Shy Deer Steppes [m] no hay ultima pagina

Mature Content Warning

This thread has been marked as mature. By reading and/or participating in this thread, you acknowledge that you are of age or have permission from your parents to do so.

The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: drugs, language, sexual reference

When Juárez and Soto are kingpins of this territory, Niño’ll get tossed the table scraps. All he’s gotta do is shut up and take orders. Plush gig for a guy like him. A chance to do himself some real good.
He’s what the cartel calls a falcon. Scout. Bottom rung of the social stratum. He’d been a falcon since he was old enough to walk. Learned fast that a closed mouth meant a full belly. Turns out folks are pretty forgiving of a whelpling in the wrong place at the wrong time, and he quickly became a proverbial flea on the teat of a jefe. No one batted an eye, small as he was. Mujeres called him cute– at the time.
But things had changed. He got bigger and perceived as a threat. He leaned into the allegations, started putting on some muscle and putting down wolves. Decided, he’d be a hitman.
The thing about killing wolves
– it’s sadly easy. But it’s a sensation.
Sex and killing, about the only times he felt alive.

The brothers had split off. Niño follows a river north while the jefes stay south. The surrounding dry lands seem too clean– scrubbed by wind and bleached by sun, no doubt matching the perfect ingrates who dwell here. Drafts signify a heavy wolf population. The hound beds down in arms of needlegrass and eyes the distant mesa. He’d do nothing more than observe for a day or two and gather intel. Familiarize himself with who comes and goes.