The Pimp (Colombian Cartel Book 2) Read online

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  ©The Pimp

  ©Colombian Cartel Series

  Copyright © 2016 Suzanne Steele

  Published by Suzanne Steele

  All Rights Reserved

  This book is a work of Fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales, are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All other characters, incidents and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and not to be construed as real. The author acknowledges the trademark status of various products and locales referenced in this fictional work, which have been used without permission. The use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. All rights reserved. No part of this book can be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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  Cover Copyright © Suzanne Steele

  Edited by Eda Price Editing

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  Formatting by Suzanne Steele

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  To the Reader

  The men I write about are Alpha males in every sense of the word. They are the men society warns us about. They are dominant males with controlling tendencies. They are the men you know you should stay away from, yet

  you are drawn like a moth to a flame. If you are looking for a sweet romance, you won't find it here. What you will find is dark passion. Many times my heroes carry what would be

  considered an obsession for the women they love. Each character I write about has demanded their voice be heard. I have been true to that calling, and I have stayed true to their personalities, which at times, the reader may not always agree with. They are dark, they are gritty, and many times their love is dysfunctional but, nonetheless, it is real.

  Stalk Me…

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  Acknowledgments

  First and foremost, I want to thank God. Without him, none of this would be possible.

  I want to thank my family, who carry the weight of everything so I can write. I love you guys and I couldn’t do what I do without you.

  I want to thank Eda Spivey Price, my editor, who came at a time when I needed her most. Eda, you are a Godsend and I will forever be grateful to you for believing in me at a time when I wanted to give up. You were just what I needed to keep writing and pursuing my dream.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty One

  Chapter Thirty Two

  Chapter Thirty Three

  Chapter Thirty Four

  Chapter Thirty Five

  Chapter Thirty Six

  Chapter Thirty Seven

  Chapter Thirty Eight

  Chapter Thirty Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty One

  Chapter Forty Two

  Chapter Forty Three

  Chapter Forty Four

  Chapter Forty Five

  Chapter Forty Six

  Chapter Forty Seven

  Chapter Forty Eight

  Chapter Forty Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty One

  Chapter Fifty Two

  Chapter Fifty Three

  Chapter Fifty Four

  Chapter Fifty Five

  Epilogue

  Excerpt: A sneak peek at Inevitable

  Prologue

  Brook

  Rusty ceiling-to-floor wire fencing separates the long row of cots, each one little more than a creaky metal frame topped with a thin, lumpy pad. On each cot is a woman, huddled and in various states of distress. I’m one of them.

  I started this journey with one goal in mind: a better life. A fresh start. But I know something’s up the second I walk into my ‘sleep area’ and -- before I’m able to object or fight back -- hear the lock click shut behind me. In that moment, I know all the promises were nothing but a line of bullshit to lure me into a trap. Judging from the fearful expressions on the faces of these women, they know it too.

  I didn’t seek out this nightmare; I was approached a month ago by a third party acting on behalf of the Colombian cartel. They mentioned the name of a friend who’s been working at a gentlemen’s club in the States run by Diego Dias. I guess she suggested me or put in a good word for me with him because the offer came straight from him for free transportation over the border into the States to work at the same club. My life in Sinaloa was going nowhere so the offer was a Godsend, or so I thought at the time. Looks like Diego Dias lied to me. But why?

  Each ‘cage’ has a small trunk, which I assume will be where whatever personal items we have will be kept. We came here with just the clothes on our backs so I don’t see the point. I can feel curiosity well up in me to open it but I’ll have to wait until I’m not being guarded.

  A noise breaks into my thoughts and I look up to see a fat, dirty man leering down at me. His coarse, black hair is pulled back in a ponytail and he seems perturbed, like maybe I’m not moving quickly enough. I waste no time letting him know that I’m onto him.

  “What the fuck? This isn’t the club I was told I’d be working at.”

  “Si, chica, but it’s the only club you need to worry about—the puta club.”

  “Hey, wait a damn minute,” I fume as I stand and brace my hands against the metal caging that is the only thing standing between me and this asshole. “I’m not a whore! I never agreed to sell pussy! I’m here to work as a waitress in a high-end gentleman’s club.”

  “You’re from Sinaloa, in case you’ve forgotten. Sinaloa cartel deals in women and drugs.”

  “No, no,” I say urgently as I shake my head. “I was brought here for Colombian cartel, not Sinaloan.”

  “Fuck the Colombians. Fuck Antonio Wayne Ramirez, Ricardo Ramirez, and that pimp Diego Dias. You are Sinaloan property now and nothing you do is going to change that. You better get ready to spread ‘em and smile while you do it.”

  The fat, ugly bastard’s eyeing my crotch like it’s his l
ast meal. But he’s done something he doesn’t even realize he’s done—he’s just confirmed that Diego Dias is the good guy in all this, that I really was supposed to work for him. I have to get out of here somehow and find him.

  I study the women occupying the other cages around me as they avidly listen in on our conversation. Some of them appear frightened, others appear to be as shocked as I am to find themselves locked in a cage like an animal. A few are in a glassy-eyed stupor, clearly under the influence of drugs of some kind. Those must be the long-timers.

  I wait until the guy leaves and open the trunk. I’m horrified when I pull out a scrap of material that’s supposed to be a skirt. The cropped top that goes with it looks like it came in a child’s size.

  I lower myself slowly onto the end of my cot, the room seeming to tilt as the extent of my problems hits me like a ton of bricks. These guys are human traffickers. Their ruse of being coyotes to bring us over here for a new life is just that—a ruse.

  Her reality

  “I see you’ve found your new work clothes, puta.” I unlock the cage door with a smirk. The woman is sitting at the end of her bed, staring down with disgust at her new wardrobe in her hands. She stands and whips around, looking at me with fire in her eyes, fists clenched. Curly black hair trails down her back and her blue eyes blaze with fury and contempt for me. The rest of the women are huddled up in the far corners of their cages like the cowards they are, but this one has set herself apart. She isn’t scared. I’m going to have to keep a close eye on her.

  Perhaps a little heroin will help her be more cooperative. It’s a technique that’s worked well with other women who have passed through our operation. The cage in the far corner holds a perfect example in the form of a redhead who arrived about a month ago. When she got here, she attracted the attention of our best clients, but she fought and shrieked like a banshee. Even our clients who enjoy subduing an unwilling woman couldn’t enjoy her properly. Too much work, they said. So, I took care of the problem. Now she’s a whore for heroin and is among our most popular girls. She offers herself eagerly to our kinkiest customers, always up for anything they want – serene in the knowledge that a guard will be there with her fix before the client has even put his dick back in his pants.

  I have found that if one is patient, every problem has a solution, no matter how unsavory that solution may be. It’s a harsh truth, but true nonetheless: there’s nothing like a nasty addiction to make a bitch nice and compliant.

  “I’m not wearing this. I didn’t come here to sell pussy,” our newest arrival says haughtily.

  I rush her and slam her back into the wall. She’s dazed but still has fire burning deep in those strange blue eyes of hers. “You think you’re too good to sell this pussy?” I ask as I clamp my hand between her legs. “Well, now, that would be a tragedy. This feels like fine, fine pussy to me, but if you stop being such a bitch I might consider letting you move drugs for me instead. We could save this pussy for special occasions, maybe even just for me, eh? But either way, you’re going to pull your weight around here.”

  “So let me get this straight. You’re bringing women over here and then forcing them into prostitution? And you think you’re going to do that to me?”

  “You say it like it’s a bad thing,” I drawl as I pull my hand away and take a step back. “These women are here because they want to be.”

  “Right. Then let me go because I definitely don’t.”

  “It’s just business. Diego owes me money. He didn’t pay your bill so now you’re going to pay off his debt.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Where are my manners? Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Santiago Sanchez, it’s a name you will remember for the rest of your life.”

  “Nice to meet you, whatever. But I’m still not spreading my legs for you or anyone else.”

  “I can understand how you might be reluctant about your duties at first. I tell you what, I have a kilo that needs to be delivered. You do that for me and I’ll let you off on the whole prostitution thing.”

  “You’re a real master at twisting shit around. You’re supposed to send me to Diego Dias, who has a legitimate job waiting for me, but now you’re trying to force me into working for you?! You’ll never convince me that a man as rich as Diego didn’t pay you.”

  “What you think doesn’t matter.”

  She hesitates and seems to be considering her options, which doesn’t take her long since there aren’t any. “Fine. I’ll do this one job for you and after that, consider yourself paid.”

  I grab her around the throat, keeping her against the wall and easily lifting her off the floor with one hand. “You don’t make the rules around here, bitch. You’re done when I say you’re done. I hate Diego Dias and, seeing as how he seems to have taken a personal interest in your situation, you’ve given me the perfect way to fuck with him. I’m afraid I’m not willing to give that up.”

  I release her slowly, letting her body slide down the wall until she’s back on her feet, rubbing her throat and coughing. “Now, Mateo, here”—I nod toward the hulking, bald man who stands just outside the cage—“he’s going to set you up for this drop. You really don’t want to fuck this up or you’re going to owe me thirty thousand dollars. Trust me, it would take years of turning tricks to pay me back. So, you see? It’s simple. Just don’t fuck up.”

  As she pales and sits back down on her bed, something tells me she’ll do just fine.

  Chapter One

  Brook

  I lean against the concrete wall, trying to blend in with my surroundings, as if it will keep the woman I’m watching from seeing me. I resist the urge to shuffle my feet and rub my arms as I try to ward off the cold. I hate cold weather. The only reason I’m out here is because Santiago gave me no choice. Well, he did give me a choice – sell pussy or sell drugs. My pussy’s not for sale, so here I am.

  They threw me out here on a street corner with orders to meet up with a man I don’t know, so I’m standing here with a kilo of coke and a pissy attitude, wearing the outfit from the trunk in my cell. Santiago insisted, telling me that slutty attire would help me blend in with the rest of the druggies and hookers that populate this particular block.

  I tug at the hem of the micro-mini skirt and lacy cropped top. Hell, I’m just grateful that I was able to pick out the shoes for this gig. No way was I going to spend the night in heels. If I get a chance to make a break for it I want to be able to run, so I opted for boots. Military-style with a flat heel. Funky and practical, which works for me.

  If I had any idea how to unload this coke on someone and somehow keep the money, I would. But it’s going to take some time to study the ins and outs of this world I’ve been thrown into before I can make a move like that. Santiago sent Mateo out with me to make sure I don’t run. I direct my attention back toward the woman because the more I look at him, the madder I get about allowing myself to be put in this situation. One thing’s for sure: I can count on my street smarts to get this coke unloaded and right now I’m taking things one day at a time.

  I can’t believe how Santiago turned shit around on me. He’s trying to convince me that my cellmates are willing participants, to make it look like he isn’t involved in human trafficking. That’s bullshit. If I can get proof he is and get it to Diego, the Colombian cartel will take care of him. He crossed a line trying to force me into prostitution because, no matter what he says, I’m Colombian cartel property. I don’t know what these two have against each other but I’m not about to let Santiago use me to fuck with Diego.

  The problem is, I have no idea how to contact the Colombian cartel or Diego. These guys are never going to let me out of their sight. I know how they operate and I want no part of it. I’ve heard stories of women who were caught up in human trafficking. After getting hooked on heroin, if they escape or are rescued, they just go running back for the drug.

  Human trafficking is a federal offense, so these guys go to great lengths to keep the
ir women loyal, even if it’s just out of desperation. That way, the women won’t testify against them. It’s the sick rationale Santiago uses to gloss over what he’s doing. The way these guys see it, a drug deal is a one-time thing. Women, on the other hand, are a commodity that can be used over and over.

  The steam from the sidewalk grate rises up and swirls around her ankles as the woman walks along, her champagne blonde hair bouncing over the shoulders of her trench coat. The sight of her glossy mane of hair swinging back and forth reminds me of a shampoo commercial. It sure is making me wish I looked like her. I shamelessly eavesdrop as she presses her cell phone to her ear.

  “Tell the client I’m on my way…No…She’s just nervous about being briefed for court…Well, tell her to relax. We’re putting these assholes away for a long time.”

  Hmm, she must be a lawyer or something. If she is, then she’s pretty clueless to be on the streets alone at night. Nobody ventures out here at night. The downtown streets of a city change from day to night; doesn’t matter whether it’s here in Louisville or in Sinaloa where I come from. The woman’s brisk, determined steps tell me she knows dusk is upon her and her time is limited—even these highfalutin’ society types have sense enough to get their asses home before the sun goes down. This one’s really pushing her luck.

  She passes me, casting a brief, dismissive glance my way before averting her eyes and picking up her pace. As her heels snap along the sidewalk, I consider calling out to her for help, but I remember my little chat with Santiago right before I headed out tonight. If I attempt to speak to anyone beyond what it takes to unload this coke, I’m dead. Mateo’s gun is trained on me at this very moment from where he lurks in the shadows nearby.

  So, I say nothing. But I see the way people look at me when they drive by in their fancy SUVs. They look at me like I’m a common whore. The people out here doing business tonight are just trying to make it from day to day. Live to fight another day and all that… It was much the same where I grew up. We worked hard to survive, did what we had to do. We learned young to stay away from the normal people in polite society—because with them we get judgment. No mercy, no compassion, only judgment. Fuck ‘em all. It is no different here than it was in Sinaloa—the rich and the poor, no in between.