Taste Of Scotch // James Valdez

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My eyes fly open, the alarm clock's scream piercing the morning silence like a banshee on a rampage. With a swift, almost desperate swipe, I silence the beast, my hand moving with the precision of a ninja. Groaning, I roll out of my twin bed, a tiny island in a sea of disarray. I remake it with military precision, tucking in the corners as if my life depends on it.

"Elena!" My brother's voice cuts through the quiet from down the hall, the shock of his early wakefulness hitting me like a bucket of ice water. He's usually lost in dreams until I've had my coffee, which is never before ten.

"Elena, you up?" His voice carries a mix of urgency and mischief, a tone I've come to know well.

"Yeah, I'm up!" I yell back, stumbling through the morning fog. The sound of the coffee grinder grates against my ears, signaling his attempt at breakfast. I walk into the kitchen to find what can only be described as a battlefield of breakfast. Pots, pans, and utensils are scattered like fallen soldiers. The eggs and bacon are on the brink of disaster, and I rush to save them from a messy fate.

"Okay, what is this?" I ask, eyeing the chaos my brother, Drew, has orchestrated. He's three years my junior but acts like he's Gordon Ramsay in a Michelin-starred kitchen. His charm with women is notorious, but right now, he's far from charming.

"I - uh - wanted to make breakfast?" His eyes flicker around, a sly smirk playing on his lips as he catches my gaze.

"Feels more like you're setting me up for a cleaning marathon," I retort, my voice laced with exasperation as I start to gather the dishes, turning the sink into a makeshift dishwasher. "Drew, why are you up?"

"Wanted to do something for you, y'know," he says, his tone softening, a rare glimpse of his caring side.

I nod, a small smile breaking through my morning grumpiness. Drew's displays of affection are as rare as a quiet moment in our chaotic household, but when they happen, they're genuinely heartwarming.

"I work tonight. Don't wait up for me, okay?" My voice was firm, but I could feel the tension in the air. His sigh was heavy, laden with the disapproval he never hid well.

"I don't like you working there," he muttered, the sound of his stool scraping against the floor echoing his frustration. He moved to stand beside me at the sink, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made me want to look away. "A bunch of men rubbing against you... it's just wrong." His voice was a mix of concern and something darker, something possessive.

I remained silent, the words caught in my throat. He was right, in a way. The job was seedy, the environment toxic, but he didn't see the bigger picture. We were broke, barely scraping by in this rundown house in Sinaloa. My job at the money exchange by the bay, where the neon lights of clubs painted the night, was more than just a job. It was a lifeline.

He didn't understand. How could he? The plan was simple yet risky. I was there to catch the eye of someone with deep pockets, someone from out of state, someone looking for a good time. That was my ticket out, our ticket out. But explaining that to him, making him see beyond his concern, felt like trying to catch the wind.

So, I just nodded, my silence speaking volumes, a silent plea for him to trust me, to see that sometimes, the means justify the end.

I stood on the corner, the warm night breeze playing with my hair, forcing me to tuck the stray strands behind my ear. My eyes scanned the area, searching for the familiar faces of my regular customers. Amidst the cacophony of loud Mexican music and the sway of drunken bodies, I didn't notice the small figure beside me until her voice whispered in my ear, "You don't have to be here tonight."

Teresa Mendoza, my partner in crime, my best friend since we were kids. We grew up just a few houses apart, our friendship as natural as the sun rising. When the Cartel shattered her world, taking her family, I was there. I shielded her then, and now, she returns the favor when I need it most.

"I need the money, Teresa." My voice was firm, but my heart wasn't in it. Teresa's eyes, always unreadable, met mine. She wasn't one to wear her heart on her sleeve; Teresa was a fortress, allowing only glimpses of her true self, enough to earn trust or pity.

She was about to respond, a smile playing on her lips, when her gaze shifted, catching sight of something—or rather, someone—in front of us.

Standing directly in front of us leaning against his car was a very attractive man with a huge smirk plastered on his face at he stared at me and Teresa. I glanced over at Teresa only to see her already staring at the man with a slight smirk on her lips. "Hola, do you need your money changed?" She said. We then both started our way towards him.

"Just watching you two change money is enough."

I shake my head lightly with a small smile. He had game I would give him that. "How much?" I asked. My smile still lingering on my lips. as our stare still stands between each other. I wasn't the type to fall victim to a mans petty smirk and cheap pick up lines. Though this one, he was catching the butterflies in my stomach and setting off the stampede.

"Oh, my God, Guero! What's taking you so long?" The high-pitched squeal came from the car window, followed by a woman with hair like a cloud of cotton candy, popping out like a jack-in-the-box. "Oh, my God," she started again, her eyes wide with excitement. "Look how pretty you two are! Look at those legs, Chino, look how pretty these two girls are!" She swatted at someone inside the car, and I felt my cheeks burn with embarrassment. "Oh, girlies, you two are too pretty to be working here," she continued, as a bald man, presumably Chino, leaned out.

"What? Okay, they're pretty. Hey, you girls are beautiful. Are you two twins?" Chino chimed in, his voice booming with exaggerated enthusiasm, causing the woman to burst into laughter, mumbling something about him always exaggerating.

Then, a pair of strong hands gripped my waist, the stench of nicotine and body odor assaulting my senses. His hands roamed, groping, and I reached back, slipping the money into his belt. Teresa's gaze was anywhere but here; we were used to this, but I was glad she wasn't working tonight. His breath was hot against my ear, sending shivers down my spine as he whispered in Spanish, "I'm paying you to exchange money, not flirt."

That's when I turned to look at Guero. His eyes were locked on my boss, a storm brewing in them. My stomach churned as he approached, his jaw set, chest heaving. He gently pulled me aside by the wrist, and before I could react, he had my boss by the collar, slamming him face-first onto the hood of his car. A scream tore from my throat, my hands flying to my mouth as I watched, horror-struck, the scene unfold.

"You ever do that to another girl, I'm gonna find you. Alright?" Guero's voice was low, menacing, as he slammed my boss's face down again. Blood began to pool from his mouth, his eyes swelling, lips busted and bruising. I've got to be honest, in that twisted moment, it was the sweetest, most violent act of kindness anyone had ever done for me.

Guero then tossed my boss to the ground like he was nothing more than a rag doll. His eyes, fierce yet now softening, met mine. His curly hair fell into his face, sweat trickling down his forehead. I didn't even know this man, but I was already hooked.

"So..." he said, standing before me, his hand dipping into his pocket for another cigarette. "Now that you're out of a job, you two coming with us?"