Page 26 of Cartel Devil

There’s a woman at the sink. In the mirror, I see her eyes shooting daggers at me. I have no idea who she is, but she isn’t pleased to see me. My gaze meets Toria’s in the mirror as she steps out of her stall. We could use sinks next to each other, but we separate. We ensure there’s an empty sink on each side of the woman before we wash our hands. The woman’s attention is solely on me, but I pretend to ignore her until I turn to get paper towels.

“Heard that psycho’s fucking someone new.”

I continue to ignore her, but I keep her in my peripheral vision. Toria steps behind me as I move to let her dry her hands too.

“He usually prefers bigger tits. Then again, he also prefers the easy type.”

Neither Toria nor I say anything as we throw away our paper towels. But the woman blocks our way to the door.

“I’m talking to you, bitch.”

I lift my chin but shrug as I move to sidestep her. Of course, she doesn’t move out of the way.

“My breasts are what they are.”

I have to say something, but I won’t take the bait.

“You’re just his date so it isn’t obvious he’s guarding his cousin’s newest piece of ass.”

You could see Toria’s engagement ring from the moon. You could see her wedding ring on the sun. I’m sure they show up on satellite images of New York. Anyone can see she’s married, and since she’s always with Alejandro, there’s no doubt she’s not some piece of ass.

“Why does it matter to you?”

Did he get tired of fucking you?

I want to know the answer to that far more than I should.

“You’re both betraying our kind.”

Our kind? What the fuck?

This isn’t a woman Joaquin or Alejandro was involved with in the past.

“Move. Our movie’s about to start.”

Toria takes a step forward, and I match hers. Neither of us has our purse with us, so neither of us has a weapon. But we know each other’s fighting style, so I’m confident we can take her.

“No. You’re not leaving here to go watch a movie with those spi⁠—”

“Oh, fuck no. Move the fuck out of our way.”

I know what pejorative for Latinos she was about to use. I’m not having it. Toria and I step close to her, and she finally realizes she’s underestimated us. She takes a step back. When she does, her shirt collar shifts enough for me to spot a tattoo.

I don’t know if my friend recognizes it, but I do. She’s part of The Brand—the Aryan Brotherhood. No wonder she’s got something to say about us both being with Latino men. I don’t know how things stand between the AB and the Cartel, but I can’t imagine it’s friendly.

Back home, my family’s kept their distance from them. My uncle can’t stand them on principle, and he doesn’t trust them in business. My father warned me away from their motorcycle clubs when I was a teenager after a member approached me at the grocery store. One of my guards told him. I hadn’t realized who—or rather what—the guy was. I thought Dad’s head was going to explode.

I got a deep dive into the AB’s past, purpose, and structure. It made my skin crawl. After that, my brother, Tristano, and my other cousins kept a close eye on me for a month because they were worried the guy would approach me again. I didn’t see him again, but I overheard them talking one afternoon. The guy tried to, but Dante and Rocco, two of my cousins, stopped him. Apparently, the guy couldn’t ride his bike for a couple months because he couldn’t hold onto the handles with ten broken fingers and two broken wrists.

Why this bitch needed to say shit to us doesn’t matter to me. Instead, I’m wondering if she’s a distraction. Could there be guys out there waiting for Alejandro and Joaquin to come looking for us? Could someone already be in Joaquin’s face like this bitch is with us?

“Make me.”

She’s bigger than Toria and me, but she’s not bigger than the two of us together. When she lunges at me, I grab a handful of her hair and shove as hard as I can. Her head slams into the metal paper towel holder. Her hands go to my shoulders as she tries to push me away. My other hand comes to her face, my fingers like claws. I rake them down her cheek.

This isn’t some girl fight. I prefer punches to scratches, but when this woman goes back to her boyfriend or husband and the rest of their gang, I want everyone to know the woman she targeted fought back. I want to leave one mark that screams a woman beat the shit out of her not a man.

The hand in her hair moves to her throat as her fingers dig into my shoulders. I squeeze as hard as I can, driving her into the metal box again. My free hand delivers a punch that cracks her cheekbone. I step back as Toria points a blade at her. She brings the tip of it just beneath our assailant’s eye on her uninjured side. Guess she had one in her pocket after all.