Enslaved (Colombian Cartel #6) - Suzanne Steele Page 0,33

forced into.

“Boy, that’s what I call service,” Page laughed. The waitress had moved so quickly to get Roxanne’s order that it seemed like she was waiting to serve the woman.

“It’s one of the perks of being married to the owner.”

“It’s one of the perks of being married to a man in the Colombian cartel. Everybody’s scared to death of him.”

Roxanne’s eyes pierced through Page, “I hear you’ve attracted the attention of a very dangerous man yourself. Mano is nobody to be playing with. If you have any love interests, you need to get rid of them now. These boys don’t play.”

“Yeah. I kind of got that impression. I’ve always heard once a woman piques their interest, they’ll do anything to get her. I’m witnessing it firsthand now.”

A slight shake of Roxanne’s head showed her disagreement. “No…I witnessed it firsthand. I saw Mano smash a man’s ankle and shatter his knee with a sledgehammer for running from the cartel when they paid to have him brought to the states. That was money he was supposed to pay back. When he tried to run so he wouldn’t have to pay, Mano said he’d never run again. Mano likes to make the punishment fit the crime. It’s a cartel trait because they are sending an underlying message. Everyone gets loud and clear. He’s ruthless. Don’t fuck him over, Page. It’s your job to have his back now.”

“I’m surprised Antonio Wayne allows you to go to interrogations.” Hearing a firsthand testimony of what Mano could and possibly would do scared Page. She had no intention of pissing the man off. Thoughts of getting her face cut up because she was with another man were not something she wanted to think about. She’d heard stories about cartel men who made their women watch the death of their lover before their own lives were taken. Recompense was swift, but it was delivered painstakingly slow to draw out the suffering. These men were sadistic, and they took pride in their work because it ensured they would have a reputation that would make potential enemies think twice about crossing them. To survive in this world, you had to be ruthless. Mano and Tad both had that personality trait.

“Antonio Wayne includes me in the business. Mano and Tad will do the same, so I hope you ladies are up for the challenge of being a cartel woman. It takes a certain kind of woman to handle the severity of this lifestyle. The mentality of the men is once you witness a crime, you’re less likely to snitch—if you do, you’re going to jail too. If they don’t kill you first.”

When Roxanne saw their eyes widen, she just laughed, “Like I said: it’s a severe business we’re in. Take it seriously, ladies, because like it or not, you are part of it now.”

Chapter Eighteen

Antonio Wayne pulled a chair up to the table Mano and Tadias were seated at. They were hidden in the shadows watching the girls who were totally clueless to them being there. Stalking was a trait that came naturally to men who lived the life of a criminal. Each man had their own specialty of expertise, but stalking was an attribute that always came in handy—plus, it was fun when a woman was involved.

“If I was a betting man, I’d say you two were here stalking your women.”

“You know how we Colombians roll,” Tadias laughed.

Antonio nodded at a waitress, and she brought over a bottle of Patron for the men.

“No aguardiente, huh?” Mano smirked.

“We will save that for when we take a trip to Colombia,” Antonio spoke with an air of longing. Though the land had been brutal to him as a child, she was a mistress the Colombian soul could never resist.

“Ah, the motherland,” Tad raised his shot glass for a toast after the waitress poured all of them shots.

“To the Motherland. ¡Salud!” they all said in unison. They downed the shots and poured two more downing them. It was time to loosen up and talk about what had been at the back of Antonio Wayne’s mind. He was rare because he always saw things coming long before they happened. As if he had a sixth sense, very little got past the man.

Antonio Wayne shifted in his seat and unbuttoned his tailored suit jacket, revealing a gold-handled Glock he never went anywhere without. He had a reputation for being able to shoot a fly off a horse’s ass, but his weapon of choice was a whip,