Los Zetas Cartel Collection (3 book series) Read online

  I opened my eyes and realised he must have come straight from a shower, because he still had little splodges of talc on his thighs. It made everything a lot easier so I heaved a sigh of relief knowing I could put in my best effort without throwing up or gagging.

  When I licked his balls, lapping them slowly with my tongue, he groaned and put his hands in my hair. I’d forgotten how they all do that. The last time I’d been on my knees there were three of them. That was back in Battambang. They’d all been rough, and had used my hair to steady themselves as they shoved themselves down my throat before I could even start my slut act, but this one was just using me for balance. I guess he was going weak at the knees, just like I had earlier.

  I sucked the base of his cock, and then flicked my tongue into his crack. He gasped, and his fingers tightened. That move always goes down well. Get it? Goes down? It’s a pun. And a pretty good one too, considering the circumstances.

  Anyway, seeing as he’d just washed, I made a big production out of it. I tongued his arsehole nice and slow, and then moved back to his balls, all the while making little noises in my throat to show him I was having a really great time.

  I put on ‘Liebestod’ in my head – the one from ‘Tristan und Isolde’ – and moaned along to it. That was just my little joke. It means ‘love death’ and it’s the bit where Isolde is singing over Tristan’s dead body. I was of course implying that I’d love to be crooning over his corpse. Mafia goons aren’t usually into opera, except for the Reds, they love the stuff, so I reckoned I’d get away with it – and I did.

  My lapping tongue was so good that his hands were fisting in my hair. He was definitely enjoying himself. I licked his shaft, slurping and nibbling like it was a Cadbury Flake. Then I popped my mouth over the tip, sucking up a drip of pre-cum before going down on him and taking in as much as I could. I sucked gently, and then went back to lapping and licking his shaft. I’m a big tease, I am. It’s why the boys love me.

  I was getting an eyeful of his tackle, but I’d been too frightened to have a good look at the rest of him. All I knew was that he was dark, with light eyes. Also, he had muscles like rocks. When I’d been doing my sales pitch, it was like cuddling the Incredible Hulk. By the way he was towering over me, he was probably over six feet tall. He was built in proportion, and with all the excitement his knob had swollen to the size of a house. From the way it was rubbing against my face, it was dying to find a home in my throat.

  I’m an obliging girl, so I opened my mouth and took him in again. I sucked, rolled my tongue and made my best and sluttiest moaning noises. The tip of his knob was bouncing off the back of my throat, but there was a big bit still sticking out of my mouth. If I’d had the use of my hands, I could have done a better job and rubbed his balls. Still, I knew I wasn’t doing badly. He was rocking on his toes, and his hands were running through my hair, rubbing the back of my neck - and my rope burn.

  It was distracting, but I’ve had a lot worse. A hell of a lot worse. I switched off that part of me that was hurting, tucking it safely under a rock in the corner of my mind, and I concentrated on what was important: getting this man good and hot before getting him off. Once he had a taste of my skills, I was certain that I could convince him to take me out of here. A carry-out! That’s another pun. Sorry, can’t help it. It’s a kind of nervous reflex.

  Anyway, when he started flexing his hips, I opened up my throat as much as I could and tried to match his rhythm. With my hands tied behind my back, though, I couldn’t keep my balance. I was totally helpless, but as he seemed to know what he wanted, I just let him take over.

  He shifted his hold, holding my head back with one hand so he could really get to work. The other was on his knob, holding it steady as he pounded in and out of my mouth. He got a good rhythm going: pulling out an inch or two, and then slamming it back in.

  He was so strong that it was like being held in a vice. I couldn’t move an inch.

  I could feel him getting hotter and hotter as he moved faster and faster. His thrusts were so powerful that his cock was sliding down my throat, cutting off the air every time he plunged forward. I knew better than to struggle. I just went limp, let him do what he wanted and focused on getting in as much air as I could every time he pulled back.

  Now I was the one who was silent while his groans echoed round the pagoda. He lunged in and out of my mouth; he was so deep that his balls were bouncing against my chin. The world shrank. All I could feel was his cock reaming my throat. The smell of peppermint combined with sweat, mine as well as his, was suffocating me. The blood began to drum in my ears. I thought I was going to pass out when I felt him tense and quiver. He stopped for a split-second, and then with a frantic jerk of the hips, he came, and I was drowning in the thick saltiness of his orgasm.

  As his cock continued to pulse in my mouth, he placed one hand on my throat while the other caressed my hair. Instinctively I swallowed, half choked, and swallowed again, sucking him dry. I think I moaned again to show him I loved it, but I really can’t be sure. I don’t remember him pulling me to my feet, either. All I knew was that I was suddenly sitting on the bench, its wood surprisingly cool under my bum. I flowed forward, coming to rest against his body. I just leaned there, feeling the muscles flexing underneath his shirt as he tucked himself back into his jeans. I was too pooped to do anything but just sit there.

  When he reached behind my back and felt for the washing line they’d tied my hands with, I heard him mutter something. It sounded like swearing, but I couldn’t make out the language.

  There was a small metallic click and I could move my arms again. They weren’t much good to me, though. I’d lost all feeling in them. If he hadn’t held me against him as he sat down, I know I would have slid right off that bench and onto the floor.

  As he held me steady, he was fiddling about with his shirt. There was an odd whispering sound, like the noise a snake would make slithering over gravel. I half opened my eyes and saw him slip a knife into a small leather harness concealed under his sleeve. He’d dealt with the knot by cutting through it.

  I could see he was a man who fixed problems efficiently. He also took his weapons seriously. It reminded me that I was still in big trouble. I didn’t want this to turn into the private start of a very public gangbang with a bloody ending. I still had to get away from there.

  I tried to say, “Take me home with you!” but with being half choked by the rope and then having my throat reamed by his cock, it came out more like, “Gah, hagg, aw!”

  The bastard completely ignored me. He was staring into space, his face completely expressionless. Clearly he was a million miles away.

  I leaned into his body, rubbing lightly against him to encourage him to remember how nice it would be if we could get away from there and have some fun in a nice big bed. I tried to take hold of one of his arms but mine were giving me gip. Those stupid fuckers from the pack had tied the line so tight that my hands were swollen and numb. As I clutched at him with the useless bladders that used to be my fingers, I was getting pins and needles in a big way. When it’s just a little bit of you, like your foot because you’ve been leaning on it wrong, pins and needles are nothing. When it’s like half your body, it bloody well hurts.

  As a carpet of needles was ripping into my flesh, I ignored the pain. I didn’t have time to whimper and whine. I had to convince this stony-faced hulk to get me out of here.

  I cleared my throat and tried again. “Let’s go to your place.” My voice sounded like Donald Duck, but it was intelligible. If he understood English. I tried again. “Come on, guapo,” I knew that meant handsome, “we go to your casa for chupa mi pito.”

  He looked at me with both eyebrows raised. I was getting through to him.

  “Chingar,” I added.

  I can manage simple conversations in Thai, Khmer, Malay, Burmese, and Mandarin but I was new to this part of the world, and my Spanish was still incredibly dodgy. I knew that chingar meant fucking, and I was pretty sure t
hat I’d offered him another blowjob, too, but just in case I got it all wrong, I made the universal sign of boinking. I wasn’t sure if he was getting it, though. He was looking at me without expression. I’m telling you: if eyes are the windows to the soul, this man had none.

  Finally convinced he didn’t understand one word of what I was saying, I began to really panic. I was wishing I’d studied my little travelling dictionary more when he finally spoke.

  “If you had a pito,” he drawled, “you’d be out there with your friend.”

  His accent was pure Yankee. All that deadpan silence, and all the time the bugger had understood every word I’d said!

  Although I gave him my sweetest, humblest look, I was a bit unhappy. Quite apart from the stricture of my vocabulary, I wasn’t sure if he was on my side or not. Untying my hands was a good sign, but I didn’t like the way he was unknotting the washing line and rolling it in a serviceable bundle. It looked like he was planning to use it again. Also, despite the fact that he’d just had the best blowjob ever, he was looking at me as if I was just so much empty space. It was a look I knew, and it terrified me.

  I get brave when I’m a million miles away from Him, and if you ask anyone who’s met me while I’m working, they’ll tell you I’m a hardnosed cow who doesn’t take shit from anyone. And so I am. Except when He’s around.

  When He’s there, the littlest thing is enough to bring me to the edge of panic. This hulk reminded me of Him, and I was getting the heebie-jeebies. My stomach was in knots, the cold sweat of fear began running down my back, and within two heartbeats I’d convinced myself that this man was playing me. He’d had his fun, and now he was going to hand me back to the pack. I was convinced I was the proverbial dead duck. And this time I knew that jumping off that block of ice wouldn’t kill me. I was in for a hell of a time.

  “Listen for a moment!” I pleaded. “I’ll do anything you like! You can fuck me every way you can think of! Just take me home with you, ok?”

  He stood up. “Come on.”

  The cold way he said it, I had no idea if it was a yes or a no.

  He was waiting for me to stand up, but I was paralysed with fear. “Please. Are we going to your place?” I asked

  If I could have moved, I would have been on my knees. I’d seen the looks in the eyes of the pack; I knew that whatever they had planned for me, it would end in my death. Playing dead, switching off, begging – none of it would work. If they got to me, I’d be a goner.

  We looked at each other for what seemed an eternity. His cold grey eyes gave me the shivers. I tried to look tough, but the truth is that I was terrified. I could feel my knees shaking. I told myself that if he wasn’t going to take me with him, I was going to fight him all the way. I wasn’t going to die with a whimper. I pretended to be brave.

  “If you don’t take me away from here, I won’t go quietly,” I whispered. “I’ll fight you.” It was pure bluff. I knew that any fight in me would last seconds and that I’d lose. If he’d yelled, I would have folded faster than Supergirl on laundry day. But he didn’t yell. Or sneer.

  “Relax. I’m taking you up on your offer.” He took my hands and tugged me to my feet. He was such a big bugger that I looked him straight in the collarbone. I had to step back to look up at his face. He was smiling slightly. It seemed a good sign.

  “Mi casa, it is,” he said ironically. “For chingar.”

  When we got back to the party – excuse my irony; it’s purely a reflex from all the fear and fucking – the pack was hanging out, drinking beer in the shade of the trees. Mariachi pop music blared from the house. They all looked up, and for a moment there was a dead silence as they tried to figure out if they’d get to have me back or not. My instinct was to cut and run, but I knew my best bet was the hulk. He’d been sitting on the terrace in the shade with the jefe, so he had to rank higher than the pack. Probably. Hopefully. So I stuck to his side like glue.

  He made straight for the terrace where the jefe was having another beer. My backpack and clothes were heaped in front of him.

  The hulk tossed my clothes my way and sat down. With a sigh of disappointment, the pack looked away. I breathed again. It wasn’t a nasty joke where he’d made a promise, just to see me cry when he broke it; he really was going to take me home.

  My knickers and bra were shredded so I just pulled on my jeans. My tee had a huge rip down the front, but I didn’t care. I was getting out of there. There were no other chairs, so I sat at his feet in my best faithful doggy pose. I leaned against him, making sure he could see my tits. I wanted to make sure he remembered how much fun it would be to take me home.

  The hulk and the jefe went through my backpack, examining everything as if they were plods on a rumble. First they checked the seams of my undies, spare jeans, tees and jammies. Then they took apart my toiletry bag, examining my deodorant stick, lavender soap, toothpaste, and even checking the inside of the floss box. My makeup got the same treatment; the double ended refillable liquid eyeliner and mini detailer brush didn’t survive its cavity inspection.

  I am well past the point where I care if people go through my stuff. I’ve never been able to keep anything for very long, so I’ve learned not to get attached. But when he picked up my dream book, I couldn’t help myself. “That’s private!”

  Like it would stop him. He leafed through it, checking the hard outer cardboard carefully and finding the hundred dollar bill I’d glued inside a false cover. He held it in his hand and then began reading. After a few pages, he looked at me once, completely expressionless. He read some more and then shut it with a snap. Then he picked up my passport, checking every page and looking at all the stamps in a way that told me he was memorising exactly where I’d been and when.

  He pulled out the note I’d slipped in between the pages, the one I’d written because I was so damn tired that I was frightened I’d forget the details of the meet: noon tomorrow, Holiday Inn, Nuevo Laredo, room 245.

  They conferred for a moment. I couldn’t hear a word they were saying. Then he put the hundred dollar bill inside the passport and flipped it to his boss.

  “Your half.”

  So I’m worth a hundred bucks and a passport. Very funny. Except I’m probably worth a lot less. I’ve knocked about the world a bit, so I’ve no illusions about being a special little snowflake. I’m disposable. If I disappear, nobody will care. Not one solitary soul. I was dumped at a hospital when I was about two years old, and nobody ever had any regrets about that. Five foster homes in sixteen years and not one inquiry or offer of adoption. I guess I was an unlovable child, and the adult me certainly isn’t loved, either. On reflection, maybe the hulk priced me just right.

  While they had another beer and chatted in Spanish, I just sat and chilled, happy that I was going to make it after all. Then a hoarse scream ripped through my happy glow. Seeing I wasn’t going to play anymore, the pack had decided to find something else to amuse them. They’d had some fun earlier with Ricardo, and now there was a loud buzzing followed by another shriek. I felt my stomach flip. If I hadn’t already thrown up over and over again earlier, I would have spewed again. They were drilling holes in Ricardo.

  Ricardo was the stupid fuck who got me into this. Although I wanted to kill him, I couldn’t bear his screams.

  “Please,” I begged the hulk. “Please. Make them stop.”

  He shrugged. “He’s got a pito, so he doesn’t have options.”

  Bastard. He didn’t even flinch when a screech tore through the music, startling even the jefe into looking around. I could feel tears falling down my face. I just can’t help crying sometimes. Even He couldn’t stop me from blubbing once I’d started.

  The hulk looked at me, his expression totally deadpan. “Who was he?”

  Talking like he was already dead. “His name is Ricardo.”

  “Ricardo what?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You were buying product with him.”

  “He said he knew where to
score some good chronic.” I couldn’t help adding, “I gave him a real fifty dollar bill. I didn’t know he was going to try that funny money stunt.”

  He shrugged, glanced over at the tree and shook his head. “You’ve got your wish. It’s over.”

  “They fucked up.” It was the boss. He spoke like a Yankee, too. “They sliced through the femoral artery. He bled out.” He sounded slightly annoyed. “Dumb bastards.”

  The hulk shrugged. “You should recruit a better educated workforce.”

  “I’ll put some feelers out at the alma mater.”

  “Try Johns Hopkins. I hear they’ve got a good medical programme.”

  The comic duo grinned at each other, and then the hulk stood up. I scrambled to my feet, too, and stood as close as possible to him. I wanted him to remember that I was to be his fun and games for the night. If the jefe decided he needed replacement entertainment to make up for Ricardo being prematurely dead, I was toast. I prayed he would forget my existence.

  I could see the pack throwing Ricardo’s body into a barrel and hoisting it into the back of a truck. As if they were disposing of some dead dog. Except if they had been, they probably would have cared more.

  The hulk and the boss muttered something to each other that I didn’t catch. They hugged, and then the hulk was off, striding away. I ran alongside, keeping him between the pack and me. He went round the front of the house and made straight for a big black bike that was parked under a canopy. I loathe those things, but I slung my backpack around my shoulders and hopped straight up behind him.

  “Hold on tight.”

  He looked back to make sure there was enough space for me to sit down properly before starting the engine. It was nice of him, but I was so desperate that I could have perched on a rail at that point. I threw my arms around him, and then the bike roared, the gate opened, and I began to feel better.

  I was getting out of there.

  Chapter 3: Kyle

  I love my house. It’s a small bungalow set right on the banks of the Rio Bravo. I designed and built it myself. It’s just a bedroom, bathroom, living room and kitchen. I built a massive deck and added a generous garage to house my Blackbird and the Aquatrax R-12X Jet Ski I bought last year for when I want to cross the river to the US without clearing immigration.