Guarded (Calavera Hotels #3)

26. Nero

Chapter 26

Nero

Louie

Barbie has left the dream house.

Nero

Stop calling her that.

Follow her, but don’t let her catch you.

Louie

On it.

Jasper

It’s not our prospect’s job to follow your girlfriend.

Nero

Fuck you.

I pull up the picture Ariella had taken of us from last night. The one of me, her, and Guapo. Her smile is radiating. I love the way her pale skin contrasts with my tan skin.

Stop using love in sentences where she’s involved.

The person I used to be prided themselves on never falling victim to addiction. I never understood how someone could go to these extreme lengths for a temporary high. It never made sense until I met Ariella.

I put my phone back in my pocket when I saw the man I’d been waiting for exiting his house. He thinks he’s on his way to see Ariella.

Surprise, mother fucker.

Stepping out from behind the building, I plant myself directly in his path. The shock factor on his face is impressive. He looks around, considering his options.

“I wouldn’t run if I were you. I have an impressive shooting range.” I move my vest slightly so Alfonso can see the 9mm I brought with me.

“Fuck. I don’t want no more problems.” he surrenders.

“There won’t be any problems once you tell Ari you can no longer offer her services.”

I would personally find her someone else, even if I had to paint her nails my fucking self.

“She’s my bestselling-” I sigh and move the vest again, this time removing the gun from my waistband.

“Okay. Okay. I will tell her Alfonso can’t do business, no more.”

“Do it right now,” I say, crossing my arms.

Alfonso hesitates at first but then takes out his phone. He types out a message and shows me the departing text. I nod in approval.

“Good. I have some more questions for you,” I say.

“I don’t know anything about Ari. I know she talks a lot and has very nice feet.” Alfonso says through his thick Filipino accent.

“No. Not that. I want to know what you know about that house right there.” I point in the general direction, and he follows my finger.

“Information cost money.” he probes.

I pull out two hundred dollars from my wallet and hand it to him.

“Why do you need to know who lives in that house?” he asks, taking the money.

“I’m looking for someone who used to live there.”

“No one lives there. That’s where they hide people.”

“Hide who?”

“For $1,000, I’ll tell you.” he smiles. The guy was a natural-born hustler. I’ll give him that.

“$500 or nothing.” I bargain.

“Okay. But we have to go inside. It’s not safe to talk out here.”

I follow him to his house. Keeping a steady eye on him and holding my gun to the side. He looks around us again before opening his door.

“Listen, I don’t want problems with Barkada here.” He whispers.

“Barkada?”

“Barkada is like gang. Bad guys. Pew. Pew.” I watch as Alfonso turns his fingers into guns. “That house belongs to Kapre. His barkada owns these houses.”

“Kapre?” I ask.

It had been years since I heard that name. Kapre was one of the many stories my father would tell us about growing up. A pinoy folklore about a giant who sat in the trees smoking cigars.

“Kapre is the leader of the Santanas.”

“Santanas? Here in Houston?” I question.

Santanas were known to be the oldest Filipino American street gang, but as far as I knew, they only claimed territories throughout southern California.

“One of their founders, Benigo Dizon, expanded into Houston and started a triad here. When he died, Kapre, his oldest son, took over.”

The information doesn’t shock me. Several times, I thought my father had another family. It turns out we were the other family.

“Do you know the Dizon family?”

“No one knows them, but everyone knows of them,” he adds with dramatic effect.

“Then how do I find them?”

“You don’t want to look for them. It’s not safe, man.” He ridicules.

“I’ll take my chances.” He shakes his head and lets out a small chuckle.“It’s your funeral, man. You want to get ahold of them, then that house is your only option.”

He lights a cigarette and offers one to me.

“You’ll have to leave a message there for them. And maybe if the message is worth their time, they’ll look for you,” he instructs.

I had spent the majority of my life worried about the outcome of Tala’s life. This information doesn’t make me worry less, but it gives me hope that she reached my father. That he had resources to keep her safe.

When I return to the house, Ari is lying on the couch staring up at her fingernails while Master Chef reruns play on the TV. She drops her hand when she sees me, and I give her a nod. I take off my boots and head to my room to change. When I return, she’s waiting for me in the kitchen.

“I made you dinner. I mean, I made dinner and saved you a plate. If you don’t want it, that’s okay. Did you eat?” she gabbles.

She’s so fucking adorable when she gets nervous. Her eyes look everywhere but my naked chest.

“Thanks. I’m starving.” I give her a smug smile, then sit at the counter.

“You made this?” I ask looking down at the plate of adobo and rice she set in front of me.

“You said it was your favorite.” She smiles.

“Thank you, Maniká.” I grab her hand and kiss it gently, watching as she gushes over the act.

When you grow up with a woman who denies you the basic necessity of food, it does something to you when another woman offers you a meal.

I didn’t ask her for it, and I sure as hell didn’t expect her to do this. She just does these things. Things that make me feel like a person worthy of love. It was foreign to me after feeling like I was nothing my whole life.

“What’s wrong?” her brows furrow.

“Nothing. It was just a long day.”

She steps between my legs and wraps her arms around my neck. I’m caught off guard, but my body melts into hers. Hugging was not my thing, but Ariella belonged in my arms.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks, nuzzling her face into my neck.

“Not tonight,” I reply.

She pulls away and softens her face. Her hand runs over my beard and palms my face before she breaks the embrace.

“I’m gonna go wash my face, then we can watch a movie.”

I eat, then clean up the dishes while she starts her never-ending face-washing routine. When we settle on the couch, I stretch out and lay my head on her lap.

Guapo makes his space between us because, of course, the territorial fuck can’t let me have a moment alone with her. Worries from my day fade as she massages my head, her long nails scratching my scalp.

I love it when she runs her long fingernails through my hair. I spent years thinking that praising women made me feel better, but being treated like a King by Ariella Reyes was superior to that. She praised me in her own way.

Touch aversion has been a problem for me, thanks to my past. It was the reason I held back and avoided serious relationships.

Ariella’s touch, though, was all-consuming. My eyes flutter at the sensation of scratching my scalp, calming me to the point of sleep. The absence of her hand on me causes me to look up. Her face is serious, and her brows furrow as she dramatically repeats the lines from the movie.

“I am honored and grateful that you have invited me to your daughter’s wedding...”

The laugh that escapes me at her serious expression startles her. She doesn’t shy away like she used to. A flirtatious smile replaces her impression of Luca Brasi.

“The Godfather?” I question. I knew the movie well, but it was the last thing I expected Ariella to put on.

“My dad used to watch this all the time. It was the only movie I could relate to.”

“You really love your dad, huh, Princess?”

“Yeah.” She says, smiling to herself.

“I found out today that my dad had another family.”

Something about confiding in her was easy. I want to get the weight of it off my chest.

“How did that make you feel?” She asks with genuine concern.

“I shouldn’t fucking care, but maybe if he had been around more, my mother wouldn’t have hated me so much.” I close my eyes again. It’s silent for a moment before Ari responds.

“Maybe. But she doesn’t deserve any excuses. You deserved so much better.” I look up to find warmth in her eyes and all the truth in her words.

She cups my face while staring down at me.

“Family can be so destructive. I know my parents love me, but the world we live in is toxic. The loyalty and the expectation is too much.”

Ariella’s gaze is sympathetic. Her green eyes a forest I want to get lost in. As cynical as I was when it came to love, there was something in me that wanted all the love she had to give. She was the wife a healed version of me deserved.

Her stare goes blank. Her disassociated form takes root, and the problems peak on the horizon of her mind. I knew she wasn’t jealous of what she saw with Preston, but I could only imagine her outlook on the future.

“I can go with you after you’re married and get a job with the security team at the Cuevas mansion.” I offer. A note of desperation sounds in my voice before I can call the words back to me.

“Why would you do that?” She questions.

“Why not?”

“No. Nero, you don’t have to do that. You have the motorcycle club, and you’re going to find your sister.” she encourages me.

It’s not the words I want to hear, but she’s right. What the hell would I do? Follow her around forever? Be her dirty little secret?

And then what? That’s what I hated because the then what meant she’d either get tired of me or I’d put her into a very complicated position. One that risked her life.

Moments like this, where I felt like I could open up to her, made my heart go to war with my head. My heart was willing to avoid practicality and reason if it meant keeping her forever. My brain quickly reminds me that guys like me don’t get forever.

We roam through life on borrowed time. Forever wasn’t in the cards for us.