Total pages in book: 180
Estimated words: 170747 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 683(@250wpm)___ 569(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 170747 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 683(@250wpm)___ 569(@300wpm)
He narrows his eyes. “You’re going up against Una?”
“This is my cartel, my city, and my war. Una is here for Anna, and Anna can’t handle this.” He watches me for a second and then nods. “Just keep me informed, and try to avoid Una.”
His face pinches in a frown before he turns and walks out of the room. This is all such a shit show.
There’s a knock on the door before it’s pushed open and Carlos appears, crutches in hand. It’s like a dman conveyor belt in here today. “I’ve organized the meetings you wanted in Miami and Chicago. We fly in a couple of hours.”
“Okay.” I push to my feet, and Carlos hobbles along beside me as I move into the factory and check the packaged stock we have. It’s being loaded into vans so it can be moved into one of the spare aircraft hangars. There’s not enough room in the warehouse to store tons of coke. “How much can we have ready to go immediately?”
“We’ll have two tons by tomorrow.”
“Good. Prepare to ship to Miami and Chicago.”
He smirks. “You’re confident.”
“I trust that you’ve found me enterprising men, Carlos. How can they say no?” The fact is, cocaine is the lifeblood of the big American cities. With Dominges’ supply dwindling and his distributors being murdered, it’s down to a few ambitious men to see the writing on the wall. And that writing says Juarez Cartel in big red letters.
The wheels of the jet bump over the runway, jostling the glass of whiskey on the table in front of me. As soon as we stop moving, Lucas pushes to his feet. Carlos scowls from his seat, unhappy about being benched.
“It’s just a meeting, Carlos. Don’t sulk.”
He looks at his brother. “You take a bullet for this fucker, you hear me?” Lucas nods nervously. “Anything kicks off, shoot everyone and get out.” He pretends that he doesn’t care for his little brother, but I know differently. Lucas steps off the plane and I follow him onto the tarmac.
A limo sits there, the black paint gleaming in the Miami sun. A guy in a black suit opens the back door with one hand whilst clutching his gun in the other. I slide into the darkness of the back seat and am immediately surrounded by the poignant scent of weed. Lazy clouds of smoke linger in the air between me, and the man I’m meeting.
“Rafael D’Cruze,” he says in a drawling accent with an African edge. He flashes me a smile, his pristine white teeth a stark contrast to his ebony skin.
“Diabolo.”
“So, you want to make a deal with me, Rafael D’Cruze?” he asks.
“No. I have cocaine, and I’m generously offering you the option to purchase it before someone else does.”
He taps his finger over his bottom lip, the gold rings adorning it glinting in the low light. “Is that so?”
“I know Dominges is faltering on shipments. The supply in Miami is drying up.”
“Not true.”
I laugh. “You consider that shit from the Colombians cocaine?” Reaching into the inside pocket of my jacket, I take out a small baggie of powder and hand it to him. He eyes the bag before popping a small tray out from a side panel in the car. He pours out the cocaine and scoops a small amount under his fingernail before snorting it. His eyes squeeze shut, and he shakes his head before a grin morphs his features.
“Well, well, well…” He holds the little bag of remaining powder up, inspecting it as though it holds the answers to all life’s problems. “How much?”
“Fifteen million per ton and I only work in metric tons.” This is risky, but all business is really just a game of whose balls are bigger.
“I pay ten grand per kilo, and I can’t shift a ton of product.”
“Those are my terms.” I know this product is likely the best he’s ever seen, and I also know he’ll shift it, as does he. I can see him thinking about it. “I can have it here in Miami in three days. First payment a week later. You’ll sell it for double what you pay, and you know it.” He doesn’t answer straight away, so I throw the door open. No sooner has the close Miami heat surrounded me than he speaks.
“Done. Send it.”
“You sure?” I ask. “If you can’t pay…”
“I know the consequences,” he says.
“I am not Dominges. You may call yourself Devil, but even he won’t save you from me if you disappoint me.” I step out of the car and slam the door. Lucas falls into step behind me, and I climb the steps of the plane.
Carlos stares at me the second I drop into the seat across from him. “Well?”
“Call Sam. Get him to ship a metric ton of product to Miami as fast as possible.”