Temptation by Lilian Black
Chapter 1
Mateo
I'd been here a thousand times before— standing with my toes hanging over the edge of the cliff, waiting for the perfect gust of wind to jump off into the unknown. The same adrenaline spike tore through my veins as if it were my first time.
Or rather, my first kill.
My uncle used to tell me a routine would help. He used to say I should find some way to destress the moment before I stared down the barrel of my gun at whomever my victim was. Smoking a cigarette, cracking your knuckles, popping in a piece of spearmint gum— they were all like Band-Aids on a gaping wound— but they were helpful and made each subsequent kill easier.
And so much sweeter.
I never bought into that idea. Especially not when it was him on the other side of my weapon and I was given no time to strengthen my paper-thin will. It was a wicked twist of fate that saw me murdering my mentor, but the man had it coming. His commitment to the family was questioned and I realized when I gutted him that there was something fundamentally different between the two of us. I watched the crimson blood pour from his veins and not a lick of it reeked of loyalty— the kind of undying loyalty necessary to keep one’s family alive. I was full of it. Piss, vinegar, and that bitter fucking loyalty that never let me rest.
My father had seen it in me since day one.
I wondered if that loyalty beat through the arteries of my newest target. I'd seen his picture, of course. I’d spent time memorizing every part of it, but there were always the unmentionables. The things that don't get written in someone's file, the things you don't find in your research. Like the scent of his cologne, which I imagined would make my nostrils burn. Like the throatiness of his laugh when he heard some sick fucking joke that he found amusing. Or the thickness of the callouses on his hands. These were the things that defined a man and not until I had my grip around their throats, choking them within an inch of their life, did I find out what kind of man they really were.
I was about to become well acquainted with Ruben.
The bar was a dive; one that I probably would have enjoyed frequenting if it didn't have the stink of corruption and underhanded dealings. Luka put this place on the radar after there was an uptick in gun violence in the surrounding areas. He tracked the kind of scum that we kept an eye out for back to this piece of shit bar— the one that currently glowed in the dusky night. Neon lights flickered against the cloud of smoke that seeped from the few windows, and I imagined the inside air was chokingly thick. As I took my first step towards it, I sucked in a deep breath and tried to memorize the taste of fresh air.
Past the bikes lined up, the front door was beat up to high holy hell hanging off the hinges like it was seconds away from collapsing to the ground. I pushed inside, my eyes immediately watered and adjusted to the dim ambiance. A rumble of laughter vibrated through the floor with a long wooden bar situated on the back and tables scattered around in both directions. Some men played poker with scared-looking dealers flipping cards faster than they thought possible and women in uniforms that were no more than lingerie sets bounced around with tattered papers and plastic trays clutched in their long nails. Each one lingered at the tables hoping for their lucky break, for the moment when a halfway successful, decent-looking man saw something special in them and decided to save them from their mediocre lives. It wouldn't happen in a place like this, but I wasn't going to be the one to break it to them.
It took one sweep of the room until I saw him. That salt-pepper gray hair slicked back to cover his ever-growing bald spot, the pressed white business shirt as if the man had ever contributed anything legal to the economy, and of course, the yellow decay of his teeth from years of the addiction he pretended wasn't festering just below the surface. Ruben liked to exude a confident air as if his grip on reality wasn't a ribbon’s tie thread away from unraveling. But his past couldn't hide it, and neither could the wrinkles around his lips from chain smoking to keep his mouth busy.
I’d played this scene over in my head, I knew exactly how it was going to go. There was no use dancing around the topic. As soon as he saw the bleeding rose tattoo dripping from my wrist down to my fingers, he’d know who I was. He’d know why I was here. I considered myself a quick shot, but these days I was taking a little bit of extra pleasure in murdering anyone affiliated with the Desalmados.
And I'd be impressed if he managed to keep a straight face when he saw me.
All I'd have to do was lay out his options. Make a scene in the middle of the bar or walk with me like a man out back where I’d lodge the bullet between his eyes and not scare off all the waitresses. If I could avoid making a scene or shutting this place down momentarily while they scrubbed up the blood from the cracked tiles on the floor, I would. But I wasn't above it. My purpose wasn't to cater to those who couldn't stomach the violence in my world. I didn't bother with them, and I wasn't going to let them slow me down.
So, when I zeroed in on him smack dab in the middle of the bar cracking back a double scotch on the rocks like he would die without it, my body didn't hesitate, and it took less than six strides before I'd confirmed my suspicion. The air around him stunk with a particular brand of musk, thick enough to hide all the years of rot that oozed from his skin like he was a walking corpse. And soon he'd be a laying one.
“This seat taken?” I kept my voice low, barely above the chatter around us. I could almost see the scraggly little hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
His head turned, his eyes darted to the side, and his pupils dilated when he caught a glimpse. “By you,” he said calmly.
I almost cracked a smile. He had more depth than I'd given him credit for.
The man behind the bar looked up for just a second. “Tequila.”
Just a little something to take the edge off and as a cover for the few men whose eyes dared to wander in our direction. If Ruben knew who I was, half the men in here would too. At least with a drink in my hand, I could feign distraction.
“What brings you to a place like this?” Ruben asked. His finger tapped in quick succession along the sweating glass. Dirt lodged deep beneath his fingernails as if the man had never washed his hands in his life. His question was coy, and I wasn’t above the lighthearted banter before a big kill.
“Looking for someone.”
“I'm guessing you found him.”
“You'd be right.” The bartender slapped an overflowing shot glass against the wood and passed it. With a quick jerk, I brought it to my lips and savored the fiery flick of it against the back of my throat. I suppose maybe I did have a routine after all— even if my uncle didn't live to see it. He’d be so proud. “I’m hoping you can make this a little worthwhile for me.”
I pushed the shot glass back toward the other end of the bar and angled my body until there was nowhere else Ruben could look.
“You obviously know who I am. And you know why I'm here.” He took another sip and followed it down with a long drag off a newly lit cigarette.
“I've only heard the stories.”
As fun as it would have been to crack into his mind and hear whatever tall tales had been spread about the sicario of the Zaragoza Cartel, it would have been a waste of time. And when it came to the safety of my family, time was not something considerable wealth could buy.
“I’d like to know the name of your leader…” I spoke, “the man with the scar.”
His eyebrow peaked.
“And anything else you think might be helpful in taking down your organization.” That second part would have been an added bonus, but I wasn’t holding my breath.
He chuckled and took another drag. Does that really work on people?” Ruben asked.
“You’d be surprised,” I nodded.
He turned. “I think you and I are made of different stuff.”
If he was putting the two of us in a category separate from those who would squeal with the pressure of a blade at their throat, he was right. But the idea of being lumped in with a man like him had my stomach tightening. For me, business was blood. It was about those who sired me, who raised me up— to protect those who would carry on my family name.
For him it was a gaudy title and protection services. A retirement plan for someone with no other skills to rely on. We were not the same. And though the both of us were tough in our own ways, everything in me rejected being in league with a sellout like him.
“How’s your sister? Lucia, wasn’t it?” His voice held a hint of amusement.
It was all I could do not to curb-stomp him against the shellacked edge of the bar. The edges of my vision blurred as if rage was pumping too close to the surface. The motherfucker pressed one of the only buttons I think I had.
“Wonderful, actually.”
He nodded. “That’s a relief. Things were looking a little dicey for her for a while.”
“I appreciate your concern,” I gritted.
He took another swig and finished off his glass. “I don’t have anything for you. And if you’re asking me about his name, you’re a lot further from the finish line than I thought you’d be.”
“And if you’re asking about Lucia, you’re just as dumb as I thought you’d be,” the rage still hadn’t dissipated and I was all the more enthusiastic about ending his life.
He nodded, a hint of a smile pulling at his thin lips. With a final drag, his cigarette was just a butt between his fingers and he mashed it into the plastic ashtray in front of him.
“You mind if I use the restroom before we go out back?”
I nodded.
Whether it was to buy more time or to try and escape, I didn’t care. The tactic wasn’t going to work.
I pretended not to track his steps to the bathroom in the corner and kept my jaw tight as I watched the door close behind him. Ruben wasn’t stupid but he also wasn’t used to being hunted by a Zaragoza, and we didn’t pride ourselves on our ability to play by the rules. With a slap, I threw down some cash to cover the tequila and stalked after him.
A place like this would be used to hearing a gunshot go off every now and then but after he brought up my sister, I wasn't in the mood for a quick death. No. This one would be slow. Just like the one they would have given her if I hadn't found her and Raf in time.
I pushed against the rotted swinging door and found him immediately. His back was to me, his shoulders hunched as he relieved himself. The fucker wasn't lying, he really did have to pee.
“Couldn’t wait?” He cocked a look at me over his shoulder.
I slid my knife from the sheath in my waistband silently, “didn't want to.”
I sprang forward, my hand squeezing down on the hilt of the knife as it punctured his back. The momentum pushed him forward and his belt buckle clinked against the porcelain urinal as I pulled back and stabbed him again. This time the blade collided with something hard and crunched to the side. I delighted in Ruben's guttural grunt when I jerked and knew I’d just paralyzed him. He sank against the urinal, his cheap suit soaking in whatever filthy mixture floated above the drain.
“Tell me his name,” I ordered.
I knew it was useless, but I had to try again. If Ruben was worth anything, it was information.
I yanked back and plunged the blade in a few more times, hoping that the onslaught of pain would give him the motivation to open that rancid mouth one last time. He stumbled and fell back into me, but I sidestepped and let him crumble to the filthy floor. That far-off look I'd seen too many times already plagued his eyes and I could tell he was fading fast. The pool of blood around him grew until I was sure he only had moments left.
“Look at me,” I bent and pulled his shoulders up off the floor, enough to pull his attention to where I needed it. His ashen skin looked sickly under the fluorescent lights, but I was going to capitalize on his last seconds alive. “You were on my list already. From the moment you even thought about getting involved with the Desalmados you were on my radar. You claim you've heard the stories? Those were all from men who hadn't kidnapped my little sister, dismembered women and sent their limbs to my front door, or threatened the fragile future of my family.”
He blinked up at me.
“And tell me, how did dead men pass along these stories?”
I flipped the knife in my hand, ensuring I had the tightest of grips. Ruben's eyes tracked the motion as I lifted my arm and slammed the knife into the wrinkled skin of his neck. It perforated through his windpipe until a gurgling sound echoed through the silent bathroom.
“Spoiler alert, they don't. But the trick to being a good sicario is to eradicate your enemy’s bloodline. I'll be starting with your niece Clara.”
There was a flash of recognition deep in his eyes before I tore the jagged blade out of his neck and let him fall back onto the tile. Ruben kicked and flailed in a pitiful attempt to sit up, but the more he moved the quicker his blood poured out. I waited and watched until his chest rose and fell for the last time and he didn't dare breathe again. Not until I was completely satisfied that the mother fucker was dead did I bend and wipe his sticky blood off the blade, flicking it against his soiled pants.
Another one down. One step closer.
I was nearly a mile away from the bar when Yuri picked up. “It’s done.”
“Anything enlightening?”
“The fucker died with his dignity.” His comrades would be glad to know he stayed loyal until the bitter end.
A long pause. “Come home, brother. We’re ending this soon.”
I hung up the phone and felt the delayed adrenaline course through my veins. Every muscle in my body tightened and that usual jumpiness had my teeth almost chattering.
Home was the ultimate destination, but for my own sanity, there was another stop calling my name.
Poison Ivy.
Mateo: Four hours, room 213. No clothes. I want you kneeling by the bed.
She’d be there and just knowing it lit a fire deep in my belly. For a guy as fucked up as me, it made sense that the only cure for madness was a little poison.