Jagger (Broken Doll 2)

I shot Frank an irritated glare. He knew damn well I got cabin fever if kept inside for long periods of time, hence the motorcycles. I was a man who required open air, fast speeds, and lots of adrenaline. I was not cut out for surveillance. Plus, the house we rented was a shithole, all cluttered and musty smelling. It made my skin itch.

“Something like that,” I growled, pacing the tiny kitchen, crossing it in three strides before having to turn around. “That’s it,” I said, throwing up my hands. “This is no good. I gotta get out of here. Frank.”

“Yeah, Boss?”

“We’re going for a ride.”

Frank arched a single brow. “A ride?” His tone was wary.

“Yes, a ride.” I snagged the keys off the table by the door and tossed them at my driver, throwing him the don’t fuck with me look I had perfected years ago. “I don’t give a shit where we go, but I need to get out. We’ll stay in populated areas and keep our eyes open.” I flexed my wrists, comforted by the sheaths that held my blades as well as the cold steel of my Glock holstered inside my waistband.

“Whatever you say, Boss.” Frank palmed the keys and reluctantly followed me to the car. A minute later, we were headed toward the sorry excuse for what this tiny piece of hell on Earth considered a “town.”

* * *

The mini-mart was small and pathetic, but busy. Its close proximity to the eight thousand plus student campus of Texas A&M International meant a constant flow of young people giggling and grabbing loads of junk food and alcohol, the staples of a college student.

I wandered the aisles, keeping a close eye on the door while Frank waited outside, doing the same. Going by the bits of gossip we spread on the streets in Austin, our plan was working. A network of spies heard rumors of our location as well as ones of El Cuchillo possibly still being somewhere in south Texas.

The man was so fucking predictable. I had to stop from laughing out loud.

“Excuse me.” I tensed and was about to flick out a blade when I caught the big doe eyes of a pretty little co-ed. She blinked and her lips spread into a smile, revealing perfect, too-white teeth. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” she apologized, biting on her lower lip while looking up at me from under her thick lashes.

“No problem.” So much for watching my back. If a twenty-year-old girl could sneak up on me, I would be dead before I even saw Cuchillo coming.

“Live around here?” she asked.

Huh? I stopped glancing around the store and focused on the girl. Christ. She was dressed in a cleavage-revealing shirt that must have been three sizes too small and a pair of shorts so tiny they were probably illegal in several states.

“No,” I answered as I took a step back, my gaze constantly flicking back to the door. “Just driving through.” I turned my eyes on the co-ed, using my cold and uninviting stare. Shit. The last thing I needed was some college girl remembering where I was and what I looked like.

Her pretty mouth pulled into a pout. “Oh. Okay.”

“I have to go,” I said brusquely. With that, I spun on my heel and strode toward the front counter. It took much too long for the young guy in front of me to pay for his shit and move his ass before I put a bullet in it. I was losing my patience. Fast.

Finally, he left, and the nearest customer was several yards away. I tossed a pack of gum on the counter and met the nervous cashier’s spooked eyes.

“Anyone been by?” I asked.

He shook his head violently. “N-no s-sir. No one.” I suppressed the urge to grin. The fear rolling off that kid was so thick, I could just about taste it.

When we first arrived in town, we not-so-nicely approached the clerks at several gas stations and convenience stores to “ask” for their cooperation. A few hundreds to grease the wheels along with a veiled threat or two and we had a bevy of spies working for us. They were instructed to send anyone looking for us to the shitty little house we were renting, then immediately call one of our phones to let us know we had company on the way.

I dropped a hundred on the counter and took the gum. “Call me when they show up.”

“Y-yes sir,” the cashier said, eyes still bulging out of their sockets. Didn’t stop him from sliding the bill off the countertop and into his pocket.

Satisfied, I stepped out into the sticky heat and unhooked my sunglasses from the collar of my shirt, sliding them on.

“Nothing,” I told Frank.

Wordlessly, he headed for the car.

On to the next stop. If Cuchillo was in Austin, asking about me, and the word on the street that I was outside Laredo spreading like wildfire, it was only a matter of time. When that time came, I would be ready and waiting to give that son of a bitch exactly what he deserved.

Miri

“Cat?” I called from the bathroom. “Cat?”