Page 5 of Drawn Blue Lines

“Lucky me.”

“My Chicago shipment never arrived.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.” His dismissive tone grated on my nerves as he held his empty glass in the air and raised an eyebrow at the flustered waitress. Again, the woman bowed her head in swift acknowledgment. “By the way, you owe me my eight-hundred and fifty thousand dollars.” When my jaw dropped, his lips twitched at the corners. “Five percent distributor fee. Did you think I was going to forget?”

I slammed my palm onto the table. “You greedy fuck. Did you have something to do with this?”

He rolled his eyes. “Think with your brain instead of your dick for once. That’s my product coming into your port. Why would I fuck with my own blow?”

Damn. He had a point.

“Besides, if you hadn’t spent the last week working your way through a bottle of scotch and paid more attention to your business, maybe you wouldn’t be so fucked right now.”

Because of the seventeen-million-dollar shipment that never arrived in Chicago’s port. A deal I signed with my own blood.

I was in such deep shit it would take a forklift to haul my ass out of it.

“You’ve got Ronan Kelly and Valentin Carrera on your ass, so the way I see it, you only have two options.” Holding up two thick, calloused fingers, he ticked them off. “One, pull my eight hundred and fifty K out of your ass, or two, come up with an alternative.”

“What kind of alternative?”

“Find the man who stole it.”

I laughed. I had no idea what the hell was in aguardiente, but after the crazy shit he just said, I suspected LSD. “And how do you suggest I do that?”

His eyes flashed dark with irritation. “It’s pretty crystal fucking clear. Pay me my money or find the pendejo who intercepted your shipment, take back what he stole, and end him.”

“What’s in it for you?”

He shrugged. “This is a lucrative arrangement for me, so I prefer Ronan not kill you. Plus, I don’t take well to being threatened.”

“Threatened?” An uncomfortable silence hung in the air. “You know who this asshole is.”

It wasn’t a question.

A knowing smirk crept along his face. “Possibly. And I’m feeling particularly generous, so I’ll make you a deal.”

“Is that right?”

“I’ll replace the eight hundred kilos and give you a name, but I want ten percent.”

“You want double?” I laughed. “Thanks, but no thanks. I can cover it.” Which was a complete lie. I didn’t have seventeen thousand, much less seventeen million. If I did, I wouldn’t have come crawling to this dickhead instead of the main Carrera supplier.

I crossed my arms over my chest. “You don’t know anything we don’t know.”

“You know what? I’m done fucking with you,” Carlos shouted, the corners of his eyes pulled tight with annoyance. “If you’d get your head out of your ass for five seconds, I’d tell you I had a run in with the Muñoz Cartel two weeks ago.”

My blood ran cold. “What did you say?”

“I thought that’d get your attention.”

Muñoz was a name I hadn’t heard in a very long time, and quite honestly, didn’t think I’d ever hear again.

A year and a half ago, the Muñoz Cartel blackmailed me by threatening my sister. It was why I enjoyed watching a bullet tear through their leader’s heart and seeing them crumble. Afterward, they were reduced to shambles while we consumed more and more power. If they’d somehow resurfaced and reorganized enough to push me out of Chicago, I needed to know everything.

However, I also wasn’t stupid. I’d walked into too many traps to watch someone bait a hook, toss their line right at me, and then just swim straight to it.

Instead of reacting, I tilted my palms up and offered a smug smile. “The name sounds familiar.”

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