On the way back, Nash stopped at a nearby store and bought groceries. The faint hum of the refrigerator units filled the quiet space as he walked through the aisles, grabbing what he needed with a casual ease. Once done, he made his way to the counter, setting the items down one by one.
"Mierda… are all women here beautiful and sexy in Mexico City?" Nash asked, his tone light but direct, his eyes briefly scanning the cashier with a smirk.
The cashier barely looked impressed. She raised a brow, her expression tightening as she scanned his items. "Vulgar. Where are you from, new face? Haven't seen you around this part of town," she replied, her voice firm, though not entirely hostile.
"Nash. New in Mexico City. You are?" he asked back, leaning slightly against the counter, unfazed.
"Gina. I own this grocery store, and I'm married," she said, meeting his gaze with a steady look. Then, with the faintest hint of amusement, she added, "Though I appreciate the compliment from someone young like you."
Nash let out a short chuckle, nodding as he picked up his groceries. "See ya, Gina."
He turned and walked out of the store, the door giving a soft chime as it shut behind him. The air outside felt warmer, heavier. He had barely taken a few steps when a firm hand grabbed his shoulder.
Nash's body tensed instantly. He turned sharply, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.
"Nash, right?" the woman asked. Her face was mostly hidden behind dark sunglasses, her posture composed, almost too composed.
Nash studied her for a moment, his guard up. "That depends. Who are you?" he replied, his tone colder now.
She tilted her head slightly, a faint smirk forming on her lips. "Let's just say we work for the same man, and we both got our lives fucked up by that same man."
There was a pause. The noise of the street seemed to fade for a second as Nash processed her words, his grip tightening slightly around the grocery bag.
Without another word, she reached into her pocket and handed him a small piece of paper. "Weekend morning. Saturday," she said. "I know who you are, and I don't plan to waste this opportunity of a lifetime."
Her fingers brushed his briefly as he took it. Before he could respond, she had already turned away, walking off with calm, deliberate steps.
Nash stood there, watching her disappear into the crowd, the paper still in his hand. His expression hardened, confusion mixing with curiosity as he glanced down at the address.
The air felt different now. He exhaled slowly, then continued on his way.
The next day, as he was doing his routine as usual at the bank, standing watch like the security guard he was, Nash kept his posture straight and his expression neutral. His eyes scanned the area out of habit, every movement around him quietly noted.
Franka, the receptionist, approached him with a light but purposeful stride. She leaned slightly toward him, lowering her voice just enough to keep things discreet. "Nash, Brenda wants to see you," she said, her tone calm but carrying a hint of curiosity.
"Okay, Franka," Nash replied, giving a small nod as he pushed himself off the wall he had been leaning on.
He made his way down the hallway, his boots echoing softly against the polished floor. When he reached his boss's office door, he paused for a brief second, then knocked a few times, firm but respectful.
"Come in," she said from inside.
Nash opened the door and stepped in, closing it gently behind him. His gaze landed on Brenda as he stood upright, hands loosely at his sides.
"Hola, Ms. Brenda. You called for me?" Nash asked, his tone polite but steady.
Brenda looked up from her desk, her posture composed, professionalism evident in the way she carried herself. "Yes, Nash," she replied smoothly, gesturing slightly for him to step closer. "Please, come in. I need your help on a personal matter."
Nash looked confused at first. A personal matter? That didn't sound very professional. His brows furrowed slightly as he looked at Brenda, trying to read her expression.
"Sure… I guess? What is it?" Nash asked, his tone uncertain, one hand shifting slightly on his hip.
"I need you to help escort my daughter to her apartment," Brenda said plainly.
Nash blinked, his confusion deepening. He tilted his head a little, clearly not convinced that was all there was to it.
"Can you clarify more on that, ma'am? Surely it's not just sending your own daughter back to her place. And no offense, I've seen her a few times… she acts like a… well, a bitch. Again, no offense," Nash said, shrugging slightly, his honesty blunt as ever.
"None taken, Nash," Brenda replied without missing a beat. She leaned back slightly in her chair, folding her arms with a faint smirk.
"My daughter, Cira, is a stubborn girl. Perhaps I spoiled her too much, as you've seen. Yes, she's a bitch. She got that side from yours truly." She pointed at herself casually, almost amused.
Nash exhaled through his nose, still listening, though his expression remained skeptical.
"And not just that, Nash," Brenda continued, her tone sharpening just a little. "Her boyfriend is the bigger problem."
"Boyfriend?" Nash asked, raising a brow.
"Indeed. You see, here is how he looks," she said, sliding a photo across the desk toward him. "This man thinks he's high and mighty, always bragging about having a bigger… ahem… endowment."
Nash glanced down at the photo, then back up at her, unimpressed. "Brenda, just say dick. I know what you mean. But why me?" he asked, his voice direct, cutting through the awkwardness.
"Well," Brenda said, leaning forward slightly, her eyes locking onto his, "because of your background as a former cartel member. I assume you could use your experience to… handle the problem." She paused for a second, her expression turning colder, more personal. "I have a personal vendetta on this, pendejo."
Nash looked at the photo and smirked, a faint recognition flashing across his face. He tilted the picture slightly, studying it for a second longer before looking back at Brenda.
"Ma'am… you can leave this matter to me. I've crossed paths with him once," Nash said, his tone more assured now, a hint of confidence creeping in.
"Really now? Do tell," Brenda asked, leaning forward with interest, her eyes narrowing slightly.
"Well," Nash began, shifting his weight as he spoke, "this dickheaded puta tried to fuck my best friend's daughter. He's like a brother to me. At first… fine. It's her life. But then he blackmailed her."
Brenda's expression darkened instantly. She slammed her hand lightly on the desk, anger flaring. "Dios mío, ese hijo de puta… ese pedazo de mierda idiota," she cursed under her breath, shaking her head. Then she looked back at Nash sharply. "Please tell me you did something."
Nash let out a light hum, almost casual. "Well, my brother tried to shoot the guy in the balls. I stopped that before it turned into a police scene." He paused briefly, then added with a shrug, "So I broke his nose, his arm, and knocked out a few of his teeth."
For a moment, there was silence. Then Brenda let out a short, delighted chuckle, leaning back in her chair.
"Dios mío, Nash… you should've let him shoot him in the balls. Let me guess… a shotgun?" she asked, her eyes glinting with amusement.
Nash didn't answer directly. Instead, he raised his eyebrows twice with a smirk, giving her just enough confirmation.
Brenda burst into laughter. "Puhahaha… a shotgun. I like your friend more and more now." She shook her head, still amused. "You don't mind introducing him to me, would you? I find him… interesting."
Nash crossed his arms loosely, giving her a look. "You sure? His daughter and your daughter sound like a match made to drive you insane."
"I'll take my chances," Brenda replied without hesitation, waving it off. Her tone shifted back to business as she leaned forward again. "Now, please go deal with this. I'll give you a 7K reward for handling this personal job."
Nash nodded once. "Understood."
He turned and walked out of her office, closing the door behind him. As he stepped into the hallway, his eyes immediately landed on a woman waiting nearby.
Cira.
She stood there with an impatient posture, one hand on her hip, her expression already irritated. She looked him up and down with little interest.
"Huh. So you're the guy my mom picked to escort me? Whatever… Delgado," she said dismissively as she turned toward the exit.
"It's Nash," he corrected calmly, following after her.
"That's what I said… Fasc," she replied without even looking back, opening the car door and sliding into the back seat.
Nash exhaled quietly, then walked around and got in as well. The driver glanced at him through the mirror, a knowing look on his face.
"Yeah, don't expect this bitch to get your name right, man. Believe me, I've tried. This ain't my first rodeo. Get in," the driver said.
Nash settled into his seat as the door shut. The engine started, and the car pulled away, heading toward the apartment.
Once Nash escorted her into her apartment, the door barely had time to close before he noticed someone already inside.
There stood the guy Brenda had mentioned.
"Sup, babe, and—what the—N-word?!" the man blurted out, his expression twisting from casual to shocked in an instant.
Nash's eyes narrowed slightly as recognition hit. A slow smirk crept onto his face as he stepped forward, cracking his knuckles one by one.
"Well, well… looks like Ricky Martin didn't learn his lesson last time," Nash said, his tone low and mocking.
"Look, man, I didn't go after her. And the name's Ronald!" the guy snapped, raising his hands defensively.
"Whatever… Ronald Mc-fucking-Donald," Nash shot back without missing a beat.
"Oh, you're dead now, bitch!"
Ronald lunged first, but Nash was ready. The two clashed in the middle of the apartment, fists flying. It didn't take long for Nash to gain the upper hand. His movements were sharper, more controlled. A solid punch to the face, another to the ribs, and Ronald was already stumbling. Nash followed through, driving him back until he collapsed, bruised, bloodied, and barely able to stand.
Breathing steady, Nash pulled out his phone and snapped a photo of the damage.
"Thanks. Gotta send this to Ms. Brenda," he said casually.
"The fuck—you bitch, you set me up!" Ronald yelled, struggling to his feet. Panic overtook him, and instead of fighting back, he bolted for the door, effectively ending whatever relationship he had with Cira.
Silence settled for a brief moment.
"Well done, Cage," Cira said flatly, crossing her arms. "You broke his nose, and now I'm single again. Fuck you. Get out."
Before Nash could respond, she shoved him toward the door and slammed it shut in his face.
Nash stood there for a second, then shrugged lightly. "Meh… worth it."
He headed back downstairs and caught up with Cira's driver, asking for a ride back to the bank. The driver agreed, and the trip back was quiet.
Once they arrived, Nash stepped out and made his way straight to Brenda's office. Without much thought, he opened the door and walked in—
Only to stop mid-step.
His eyes widened slightly.
Brenda was in the middle of changing. Her back was partially turned, but there was no missing her figure—curves pronounced, confidence effortless. It all screamed the kind of bold presence Nash's friend Nestro used to talk about.
"Ah, you're back," Brenda said calmly, barely startled. "Sorry about my little wardrobe malfunction." She glanced over her shoulder, holding up a string bikini top. "Mind tying this for me, Nash?"
"Uh… sure," Nash replied, clearing his throat as he stepped forward.
He kept his movements controlled, tying the strings neatly without lingering. Once done, he stepped back as Brenda adjusted herself and slipped back into her clothes, her professional composure returning instantly.
"I heard from the driver what you did," she said, turning to face him. "And the photo you sent… worth every last dime." She reached into her drawer and pulled out the cash. "Here's the 7K, as promised."
Nash looked at the money, then shook his head.
"I didn't do it for the cash, ma'am. I did it because it was personal for me too," he said simply.
Brenda paused, then gave a small, approving smile. "Hmm… I like a man who's humble." She tilted her head slightly. "Do you perhaps have time for a bottle of wine?"
Nash met her gaze, unfazed. "Sure thing, ma'am," he said.
After a couple of bottles, the atmosphere in the room had shifted. The air felt heavier, looser. Brenda was no longer the composed, professional woman from earlier. Her posture had relaxed, her words less filtered as she leaned back, glass in hand.
She started talking more freely now, complaining about herself, about her own habits, her fetishes, her likes and dislikes. There was a bitterness underneath it all, like she had been holding it in for far too long.
"Your friend… Nestro," she slurred slightly, turning her head toward Nash. "Is he fat?"
Nash remained steady, his own drinking minimal, his mind still sharp despite the situation. "Very," he replied calmly.
"Bullshit!" Brenda snapped suddenly.
She pushed herself up from her seat and staggered toward him. Before Nash could react, she climbed onto him, straddling his lap, one hand gripping his bald head as she leaned in close. The smell of wine was strong on her breath, her movements unsteady but bold.
"I know guys like you," she said, her voice low but erratic. "You want this fat ass… I know men who are suckers for big tits and big booty." She laughed bitterly. "My own husband? Motherfucker only cares about getting his limp dick tortured."
She paused, her eyes locking onto Nash's, her expression shifting into something more teasing, more reckless. Slowly, she licked her lips.
"You're cute…" she murmured. "I could just let you… fuck… me… up… hehehe…"
Her drunken state was taking over now, her words sloppy, her restraint gone as she leaned closer, clearly testing him.
"I think you've had too much—mm?!"
Before Nash could finish, Brenda suddenly pulled him in and kissed him hard, catching him completely off guard. He stiffened, pulling back slightly, his brows tightening.
"Dios mío… get a hold of yourself, Brenda," Nash said, his voice firm now, trying to regain control of the situation.
"I can't," she muttered, her tone unsteady, her grip still on him. "Make me happy, Nash. Your boss demands it… or I'll fire you. Literally."
Nash narrowed his eyes, searching her face, trying to see if she meant it. "You wouldn't."
Brenda didn't answer. Instead, she stepped back and, in her drunken defiance, discarded any sense of restraint, staring him down like it was a challenge.
"Do you want to get fired?" she asked bluntly.
Nash exhaled slowly, tension building in his jaw. "...This fucking woman."
Left with little room to argue, he grabbed the remaining bottle and downed it in one go, as if bracing himself. He set it aside, then removed his uniform piece by piece, his movements controlled but clearly conflicted.
What followed was less about passion and more about release—two people caught in a reckless moment. The room filled with movement, shifting positions, tension giving way to something raw and unspoken. Time blurred as the hours slipped by.
Eventually, the pace slowed.
Nash sat back in Brenda's chair, catching his breath, while she leaned against him for a moment before pulling away.
"Mmm… not bad, Nash," she said, her voice softer now, less aggressive, more reflective. "Such stamina… you made this old woman feel young again." She paused, then gave a faint, tired smile. "But you're too much… really."
She stood up and began putting her clothes back on, her earlier boldness fading into something quieter.
"This… stays between us, okay?" she said, not looking directly at him this time.
Nash nodded as he got dressed as well. "Yes, ma'am."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small note. "Here. My friend's number. I think you two might actually get along. You're both into… that kind of thing. Just try once. Who knows?"
Brenda took it, slipping it into her pocket with a small nod. "Will do. And Nash… thanks for taking care of Ronald."
She hesitated briefly before adding, "There's another favor. Could you get those photos I mentioned earlier?"
Nash smirked slightly as he adjusted his uniform. "You mean that threesome situation… with you, your daughter, and 'Ricky Martin'?"
"Fuck you, cabrón," Brenda shot back, though without real heat this time. She sighed. "And yes… just… please. And don't look at them. He drugged me and my daughter… and apparently himself. Idiota."
Nash let out a quiet chuckle as he turned toward the door.
"Consider it done, ma'am," he said over his shoulder, a faint smirk still on his face as he walked out.
Later at midnight, Nash headed to the spot Brenda had mentioned—where Ronald usually hung out with his so-called friends.
The place was dim, filled with low chatter and the occasional burst of laughter. Nash stepped in calmly, his presence steady, eyes already locking onto a familiar face.
"Sup, Ricky Martin."
Ronald groaned the moment he saw him. "Oh, you've gotta be fucking kidding me. Look, Nash… I'm not hanging with bitches, just friends. See?" he said, gesturing around him quickly.
Nash glanced at the group, his expression flat, unimpressed. "I doubt the 'benefits' on that," he said, making air quotes with his fingers.
Then his tone shifted, more direct.
"But that's not why I'm here. I want what you have on Brenda and her daughter, Cira. The pictures you took after you drugged them… and yourself included."
Ronald hesitated for only a second before scoffing. "That's it? Fine, take it. I don't want them." He reached into his jacket and pulled out an envelope. "Honestly, I stayed for the money. But those two… they're crazy. BDSM lunatics, if you ask me."
Nash took the envelope and flipped through the photos briefly, his expression unreadable. "Not gonna lie… like mother, like daughter," he muttered. Then he gave a small nod. "Pleasure doing business."
"Pleasure's mine. No charge," Ronald replied quickly. "I don't want anything to do with them."
Nash gave a faint smirk before turning and walking out, tucking the envelope away securely.
The next day, Nash arrived at Brenda's luxury apartment. He knocked once before stepping inside.
"Brenda, I got the images," Nash said, holding up the envelope.
"Let me see." Brenda took them immediately, her hands moving quicker than usual. She went through each photo one by one, her expression tightening.
"Dios mío… forgive me if you had to look at… these obscene pictures," she said, shaking her head slightly.
"People do crazy shit," Nash replied calmly. "As long as no one got hurt. Besides, that pendejo drugged you both—and himself. That's on him, not you, Ms. Velázquez."
Brenda paused, then looked at him with a softer expression. "Thank you, Nash. You have a good heart… just in the wrong place, considering your past."
Nash didn't respond, just gave a small shrug.
"I also spoke with your friend," Brenda continued, a faint smile forming. "And honestly… we have similar interests." She let out a small laugh. "He was quite taken with me. 'Preciosa,' 'my mistress'… hahaha. I can't wait to try some of the new toys I got from overseas."
Nash swallowed hard at that, his composure slipping for just a second. The implication alone was enough.
"Right… good for you," he muttered, already stepping back.
He didn't waste another second. Turning quickly, he made his way out of the apartment and down the building, letting out a quiet sigh of relief once he was outside.
Now, Nash had somewhere else to be.
The designated meeting spot.
The mysterious woman from the store that day.
---
Chapter 3 — End.