I was fucked over, and I have made it very clear to never fuck me over and never think I won’t show my wrath, no matter who you are to me.
A line wraps around the nightclub in the heart of Cancun, the bass of the music rattling the supposedly vintage building. They say it’s vintage, but to me it’s a piece of shit that needs updating and remodeling before the roof falls on their heads.
The stench of cheap weed and cigarettes floats around me as I walk past the line and to the entrance. When the bouncer sees me and the two men trailing behind, he immediately steps to the side to let us in.
People shout and protest, demanding to know why they can’t go in, too.
I ignore it all, my eyes ahead, my chin held high, and a pistol with a silencer hidden under my suit jacket, tucked away behind my back.
It’s a completely different atmosphere when I enter. It’s much darker, strobe lights pulsing, but hardly giving any actual light.
The bar is surrounded with bodies, waitresses rushing around with trays above their heads, wearing skimpy leather skirts or dresses and way too much hairspray.
There are people everywhere, either dancing, drinking, or sitting because they can’t hold their fucking liquor. It’s way too hot and way too crowded.
I walk through the crowd, toward the spiral staircase not too far ahead of me. The DJ shouts something into the microphone, making the guests scream and cheer even louder, some even rushing to the dance floor when the song changes.
I hustle up the stairs with my men behind me.
I know he’s here.
He thinks he’s safe. He is sadly mistaken.
I walk past each curtained VIP section—past the men getting lap dances from idiotic American girls and a group of women squealing as they down shot after shot of tequila, sporting bridesmaid ribbons and glittery white shirts.
I start to get annoyed, sweat prickling at my forehead…until I finally hear him.
That motherfucker’s raspy, dry laugh can’t be mistaken.
I look over my shoulder, holding a hand up, signaling for my men to keep watch of the hallway.
“Don’t let anyone through,” I order, and they nod, turning with their arms folded in front of them, keeping watch.
I draw my gun, walking toward the sound of his voice. I meet up to a black curtain and don’t hesitate. I yank the curtain open, ripping most of it off the rod.
A bitch with long black hair, wearing only a thong, screams as she scrambles back, her body hitting the sofa. My teeth grit together when I hear him curse, and stumble back.
“Oh, shit!” Morales yells. “Je—Jefe, what’s going on, man? W—what can I help you with?”
My jaw clenches tight as I step toward him, towering over him. “Get down on your fucking knees,” I order in Spanish, and he drops down, eyes bloodshot and watery as he stares up at me. He throws his hands in the air. I bring my gun up, gripping his face with one hand and lifting the gun to his face with the other. “Open your fucking mouth.”
He blinks quickly. “Jefe—”
“I said OPEN YOUR FUCKING MOUTH! NOW!”
He groans in defeat, his chin falling. As soon as his mouth is open, I cram the barrel of my gun into his mouth. I grip a patch of his hair with one hand, my finger weighing on the trigger.
“I think you forgot exactly whose bitch you really are,” I snarl, glaring down at him. He blinks rapidly, making muffled noises around the gun. “You lied to me, Morales. She wasn’t where you said she would be. You set me up.”
He tries to shake his head, but I squeeze the patch of hair in my hand, tugging harder.
I pull the barrel from his mouth, pressing it into his cheek.
“No, Jefe, please!” he pleads. “You have to understand—she told me to tell you she would be there because she wanted to talk! She said you wouldn’t be harmed!”
“And you believed that shit?” I snap, jerking his hair again and forcing his head back. “She tried to fucking kill me! She sent a message with my cousin’s skull . . . and you didn’t know?”
“Ahh!” he cries out, tears lining his eyes. The bitch in the thong whimpers from her corner, her hands shooting in the air when I look over at her.
Towering over him, I grab Morales by his thick throat, eyes boring into his. “You are nothing but a piece of shit, Morales. I have no idea why my father ever trusted a sloppy, no-good, traitorous motherfucker like you.” I shove him away from me, and his body hits the floor. “Fat, lying, greedy pieces of shit like you don’t deserve to fucking live.”
“No—wait! Please, Jefe!” He crawls on his knees toward me, begging with his hands clasped. “Please! If you just give me another chance, I’ll find her. I—I’ll get her to you.”