The tattoo on my arm itched.
We drove on. By the time the album was over, I felt dirty and squirmy and we were in Alvarado, driving down another narrow street that coasted along the shore. The fish shop that would be our headquarters was two stories, set at the start of a concrete pier that jutted out to sea, a few aging fishing boats moored along it.
Javier and his men exited the vehicle with ease and headed right for the shop. They didn’t look around them to see if they were being watched or if anyone was eyeing them suspiciously. They were a bunch of men wanting fish. I sat in the car a few moments longer, enjoying the safety of the glass, before I spotted Javier waving me to come over.
The bell jangled loudly above my head as I entered the shop. He wasn’t kidding about the smell. It was an actual working business, with rows of different colored fish all lying flat on ice. Raul was talking to a small, deeply tanned elderly man behind the counter, the fishmonger.
Javier came over to me and placed his hand at my back, leading me forward. I could feel his warmth through the flimsy fabric of my dress.
“Ellie, this is Pedro,” he said, politely introducing me.
Pedro showed me his hands, full of fish guts, and shot me an apologetic look. “Sorry, I no speak much English.”
“Eso no es problema,” I told him with a smile and hoped he wouldn’t assume I was fluent. “Hablo un poco de español.”
“Impressive,” Javier whispered into my ear. “What else have you picked up?”
I hid the shiver that rolled down my neck by telling Pedro he had a very lovely shop. That seemed to please him and it got me out of Javier’s grasp as Pedro began to show me the scales on one of the red snappers.
Pedro was one of Javier’s father’s friends from way back in the day and had no problems with letting us stay there. In fact, it was common as the upstairs of the shop was constantly used as a hotel of sorts for the Sinoloa cartel members who were trying to gain the upper hand in Veracruz. Javier told me Pedro often stayed down the street with his daughter when they took over his shop, working during the day and minding his own business.
He led us upstairs which was a lot more substantial than it looked on the outside. There was a small living area/dining room and a large balcony overlooking the beach and harbor, complete with another table, chairs and a grill. The kitchen was tiny but functional. There was one small bathroom and two bedrooms.
“I guess I’ll take the couch,” I said, eyeing the tiny loveseat adorned with a white fringe shawl.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Javier said, gesturing to the bigger bedroom. “You’re staying with me.”
My eyes widened and a flash of heat went up my legs. “I don’t think so.”
He gave me a wry look. “Would you rather sleep with Raul or Peter?”
“I’ll take Peter,” I said automatically. Peter blushed and quickly went into the other room.
Javier grabbed my hand. “I won’t touch you unless you want me to.”
I glared at him. “There’s nothing wrong with the couch. Perhaps you should sleep there.”
“Perhaps I’m not that much of a gentleman,” he said with a cock of his head.
Understatement of the century, I thought. Then I realized he was still holding my hand. He noticed my eyes and let go.
“We’ll have to get your things later tonight. It looks a bit too strange if someone were to see us moving our shit in here. When it gets dark, we’ll get the bags. Until then,” he gestured to the rest of the house. “Get a beer and relax.”
“I think I might,” I said, wanting to get away from Javier and any talk about a bedroom. I went to the kitchen and got a beer, settling on the balcony. The sea breeze was wonderful, even if it was bringing up the occasional waft of fish. I sat back and waited for something to happen. Something more than just me sitting on the balcony of a cartel’s hideout, sipping a beer and watching the pelicans fly.
I went back inside the house when I was done with my drink and noticed Raul sitting silently on the loveseat, staring into space. I grabbed another beer from the tiny fridge and when I turned around, he was right behind me.
I let out a small gasp of surprise and nearly dropped the bottle. How the hell did he move so fast?
“Ellie,” he said, as if my name felt good to say. “Have you given anymore thought to your predicament?”
I frowned. “Where’s Javier?”
“Your lover has left.”
“He’s not my lover,” I said nastily. “You should know this.” Then a thread of fear ran through me. I swallowed it down. “Where did he go?”
“He went into town with Peter. They had business to conduct.”
“Well, okay then,” I said and tried to walk around him. He blocked me. I gripped the bottle tighter, more than prepared to waste a beer on his head.
He leaned in close. “You say he’s not your lover. I believe you. He doesn’t speak very favorably about you, you know.”
I refused to look away, his beady little eyes spearing me. “I don’t speak very favorably about him. So it’s fair.”
“None of this is fair,” he sneered. “Think about it, Ellie. He’s getting you do to his dirty work. Don’t you think there are other people who can better handle this for him?”
“Maybe they aren’t as invested.”
He took another step closer, his pelvis almost pressed against mine. I raised my drink in the air. “Don’t come any closer.”
“I’m only trying to help you,” he said with false humility. “I don’t want you getting hurt. There’s far more to this than he will let you know. It’s sad how fucking blind you are.”