Javier might have said that his sister didn’t live in the slums, but she was at least surrounded by the slums. Or maybe that was the case everywhere in Mexico City. Her apartment building was white-washed and fairly clean-looking with underground parking and a concierge-type person I could see lurking behind the barred windows of the lobby. But on either side of the building were slum houses, mostly one-story, some two, rising up around it like weeds.
We managed to find parking across the street. Javier got out of the car and glanced at us.
“You wait here.”
“No fucking way,” Camden said, quickly getting out from his side. I followed, joining him on the broken sidewalk. “We’re going with you.”
Javier waved at us dismissively and kept walking across the road. Camden and I waited until it was safe – the drivers here were crazy – before trotting after him.
“So mistrusting,” Javier muttered to himself as we approached the building.
“How can we be so sure that your sister isn’t part of your little plan?” Camden asked.
Javier shot him an exasperated look. “She is the plan. Get her safe, get her out of Travis’s way.”
“And then you’re going to help us out of the goodness of your heart.”
He looked the building up and down, rubbing his hands together. “You’re not the only one who wants Travis dead. I’ve wanted this for a long time.”
“For revenge or so you can take over his cartel?” Camden asked.
Javier eyed him and smiled, teeth white against his bronzed skin. “Who says I can’t have both?”
“Even though it’s the same cartel that murdered your parents?” I dared to ask.
“There’s always room for improvement,” he said.
He went up to the building’s entrance and I was impressed to see it had a buzzer system. His finger trailed along the buttons until they paused at #301 Bernal. His shoulders rose and fell as if he were steadying himself before he held down the button. I knew, back in the day anyway, that Javier was fond of his sisters and had taken it upon himself to take care of them financially after his parents had been murdered by a rival cartel, the same cartel that Travis was now a part of, the same cartel that Javier suddenly had his sights on. Or maybe it wasn’t so sudden after all.
We waited for a few anxious moments, the ringing repeating until we heard a faint yet demanding “Hola?” over the intercom.
He shook his head and looked at us. “She shouldn’t even be answering this right now.” Then he faced back to the intercom and said, “Violetta, es Javier.” There was a longer pause and he added, “Tu hermano.”
“Javier?” she asked. “Que …?”
He quickly asked her to let him upstairs and after a few more heavy pauses the door buzzed open. He grabbed it and swung it open for us and marched inside the cool building, his dusty yet sharp shoes echoing on the tile floor, nodding quickly at the concierge who only briefly looked up from his newspaper, not even batting his eye at Camden’s blood-stained shirt. We walked past the elevator and went for the stairs, running up the flights until we got to the third floor.
We walked swiftly and quietly down the hall, stopping in front of #301.
Javier knocked quickly and took a step back from the door as it promptly swung open.
We were greeted by a large gun aimed at his head.
CHAPTER THREE
I automatically threw up my hands, though Javier barely even flinched. A slender young woman stood on the other side of the door, a large Beretta in her hands aimed right at him. Her eyes hadn’t even left his face to take me and Camden in, but one look at those golden green eyes of hers and it wasn’t hard to see she was related to Javier.
“Violetta,” Javier said calmly. He rattled off a question to her in Spanish with that smooth voice of his. Her gun never wavered, if anything her eyes narrowed even more. Finally she looked over his shoulder and spotted me and Camden. She frowned, lowered the gun and then jerked her head to follow her into the apartment.
Camden and I eyed each other nervously. I don’t know what I was expecting but I certainly wasn’t expecting this, particularly from someone that had to be in their late teens, early twenties. Then again, I guess I was handling guns at a young age too.
We walked into her apartment and Camden slowly closed the door behind us. It was quite large considering how much space seemed to be an issue in this city, with a terracotta-tiled floor, blue and white porcelain accents in the kitchen and large windows that looked out onto the sea of roofs. There was a room off to the side and I caught the sight of a rumpled bed and a large balcony beyond that. There were hair appliances and makeup and clothes strewn all over the place, cementing the fact that Violetta may have had a gun in her hands, but she was still a young girl.