5. Nero
Chapter 5
Nero
“ L et me see your phone,” I tell Ariella.
“For What?”
“I’m going to put in my number in case of an emergency,” I say, grabbing her phone.
She doesn’t fight me and instead shrugs. We survived an entire week together. The new pact between us made her less annoyed with me, and her mood seemed more stabilized.
I quickly install the software I need to track her, and gain access to her call logs and messages. She’s ready for the day in a very tight pink dress and leopard print heels. Her long blonde hair falls down the center of her back in loose curls. Her outfit doesn’t surprise me, but for some reason, it makes me weary.
I watch as she chugs a green juice, and I wince. She had a weird devotion to kale.
“Where are you headed today?” I ask, making general conversation.
Her free time is none of my business. So why do I grind my jaw at the thought of everyone seeing her in this tight dress? I’ve already accidentally spilled bleach on her other revealing outfits.
“Um. Probably to my grandfather’s and some errands,” she says, looking away.
Guapo is snug tight into a sling around the front of her body. My man is out here, keeping her chest covered from prying eyes. Team work. I scratch his head in appreciation.
“Probably to your grandfathers?”
She prefers to spend her Saturdays over there. Like me, she doesn’t like to be alone. But ‘the errands’ part of her story throws me off. Ariella hates errands. I know because I’m usually the one doing them for her.
“Yup. Just have to get, um, feminine things.” She says.
“Nice try, Manikà. You just had your feminine time.” I narrow my eyes on her widening ones. She quickly fixes her fallen expression.
“Yes, and I need to replace the toiletries and things I used immediately.” Right.
“What does Manikà mean?” she asks, pausing before grabbing her purse.
“Doll. And you didn’t answer the question, what errands?” I move closer to her, and she swallows.
Usually, this type of bratty behavior with other women would bore me. The problem is I can’t compare Ariella to other women. She is my client not the women I fuck. I have to tolerate her defiance to some extent.
“Calm down, Valiente. I’m not doing anything illegal. I’ll see you later.” She pursues her lips and walks out the door.
I roll my eyes at the new nickname she attached to me. Valiente was a character in the Loteria game Tala and I would play as kids.
When Evangeline was acting for our father, she taught us the game and the funny rhymes she made up for each card. My father would laugh, and her eyes would light up. I feel a pang in my chest at the memory—the same familiar pang I get when I think of Tala. Today, I will finally be able to see my sister again.
__
I’m sitting outside the club smoking a cigarette when my phone vibrates in my pocket. There are at least a dozen messages from Ariella.
11:52 AM
Ariella
Did you take your vitamins?
Yes Manikà.
Since Ariella and I started our truce, she has fed me vitamins every morning and taken it upon herself to be my personal dietitian.
I got tired of men watching her workout from the bench, so I joined her. It turns out I was way more out of shape than I expected. I could barely keep up with her on the treadmill. Thanks to genetics, I was naturally thin, and manual labor kept me toned, but my endurance was nowhere near what she was capable of.
11:53 AM
Ariella
Did you drink the smoothie I left you?
No, I poured that shit down the drain.
I ignore the majority of the messages and scroll to the last one.
12:14 PM
Ariella
Do you think this is a rash or some kind of mutating disease?
Ay güey.
I light up a cigarette. Giving Ariella my number was a huge mistake. Emergencies to her ranged from helping her hang up shelves in her office to confirming her Google search symptoms.
The woman had a gold medal in the Hypochondriac Olympics. Attached to the message is a picture of a red blotch on her thigh. I let out a sigh before I text her back.
Nero
Is this an emergency?
Ariella
It is if I’m dying.
Nero
It’s not. Don’t message me unless it’s an emergency.
The fucking vitamins she had been forcing me to take every morning were helping to give me more energy throughout the day, but they also made me hornier than usual.
Or maybe that had more to do with her walking around half-naked. Even now, staring down at the small glimpse of her skin makes my dick harden in my pants.
Whatever organic shit was in the green juice was helping too. Even if I only drank a little bit before she left the kitchen.
Just in the last week, my head felt clearer. I was less likely to impulsively stab someone. Like the green-eyed bastard with a smug smile aimed at me riding onto the compound.
Leatherface called for a meeting this morning, and as usual, he was the last to arrive. He rides up next to me before stopping the engine. When he walks past me, I follow him into the clubhouse, where Jasper and the other men are waiting at the round table in the back room.
Like the arrogant dick he is, Leatherface winks at me before taking his place at the front of the table. Jasper sits to his left, and I take the seat to his right. The seat that had been reserved for Ghost. The seat I was hoping to take permanently in the future.
“We’re going to be doubling our workload next month,” Leatherface announces.
He goes over the new operations we will be taking on. We had already been running guns for the Russians and the Houston Cartel Connect. I listen closely as he breaks down his new plan to add us to the government payroll. I’m on board until I’m not.
The until I’m not part happens when Leatherface’s plan involves Ariella. He had forged an alliance with Congressman Preston Cuevas. The corrupt politician wanted two things: a hit on the current mayor and Ariella Reyes to be his wife.
“What?” I say through gritted teeth.
“Axel has already approved the marriage.” He says, looking straight at me. I’m not sure why it bothers me, but it fucking does.
“Since when did we get fucked up in politics?” Hueso asks.
Hueso was a veterano, a founding member of Los Peregrinos del Infierno. He was also married to Ofelia, our bar manager. The two had made the move from Arizona to Houston so they could be closer to their grandchildren.
Hueso didn’t involve himself in much of the violence anymore, but he was a necessity for us to build a chapter in Houston. Like Ghost, he didn’t trust Leatherface to do anything that wasn’t led by his selfish desires.
“We’ll vote on it,” Jasper says, interrupting the stare-down between Leatherface and Hueso.
“All in favor of collecting a body for Preston Cuevas in exchange for political gain in Houston, say Aye,” Leatherface says.
Jasper, Hueso, and I vote against the plan. We were all club members long enough to know politicians were messier than gangsters. The three nomads we took in, Chunks, Salvi, Larry vote in favor of it.
“Get ready for the hit, boys,” Leatherface says before hitting the gavel down.
An unsettling feeling builds at the thought of using Ari for leverage. For the fucking life of me, I can’t picture Ari with some corrupt fucking politician, but then again, can I picture her with anyone?
My knuckles tap lightly on the door. I pull out the paper from the white envelope Axel gave me and look over the address again: 16184 West Scott Street. I double-check the numbers on the side of the beat-up house.
I say house, but it seems more like a run-down shed. After knocking more and waiting another 20 minutes, I shove the envelope back into my pocket. I pull out my phone to message Axel, but instead, I receive a notification about Ariella’s new location. To my surprise, I see she’s barely a block away. What’s a princess doing on this side of Houston?
Nero
Where are you?
Ariella
I’m still at my grandpa’s. Probably going to be here a few more hours. I left you some tuna sandwiches in the fridge.
I squeeze the phone in my hand with every intention of crushing it the way I want to crush her right now. I look at the men on the corner and watch their discreet movements. Behind them are several prostitutes starting their shift. What the fuck would Ari be doing down here?
Does she have a boyfriend over here? The thought makes me queasy. My fist tightens, and my rage pushes me forward, following her location on the map. Walking past several other houses, drug dealers, a pimp, and the three prostitutes.
“Hey, Daddy.” One of them calls out.
I keep walking until I reach the destination. The front door is open, so I peek through the screen. All composure flees from me when I get a glimpse of the leopard heels at the front of the door.
I break in and move through the house, where I can hear laughter.
“Yes! So Sexy! Do it again!” I hear a man say and rush through the bedroom door.
The scene in front of me is not the same one from my head that made me murderous. It’s still questionable. Ari is sitting at the end of a mattress with her feet in a box filled with sand. A man with a camera is angling it above her feet. Both look at me when I fling the door open.
“What the fuck?” The man shouts.
“Nero!” Ari gasps, her face going completely pale.
“Who the fuck is this man?” He asks in a thick Filipino accent.
“Get your shit, NOW!” I roar.
Is this her fucking boyfriend? I have too many fucking questions, but I got to get her out of her first. The room is fucking disgusting, filled with empty dishes and clothes all over the place. This really can’t be her type.
Grabbing Ariella’s bag and shoes, the man continues to ask who I am and threatens to call the cops. I don’t give a fuck.
“Stop. Nero. Please. What are you doing here?” Ariella pleads as I continue to push her forward.
“I could ask you the same thing,” I reply.
“Hey, man, I have a few more pictures to take, and then you can take her,” the man calls behind us, stopping me in my tracks.
“ Putag ina mo ,” I say in Tagalog.
His eyes widen when he sees my fist flying toward him. Ari screams and reaches for the fucker laid out on the ground. I grab her and force my agitation down enough to get her out of the house.
“What fucking pictures is he talking about?” my skin boils when I turn to face Ari. Anger ripples through me, and I repeat the question.
“What fucking pictures?” I growl. When she doesn’t answer, I pull her forward. Guapo following close behind us.
“Nero. Stop. I need to put my shoes on.” I stop and place her heels next to her feet.
She scowls but places a hand on my shoulder for balance as she slides her bright pink-painted toes into the leopard print heels.
“Calm down. They were just pictures of my feet.” She snaps at me.
Like, I’m the fucking bad guy. Like letting someone take pictures of her feet is fucking normal. I wait for her to get both heels on before I grab her hand and walk back toward my bike.
“Hey man, she still hasn’t paid for the dog’s cut.” The guy calls out behind us.
I drop Ari’s hand and pull out a hundred-dollar bill from my pocket.
“I better not see you within a ten-mile radius of her again, or I will shoot you.” I throw him the bill and walk back, taking Ari’s hand in mine.
Her legs stumble behind me, her stilettos maneuvering the uneven sidewalk. I stop when I reach my bike.
“Get on.”
She looks down at the short pink dress. I remove my vest and place it on the bike before removing my checkered yellow and black flannel.
I tie it around her waist and put a helmet on her. She lifts her chin and glares up at me. I grab the sling out of her bag and place it on me. If I were a compulsive list maker like Ari, then strapping a bright pink dog sling to me would be at the top of my list of things no self-respecting vato loco would ever do.
“I thought you were smarter than this,” I say disapprovingly.
“You know what, you wouldn’t get it.” She says, taking off and walking down the street.
“Where the fuck are you going?”
“I’m not going with you!”
“The fuck you aren’t,” I yell as I walk after her.
A few of the guys on the street look over at us. Me with the fucking dog in a sling and her strutting away with my flannel around her waist and the helmet on her head.
“Leave me alone. I’m going to see if I can get a ride from one of those ladies.” I look ahead and see a small group of prostitutes and shake my head.
This girl has absolutely no fucking street smarts. I grab her hand and pull her back.
“The fuck you are Princess.”
I pick her up and throw her over my shoulder, careful not to hit Guapo, who is also barking at his owner. She starts hitting my back with her fist. My hand, with a mind of its own, reaches back and spanks her.