I lifted my foot, aiming it back at his dick to get him going again.
“I’m a part of a crew of independent contractors for hire.”
The teasing huff I released was followed by me shaking my head at him.
“In other words, you’re disposable. They don’t give a shit if you die.”
I paced, thinking about how to approach what I believed was another sticky situation left by my uncle. I cast a lingering glare at the man, before I turned, preparing to walk away.
“Wait, don’t leave me like this!” he yelled.
A devious smirk appeared on my face at his assumption but was swept away when a glance down at the heel I used to crush his dick made me want to puke.
“You’ve cost me a pair of $2000 heels, you dirty dick fucker.”
After only a few steps away, I paused, closed my eyes, and let my mind go into what I called, the quiet. Sound eased away and the chaos that swirled inside like a tornado rose to the surface. In the quiet, evil waited. It flooded my mind with its biting grip and squeezed my sense of remorse into dust.
When I spun, I pulled HB from the waistband of my skirt and aimed at the man’s head. His loud screams bounced off my body. His mouth was gaped wide open, his body tensed, and his straining vocal cords were making an attempt to push their way out of his neck.
I tilted my head, glaring at him losing his shit over me aiming a gun at him. Why was he so upset? Hadn’t he just asked me not to leave him that way?
As fast as my finger flexed on the trigger, his head contents splattered onto the dirty carpet, the rest was seeping out in bloody bubbles. It wasn’t the sight of death, his fear-frozen eyes, or his gaping mouth that excited me.
It was the metallic scent of fresh gun-smoke that I inhaled, closing my eyes to savor the fragrance. Only when the rusted scent of blood disrupted the relaxing scent of oil, fire, and gun metal, did I open my eyes and step away.
Now, I was faced with one pressing question. Why was the Cardenas Cartel watching me?
2
Mecca
A relaxing rush of warmth always filled me before I erupted into total fury. My patience was barely hanging on by a thread that was quickly unraveling, but I had maintained it longer than I expected to, enduring the usual complaints from my crew. I spit my words at the men eyeballing me, my tone low and deadly.
“I can’t believe my uncle left me in charge of you no-balls-having, whining and complaining, titty-sucking bitches.”
The first thought that popped into my mind—kill them all—would’ve been the easiest thing to do. However, I had never taken the easy way out of anything in my life. My calm, the side of me that had matured and sustained my life and mental health in a male-dominated world, surfaced. As much as I would have loved to restart with a new crew, the sensible part of my brain reminded me that, for the most part, the men did good work.
I gave them shit, a lot of it. However, each knew that I would walk through hell for them and had their backs even when they may have been wrong. This was our time to hash shit out, voice our frustrations, and for me to get in their asses if they were out there screwing up.
The calm I summoned helped to quiet the ruthless savagery that ran through my veins, demanding release. I lifted my gaze from the men and concentrated on the deep gray walls of the warehouse we were in. Those walls held more interest than the men as their voices carried as much shit around the open space as a city-fed pigeon.
After my uncle pulled a fuck-move that left me and my cousin, Desiree, in the middle of a shit storm, I had inherited the job of running my family’s drug business.
Overnight, I had become the queenpin of the organization known as the Black Saints. After working for years under my uncle, Raymond Evans, he had handed me the reins, claiming it was temporary while he handled some business.
The cold hard truth fell like a ton of bricks after gaining control. My uncle had conned twenty million dollars from two of the highest level criminal organizations in the world. To make matters worse, millions of