Page 2 of Blurred Red Lines

Silence was golden. There were no exceptions.

Wrapping my fingers around the stem of the short tequila glass, I sat back, controlling my temper as the hinges from the chair protested. I held the glass up to eye level, ensuring it remained at room temperature.

Without so much as a knock, the door flew open and bounced against the wall behind it with a crash.

“Cálmete!” I ordered to my first lieutenant, lifting an eyebrow. “You don’t knock anymore?”

“Sorry, boss.” Mateo lowered his gaze in respect. “May I come in?”

I waved my wrist, indicating my disinterest. “You already are, aren’t you?”

He gave a quick nod and closed the door behind him. “We have a situation…”

“Do you know how old I was when my father gave me my first stem of tequila, Mateo?”

A deep line etched in his forehead. “Boss?”

A sigh escaped my lips. “I asked you a question.”

He clutched a paper in his hands and shook his head. “I don’t know, boss…fifteen, maybe sixteen?”

A smile pulled at the corners of my mouth. “Nine.”

His only answer was an immediate widening of his eyes. Not that I didn’t expect it. I enjoyed a little shock value from time to time.

I lifted the stem between us and swirled the liquid against the sides of the glass. “Do you see how it sticks to the walls? That’s called a string of pearls. It means it’s good shit. My father taught me how to tell the difference as a boy. Now, most men would just shoot this and be done.” I narrowed a stare at him. “What would you do, Mateo?”

His face flicked from the glass to my face, I assumed trying find the correct answer hiding somewhere between the two. Unexpectedly, his gaze shot across the room to the side table where the bottle ofPatron Gran Burdeos Anejosat, half empty.

“I’d drink it in small sips, boss, letting it touch every part of my tongue before swallowing.”

My tug of a smile extended farther. “And why would that be, lieutenant?”

“Because it’s expensive shit, sir. When tequila is three-thousand-five hundred pesos per shot, you don’t drink it…you experience it.” He stood straighter, radiating the strength of a man confident he’d proven his worth.

“Muy bien!” I laughed, raising the stem and taking a sip. Setting it down, I clapped my palm down on the wooden desk. “What do you need?”

Mateo shook his head slightly and glanced at the paper in his hands. “There’s been a situation, but we’ve contained it. I just wanted to inform you.”

Situationswere never good. If I had to be informed of their existence, it made them worse.

“Shipments or ranks?” I asked, studying his young face.

“Ranks.” He lowered his head. “Another task force. This one slipped by us. They infiltrated through the lower ranks and pinched a lieutenant.”

A red haze shifted across my vision. Task forces were as commonplace as waking up and taking a piss. By now, we’d learned every trick the DEA agents threw at us. It was always the same song and dance set to a different beat. Each time a hotshot agent rose to power, thinking they were the second coming, we’d knock them back down. It soon became my favorite game. Hearing that one slipped by my guarded lines fueled my anger.

“How the fuck did someone just slip by? Do you know what this could do to us?” My hands clenched and swept across the desk, sending the bottle and glass crashing to the floor. “Idiotas!”

Mateo flinched as glass shattered at his feet. To his credit, he made no attempt to move from his spot. “It was pussy, sir.”

I paused my tirade. “I’m sorry, did you say ‘pussy’?”

His chin dipped as his blunt fingers stroked the sparse hairs of his goatee. A momentary break in his armor exposed the nervousness on his face. “The DEA sent a female agent, sir.”

“A female DEA agent got to one of our lieutenants…and now we’re fucked?” I arched my brow, not quite believing the words.

Mateo smirked. “Not as much as she was, sir.”