seeds…”
“No sticks. Yeah, I feel you.” I wasn’t in the mood for Snoop and Dre. “How much longer?”
“Another day and we can send off the first half to be cured.” Jackson tied the bags he’d opened back up and restacked them.
“And I can get out of this hole?”
“As soon as we’re finished. And it’s not a hole.” He punched me, but it wasn’t too hard.
“Right.” I turned off the lantern and we went to join everyone in the center of camp.
“Looking good?” Marco asked when I sat next to him.
“Apparently, picking weed is an art form and these guys are artists,” I said.
“It’s what they do.” He shrugged. “I got a message from Vito.”
“And?” I asked when he didn’t elaborate.
“He might want you to stay here for another harvest. Or two.” He didn’t make eye contact.
Fuck me. I should have let Reese kill me. Or gone home to my mommy. Or maybe I should have called Austin. He would have come to Mexico, put cartoon Band-Aids on my wounds, and kept me out of bar fights.
“I guess I won’t have to kill myself then. Frank will do it for me.” I was gonna hurl.
“That’s the spirit.” Marco tried for an English accent. “Keep your chin up.”
Our conversation was interrupted by a shower of cards and grown men yelling at each other.
“Don’t fuck with me, boy.” Niño shoved a fat finger into Esteban’s chest. Five guys rushed to stand behind Niño, while the rest of the camp backed Esteban. Enforcers and pickers facing off. Great. May as well start a gang war. If they did, the DiGiovannis were gonna lose.
“I ain’t cheating, culero ,” Esteban shouted back. “You’re just losing.”
Marco and I didn’t even look at each other as we got in the middle. He started dragging Esteban back. I shoved Frank out of the way and pushed against Niño’s chest until his back was to the camp table. That way no one could get behind him.
“Chill, man.” I fisted my hands in his shirt so he was forced to look at me. “Be cool. It’s just a card game.” Behind me, I could hear Marco shouting in Spanish. Probably saying the same thing I was.
“Get the fuck off me, bitch.” Niño tried to push me off, but his back was bent over the table and he had no leverage.
“I will when you calm the fuck down.”
“I don’t take orders from you.”
I was going to disagree, but Frank chose that moment to haul me off Niño. I knew I was fucked when he pulled my arms up and locked his hands behind my head. Niño heaved himself off the table and took the opportunity they’d been waiting for with a solid punch to my stomach.
I’d been there before and wasn’t going to play like that again. Frank started laughing so I figured he was distracted. I dropped to my knees and slid out of his grasp. I was so done with this shit. When I came up, I threw back my elbow and connected with Frank’s face.
“I’m gonna drop you like a bad habit, douche bag,” I told Niño. He kept smiling so I punched him. He came back with a solid right hook. We started dancing. Back and forth like a good schoolyard fight. He swung; I ducked. I swung; he stepped back. When he connected again it really pissed me off. My head got warm and started to throb.
Why did all these mobsters wear gigantic pinkie rings? We were in a jungle. Who the hell did he need to impress?
A trickle of blood gathered in my eyebrow and slowly ran down my cheek. I stopped dancing.
“Had enough, bitch?” Niño slowed; his fists dropped.
“No.” I kicked him in the balls. Hard. Then the leg. Once, twice, until his knee buckled and he went down. I kicked him again. My boot connected with his ribs this time. Next, I aimed for his stomach. He curled up on himself. I kicked him again. Then I straddled him and just started punching.
I waited with each hit for someone to pull me off, but no one was there. Any second now, they’d come. I punched him again. Carson was too busy with his charmed life. Blood ran from Niño’s
“No sticks. Yeah, I feel you.” I wasn’t in the mood for Snoop and Dre. “How much longer?”
“Another day and we can send off the first half to be cured.” Jackson tied the bags he’d opened back up and restacked them.
“And I can get out of this hole?”
“As soon as we’re finished. And it’s not a hole.” He punched me, but it wasn’t too hard.
“Right.” I turned off the lantern and we went to join everyone in the center of camp.
“Looking good?” Marco asked when I sat next to him.
“Apparently, picking weed is an art form and these guys are artists,” I said.
“It’s what they do.” He shrugged. “I got a message from Vito.”
“And?” I asked when he didn’t elaborate.
“He might want you to stay here for another harvest. Or two.” He didn’t make eye contact.
Fuck me. I should have let Reese kill me. Or gone home to my mommy. Or maybe I should have called Austin. He would have come to Mexico, put cartoon Band-Aids on my wounds, and kept me out of bar fights.
“I guess I won’t have to kill myself then. Frank will do it for me.” I was gonna hurl.
“That’s the spirit.” Marco tried for an English accent. “Keep your chin up.”
Our conversation was interrupted by a shower of cards and grown men yelling at each other.
“Don’t fuck with me, boy.” Niño shoved a fat finger into Esteban’s chest. Five guys rushed to stand behind Niño, while the rest of the camp backed Esteban. Enforcers and pickers facing off. Great. May as well start a gang war. If they did, the DiGiovannis were gonna lose.
“I ain’t cheating, culero ,” Esteban shouted back. “You’re just losing.”
Marco and I didn’t even look at each other as we got in the middle. He started dragging Esteban back. I shoved Frank out of the way and pushed against Niño’s chest until his back was to the camp table. That way no one could get behind him.
“Chill, man.” I fisted my hands in his shirt so he was forced to look at me. “Be cool. It’s just a card game.” Behind me, I could hear Marco shouting in Spanish. Probably saying the same thing I was.
“Get the fuck off me, bitch.” Niño tried to push me off, but his back was bent over the table and he had no leverage.
“I will when you calm the fuck down.”
“I don’t take orders from you.”
I was going to disagree, but Frank chose that moment to haul me off Niño. I knew I was fucked when he pulled my arms up and locked his hands behind my head. Niño heaved himself off the table and took the opportunity they’d been waiting for with a solid punch to my stomach.
I’d been there before and wasn’t going to play like that again. Frank started laughing so I figured he was distracted. I dropped to my knees and slid out of his grasp. I was so done with this shit. When I came up, I threw back my elbow and connected with Frank’s face.
“I’m gonna drop you like a bad habit, douche bag,” I told Niño. He kept smiling so I punched him. He came back with a solid right hook. We started dancing. Back and forth like a good schoolyard fight. He swung; I ducked. I swung; he stepped back. When he connected again it really pissed me off. My head got warm and started to throb.
Why did all these mobsters wear gigantic pinkie rings? We were in a jungle. Who the hell did he need to impress?
A trickle of blood gathered in my eyebrow and slowly ran down my cheek. I stopped dancing.
“Had enough, bitch?” Niño slowed; his fists dropped.
“No.” I kicked him in the balls. Hard. Then the leg. Once, twice, until his knee buckled and he went down. I kicked him again. My boot connected with his ribs this time. Next, I aimed for his stomach. He curled up on himself. I kicked him again. Then I straddled him and just started punching.
I waited with each hit for someone to pull me off, but no one was there. Any second now, they’d come. I punched him again. Carson was too busy with his charmed life. Blood ran from Niño’s
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