Birdy (Upper Echelon Duet Book 1)

motioning for his wrinkly wifebeater and stained boxer-wearing ass to lead the way. “Let’s sit, shall we?”
Enrique nods, still wide-eyed at my abrupt visit and shuffles down a small hallway lined with pink floral wallpaper. It’s dirty and as worn as the door, much like everything else. The frames are covered in a thick film of dust, the floors littered with all kinds of crud, cigar guts, and trash. I’m almost positive I remember him telling me once that his wife died suddenly a few years back. It looks like he hasn’t cleaned up at all since then. This place is a fucking pigsty.
He leads me to what I presume is the living room and points to one of the smaller couches. I’d say I’m not keen on sitting on this grimy piece of crap, but before Tommy and I had enough money to buy Ma new furniture, ours looked like this too. I’m no stranger to the slum life. Hell, it was worse in Cuba, and my current place isn’t luxurious by any means.
Dropping into the proffered seat, I fish my phone out and set it face down on the weed-dusted coffee table just as Enrique claims a seat on the sofa across from me. He eyes me warily as I proceed to pull out my handgun and set it right beside the phone, rays of the sun glinting off the tiny diamonds. His eyes widen impossibly more, bouncing from the weapon to my now reclined form.
“So…” I cross one leg over the other, smirking at the knowledge that Ángel is about to hear this entire exchange play out. “Where’s my money, Martinez? You’re past ninety days. A week past, actually.”
“I don’t have all of it,” he answers, his obvious Cuban accent thick. It’s thicker than my mom’s.
My brow arches, hands clapping quietly. “And why not? I gave you what? Three months, right?”
“I know pero no es tan fácil.” It’s not that easy. 
“Do tell,” I urge him. “How so?”
Enrique shrugs, his lips thinned nervously, glistening beads of sweat clinging to his wide forehead. “I have bills to pay, Jefa, y el hombre que vive aquí no me ayuda aunque tiene dinero guardado.”
Evidently, his roommate doesn’t contribute around here, yet seems to have money stashed away for a rainy day. Interesting. “So why haven’t you kicked him out?”
I swear the man’s sullied white tank top goes from dry to drenched in a millisecond, highlighting the yellowed sweat stains beneath his arms. He blanches, too, and shakes his head briskly. “No puedo.” I can’t. “He’s bad news, already threatened to blow my head clean off once when I asked him about rent. Yo no quiero problemas con nadie.”
“Well, I hate to tell you, Martinez, but you’re surely asking for problems when you try avoiding the inevitable. You’ve been coming to me for…how long now? Two years? Tu sabes como yo soy, which means you knew I’d come around sooner or later. Lo siento que you have such a shitty roommate, but that’s not an excuse. Had you come to me and said you needed more time—”
“I need more time,” he blurts desperately. “Porfavor, Jefa, te lo juro. Just give me a little bit more time, and I’ll have it all for you.”
“Sorry, Enrique.” My head swings side to side solemnly. “It’s too little too late for an extension, so here’s how this is going to go. You said he’s got money stashed away, right?”
He nods.
“Fantastic. Go find it, take what you need, and voila…problem solved.”
“Estas loca?” He shoots to the edge of the couch in alarm. “He’ll kill me!”
“No, he won’t.” My gaze snaps to the phone for the briefest moment, then out the window to my far left where Ángel’s waiting. “You tell him it was for la Jefa, and if he has a problem with it, he’s welcome to come see me.”
“But—”
“But nothing, socio.” I meet his awaiting stare. “That’s my money you’re playing with, and I don’t like it. I have bills to pay, too, y no tengo tiempo a estar sentada aquí el día entero.” I don’t have time to be sitting here all day. “Maybe this will get you moving…” Leaning forward, I snatch up my phone and open up the timer, punching in three minutes. My thumb hovers over the start button. “Tienes tres minutos, and you know they go by quickly, so you better hustle. Aaand go.”
Within the first ten seconds, Enrique still sits before me, his mouth popped open, brown eyes drifting back and forth between me and the hallway.
“Muévelo, Enrique.” I flip the phone around to provide him a view of the screen, my fingers strategically placed over the active call symbol. “Time is ticking.”
He must’ve thought I was joking about the timer because that gets him moving, shuffling through his home with rushed, heavy steps. I’m listening in great amusement as he speeds from room to room when my phone buzzes.
Papi: My dick is hard af listening to you right now…
Eyes rolling playfully, the very corners of my lips quiver. “Two minutes!” I yell to Enrique, pulling Ángel’s message down for a quick reply.
Me: I’ll take care of it once I’m done here.
‘Cause I will. I’ll slobber all over that shit while he drives me to my car. His tints are dark enough. My thighs clench just thinking about it.
Papi: That right there is exactly why I want you, mami. No hay nadie como tu.
There’s no one like you.
My heart threatens to explode as I read and reread the last part of that message, barely holding back another infatuated smile. I don’t reply this time, though, swiping the message prompt away as I turn to the hallway. He’s breaking my focus. “Closing in on one minute, Martinez!”
“Fuck!” he growls, the loudest, heaviest bang meeting my ears.
Considering what I know, I assume it’s a safe. Probably where roommate dude kept his money. Still, I reach forward and grab my handgun, flipping off the safety. You can’t ever be too cautious. Martinez may