Guarded (Calavera Hotels #3)

4. Ariella

Chapter 4

Ariella

W hen the car stops, I feel Officer Greyson’s traitorous hands on me again. He pulls me up and out of the vehicle. I can’t see through the thick black material, but I can hear several different voices.

“I was told I’d be compensated for my services,” Greyson says. I listen as the two men exchange money and sigh in relief when I hear the absence of Greyson.

Another hand comes to me. It’s rough but not in the way Greyson’s touch was. I’m surprised to admit that it actually feels comforting.

“You’re going to come with me, and she’s going to stay here.” The first male voice says.

“No. She can’t.” I cry out through the hood, suffocating me.

The firm hand holding my arm pushes me forward as Genesis’s cries fade behind me. I hear the sound of a motorcycle in the distance. She cries louder. Another voice emerges.

“Take her back. Room 376.” The same voice says.

My feet shuffle ahead of me as I’m placed in another vehicle. I cry until I can’t anymore. I lay my head on the door and close my eyes. My throat aches, and my words shake.

“Where are you taking me?” I ask.

Silence falls between us, and I lay there desperate for sleep to take me. A hand runs over my hair. It feels soft and safe. Then I hear a calm voice. It’s dark and laced with something that ignites a shudder through my whole body.

“Home.” He says.

Ariella

You can’t keep ignoring me. Please just let me know if you’re okay.

My hand stills before I send the message. I had sent Genesis a thousand messages since that night we were kidnapped and separated. It was a shitty situation. We were trying to find Lucia, and instead, her stalker decided to emerge from the shadows to intervene and use the situation to get to Genesis. Her stalker, Cassiel, happens to be my very own blood relative. I never knew he existed, and now I want to continue believing he didn’t. Overwhelmed with everything that happened, I couldn’t decide whether Cassiel was good or bad. Some people just are.

Genesis, on the other hand, was my best friend. She had been since our parents introduced us when I was five years old. She was a good person—the best person. Despite living in different states, the distance never weakened our friendship.

I would look forward to our trips to Houston so I could catch her up on everything going on in my life.

She was the only friend I had. I had a tutor for the first few years before convincing my parents to let me attend a private middle school. A sad mistake, considering everyone there had already established friend groups. It didn’t help that I had severe acne and braces. I ate alone and kept to myself, but I enjoyed watching the social interactions.

I look down at the picture I had saved for Gen’s contact. We were twelve years old at the annual family Christmas party at Calavera Hotels. The camera captures our matching plaid outfits and tight embrace. I loved this picture because it was one of the last times I remember Gen happy. After that, things got dark. Her smiles faded.

I’m standing in the kitchen when Nero comes in dressed in an all-black shirt and black jeans. I’m too tired to pretend I hate him.

“Hey.” He says.

“Hey.”

“Did something happen yesterday?” he asks.

No, something happened years ago, and I am still obviously triggered by it. But I don’t say that, and he misinterprets my silence for confusion.

“I noticed you didn’t go to your grandfather’s.” I didn’t.

It was a case of the Saturday saddies, but he wouldn’t understand. Hell, I didn’t even understand it. Sometimes, I just felt sad or unmotivated. I was starting to attribute the whole thing to the amount of time I was spending online. The fact that all my friends lived on my phone was a constant reminder that I had no actual real-life friends I could rely on. Just likes and views.

“I wasn’t feeling well. Female things,” I say.

I learned a long time ago that saying female things gets you out of a lot of conversations most men are unwilling to have. At least, that’s how it was with Adan, Axel, and my father. Nero narrows his eyes but doesn’t pursue the matter further.

“What’s the plan for today?” he asks. I look around, making sure there are no ghosts in the house. Nope. No ghosts.

“I’m sorry. Are we talking to each other now?” I ask.

It’s rude, but the question falls out of my mouth all the same. Nero and I don’t talk. He just sort of tolerates me, and I think of him as the shadow getting paid to follow me.

I also feel like it’s easier to ignore him than remember the very awkward dildo situation because that wasn’t the only time he caught me doing something embarrassing.

There was this one time he was guarding Thalia’s penthouse around Halloween. Trying to get my little cousins to laugh, I stuck candy corn in my mouth to look like fangs. Right as I was saying “I vant to suck yer blood”-in walks Nero. Stares right at me and arches a brow.

Another time, I’m more than positive he was looking right at me the night my cousin Thalia convinced me to play Truth or Dare in the hotel bar. I picked truth because truth is always safe. Right?

Wrong.

Her friend Osiel asks me if I would rather get my ass eaten or a pearl necklace. This was before Gen explained to me what a white pearl necklace was. Ya, look that up on Google. It’s mortifying. So, excuse me if I’d rather eat a bowl of glass than have this man laugh in my face.

My strategy was to avoid him, keeping the conversation short or, even better, nonexistent. This strategy has been working perfectly until now.

“I thought it would make our lives easier if we tried.” He says. I’m not buying it.

“You can’t be that desperate for friends,” I say, narrowing my eyes on him.

“Believe me, I’m not trying to be your friend, but I think we can have a mature client-employee relationship.”

He sounds so confident when he talks. With so much authority, he stares down at me. I’m not short by any means, but he still towers me by a good half a foot. I freeze when he sticks out his hand and clears his throat.

“Deal.” He grumbles.

Rings adorn his fingers. There is a tattoo covering his hand. A gun, it looks like. His index and middle fingers are covered with the muzzle, while the trigger and grip stop at his wrist.

I place my hand in his. My cold one clashes with the heat of his in a warm embrace. A silent contract. He pulls away quicker than I can admit I want him to. I smile and stand there, unsure what to say or do now.

Pulling out my pink notepad, I start writing my grocery list for the day. It’s Sunday, and I like going shopping in town. I hesitate to ask, but I can’t be rude. I mean, I could, but that was before the pact.

“Do you need anything from the grocery store?” I ask.

His back is to me. When he worked at the hotel, he wore suits, but as my bodyguard, his daily attire is always black jeans and a black shirt. I liked the shirts better because they molded to the muscles he hid underneath.

“The princess shops? Or is this for pick up?” he smirks before bringing a cup of coffee to his lips.

Suddenly, I’m nervous about what to say or how to act. He’s a grown man, and I have never actually lived with another man. Pues obvio. I’ve never even had a fucking boyfriend.

“Relax. I’m just joking.” He says, picking up on my anxiety.

“Oh. Yeah. I like going into the store. I’m like an eighty-year-old woman trapped in a twenty-three-year-old’s body.” I laugh nervously.

“I’ll go with you,” he offers.

I want to tell him, no, but I remember the pact. I need to try to get along with this man.

__

An hour later, Nero and I are at the grocery store together. I walk down every aisle, checking my list before crossing off each item—chicken, rice, veggie—my thoughts blank at the sight of Nero walking toward me.

I was relieved when we split up at the entrance. Being too close to him makes me nervous, like awkward high-fiving nervous. He gives me a sheepish grin before he places a case of Modelo and ramen noodles in the cart. Completely ruining my strategic cart organization.

“Eww. Absolutely not. Ramen Noodles are filled with a ton of GMOs, and-”

“Ariella, I’ve survived the last thirty years on ramen noodles and haven’t had one complaint about my body,” he says, interrupting me. I don’t take the bait to look at said body.

Not when I’ve already noticed the way multiple women stared at him when we walked in. Their mouths wide open and eyes caught in a trance. He was the epitome of the bad boy they craved.

The leather vest gave him the edge, the steel-toed boots went with his confident strides, and the jeans. God, those jeans were so tight on his ass. I refuse to sneak another peek. Instead, I take a deep breath and walk down the cookie aisle. I grab an off-brand package of iced oatmeal cookies and throw them into the cart.

“Those look full of GMOs.” Nero teases.

I roll my eyes.

Judge and thoust be judgedth or whatever Jesus said.

“I haven’t had a complaint about my body either.” I declare with the sweetest smile I can muster up.

I immediately regret the words because the look he gives me sends heat rising to my cheeks. My eyes follow his, down to my pink Nikes, over my bare legs, jeans shorts, and the casual pink button-up I paired with a pink Dodgers cap.

My breathing is on the verge of shattering when his dark eyes return to mine.

“I would have to agree. The gym is suiting you well.” He says before grabbing the cart and moving down the aisle.

His words leave me baffled and warm .

Attention shoppers, clean up in aisle five.

I can’t help wanting to cry over a simple compliment. Was it even a compliment, or am I just that desperate for attention?

It was something about the way he lowered his voice to say it. Like he knew, the words would instantly bring a head rush of dopamine.

I don’t even know how to react to it. He exits the aisle before I can even mumble a thank you. I wipe the stupid smile off my face and follow him to the next aisle.

We finish up our list, saving the bouquet of pink carnations for last. I walk to the checkout counter and place a divider between all my stuff and Nero’s two items. He reaches down and removes the divider. I look up, confused.

“You made all the meals this last week. I got it.”

“Are you sure?” I ask.

It’s not that I feel uncomfortable with men paying for things. I just don’t expect it.

“It’s not a problem, Ariella.”

I swallow and nod slowly. I’m broke as hell and could use the money to get a manicure since Axel convinced my parents to cut me off.

I don’t mind being Nero’s charity case for the day. Not when a bitch is balling on a budget.

Moving around him, I begin to bag the groceries in my reusable pink bags. I hear the cashier laughing at something Nero said. My brows furrow, and I look back down.

Eavesdropping, I listen as the woman in her mid-forties talks to him in Spanish. He responds with an authentic accent I could only dream of having.

“ Que les vaya bien.” She says, giving Nero his change.

“Igualmente.” he replies.

Nero flashes her a smile before walking past me with the cart.

“El Valiente Caliente.” I tease, following behind him.

His lips tip at the corner. I open the car to my Lexus and flop into the passenger seat, pulling out a bag of cookies from my purse and taking a bite. Nero puts the groceries in the trunk and then takes his place behind the wheel.

“I didn’t know you were so smooth with the ladies. Where did you learn to speak Spanish?” I ask.

“My mom.” He says dryly.

“Oh. I don’t know why I thought you were- I thought I heard you speaking, ugh, Chinese?” I stutter.

Stumbling over my damn words again.

Get it together, Ari.

“That was Tagalog. I’m half Filipino, half Mexican.”

“God, sorry. Now I’m a racist.” I murmur, shoving my hands to my face.

If this were the Titanic, I wouldn’t wait until we hit the damn iceberg. Nope. I would jump ship right here. Right now. I feel his rough, warm hand grab mine and pull them down until I’m staring into his dark ones again.

“Ari, you’re not a racist for guessing my ethnicity.” He laughs, holding my hand for a brief second before dropping it back in my lap.

I let out a sigh.

“I know, but I still feel bad. Do you know how many people think I’m white because I have light skin and colored eyes?”

“For some reason, that doesn’t surprise me.”

Nero glances down at my pink Stanley mug in the cup holder and the Hello Kitty bag in my lap.

“What is that supposed to mean?” I narrow my eyes on his.

Hello Kitty is for everyone! Las fresitas. East Los Angeles cholas. The baddies. The emo girls. They all love Hello Kitty.

Nero keeps his eyes on mine before he doubles down and turns up my car stereo. Cruel Summer by Taylor Swift is still playing on repeat.

Oh my gatos.

In this very moment I think about crawling into the trunk. What will my family say when they find out? Would I be allowed to visit Mexico again? Would this be the thing that cuts off the nopal en mi frente ?

As much as I want to hide, I know it’s time. Finally, it’s time for me to come out of the Swiftie closet.

“Okay, point taken. Don’t tell Thalia, or I’ll kill you.” I threaten him playfully.

The grimace on his face sends me laughing. He changes the station to some screamo music, but I still feel desperate to talk to him.

Since birth, I have been talkative. I hate silence. Lowering the music, I wait for him to look over at me.

“You’re like trilingual, right? That’s so impressive. I can only speak like basic Spanish. Like ‘Hola’, ‘?Como estas?’ Spanish but not like Spanish 3,000.”

“What the fuck is Spanish 3,000?” he asks.

“You know, like when you go to Mexico and your family is all talking in Spanish, and you’re keeping up like a pro. But then someone brings up auto mechanics, and you realize you don’t know shit. Like you thought you did, but then, in that moment, you realize your whole life is a lie. Like, how do you even say jumper cables in spa-”

“ Cables para pasar corriente. And No. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

I start to ramble a bit more. It comes with the nervousness. And right now, Nero makes me extremely nervous. He doesn’t yell at me to shut up like my brothers when I start on my no-sabo kid rant.

“Really, Spanish was the colonizer’s language. Why are we not learning Nahuatl? Also, why is the Spanish word for jumper cables so damn long? Like the name is more of an explanation than a word?”

Nero continues to listen as I ramble on until we reach a stoplight. His hand reaches out, and he places his palm on my shaking leg—another nervous tick of mine.

“Sorry, I think I get a little too worked up.” I laugh and take a deep breath.

Okay, Ari, chill the fuck out. You aren’t the spokesperson for no sabo kids.

“So, where was your mother from?” I ask, changing the subject.

Nero’s hand shoots back to his side of the car.

“Mexico,” he says begrudgingly.

“What part?”

“Tijuana.”

“Oh. What is she like?”

“Dead.”

My heart stops at his reply. Just shut the fuck up now, Ari.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. It was a long time ago.”

I should shut up right here. Let us drive home in silence and move on, but I want to know more about him. Questions are popping up left and right in my brain, so I break through the silence again.

“Do you have any siblings?”

“One.”

I can tell he’s annoyed, so I reach into my Hello Kitty purse and pull out a stack of sticky notes.

“What are you doing?” he asks, looking over at me.

“Remember, osea hello , eighty-year-old trapped in a twenty-year-olds body. I need to write something down before I forget it.”

Digging into my bag I search until I find my sparkly pink gel pen. Glitter was my drug of choice. A glittery pen was another level of high for me.

“Why can’t you just type it on your phone notes? Why do you need to carry all of this?” His hand motions over my bag and items. I gasp in reply.

“And succumb to technology like the rest of the world? No, thank you, Sir.” He stares at me, and his eyes darken.

“I’m writing myself a reminder to make a list of Filipino dishes I can make. It’s this whole inner child healing thing I’ve been doing. Cooking, well, eating is my love language. What’s your-”

“No. You don’t need to do that. We don’t need to exert any efforts trying to heal, whatever the fuck you said.”

“Your inner child. And why not? Men’s mental health is equally important.” I chastise.

“There is nothing about me or my childhood worth saving.”

He turns the radio back on, ending the discussion. I want to ask what happened, but it’s not my place. Just like I know he’s wrong. Everyone is worth saving.

Sunday after-church traffic makes the drive home longer than usual. I’m about to burst at the seams with my need to converse when my phone rings in my lap.

I look down to see the Christmas picture of Gen and me in matching plaid outfits.

“Gen! Omg! Hello! Gen!” I sit up in the seat, and Nero turns the radio down.

“Hey.” She says, her voice cracking.

“Are you okay?” I whisper.

“I need to get out of this house, Ari. Can I come stay with you for a while?”

I look at Nero and back to the road. Gen didn’t particularly care for people, much less someone like Nero. Someone in a motorcycle gang with her stalker and enemy numero uno.

“Nero, can you unlock the windows?” I say. His brows furrow and release before unlocking the window that wasn’t locked.

“You’re with Nero?” Genesis mutters.

“Oh, ya. That’s my bodyguard.”

“Never mind.” She grumbles.

“Okay. I’ll see you this week. We’ll meet for lunch.”

I’m met with silence, but I can’t ask her much with Nero in the car. Internally, I sigh because I don’t know if there’ll be another chance to speak with her.

She’s been avoiding me, and the one time she needs me, I can’t be there for her. She would push me out again. Push the world out. That was how Gen coped with life.

“Okay bye. Love ya,” I say to the deadline, where she’s already hung up.

Nero eyes me suspiciously.

“My best friend. She’s so funny.” I laugh.

Gen is not funny.

In fact, she is so serious and very cut off from the word funny. But I enjoy her company. Her very blunt honesty is great when you’re the type of person who is indecisive about everything.

When we get to the hotel, we carry the bags into the elevator and up to the penthouse. Guapo comes running as soon as I open the door, but not to me. His little feet pitter-patter across the floor to Nero, who bends down and runs his knuckles over Guapo’s short fur.

“Thank you,” I say, setting the bags on the counter.

“Not just for buying the food but also for being nice to my dog.” I give him a smile before opening a can of food for Guapo.

“Kids and animals are vulnerable members of our society. I don’t see why anyone would ever be mean to them,” Nero says from behind me. His words grip me like a vice to my heart.

“Ya, I get the whole burn thing freaks people out, but I don’t know. I always thought it made him beautiful in a different way.” I dump the food into Guapo’s dish and leave it there for him.

“Those are burn wounds?” Nero asks.

“Yup. I found Guapo when I was 13. He was trapped inside a fire when we found him. I heard him whimpering in the shed and begged my dad to rescue him. We nursed him back to health.”

I pick Guapo up like a baby and snuggle my face into his.

“Isn’t that right, baby? Everyone says I saved you, but you saved me!” I kiss Guapo’s tiny head before placing him back on the ground.

Nero helps me put the groceries away before heading to the shower. It was nice to be able to be around an actual human being. Even if this was all temporary.

An idea forms in my mind. I could build a friendship with Nero. Ask him to help me convince Axel that I don’t need a husband to protect me. I didn’t expect Nero to be my bodyguard forever, but if we could coexist like this, maybe he would change his mind and stay with me until I found someone. Someone I could fall in love with organically.