chapter prez would cut me a break and bring me and Blood back to the States. But as usual I was way off the mark and the fucker basically laughed in my face and told me to fuck off. Adding I was a liability the Royal Bastards didn’t need and as of now Tijuana was my new home.
As I relayed the conversation to Blood, Ricky entered the club and headed straight for our table his face tight and tense.
Blood held up the bottle of Jack. “What’s got your panties in a twist?”
“I got something I need to show you.”
“Ain’t that kind of a party, brother.” I kicked out the other chair with my foot. “Sit down and have a drink with the big boys.”
“I’m not joking. This is serious.”
I pushed my glass to the side. “What’s up?”
Ricky fumbled his phone out of his pocket, then swiped the screen and scrolled through his pictures. A few seconds later he turned the screen to me and Blood. “Look familiar? ”
We stared at a picture of Marisol. Ricky pinched the screen to enlarge the shot. “Marisol Marquez is not her real name.”
“Okay.” I shrugged. “So she changed her name.”
“She didn’t change her name, she’s just not telling you her real name .”
“Geez, fuck.” Blood gulped at his drink. “I can’t stand the suspense, just spit it out.”
“Her real name is Marisol Sandoval, she’s?—”
My heart skipped, pounded hard, then slowed. “Rico Sandoval’s daughter.”
“What?” Blood leaned in and snatched the phone away from Ricky. He stared at the screen. “Where the fuck did you find this?”
“When you first hired her I knew she looked familiar, but I couldn’t figure out from where. Then a buddy of mine was in the club the other night and he said he knew who she was and sent me this picture.”
I grabbed the phone from Blood. Marisol was draped in black from head to toe standing at a gravesite next to a guy who appeared to be older than her. They shared the same features so I guessed them to be related. I scrolled down to the caption under the picture.
“Angeline Sandoval was gunned down by an alleged motorcycle gang in retaliation for Rico Sandoval’s suspected alliances with the Mexican cartel.”
“Holy, shit.” My brain stalled on the photo, then spun trying to make sense of the last few days. “She must be here getting intel for her father. Son of a bitch!”
“Sandoval does a good job of keeping his family under the radar. Most people don’t even know he has kids, but my friend works for the funeral home that handled the burial and he remembered her. She’s kinda hard to forget. ”
Blood slammed his hand on the table. “I don’t fuckin’ believe it.”
My brain twisted and turned trying to remember things I said to her, things she said to me. Another bitch scammed me.
“What are you gonna do?” Ricky asked. “Fire her?”
I swallowed the bitter taste in my mouth, then shook my head. “Nah.”
Blood leaned across the table. “Whaddya mean, no?”
“Business as usual.” I kept my voice ice cold as a heat creeped up my spine.
“Did you hear what he said, she’s?—”
“Sandoval’s daughter, yeah, I got it. Like I said, everything stays the same. You don’t say anything, do anything, or act any different to her. As far as she knows we still think she’s Marisol Marquez. Got it?”
“Yeah, but . . .”
“No buts, from here on we’re gonna work her. Feed her false information, give her just enough rope to hang herself . . . and then—” I spit out a vicious laugh.
I turned to Ricky. “And you keep this to yourself, understand? You don’t tell nobody. Not your family or your friends and tell your friend at the funeral home to keep his mouth shut too, or he’ll have to answer to me.”
Ricky nodded. “Sure, boss.”
“You’re wearing the Bastard’s cut now, so this will be your first test of loyalty.”
“I got it.”
I pushed away from the table suddenly drained and wanting to be alone. I had to process this, then figure out a plan. This revelation could explain why she ran out of here earlier. Maybe it all got too real for her. Maybe she wouldn’t even show up tomorrow for work. Or, maybe she would, and if she did I was going to be all ready for Miss Marisol Sandoval .
Alone in my room I did a few Google searches and came up with nothing. Jameson gave me the intel on Sandoval before we left for Tijuana, but nothing mentioned him having a family other than the murdered wife. We never dug any deeper since we were targeting Rico.
I put a call in to a tech guy we used in San Diego and told him to concentrate on Marisol Sandoval/Marquez. I gave him the information I had, and what I wanted. A few hours later, I had quite a bit of interesting information, plus a picture of my mystery woman.
Seems Rico sent her to some fancy boarding school in California for high school. Then a picture a few years later of her in a cap and gown graduating with honors from Stanford with another caption.
Daughter of Alleged Mexican Cartel Enjoying Campus Life in California
In this picture she stood next to a very attractive woman who could pass for her sister, but I assumed it was her mother. The woman smiled into the camera, but Marisol’s face was turned away like she didn’t want her picture taken. It was easy to see where Marisol got her looks. Too bad all that hotness was wrapped up in a deceiving bitch.
I read the attached article below the picture.
“Alleged Mexican cartel kingpin, Rico Sandoval, is seen in a rare photo attending his youngest daughter’s graduation from Stanford. Apparently, the alleged drug lord’s money has afforded him the best education for his daughter. This reporter wonders how much his family knows about the directive of such money.”
Good question, but that was a given. Of course, Marisol knew what her father was about. Me and my connection to the Bastards was the main reason she applied for the job at The Tropics.
All the disconnects I had over the past months came together. How she stood out from the other girls we employed. How she caught on to the POS system quickly and never messed up a drink order. Simple shit for a Stanford graduate with her masters who would never take a job in a strip club under normal circumstances. She even managed to perfect the local accent when she probably spoke perfect English.
Luckily, she’d only done the office part of her job twice, but even when I caught her rifling through my desk I gave her a pass because I didn’t want to believe what was staring me in the face.
A conniving bitch taking orders from her father—the boss of the most notorious cartel in Mexico.
I stared at the picture for a long time, then swiped away the article and the picture. If she wanted to play we were gonna play by my rules.
Game on, bitch.