I’d come across my fair share of crazy exes but something about this story didn’t add up. Shit. “Stitch, tell me right now. Are you fucking a cartel boss’s girlfriend?”
“The dude is married, Gunnar. Fucking married!”
“You really are a dumb son of a bitch who only thinks with his cock, aren’t you? It doesn’t matter if he’s married. You know what this could mean for the club? For each and every one of us, including the women and children?” It was like he was trying to kick up as much shit as possible.
“It’s too late for that. Let’s just go and do a sweep of her place and then we’ll be on our way.”
“A sweep? You watch too much TV, kid. And what if this is some goddamn setup by her? How well do you know her? She wouldn’t be the first chick to create drama for fuckin’ sport.” I followed him up the concrete steps and waited while he opened the door.
Stitch stepped inside and I followed, coming to an abrupt fucking halt about five feet inside the small space. A small Hispanic man sat on the sofa in white pants and a light pink shirt with expensive looking cufflinks. If there had ever been any doubt about his identity there was a big ass ‘S’ on his belt buckle and the snakeskin cowboy boots were a dead fucking giveaway. “It’s too bad you had to involve someone else in your theft.”
“Theft? What the fuck are you talking about? I didn’t steal anything, asshole.” Stitch was all fired up and ready to fight because clearly, the dumb ass didn’t notice the other four goons armed with automatic weapons, two on either side of us. Or he was too stupid to care.
“That’s where you’re wrong, guerro. Marisol is mine and you are trying to steal her from me.”
“I wasn’t until you went bat-shit crazy and broke into her apartment! Now, yeah I am.”
“Goddammit man, shut the fuck up!” I ground out. This wasn’t the time to get into a pissing match, not when they had us outmanned and outgunned. “Learn when to keep your fucking mouth shut.”
Stitch glared at me. “What the fuck are you talking about??”
I spoke into Stitch’s ear. “Look around, kid. Figure out what the fuck I’m talking about?”
“Listen to your friend and you might stay alive long enough to see another day.” The guy was smarmy as fuck but he had that wild-eyed look of a man who wouldn’t hesitate to fight dirty or kill for fun.
“Look, man I don’t fight over chicks.” Stitch had taken it down a notch. Being reasonable. “Not fucking ever, so tell me what you want.”
The guy sprang out of his seat. “Marisol is not just a chick, you imbecile! She is a beautiful woman and more importantly, she is mine. I will never let her go.” I read the truth of his words all over his face. It was written in the upright way he held himself, shoulders squared and spine straight. The deadly ice in the depths of his gaze.
“Either way,” I stepped forward in an effort to keep these assholes from beating the fuck out of each other. “He didn’t know she belonged to someone else. It was an honest mistake.”
“Bullshit!” He was barely five feet tall and looked more like an extra in a Telenovela than a big bad cartel boss. “He knew. You fucking knew.” He pointed an accusing finger at Stitch, who leapt forward and threw a punch that sent the man falling backwards until he split the coffee table in half. “You are dead, motherfucker.”
“Carlito, are you all right?”
/> So that was him. Carlito. “Get off me!” he snarled to his thugs helping him up. Once he was on his feet again, Carlito ordered, “Grab that asshole!”
All four men moved closer, weapons hanging loosely at their sides as they closed in on me and Stitch. “You don’t want to do this,” I warned them.
“Si, we do,” one of Carlito’s henchman said. The man was tall and thin and he looked like a brawler, which was good a good thing, because I was ready to fucking brawl.
He threw a punch. “Suit yourself,” I said, ducking and rising with an uppercut that sent him flat on his back. I jumped on top of him, wailing on him with hammer fists until he was bloody and his eyes started to swell. A blow landed on my back and sent me flat on top of the other asshole.
Two sets of boots kicked and stomped on me, over and over again until I could barely take in a breath. I sure as shit couldn’t look up without risking taking a boot to the head.
“Get up,” one of the accented voices commanded and I took my sweet time. “I said get the fuck up!”
“I don’t speak Español asshole!” I chuckled to myself when he started to pull me up, spitting some blood out on the unconscious asshole before I got to my feet. “Shit. Dick licker,” I shouted when that piece of shit punched me right in the fucking side.
“You’ll be licking dicks soon,” he warned with more joy than I liked to hear following those words.
“The pink shirt was a dead giveaway that you fellas were on some gay shit.”
“Gunnar!” Stitch’s voice grabbed my attention for a brief moment. He was down on the floor with the remaining armed dickhead’s foot on his chest.
“You okay?”
“Been better but he hits like a bitch.”