The Cartel Queen

Chapter1-Sold

LAYCE'S POINT OF VIEW

5 years ago

"Put that down, Jason." I scold, as I watch my four-year-old brother drop the stolen cellphone. It is not his fault that this house is filled with stolen goods. Children should be curious about their environment. Nothing in this house shows that children live here. There are no toys strewn about, no games, no electronics, not even a child's book. Everything that my brothers owned has been sold.

Wyatt, my eleven-year-old brother, walks over to Jason and directs him to the table. "Come sit with me, Jason," he says as he sits back down to do his homework. I only have two rules in this household: be respectful and take your education seriously.

Wyatt and Jason look incredibly alike. If it weren't for the age difference, they would be twins. Both boys have dirty blonde hair, buzzed for easy maintenance. They have light blue eyes and round faces. Unfortunately, we don't have a lot of money, so the boys wear dollar-market jeans and T-shirts.

I look nothing like them. My face is much sharper and more defined than theirs. I have dark brown hair, with a slight natural wave and bright green eyes. Fitness is an important part of my life and my body is well toned, but not overly muscular. Most of my outfits are leggings and baggy T-shirts. The leggings make my muscular ass look great and the t-shirts cover my ample breasts. I wear clothes that make sure I am not noticed.

Pulling my hands out of the dirty dishwater, I watch as my father stumbles out of the house. Two women claw onto him as they leave. We don't exist to them, and they take no notice of our presence. Our house is small. The kitchen is all white laminate, with one counter spot between the sink and stove. The living room and dining room are filled with stolen items my dad sells for his drug money. There is an old saggy couch, covered in stains, and has several holes. The dining room table, if you can call it that, has two metal bars folded into legs. The top is yellow with bits of silver metal speckled on it.

Upstairs there are two bedrooms. One is for my father. It smells like piss, drugs and s*x. I haven't been in there for years, but I also suspect that it is filled with more stolen goods and drug paraphernalia. My brothers and I share a small bedroom. When they are at school, I usually crash on one of the two small beds, but if it is night I will sleep in the hammock in the closet.

Julio walks into the room like he owns the place. Wyatt and Jason run up to him and jump into his arms. "Hey kiddo's," he says, as he ruffles their hair.

Julio is my hermano, Spanish for brother. My father sold me to the Suarez Cartel when I was 4. Julio's father, Diego, and mother, Annabella, the leaders of the Suarez cartel, adopted me and raised me as their daughter. As the Cartel Queen, I trained alongside Julio and all the other Cartel soldiers. Julio and Diego Suarez are the closest thing I have to a family.

Julio puts down Jason and steps past Wyatt. He kisses my forehead, greeting me with simply "hermana." His skin is a mid-tone brown and he has a strong upper body. I don't think I have ever seen him with a lot of hair, past a little stubble growing on his head. He looks like Diego, with striking brown eyes and dark red lips. Today he is wearing a nice v-neck t-shirt and dark blue jeans. His new girlfriend, Carrie, has been buying him some fashionable clothes.

The sun sets through the window and I say "Boys, go get ready for bed. I have to go out. I want you to be good for Uncle Julio." Both boys whine and moan, protesting their bedtime. I clear my throat and point to the stairs. They begrudgingly march upstairs.

"And you," I say to Julio. "Make sure Wyatt brushes his teeth. Last night, he just spread the toothpaste around with his finger." Julio laughs and smiles at me "You sound like mami, hermana." I know he is trying to tease me, but any comparison to Annabella is a compliment.

Walking to the storage locker hidden behind a kitchen cupboard, I open it and sheath two swords. Swords are elegant weapons, but not effective in every situation. I holster my 9 mm pistol under my shirt. The Suarez cartel has been kind enough to provide me with an allowance, enough money to take care of the boys, but nothing is free. Not even for the Cartel Queen. The Cartel has me work where my talents lie, and mine lie in my ability to kill.

Making my way through the slums, past the suburbs and to downtown, I arrive at the address of the target. Stupid fucker lives in a top-floor penthouse. I guess human trafficking pays well. The security is pathetic, some of the worst I have seen. Hiding in the shadows of the night, I sneak into the tradesman's door on the side of the building. Making my way to the elevator, I keep a close eye on the bellboy at the front. The old man working security is armed with a taser and a baton, hardly a match for any thug.

Arriving at the top floor apartment, I sneak off the elevator, no security again, which I think is odd. You would think he would have at least one person standing guard. Tiptoeing quietly through this apartment, I make my way to his room. The place is nauseatingly nice. All glass or mirror furniture, a couch that looks extremely uncomfortable and a kitchen out of a magazine.

Standing in his room, I notice the unneccesarily expensive sheets on his bed. There is no way that this man ever raped any of the women he kidnapped and sold in this place. Assholes like him probably took them to some scuzzy safe house with stained mattresses. He is the worst of the worst. Not only does he traffic humans but he "tests the merchandise" before selling it.

Taking a moment to gather myself, I realize that had it not been for the Suarez family I could have been one of those girls. With the thought of all the women he has raped in my mind, I swish my swords through his neck with ease. Watching as the blood pours out around his bed. It makes a small crack sound as the sharp blade slices between the neck vertebrae. There are easier ways to kill someone, but few of those use the finesse and skill of a sword.

As I turn to leave I hear a 'click' from the shadows in the corner. f**k that is the safety on a gun. My heart sinks into my stomach as my hand makes its way to my weapons. A tall man with dark skin and short curly hair steps out. He has light brown eyes and dark lips. His dress shoes are worn, and his suit is off the rack. I can tell from his demeanor that he is likely a cop.

Fear floods my mind for just a moment before the realization of the situation. If he is a cop, he witnessed me kill a man.

Looking me dead in the eyes, his gun pointed at my temple, he simply says "My God you are a child." A shocked look on his face.

I retort back "Who were you expecting? Zorro?"

The man smirks a little, his gun not wavering. I admire his stoic resolve.

He fills the silence with "You beheaded 11 men."

I look at him, trying to figure him out. If I can throw him off his game, I will have the upper hand. "They were really bad men," I smirk back.

Realization floods my mind. What the hell is he doing here? Why did he not stop me? The only reason I can see for him being there, is the same reason I was, to kill the man.

"You were going to kill him, bad cop," I say, sheathing my swords.

He smirks at me " It's Detective. I figured if I can't find the girls at least I can stop him."

"Well, Detective." I draw the word detective slowly through my lips. "I can help you find the girls." Researching everything about a target is basic safety.

He lifts his eyebrow at me as he lowers his gun. I continue. "Shipping container AR 3487201. It should be on the east side of the port."

The detective turns to leave, but before going he warns "If you kill again, I will hunt you down like a dog." He leaves the room.

I rush out of there, running down the street, looking behind me. Cops almost always have backup. Ducking through a small hole in a fence, I run through an old warehouse. There are a few homeless people, a couple of local drug dealers, and an enforcer. The enforcer gives me a slight nod of recognition.

Sliding out the other side, I come to a small park. Walking casually through the park, a man tries to solicit me for s*x, but I just ignore him. Of course, he thinks the only reason I am out this late is to solicit myself.

Finally, making it to my house, I quietly open the door. Julio holds a gun to my head. When he realizes it's me, he lowers it.

"You're late." He whispers.

I hand him my swords and sheath as I make my way to the washroom. My feet drag with the weight of what has happened. My heart is pounding through my chest. That was a close call. Turning the shower to ice-cold, I strip off my clothes. The world spins in my head. I almost got caught. What would happen to my boys if I was in prison?

Tears stream down my face as I collapse to the floor. The cold water shocks me into reality. Pulling my knees to my chest, I sob uncontrollably. I almost lost my brothers, my boys tonight.

Minutes turn into hours as I run the cold water over my body trying to erase the horrors that I have committed. Questions flood my mind. Murdering people as a job. What would my boys think if they found out? If I chose to quit, would Julio support me? I can't kill again, not with the cops on me. How the hell am I going to support my brothers now?

Dragging myself out of the shower, I wrap myself in a towel. My lips are blue as I look at my reflection in the mirror. I say to myself Happy 18th birthday Layce.