El Gringo (The Sicarios of Navolato Book 3) Read online

  Contents

  Blurb

  Playlist

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by Yolanda Olson

  Blurb

  Live hard and fast, die later.

  That’s always been my motto.

  A year ago, I bumped into a girl that caught my attention for the first time in a long time. We toyed with each other, played a couple of adult games, then she vanished.

  I took something before I left, though. Something I knew she’d want again someday. Bait, I guess you can call it.

  The inexplicable need to see her again is what landed me in the mess I’m in now. I’ve spent a better part of the year setting my trap because I was promised something, and I want it.

  An animal in a cage; that’s what she calls me, but little does she know …

  I’m trying to be a better man but sometimes the fates have a different path they’d rather see us walk down.

  Now, I’m faced with a decision.

  Kill or be killed.

  My name is Frank Larson.

  And the hunger inside of me is growing with each passing moment because for her, I would do anything.

  Even if it means putting my own life on the line.

  Playlist

  Hidden Citizens - Novocaine

  Chevelle – Don’t Fake This

  Parkway Drive – Wishing Wells

  Arch Enemy – As The Pages Brun

  Silberstein - Vices

  Miss May I – Relentless Chaos

  My Ruin – Ready for Blood

  Prologue

  I’ve been sitting in my chair by the living room window for the past hour. I was able to rent a small house with the money I’ve managed to save and what was given to me at the whore house. Leaning forward, I begin to tap the bottom of the lighter against the wooden table.

  I haven’t been able to get that girl out of my mind since we parted ways almost a year ago, which has been made even more difficult by my taking her favorite of the two whores that I watched her fuck. Having her stay with me probably wasn’t the best idea, but at the time I thought she would make great bait.

  Getting her to stay here was easy enough. A simple promise of her never having to sell her cunt again and a daily phone call to her sister was all it took to make her amenable.

  That and a few lines of some good shit whenever I feel like sharing, and she’s been relegated to nothing more than my fuckdoll.

  Sofi, I think with a soft chuckle as I reach for the small baggie next to my smokes. I’ve never seen a woman as beautiful as her before and I’m damn determined to get her attention again, somehow. I think of the length of her legs as I use my forefinger and thumb to rub the mouth of the baggie, then turn my face to look out the window again. I think of the tan color of her skin, the colorful tattoos that adorned almost every inch of her body, and the way she held those two sluts in the palm of her hand.

  Toying with them—with me.

  I grunt as I toss the baggie back onto the table and get to my feet.

  I could watch but not touch; that was her only rule, however, when I did, I felt her tense up under the weight of my hand. She had to have felt something too in order for that to happen.

  I took Inez because I figured that I could barter her for what I really wanted, but the flaw in my plan was not finding out more about the woman than just her fucking name, before leaving without asking anyone in the place if they knew her.

  I’ve gotta stop doing so much blow.

  I stare at the baggie on the table for a moment before I use the back of my hand to wipe my mouth. When I finally move my feet and make my way out of the living room, I realize that maybe I can be stronger than the addiction that’s been haunting me for the past five years of my life.

  The darling little twin I took should be placing a phone call to her sister soon so that she knows that all is still well and not raise any alarms, I remind myself as I head toward my bedroom.

  Of course, lately I’ve realized that she’s become way too much trouble than I thought she was worth. Especially when I let my own stupidity sink in and think about how I didn’t garner any additional information about her before I left the whore joint.

  But, luckily for me, I’ve got friends in low and dangerous places, so finding out where that fine piece of ass resides shouldn’t prove to be too difficult.

  When I reach my bedroom door, I push it open slowly. I like to savor the fear on Inez’s face each time she sees me, which is more often than not since I stopped letting her snort her way through my stash.

  “Are you awake?” I ask, poking my head in.

  Her response is muffled by the dirty rag I stuffed into her mouth a few days ago and I can almost swear that her hip bones are finally starting to protrude through her body.

  I haven’t given her much to eat in the past few months, and when I got sick and tired of listening to the bitch moaning about being hungry, I did what I had to in order to get some peace.

  With a chuckle, I walk into the room and close the door behind me. I can feel her eyes on me as I breeze past the bed on the way to the closet. I pull one of the sliding doors to the side and drop down to one knee so I can be comfortable as I rummage through an old trunk I found on the side of the road.

  I’ve cleaned it up as best as I can and even slapped a new coat of paint on it, but it’s what’s on the inside that matters. I flip the latch up with my thumb, then lift the heavy, oak lid. A smile creeps up half of my face as my eyes fall on the trinkets I’ve been keeping inside.

  What I need right now is the one thing I brought back from Tierra del Fuego. Granted, Inez won’t care for it, but that’s not my problem. Anything I do from this moment on is for the girl that haunts my every waking moment.

  I get to my feet once I’ve got the leather pouch in my hand and use a foot to close the trunk lid.

  As I begin to fiddle with the cord holding the bag closed, I turn to face Inez. Her eyes are still open, but I doubt she’s really there.

  She hasn’t been for weeks now.

  “This,” I begin as I pull out the straight razor and open it. “I took it from a barber who disrespected me in Tierra del Fuego. Do you know where that is?”

  When she doesn’t answer in her usual simpering, whining way, I walk over to the bed and climb on, putting my knees between her open legs and chuckling.

  “Tell you what. I’ll get busy doing what I need to do, and maybe if you’re still alive after, I’ll let you know the rest of the story.”

  Clearing my throat I reach down and gently press the sharp blade against the skin of her bikini line. But, because I want a fight, I turn the razor to the side, and rip a hole across her panties.

  When she finally squirms, I smirk.

  This is going to get messy, but it’s exactly what I’ll need when I find her again.

  Chapter One

  I stretch my arms over my head the next morning as I step out onto my porch. From what I heard a few days ago, there’s something happening over
in Navolato today and even though I have no idea what the hell it is, I’ll be good and goddamned if I’m going to miss out on any potential fun.

  Culiacán can get boring when I’m sitting at home but ever since I brought Inez back to the ole humble abode, I’ve been finding ways to keep busy.

  I’ve fed her, given her shelter, fucked her whenever the mood arose, and even shared my lines with her.

  After a while though, it got monotonous and that’s when I started thinking more and more about that sweet, sexy girl that I made the acquaintance of briefly in the brothel.

  I reach into my pocket and fish out my car keys. Standing around isn’t going to do me any good and fuck knows what time the festivities are going to start, so I know that I should get a move on sooner rather than later.

  I rub my face roughly and smack my lips together to try and get the taste of sleep out of my mouth. I’m tired, a little sore, and groggy, but I think I did a fairly decent job with Inez and I promised her that I’d tell her all about today’s escapades, if she was still alive by the time I got home.

  I will admit that she’s a trooper.

  How the fuck she managed to survive the night is beyond me, but I guess it’s true that pussy is magic and she’s packing some devilry I don’t understand.

  I run both hands back through my hair before I slip the key into the ignition and start the car. After glancing at the gas tank, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and chuckle.

  I’m looking healthier than I was the last time I saw her, so I’m hoping she’ll recognize me if I ever run into her again.

  My skin tone isn’t as sickly, or pale anymore. I’m not sweating as much as I used to, and honestly, I think that I look damn good for being a recovering addict.

  I slap my cheeks a few times, then shake my head quickly before I shift the gear into reverse. Glancing over my shoulder, I make it safely to the street before I shift into drive and make the little pilgrimage to cartel country.

  Should be fun, I think with a chuckle as I turn on the radio.

  I got to Navolato about an hour ago and have been sitting in traffic for thirty minutes. Most of the streets have been shut down and I’ve been turned around so much that I’m surprised I haven’t ended up back in front of my house at this point.

  “What the fuck is going on?” I mutter under my breath as I lean back in my seat and begin to drum my fingers along the steering wheel. I turned the music off when I got here since I didn’t exactly have a destination in mind. I figured hearing what the GPS was saying would be more important, though I thought I would have been having some fun by now.

  When I get tired of sitting in the same spot after another ten minutes, I shut the engine off and step out. If they tow me, they tow me, but I’m done sitting in the hot Mexican sun baking to death because of whatever the fuck is going on.

  I spin the keyring on my forefinger as I head for the sidewalk, ignoring the bullshit being shouted at me for leaving my car in the middle of the road. I’m trying to shake the bad mood that sitting in traffic has put me in, and I know if I stop to even pay attention to what’s being said, I’m going to end up hurting someone.

  Jail here isn’t any fun. That’s something I learned the hard way, but I’ve always been a little different and causing others pain—whether deserved or not—has served me better than sweet little nothings whispered into the ears of monsters.

  Of course, it takes a monster to know how to speak to one, but I’m trying so fucking hard to be a better person that I even have this coke habit damn near kicked.

  As I begin to make my way toward the intersection, I remind myself that she didn’t seem to be interested in my dick, but then again, the way she fucked those girls, she may not be interested in dick at all.

  Nothing a little vinegar mixed with sugar can’t fix, I tell myself as I raise a hand to shield my eyes from the sun. I glance up and down the street, and then blow out my breath.

  I’m not entirely sure what direction I should go in but—

  What the fuck is this?

  Coming up the left side of the road is what looks like a procession. Someone important must have died if this is what has the entire city basically shut down.

  I take a few steps back and crane my neck until I see a spot closer to the street that I can watch from. As soon as I push a few people out of the way, I take my place right by the road and drop down onto my ass. Draping my arms over my knees, I watch curiously as the procession gets closer.

  A few, painfully slow moments later the hearse finally reaches us. It looks fancier than any other fucking death car I’ve seen so I’m wondering if a general got taken out.

  That’s the thing about cartel country—if you don’t belong here, you usually end up tortured and dumped on the side of the road somewhere.

  Usually those bodies are found by farm workers, beggars, or little children on their way to or from school.

  It’s the reason why I like to bury my victims.

  That and it keeps me from getting caught until I’m good and ready to see the inside of a Mexican Federal prison, anyway.

  “Levántate, hijo.”

  Someone taps me gently on the shoulder and tells me to get to my feet. I turn to glance up at an older lady, the wrinkles on her face telling me that she’s either spent way too much time in the sun or is older than Methuselah. I arch an eyebrow.

  “Why?” I ask her as I lean back on the palms of my hands.

  She nods back at the parade and I sigh as I get to my feet. It’s almost directly in front of us now and sitting down would be a sign of disrespect to whoever is dead and those who are mourning them.

  Normally I wouldn’t give enough of a shit to care, but since I’m trying to be a better person, I decide to go with the flow.

  As the hearse starts to roll slowly in front of us, I notice a man dressed like he’s the goddamn president of the country walking behind it.

  Next to him, there’s a woman with a black veil over her face, and I notice how the little black dress she’s wearing hugs every curve of her body.

  “Quienes son?” I ask the old lady as I take a step back to stand next to her. She smiles at me briefly and I get it. I don’t speak the language as well as I should, but I get by with what I know.

  “El Señor de Navolato,” she replies in a hushed tone.

  I shrug.

  That doesn’t mean shit to me.

  He’s just some fancy guy walking behind a fancy death car, with a fancy girl on his arm. Shit like that is a dime a dozen around here.

  I turn to glance at the old lady again, but she holds up a hand and shakes her head briefly. I roll my eyes as I turn my attention back to the procession.

  I’m proud of the fact that I didn’t snap at her for shutting me up, though I think she’s doing it more for me than them.

  As the hearse continues up the road, I see a bunch of other people walking behind the fancy man and his fancy little slice of heaven. They’re all dressed in black suits like he is, with shades covering their eyes, and their holsters reflecting the midday sun.

  Apparently they’re ready to drop anyone that doesn’t seem to be as in mourning as they’re supposed to be, so I do the only thing I can.

  I take a deep breath, reach around in my pocket until I manage to grab one of my balls with my forefinger and thumb, and pinch down until tears sting my eyes.

  When I feel like I’m sufficiently shedding enough tears for the occasion, I bite down on my tongue to keep from screaming profanities at the pain.

  The fancy man glances in the direction of the people on the other side of the street, then toward mine. I sniffle and wipe away a tear.

  In theory, pinching my own sac wasn’t the best idea, but it gave the desired results because when he puts his arm around the woman and lowers his head, they keep walking and I’m not full of bullet holes.

  “Can we talk now?” I ask the old lady with a sly smile once the cavalcade is gone from sight.

  She smil
es at me and nods patiently.

  “So, you said that was El Señor de Navolato? What does that mean?” I ask curiously.

  Her eyes become wide as she puts a finger frantically to her lips letting me know that if anyone important had heard me, I would have been fucked.

  “Sorry,” I reply with a nervous smile. “New question; who died?”

  She lowers her head and signals with her hand for me to follow her. We walk up the street a ways until we reach a store that looks like it’ll fall down and kill us both if someone slams the door too hard, but I’m not afraid. I like danger. It keeps things entertaining.

  She leads me to a back room where we pass an equally old man sitting on a crate, smoking a cigar, and gutting a chicken. I shake my head.

  I feel like I’m an old western movie.

  “Be careful with what you say,” she begins, her tone still hushed. Her English is as broken as my Spanish.

  “Okay,” I respond in a loud stage whisper, “so who died?”

  She sighs as she shrugs her shawl off and places it on the back of a small classroom chair. She nods at me to take the empty seat near the door, and I do so as calmly as I can.

  I’m not one to be told what to do and this new, happier person shit is starting to wear me down before I even have the chance to properly try it on.

  “I’m Frank, by the way,” I say as I sit down and nod at her.

  “Maria,” she replies with a small smile.

  “Great, so, Maria. Tell me something. Who died?”

  “La hija de El Señor.”

  I scratch my head.

  I don’t get the big production then. If he’s so fucking important that we have to whisper in the back of some termite shack, then why is everyone seemingly too scared to talk where it can be overheard?