Page 23 of Cartel Rose (Jorge)

“It’s not like you don’t steal tomatoes every time.”

“I don’t steal. I accept payment in kind.”

I snort.

I cook with the tomatoes. He puts a dash of salt on them and eats them like apples. Disgusting and messy.

“Just keep my petunias alive, will ya? You underwatered them last time. They were as shriveled aslos huevos de un viejo.” An old man’s balls.

“Wah wah. I’ll go tonight.”

“Gracias.” Thank you.

“You need to come back just so you can weed your garden. It’s like the Amazon followed you here.”

I have a private greenhouse on my building’s rooftop. Perks of owning the entire place.

“After this trip, I’m ready to lock myself up there for a few days.”

“That bad?”

I hear the worry in my brother’s voice. I didn’t mean to make him nervous.

“It’s just annoying more than anything. A little uncomfortable at times but nothing I’m not used to.”

Anxiety blows.

But I’ve had it since I was a kid. Price I pay for what I witnessed with my dad and other shit that happened to us when street gangs thought three young boys and a gorgeous, widowed mother were easy targets. I stabbed someone for the first time five months after my dad died. A guy tried to grab me. Javier was there, and he killed him. He was barely ten, and I was still eight.

We stayed in Colombia for three years after my dad’s murder, then it got too bad. We moved to the States to keep my mother, brothers, and me safe. But by then, the damage was already done. I hate crowds, and I hate being the center of attention. Therapy helps, but it’s never gotten rid of all the flashbacks.

“Let me know if you need anything,manito.” Little brother.

I know Joaquin means more than just intel.

“I will. I’m going to get some work done while I wait for her to head home.”

“Te quiero.”

We speak at the same time before hanging up.

I can appreciate Liesel’s usually a homebody because so am I, but she and Bastian are fucking boring to stake out. They take turns cooking, which I can see most of until one of them closes the blinds when it gets dark. I can see the TV flicker, and sometimes Liesel’s office light is on. Their lights go off at ten, practically on the dot. The bedroom lights flick on for ten minutes while they get ready for bed. I hate thinking about what happens after that.

It’s the same routine every night except for Wednesday when they seem to have their date night and twice when Bastian was on call at the hospital. Those were the nights she went out. Three long nights outside their apartment made me confident they stay in until Liesel leaves at six for her run with her sister. They vary their routes, but they stick to three places. I head back to my hotel at eleven, and I’m back in Liesel’s neighborhood by five-thirty.

I’ve been at this for two weeks. I’m definitely a bona fide stalker at this point. This isn’t just about observing a potential threat to my family’s business. This is about a smoking hot woman I want to bang. I’m jerking off too often to pretend I don’t want her.

I haven’t let her see me again since the two times in the park. I can tell she senses I’m nearby, though. She might think it’s the man who threatened her, or maybe she’s guessed it’s me. Eitherway, she looks over her shoulder more each day. She’s taking a company car everywhere, so she’s never alone.

Considering the note the guy dropped on her lap in the park, I’m glad she’s with someone when she’s out and at home. Bastian’s hint of cauliflower ear tells me he wrestled or played rugby. It reassures me he can defend her. It’s the only thing he has going for him.

I hate thinking I scare her, but it’s a necessary evil to protect her and my family—and indulge my fantasy.

I’m a sick and twisted fuck.

All I can say in my defense is I’ve never stalked a woman before. I’ve followed men around and terrorized them when they’ve crossed my family. But I’ve never been a woman’s shadow before.

First time for everything.