I caught up to Loco.
My president was an erratic bastard whose name fit him to a fucking T. Tattoos swirled across most of his skin, crawling up his neck and near the corners of his eyes. His bald head all but shone against the light of the setting sun, his manic, angry gaze snapping over our brothers rushing through the clubhouse.
“Ink, what the fuck took you so long?” he demanded.
“I had to take Xiomara home.”
“Well, we moved our product.”
Our guns.
We’d been having issues with those fucking gringos moving into our territory, acting like they could take over the local gun trade. They didn’t just dabble in that, either. They were trying to get involved in the skin trade and take over the streets of Tlaxcala too.
We worked directly with out-of-state gangs like the Raven Brothers and local cartels. At least, with the ones that ran drugs and guns. We didn’t fuck with skin traders. So them trying to bring that shit into our territory?
They’d been trying to get us into their operation for a while now. We’d declined, but they’d gotten more aggressive in their insistence, because they knew they needed our permission to move their shit in Diablos territory.
Them coming to my place of business looking for me, subtly threatening Xiomara, was all but an act of war.
And for that, they’d fucking burn.
And Los Diablos would watch them, cackling through the flames.
Chapter Seven
Xiomara
Inkwasinandout of the shop, though more out than in, for the following days. “Club shit,” he’d muttered before making me hold most of his appointments and leaving Fer and I alone.
I’d looked to Fer, but she’d just shrug and say that it was normal.
“Women aren’t supposed to know what goes on with the club,” she said. “Especially us. We aren’t anything except employees. Even the Old Ladies aren’t privy to their insider information.”
I knew the Old Ladies were their wives. Or something similar to that. And I didn’t even want to know what Los Diablos were up to. The less I knew, the better. I had enough to worry about at home, like making enough money to help pay for gas, electricity, and food without adding their bullshit into the mix.
I just hoped that Ink was going to be able to pay me, what with him canceling on so many clients and what not. I figured it wasn’t something he did often–if ever–judging by their surprise every time I had to call them to break the news.
Still, the sparse times I saw him were in the mornings and at nights, when he drove me home on the back of his bike. It happened every night without fail. He wouldn’t say a single word about his day, though I could tell by the bags beneath his eyes that it had been grueling. He’d just lift that dark, heavy helmet in my direction and wait for me to take it. We’d arrive at my place in about fifteen minutes, where I’d numbly get off, hand him back his helmet, and he’d nod.
Those were the extent of our interactions.
Ink was cold by nature, and even so it was something familiar to me. Had he been flirtatious, I would have been kicked to the curb long ago. I’d dealt with too many bosses like that, and I was glad Ink was different.
At closing, I waited for Ink behind the desk, scrolling through my phone to pass the time.
“Ey.” Fer drew my attention towards her. “My brother is waiting for me. You good?”
“Yeah, just waiting on Ink.”
“Want us to wait till he gets here?”
“Nah, no te preocupes. He won’t be long.”
Fer looked unsure, hesitating and rocking on the backs of her heels.
I shot her a look. “Go. I know you guys take a combi and the last one leaves soon.”
Combis were cheaper than taxis. Why pay a taxi around a hundred when you could pay eight pesos a person? The only problem was, transport stopped at around nine, ten at the latest.
