Ridin’ True (Wild Stallions MC #2)

Chapter One

Alexia

It was early Sunday afternoon, and we were just getting back from mass. Admittedly, I wasn’t the most faithful Catholic. I didn’t go to church every Sunday, but I went when I had the extra time. I knew it made mami happy when I did, and there was something kind of comforting about the ritual of the whole thing. It was reliably unchanging.

Reliability wasn’t something I had a lot of in my life.

At least, not the good kind.

I pulled into the familiar driveway behind mami’s mini-van. She and my younger sister, Isabella, got out and started for the house. My niece and I, who opted to ride home with me because I was the cool auntie who blasted the music of her choice on our drive, hadn’t even bothered to unbuckle our seatbelts.

We were too busy singing along with Taylor Swift at the top of our lungs.

Giselle was six; and even though her mom had told her dad they were never getting back together, she sang the song with way more heart than I knew she truly understood. Even I, at thirty-three, didn’t fully understand the perils of trying to make an unworkable relationship work before giving up—but it didn’t matter.

Ellie, Taylor and I were in the middle of our own epic Toyota Corolla concert.

The song was about to come to an end when we were interrupted by knuckles rapping against my window.

“The whole neighborhood can hear that, you know!” cried Bella. “You’ll make her hard of hearing before she’s ten.”

I rolled the window down, lowering the volume as it went. “I’m sorry, was that loud?”

Bella rolled her eyes, and I turned to wink at Ellie who giggled from the backseat.

Her long, dark hair was pulled up into pigtails, little bows clasped around each one. Her chocolate eyes and full lashes were her father’s, but the rest of her was all Isabella. I was convinced, there was not another six-year-old on the planet as adorable as my niece.

“Come on you two. I’m starving.”

Ellie and I got out, Ellie racing around the front of my car to join her mother while I made my way to the trunk to gather my bag of dirty clothes.

I chipped in enough that it wasn’t a burden on anyone for me to spend Sunday afternoons doing laundry at the house—but attending mass and sticking around for lunch ensured mami didn’t give me grief for only stopping by because I was out of clean clothes.

It was the last weekend in May, and the end of a long dry-spell of months with no federal holidays. Memorial Day meant I wouldn’t have to be in the office the next day. Any work I needed to catch up on before the week began could wait until tomorrow, so I intended to move slowly and enjoy my family for the afternoon.

Isabella and Giselle lived with mami in the house where we grew up. It was a moderate, single level, three-bedroom home that had seen its fair share of change. Bella never really left. When she was off and on with Felix, she lived with him occasionally—but after Giselle was born, home was the safest place for the both of them.

“Change out of your dress, mama, then wash up and help abuela set the table. And if I find that dress on the floor, you’ll be in trouble.”

“Okay, mommy,” Ellie replied, shutting herself in the first room off the open living space.

Her room used to be Alejandro’s. Isabella’s before that—back when Alejandro and I shared a bedroom. That lasted until we hit puberty and I begged mami to move Bella in with me. Much as I’d wanted my own room, I knew that wasn’t an option. When given the choice between my smelly twin or my baby sister, I knew it would be better for all of us to give Alejo his own space.

“Alexia, once you get a load started, help me with the rice, would you?”

“Yes, mami.” I made my way through the kitchen toward the laundry room off the back of the house, and it didn’t take me long to sort my first batch into the wash.

I started the machine and frowned at the questionable noise it made as it kicked on. It only lasted a second, but it was still cause for concern. I knew the machine was getting old, and it was bound to need replacing sooner than later. Moreover, I knew I would be the one replacing it if it gave out—not simply because I made use of it every week or so and would be stuck going to the laundromat without it, but because I was the only one who used it and could also afford to replace it.

Except, the money in my savings was still recovering from the last family emergency that put a dent in it. I really didn’t want to buy a new washing machine.

I said a silent prayer that it wouldn’t die and then went to help with the rice.

I was grabbing the cutting board for the jalapenos, onions, and cilantro when Bella joined us, dressed down in cut-off shorts and a tank top. She kept her hair cropped in what she liked to call her mom-cut , her wavy locks trimmed right at her shoulders. She was a little shorter than me, at five-four; and while she might have had the hips of a woman who’d given birth, she was otherwise petit.

After all Ellie's years, she still griped about the loss of her milk-rack.

We Torres women were destined for B-cups.

“You work tonight?” I asked.

Bella had been a waitress at Wyoming’s Rib and Chophouse for the last five years. Occasionally she’d get scheduled over lunch, but she mostly went in for the dinner shift. It worked out, since mami usually got home from her job—cleaning houses—right about the time Bella had to leave for the restaurant. This meant they didn’t have to pay for childcare.

“Nope. It’s your lucky day,” she said with a cheeky grin.

I laughed and started chopping.

“Abuela, I’m here to set the table,” announced Ellie as she joined us. “Can we put some music on?”

“Sure, bonita.” Mami paused and glanced at me from over her shoulder. I didn’t have to look to know her gaze was on me when she said, “Just not so loud as auntie, no?”

Ellie smiled, shifting her eyes up to meet mine, and I winked.

“Mommy?”

“Yeah, I’m on it,” said Bella, pulling out her phone.

She connected to the little Bluetooth speaker they kept on the counter in the corner, and soon the room was filled with the sounds of instrumental guitar—mami’s favorite. I pushed my hips back and tapped the side of hers with the side of mine. While she didn’t look away from her task, I heard her soft laughter and smiled.

Afternoons like this were my favorite. Three generations of Torres women in the kitchen, doing what we loved—making food and sharing it. It was peaceful and delicious.

Peace was a treasured commodity in our house.

Twenty minutes later, we were about ready to sit down at the table when we heard the front door open and slam shut. Bella and I locked eyes instantly, both of us bracing for the arrival of the only person it could have been.

“Mami!” he called as he strode into the room.

“Hey, baby. Your timing is perfect.”

I straightened as I turned to face my brother and caught him kissing mami on the cheek.

He really was a true Casanova. Handsome and suave by nature.

While Isabella had gotten dad’s darker almost black hued hair, Alejandro and I had mami’s rich, deep brown. I lightened mine with caramel balayage, mami’s was going gray at her temples, but Alejo’s—trimmed short on the sides and longer on top—was untouched, matching the stubble he let grow on his face. We also both had mami’s pale brown eyes.

When Alejo smiled at me with his, I knew I was looking at the other half of me—sober and in good spirits.

I smiled back.

“Hey, you,” I murmured.

“Hey, you,” he spoke in return.

“ Hermano , I’m starving, you’re too skinny, come sit. Let’s eat!” demanded Bella.

She was right. He was slimming down, something I’d noticed over the last six months, since he got out of jail. He’d been incarcerated for ninety days, and sometimes it felt like we were still getting over the trauma the whole affair had on our family. There was no lawyer who could have done better than I did to get him that lenient deal. He had drugs on his person, and the body cam footage from the cops who arrested him was all the proof anyone needed to believe he’d been as high as a kite. Lucky for all of us, he was carrying less than a gram. None of us could have handled him behind bars for any longer than his time served.

In a way, the Torres women were a little relieved he’d been forced to go somewhere to get clean. It wasn’t exactly rehab, but he came out sober and a good twenty pounds heavier than when he’d gone in. He was never a big guy to begin with. At five-ten, he was lean with muscle and short on fat; but when he wasn’t eating enough, he started to look sickly. His recent weight loss was something to keep an eye on. It meant he was using. How much was unknown, but that afternoon he was sober and hungry, and we’d take that.

His smile, his clear eyes and easy demeanor—I craved it, like my twin healthy and happy was my drug of choice.

Alejo stayed for an hour, helping with dishes after we were finished eating. When he left, he told us he had to get to work. He’d obviously been by mostly to fill his stomach. Who knew what was in his fridge, if anything. We accepted this as our current reality as a family.

“He looked okay,” said Bella, her hip leaned against the dryer as I moved my damp clothes from one machine to the other. “Felix says he’s been contributing to some of the bills. That must mean his job is legit, right?”

We all liked to believe Alejandro was telling the truth about work. As a convicted felon, it took him a little while to find something. For the last four months, he’d been driving for GrubHub. Except, he’d proven himself to be a liar, so we couldn’t know for sure. It sucked to second guess everything that came out of his mouth, but we’d all been burned more than once.

“I hope so.” I closed the door to the dryer but paused before I tossed any more clothes into the wash. “You’ve been talking to Felix?”

Bella shrugged. “He was checking in on his little girl. With school out, his schedule is changing. He wanted to try to take her to lunch or something this week. I mean, we’ll see if he follows through.”

It was at my insistence that Alejo wasn’t sleeping on mami’s couch. Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately—it wasn’t always easy to tell—he had Felix as his fallback option.

It was hard drawing boundaries, and I hated that I had to be the strong one to do it. I hated even more that I was in a financial position where I could back-up my stance with a threat that came with dollar signs; but life with an addict was messy, and we had Ellie to think about.

“Well, here’s hoping they’re both making a real effort,” I told her.

I stayed until the sun started to set and left with hugs, kisses, and a basket full of clean laundry. My drive home was a short ten minutes, but it was more than enough time to get lost in my thoughts.

I lived alone, in a one-bedroom apartment, too small for washer/drier hookups, on the northwest side of town. I worked incredibly hard to make a good living, and I wanted more for myself, but the goal post seemed to be constantly on the move. If I wasn’t dealing with one setback it was another. I still had plenty of things I wanted to accomplish, but family came first, and mine had been in a state of constant struggle for more than twenty years.

Dad had left a big gaping hole in all of our lives.

I wasn’t sure how Alejo and I turned out so different. A psychologist would likely say it had something to do with how we each responded to our dad’s imprisonment. We were fourteen and Isabella was ten when Samuel Torres was sentenced to thirty years for armed robbery. It was a shock to the system, to put it mildly.

Alejo acted out, and I decided on a career path.

No one believed me, but my dad’s stupid life choices were not the reason why I studied to become an attorney. I wanted to be a lawyer because it seemed like a challenge I could take on and win. I was smart—book smart. There were so many battles in life I had lost, and I was stubborn and determined enough to chase this particular win.

And I was right.

It was hard to get to where I was. I worked tirelessly and sacrificed a lot, but I did it. I earned scholarships that got me through my undergrad, and I put myself through law school with a manageable amount of student loan debt I planned to have paid off by the time I was thirty-five. One of us had to step up in dad’s absence, and Alejo had proven time and time again he wasn’t going to do it.

Mom did her best, but dad left her in such a crappy situation.

I had advantages she didn’t. Advantages she gave me.

It was my responsibility to pay her back by standing in the gap.

As I let myself into my apartment, I dropped the laundry basket on the floor in my living room, discarded my purse on the coffee table, then stretched out along the couch. If I thought about it too hard, how far I’d come—how far I still had to go—it was like flirting with an overwhelming amount of loneliness.

In so many ways, in spite of my family, I felt like I was deserted on an island all the time.

Not just in my apartment.

That part I liked.

That part I needed.

My independence.

But even though I had lofty career goals, goals that would help me establish the life I longed for, I knew my job wasn’t everything. I knew I wanted more. At the very least, it would have been nice to come home to someone who was waiting for me. I didn’t have that because I didn’t prioritize it.

Family was everything. I knew it, and I refused to resent mine for being so needy . I wanted to be better than that. I wanted to love them and be a constant for them. But I also wanted someone to be my constant. My rock. My safety net.

I closed my eyes and let out a deep breath.

I was only thirty-three. I had time.

With a groan, I got up and went looking for my laptop.

There was only one way I knew how to escape the black hole of my thoughts.

It was going to be a busy, short week at the office.

A bit of work now would get me a head start.