Guarded (Calavera Hotels #3)

30. Nero

Chapter 30

Nero

G od. Don’t. Stop.

My three new favorite words. Preferably when Ariella Jolene Reyes was screaming them at the top of her lungs while I eat pussy for breakfast on the kitchen counter.

That was this morning, en el día de su santo. Right before that bastard, Preston sent a fucking mariachi band for her birthday to sing Las Mananitas to her in the hotel lobby. Accompanied by photographers, of course.

Pretty boy Preston was the reason I was in a piss-sour mood. He was also the reason I spent all week fucking Ariella every and which way I could. When I found out our “services” were not needed the night of Ariella’s birthday, my feelings of resentment resurfaced.

I hated that fucking feeling.

Just the fucking thought of her celebrating with Preston while I was here on a gun run made my blood boil.

I hate it when I don’t have control over my own feelings. Shit, I thought I wasn’t capable of feelings until her. For a brief moment, I thought a taste of her would satiate me. That it would be enough, and you know what I found out instead? It’s never enough. Not with her.

Years of discipline and restraint went down the fucking drain. She was all I thought about every second of every day. Her very pink presence was suffocating me. The color was embedded into my mind. Images of her pink nipples, her cheeks when she blushed, and her fingernails grazing over the scars on my chest.

Even the ride over here was torture. A faint pink line painted the sky before me as the sun leaned down to kiss the earth. She was in everything beautiful. Fuck- am I writing poetry for this woman now?

I let out a dramatic sigh before scavenging through my saddle bag for a pack of cigarettes.

“I don’t know about this place,” Jasper says, looking around the empty forest.

I shrug. Jasper lives in a constant state of paranoia about everything. It’d be one thing if his gut intuition told him something, and it got us out of trouble, but that wasn’t the case. Ever.

I took his gut feelings for lactose intolerance and stopped trusting it years ago.

“Hey Nero, you got any more of those tuna sandwiches?” Louie asks.

“No.” I lie and watch the frown fall on Louie’s face.

I don’t like him eating Ariella’s food. That was for me, and since she found out I was giving them out, she would make extra and write pink little hearts with Louie and Jasper’s names on the baggies.

Fuck that.

I’ll eat them all or share them with Guapo. We were the only men she was allowed to feed.

“You know Hueso is talking, man,” Jasper says, breaking the silence. I shrug again.

Hueso is always talking. He’s a retired veteran who has nothing better to do than tell war stories and complain about the younger generations.

“Do you even care about what happens to the club?” Jasper fumes.

“What did Hueso say?” Louie asks.

Jasper continues staring at me while I smoke my cigarette and eat my sandwich. A minute passes by before he turns to answer Louie.

“We’re going to have to fill those seats.”

Those seats. The seats he’s talking about are the positions that belonged to Leatherface and Ghost. Ghost had moved on, resurrecting himself as Silas Macias, the real estate mogul, notorious kingpin, and family man.

The club’s rule was that if a president was unable to perform his duties, the position would be passed to the Vice President, which we did not have. I wanted the vice president position, but I didn’t want all the hassle that came with the title of President.

“Take the spot, Jasper. I told you countless times I don’t give a fuck.” I finish off the last of my cigarette and stomp it out, watching the headlights in the distance moving in on us. I pull my pistol and aim it at the car.

“Damn, who pissed in your cheerios, homie?” Louie says.

“He’s mad he didn’t get invited to Ariella’s birthday,” Jasper says with a smug smile.

One I’m eager to wipe off his face.

“Damn, Barbie did us dirty,” Louie says, drawing out the word with fake offense.

I give him a dirty look, but before I can explain to him that there is no fucking us and Ari, just me and Ari, the Russians pull up.

We load the van and move to the border tunnels where Silas awaits us. Next to him a familiar fucking face with a lopsided smirk. Efren.

I hadn’t seen the fucker since he and Ariella were dancing at Vicente Consuelo’s party.

“This is Efren,” Silas says, introducing us.

Louie and Jasper exchange greetings, but I don’t say shit. Disrespect was loud, and I wanted this motherfucker to hear me.

“I’m thinking of having him replace Louie as the new prospect,” Silas explains.

“Where am I going?” Louie asks, and I shake my head. Jasper follows suit before explaining the patching ceremony.

“You’re getting patched in pendejo. We recruit new prospects the same day.” Jasper laughs, hitting Louie upside the head.

There’s no way in hell I’d let Efren join us, but Jasper makes the mistake of saying we’ll vote it in. Not a fucking chance.

“We’re not voting for shit. And if we do, I’ll be running for President and overturn it.” I say, dropping the last rifle down to the men in the tunnel.

Silas follows me to my bike.

“Is there a problem here?” Silas says, looking back at Efren.

I throw my leg over my bike and start the engine.

“Nope.” Not yet.

“You know, when I left the party, Ariella was toasted,” he says.

“Why the fuck are you telling me that?” I say faking uninterest.

“Because I’m showing you how fucking easy it is to let a brother know what’s going on.” I turn to face the cocky asshole.

“The next time you see my wife visiting Leatherface, I want you to call me.” He points his thumb aggressively into his chest.

I get the message. When he’s sure I’ve gotten it, he proves the agreement is valid.

“Thalia took her to the penthouse. I told her you’d be there as soon as we’re done.”

Toasty was not the right word. When I get to the penthouse, Ariella is past the point of tipsy. Loud corridos sound in the background, and she’s dancing in the kitchen with a large cardboard cutout of Pedro Pascual. I hate that fucker.

“She’s all yours,” Thalia says, grabbing her bag.

“No, Thali- wait. Let’s have a sleepover. Like when we were little.” Ari begs.

“I can’t,” Thalia says, laughing as she stumbles to the door.

Ari grabs the bottle of Don Julio from the counter and chugs the last drop.

“Wait! We forgot to make a TikTok,” Ari shouts from the kitchen.

“Make one with Nero.” Thalia hollers back. I shake my head. That won’t be happening.

“Silas is waiting for you downstairs,” I murmur in an attempt to hurry her along.

“Good, he can wait some more.” Thalia finishes lacing up her heels and walks back to the kitchen to hug Ariella.

“Good luck with that.” She laughs while walking past me.

“Bye, Flaca!” She screams before opening the door.

“Bye. Love you!” Ari yells back.

“Love you too bitch!”

The door slams and Guapo comes running out.

“Ohh, my little baby,” Ari says, dropping to the floor and rubbing her face into Guapos.

She peppers him with kisses, and he licks them up. When she looks up at me, her eyes fill with excitement.

“Nero!” she squeals.

Leaping into my arms, she wraps her legs around my waist. I catch her. Bring her into me and holding her there tightly.

“Nero, look, I can cross it off my list. I met Pedro Pascual.” She laughs, pulling away from me and pointing at the cutout.

Is it weird that I hate a piece of cardboard? I know millions of men who would help me kill this dude. I don’t say that to Ari, though.

“That’s good, Princess. How was your night?” I move in and kiss her forehead.

“It was horrible.” She sighs.

Guapo comes running out of the back room with her thong in his mouth. Homie had a habit of eating through her chonies. I can’t say I blame him.

“Guapo!” she yells.

I set her on the counter and move to Guapo.

“Guapo, vente,” I command. “Drop it.”

He growls and shakes his head before surrendering the pink-laced thong at my feet.

My favorite, too.

“Good Boy,” I say, scratching him behind the ear. He runs back to the room, and I turn to find Ari staring at me emotionally.

“How’d you get him to do that?” she asks.

“We respect each other,” I say, shrugging it off.

“Thank you for being nice to my dog.”

“It’s no big deal.”

“He doesn’t repulse you?” she asks, suddenly becoming emotional in her drunken state.

“Not at all. When I was little, I had a dog like him. His name was Charlie.”

“What happened to him?” she asks.

“My mom killed him.”

I realize then and there that I could have said anything but the truth. Ariella starts crying maniacally. Fuck. I move to pull her off the counter and back into my arms.

“Hey. Ya. Why are you so upset? What’s really going on, Ari?” I ask. She’s drunk, and I can’t help but notice how overly emotional she’s got since Guapo showed up.

“I can’t take Guapo with me when I get married. God, I’m getting married. He wore a sweater. A wool sweater in ninety-degree weather.” She sobs while rambling on about Preston and his mother.

“Hey. No llores.” I wipe her tears, kissing each new one that falls. “Guapo can come with me.”

She looks up, her sad eyes searching mine.

“You’d do that for me?”

“I would do anything for you.”

“Except be with me?” she

I dodge the question because how do I tell her she deserves better when I know Preston wasn’t better? There’s so much happening around me with Leatherface, the club, and trying to locate Tala. I can’t pull her into all of that.

“Here, I want you to have this.” I untuck the rosary beads from my shirt and drape them over her.

“You’re giving me your rosary beads?”

“Ya. They’ve always had a way of keeping me safe.” I reply.

“Thank you.” She smiles, taking in the rosary. The tense emotions drift as quickly as the song changes in the background.

“Dance with me.” She says, falling into me. The smell of Don Julio on her lips. I push her up and move a tendril of hair out of her face.

“Can you dance?” she asks again.

She lowers herself unsteadily to the kitchen floor. No was the simple answer because I didn’t dance. But for her, I’d do it.

“Dance with me,” she repeats, her voice low as she wraps her arms around me. I sway to the music playing in the background, convincing myself I am doing it for her.

Deep down, though, I knew it was for me. She wants love, and I can’t give it to her, but that doesn’t stop my possessive need to own her. I’ll take advantage of every little moment when she feels like mine because there will be a day when she doesn’t. Just a rare occurrence, like a shooting star passing by.