Chapter Four #2
“Aww, ain’t this sweet,” Rudy croons, coming over after he overhears me. “Too bad that ain’t happening, sweet butt.” Dirty nails dig into my cheeks as he makes me look at his hideous face. “They’ll never find your bodies once we’re done.” A greasy laugh erupts from him.
“Now, who’s after me ‘cause as your new el presidente, I’m screwing first. Angel’s so-called ol’ lady is first. Wet’em up.”
The words barely register before one guy pries my mouth open, pouring whiskey down my throat, then shakes the bottle over me, leaving me no choice but to swallow or gag. My eyes are still stinging when the entire place erupts, as more riders pour in.
I make out Angel cutting his way through men like the àngel de la muerta, he’s named for.
Snake appears out of nowhere, slicing the guy who’s dousing me with whiskey, throat so deep his head looks as though it’s barely hanging on when he falls limp to the concrete floor, his blood pooling under him so dark it’s almost black.
He turns to me, his eyes skating over me for all of a second before he’s cutting us down. He wraps one arm around me, pulling me tight against his hard frame, keeping me from collapsing to the cold concrete, turning to Easy, cutting her down in time for Angel to catch her in his arms.
Madness ensues as a full-on melee breaks out. “Get them out,” Angel tells Snake, who sweeps me up in a bridal hold as the alcohol hits my system like gasoline on a fire.
The ride back to the clubhouse has me trying to cling onto consciousness. The entire ride is silent as Padre maneuvers the truck over the back roads leading to the compound. Easy and I cling to each other beneath the blanket. Snake’s draped over us.
The ride seems quick and endless at the same time.
The cool air of the night is a sharp, stinging thing when the door swings open, snapping me out of whatever stupor I’d drifted into.
The clubhouse is lit-up when we arrive. Cringing, I shake my head when Snake comes around to my side.
“I’m not going in there.” Looking wildly at him, I pull back into the seat, refusing to budge. I know everyone probably knows what’s going on, and to think that half of them probably are happy it did is too much for me to endure. Not all of Rudy’s crew was present. This may not be over.
“I got Easy. Take Saban home,” Padre tells Snake, scooping a groggy Easy up, leaving us at the truck.
Shutting me in, Snake takes the driver’s seat, peeling off toward our house.
“C’mon.” I wake-up to him pulling me back into his arms. He takes the step up to the little cottage we share in one leap. The door is already open. He must have done that before coming back to get me.
Not stopping, he takes me straight through the house into my bathroom.
“Can you sit? You were slumped over the whole time here. Did they shoot y’all up with anything or is it just liquor?
” His inquiry floats around me like air bubbles as he eases me into a rose gold slipper chair he bought for me after seeing it at an estate sale when I was twelve and wanted to be surrounded by girly things.
Turning on the water, his gaze lasers on me. I’m hyperaware of my nakedness, but he seems unfazed and completely unmoved by it.
“Juss likka.” My words slur, letting me know just how much I’ve unintentionally imbibed. My whole body shivers from what my brain can’t shake.
“Don’t worry. We killed them all,” he assures me. “Let me help you.”
I probably could walk, but he doesn’t give me the chance to even stand. Pulling me into his arms and then settling me in the clawfoot tub he installed when I was sixteen, and told him I wanted not just showers but baths now that I was older.
The scent of vanilla-rose wafts around me as he nestles me among the suds. “Let me help you get this shit out of your hair.” He’s already lathering his hands with my shampoo.
Firm fingers spear into my hair, gently massaging the cleanser through my locs from scalp to end.
Closing my eyes, I relax into the sensation of his hands in my hair. It feels so lovely as he takes his time washing my hair. After rinsing, he washes my locs again and then moves on to the conditioner. When he’d done, he rinses my hair, making me sit while he runs fresh water.
The sumptuous warmth of the water laps at me. I grab my net sponge, feeling a little more like myself now that I’ve washed the various liquors from my body.
“You good?” His tone holds an edge.
“Yeah.” My voice sounds small and dejected in my own ears as I hear him walking away.
His phone rings. “I need to take this.” I hear him say, disappearing into the shadows of the house.
Seconds later I hear him having a conversation with Angel or maybe one of the other head guys.
“Angel and Easy are at Dr. Everything’s getting him patched up.” His voice is rawer than before. His eyes look haunted. He stands out of my line of sight, giving me privacy now that my faculties are back.
“Is he going to be okay? Is Ezekiel-Jane okay?” I ask, remembering how out of it she seemed.
“Yeah, Padre used some smelling salts to bring her around, and Angel’s too much of a mean motherfucker to allow anything so pedestrian as a stabbing to bring him down.
He may be out of commission for a minute.
” I know what it means before he even says anything more.
He’s going to be gone handling club business.
I nod, making myself focus on the task of getting myself clean.
Once I’m done with my bath, I take care of my skin and face routine. My cami and pants are already laid on my bed. I try to ignore what that does to my heart, and I slip on the soft material, reveling in the thick fluffiness of the pajama pants and the frilly top.
Padding into the living room, I see he’s placed two mugs of cocoa on the table in front of the sofa.
“My favorite.” I manage a smile, drinking him in. We haven’t done this since I stopped homeschooling. I never went to formal school. We didn’t need the questions that would arrive with a Haitian little girl living with a nearly twenty-year-old Colombian man who wasn’t related to her.
We always ended the evening with cocoa — until we didn’t. Pushing down how much that hurt, I pad over to the sofa, sitting opposite him in the farthest corner of the couch.
It’s loaded with marshmallows topped with whipped cream, just the way I love.
“Good?” I look up into his trouble eyes.
“Umhm,” I practically moan, taking a deep sip of my comfort drink.
“Saban —” he stops when I look up.
“Here, let me get that.” Reaching out, he swipes my foam-stache with his thumb.
Innocent enough just as him licking the sweetness from his thumb like he’s done a thousand times before.
That doesn’t stop my stare or the squeeze of my sugarcake watching the way his tongue swipes over his thumb.
Nor does it stop the memory of him kissing me the first night Easy showed up from crashing into my brain like a train.
“Ahem,” he says. I don’t miss the way he rubs his thumb before tucking it into a fist. “Angel said before he took care of Rudy — the motherfucker said he—” cut off swearing viciously, “fuck.” He shoots up from the sofa, stepping away to pace back and forth.
His muscles ripple as he swipes his hand over his close-cropped hair. I frown, scrambling to figure out in my still slightly inebriated state what has him so upset. They beat them, killed Rudy. Then it dawns on me.
“Do you need to? I can take you over to Dr. Mimi’s if you need her to take care of anything for you.” His face is flushed. Pain etched like a scar across his countenance. His eyes plead, but it’s like he’s lost.
“No.” Abandoning my cocoa, I say clearly, standing in front of him to stop his pacing.
He cups my face, searching for the truth he thinks I’m trying to keep from him.
“Did he hurt you, penquena amenaza?” Covering his tense hands, I shake my head.
“No, no.” I close my eyes when he presses a kiss to my forehead, loving the way he calls me his little menace. “At least not like that. My knees are scraped, and Imma have bruises for days.”
“If I could dig him up and kill him again, I would.” He promises pulling me into the deep well of his embrace.
“I’m so sorry this happened to you.” The words are rough, and he whispers them into my hair.
“It’s not on you. The only people at fault are the ones who tried it, and we see where that got them.” Speaking into his broad chest, I take comfort in his arms.
“There is still more reckoning to come. I still have more work to put in. It’s not that I don’t want you around.” He pulls back so I can see the truth of his words.
“I’m not wiling to risk you. The way I went about it is fucked up, but for the most part the threat from the crew is gone. We still have to solidify Angel’s claim and dismantle Rudy’s network. That’s gonna take time, but once it’s done —” he pauses, and I can see the battle raging within him.
All of a sudden, I realize there is more at stake than Angel’s control of el Diablo’s cartel arm. No, Snake is talking about us. Has he really thought about it — about us? Is he even now struggling?
Do I want to be a problem he has to solve? Why does it have to be so hard for him?
“Once it’s done, then what?” I step away from the warmth of his arms, shaking my head. “You can finally let yourself feel something for me other than irritation? Annoyance?” Sniffing back tears, I hate myself for even asking, and I hate him too.
“It’s not like that. Fuck.” He casts a look of those exact emotions my way.
“And what happens until you finally decide to come off your high horse, Primo?” I sneer at his second-in-command moniker. “You get to fuck Bianca, the twin-cousins and whoever else and throw them in my face as a constant reminder of how I can’t satisfy you?”
My nose burning from the hurt and fury eating at me, my eyes welling with tears I refuse to shed. I may be tipsy, but I’ve never been dumb.
“You’re just using them when I’m what you really want.” My words are soft, but my eyes are hard as I cast him a hateful look before grabbing my cocoa and then disappearing into my room, praying I don’t ruin my dramatic ass exit by having a night-terror.