Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 116(@200wpm)___ 93(@250wpm)___ 78(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 116(@200wpm)___ 93(@250wpm)___ 78(@300wpm)
“The village of Valle de los Susurros has a population of about fifty thousand people,” Hector says as we walk through it. “Our main exports are mangoes, bananas, eucalyptus plants, and exotic hardwoods such as mahogany and teak. Some of the women sell handwoven textiles and some men sell freshwater fish and spices of various kinds. We are a poor community, but we are happy and grateful for what we do have.”
As we walk down the dirt road, more and more men with guns begin to follow us. I sneak a glance at Ryker and gulp. Oh shit. His eyes are practically glowing like molten gold. That can’t be good.
Ryker is keeping his heated eyes on all of them.
“And the schools,” I say as a beautiful laughing girl runs by us in a pink dress with her black hair flowing out behind her. “Do the children have access to a proper education?”
“They do,” he says proudly. “We have three schools in the village with well-trained teachers in all of them.”
“I’d love to see them,” I say as I watch her disappear around a dingy shop selling spices.
“If we have time,” he says with a tight smile. “First, we will head to my palace for the interview.”
Palace is right. Past all of the rundown shops and mud-brick houses is a towering estate which looks like it cost more than all the rest of the village put together.
Hector is putting on a show with the cute kids and the smiling people, but I can see the cracks in his spectacle—a boy who looks like he hasn’t had a bath in months with ripped clothes and bare feet peeking out behind a tree to get a glimpse of the strange visitors, adults in the background with no body fat, a sad-looking twenty-year-old girl with a black eye. None of these people are smiling.
I glance at Ryker and he looks back at me, his golden eyes more protective than ever.
He stays close as we head up to the mansion at the top of the hill and step onto the beautiful cobblestone driveway where half a dozen luxurious European cars are parked out front. The landscaping is magnificent with huge colorful flowers and well-manicured bushes and trees.
“Don’t forget to film it,” I remind him.
He starts recording our surroundings instead of glaring at all of the men as we walk up the grand steps to the huge double doors.
I set up the camera so it’s sending the footage directly onto my company server, so even if Hector and his thugs destroy the footage, Walter will still have it safe and sound back home.
Hector leads us into a large room where two chairs are set up on a stunning Persian rug.
“Will this work for your interview?” he asks with a polite smile.
“This is great,” I say as I take a seat. “Ryker, are you okay?”
He doesn’t look okay. He looks like he wants to start punching every man in sight.
“Try to get what you can,” I whisper to him as I set up my phone to record another angle. “Remember why we’re here.”
“I know why I’m here,” he says as he stares Hector down.
“Remember why I’m here,” I say, pleading with my eyes. “This is important to me. Please.”
He finally looks at me, takes a deep breath, and nods. “Okay.”
We get the interview going and I ask Hector a few easy questions before I start digging in deep. When I go at him, I go at him hard.
“You mentioned that Valle de los Susurros’ exports are mainly fruits, wood, and spices,” I say with a friendly nod. “Where does cocaine fit into that?”
His eyes narrow a little, cracking the friendly facade. It’s quick, but he gives me a glimpse of the killer behind the smile.
Now, I’m really glad I have Ryker here. He’s giving me the courage to conduct this interview properly.
“It’s been stated by the FBI that your criminal organization, Los Lobos de la Muerte, supplies twenty percent of the illegal narcotics smuggled into the United States. Do you refute this?”
“Los Lobos de la Muerte is not a criminal organization,” he says, shifting in his chair.
“Oh really,” I say, pulling out an FBI report. “That’s interesting because the FBI has also declared Los Lobos de la Muerte responsible for torture, murder, extortion, human trafficking, and weapon smuggling.”
I show him the paper and he crosses his legs and leans back in his chair.
“Fifty thousand people in this village rely on me to feed and house them,” he says, trying to keep his voice calm but I can hear the crack of indignation in it. This is a feared powerful man who is never challenged and I’m getting under his skin. “What I do is practical, necessary, and beneficial to the local community and the local economy. What you call crimes, I call survival.”