Becoming the cartel leader’s trophy

The moment my teeth sank into the cow tongue taco, my entire body reacted before my brain could. My taste buds practically vibrated. I had gone into it expecting something chewy, nasty—but instead I was hit with pure magic.

The meat was impossibly tender, insanely buttery, seasoned just right. Salty, rich, and juicy, it melted against my tongue like it had been slow-cooked with love and patience. The warmth of it spread through my mouth, down my throat, straight into my chest. It felt less like eating and more like being held and protected by a loving mother.

"Holy shit..." I murmured around the bite.

The homemade tortilla was soft but sturdy, slightly toasted, carrying that deep corn flavor that wrapped around the meat perfectly. Then came the salsa—bright, sharp, a little smoky—cutting through the richness just enough to keep it balanced. Onion, cilantro, lime. Everything working together like it was meant to find me at this exact moment.

I swallowed, and my chest tightened. For a second, I genuinely thought I might cry, that's how good it was.

It wasn't just the food. It was the warmth, the normalcy, the fact that I was sitting here—outside, under the open sky, plastic table wobbling slightly beneath my elbows—safe. Eating something made by someone who didn't want anything from me except payment and maybe a compliment.

I took another bite immediately, slower this time, savoring it. The juices dripped down onto the paper plate, my fingers getting messy, and I didn't care. My eyes fluttered shut without me realizing it, my shoulders relaxing, giving away into the warmth of the bite.

When I finally opened my eyes, I saw Victoria and Julianna across from me, both mid-chew, both laughing softly at the sight of me looking like I'd just experienced a religious awakening or some shit.

I swallowed again and reached for my water, taking a long sip, the cold biting pleasantly against the heat of the food.

"Man..." I said, voice a little rough, a little too honest. "I've needed a meal like this for a while..."

Without waiting for a response, I grabbed another taco and took an embarrassingly huge bite, nearly finishing half of it in one go. My stomach felt warm, heavy in the best way, yet I wanted more.

"Cálmate, Miguel," Julianna laughed from across the table, sipping her Coke. "You're gonna choke."

I laughed too, cheeks puffed out, shaking my head as I chewed. She was probably right—but I didn't care. I could've eaten sixty of these if my body allowed it, seven alone would absolutely put me into a coma for years.

I took one more bite and immediately stood up, chair legs scraping loudly against the gravel. My body moved before my brain could catch up. I dug into my pocket, fingers brushing against the few crumpled bills I had with me—fifty pesos.

Worth it.

I walked back up to the stand, still chewing, cheeks full, and handed the money over.

"Two más..." I said in messy Spanglish without even realizing it, holding up two fingers for emphasis.

The vendor laughed, a deep, easy sound, clearly amused by my desperation. He nodded and slid my plate back toward himself, laying down two fresh tortillas. The smell hit me immediately—warm corn, steaming meat, sizzling fat. 

He piled the tender meat on generously, sprinkling chopped onion and cilantro, then finished it off with a spoonful of salsa so red it practically glistened under the streetlight. Absolutely beautiful tacos.

I grabbed the plate and practically jogged back to the table, the legs wobbling as I set it down too hard. My glass of water shook, sending small ripples across the surface.

I didn't even sit properly before taking a bite.

Jesus Christ.

If someone held a gun to my head and demanded I explain why it was so good, I couldn't. There weren't words. It was primal. Comforting. Violent in how hard it hit my senses. I chewed slowly this time, eyes unfocused, shoulders sinking as if my body finally trusted that nothing bad was going to happen in this exact moment.

Then the sound came. Engines being loud and aggressive.

Multiple trucks roared past the stand, close enough that the wind kicked dust up around us. My eyes snapped open. Black trucks, lifted, spotless—too clean. On the doors, painted bold and unmistakable, were the same three letters I'd seen before. 

CDS.

My stomach tightened—not from fear exactly, but from the sudden shift in atmosphere. The vendor didn't react. Neither did Victoria. A couple people glanced up, then went back to eating like nothing had happened.

I swallowed and looked at Julianna.

"Julie," I said quietly, still chewing, lowering my voice without meaning to. "What's with that CDS thing? And why was that lady from yesterday so dangerous?"

She exhaled slowly, eyes dropping to her food. The way her shoulders stiffened told me everything before she even spoke.

"CDS is the Sinaloa Cartel," she said flatly. The words landed heavy onto my brain.

"And the woman from yesterday?" I asked.

Julianna hesitated, then looked at me straight on. "That was Carla Juárez. People call her La 556. Others call her La Sombra."

My hand tightened around my taco.

"She's the leader," Julianna continued. "Took over after her mother, Lupe Juárez, got arrested and extradited to the U.S. two years ago. She runs the whole operation now." She paused, then added firmly, "You don't go near people like that. Ever."

Suddenly everything clicked—the bodyguards, the way people made space for her without being told, the rifles mounted casually on the trucks like decorations instead of weapons.

"And she just... walks around?" I asked, brow furrowing. "She's not scared? Like at all?"

Julianna gave a small, humorless laugh. "Miguel... she might as well run the country. She's powerful enough to live like that. No hiding. No fear." She glanced toward the road where the trucks had disappeared. "No other cartel here comes close. People try. They fight her and they die."

I nodded slowly and reached for my water, taking a long gulp. The cold hit my throat hard, grounding me.

The tacos were still incredible. The night was still warm. Laughter still floated from nearby tables.

"Interesting... very interesting..." I muttered, chewing slowly. I shrugged lightly, trying to sound casual. "Well, if you guys are still alive, I guess I don't have much to worry about."

I took another bite, my stomach finally starting to feel full, warm in that comforting, almost sleepy way. Everything felt normal again—streetlights buzzing softly, plates clinking, the smell of meat and tortillas lingering in the air.

"Yeah ha... haha..." Julianna laughed.

It wasn't right.

It came out too fast, too sharp, like she was forcing it through clenched teeth. I looked up immediately. My appetite didn't disappear, but something else crept in to replace it—a familiar tightness in my chest that made me worry.

"What's wrong?" I asked bluntly. No joking. No smiling.

Julie hesitated and glanced toward her mom. Victoria kept eating, eyes fixed on her plate, chewing slowly, methodically, like she hadn't heard us—or like she'd heard everything and didn't want to engage.

"Thats for another time..." Julianna said quietly.

I studied her face for a second longer, then nodded. I went back to my food, but the flavor wasn't as explosive anymore. Still good—amazing, even—but dulled by questions stacking up in my head. Was my aunt part of the Sinaloa cartel? 

Another time... That usually meant never... or when you're ready to hear something you won't like.

My eyes flicked briefly to Victoria. She looked calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that came from experience, not ignorance.

I shook the thought away.

"Does she have good songs about her?" I asked instead, switching gears. "You know... corridos and all that." I smirked faintly. "I can't understand shit, but they usually go hard."

That did it.

Julianna's shoulders relaxed a little, tension melting just enough for her to smile for real this time. "Oh god," she laughed, rolling her eyes. "Some of the best songs are about her. I'll show you my playlist when we get home—you're gonna love it."

I smiled back, genuinely this time. Music I didn't understand but felt had always been my thing. 

I looked down at my plate, ready to grab my last taco—

Nothing.

I blinked.

"...Wait." I tilted the plate slightly, like it might magically reappear. Empty. Not even a crumb.

It hit me all at once.

"Oh my god," I muttered. "I ate it while talking."

Julianna burst out laughing. "You inhaled it, Miguel."

Victoria finally looked up, a small smile tugging at her lips. "That's how you know the food is good."

I leaned back in my chair, patting my stomach with a sheepish grin. Full. Safe. Surrounded by family.

Still... the questions lingered.

And whatever "another time" meant, I had a feeling it was coming whether I liked it or not.

Then I heard it once more.

The low, unmistakable growl of an engine slowing down.

A black truck rolled back into view, tires crunching softly against the uneven pavement. The same three letters were stamped boldly on the side—CDS—clean, white. No mounted gun on it this time, which almost made it more unsettling. It didn't need one. 

The doors opened, one after another.

Several women stepped out.

They didn't move like civilians. Every motion was deliberate, efficient, like their bodies were trained to react before their minds even had to think. 

Tactical vests hugged their frames, helmets strapped tight, weapons secured but close enough to reach in a heartbeat. They looked less like gang members and more like some elite special forces unit—disciplined and intimidating.

The contrast was surreal. They walked up to the taco stand and started ordering.

Just... ordering.

Laughing lightly. One of them leaned on the counter, her rifle hitting the table, while another pointed at the meat like she was debating dinner options. The vendor didn't even flinch—his hands moved automatically, practiced, like this was just another Tuesday night.

I watched them quietly, my mouth gaped from surprise.

It was strange seeing people like that doing something so normal. Eating street tacos under flickering lights, surrounded by plastic chairs and the smell of grease and salsa. And yet, in the back of my mind, I couldn't ignore the thought that these women had probably ended lives before. Probably more than one.

Still... they were human. Laughing, hungry, existing like anyone else—just with something heavy and dark clinging to them, something you could feel even if they weren't doing anything wrong at the moment.

I leaned slightly toward Julianna, lowering my voice. "Can you tell me... when it's bedtime?" I whispered. "The secret. You know."

I glanced briefly at Victoria, but she was focused on her plate, unbothered, like she either hadn't heard me—or didn't want to.

Julie hesitated for half a second, then nodded slowly.

"Yeah," she murmured back. "I will."

Relief washed over me, mixed with a sharp spike of curiosity. If I never found out, I knew it would gnaw at me endlessly. Some things were worse not knowing.

"Man...Culiacán is wild."

——

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