Chapter six
BEING NOSEY (MINDING BUSINESS THAT DON’T PAY YOU)
SABAN
It’s wild that getting what I thought I wanted is turning out to be the absolute opposite of what I hoped for.
Snake is a fucking maniac. The way he killed that guy without even blinking lets me know exactly what I have gotten myself into. Then he flips the script after they clean the mess he made in Angel’s office with an amount of professionalism the CIA would be jealous of.
The club was wiped of any evidence Marc had even been there. Later, he met with the Ghost Rider’s second in command in the very spot he killed his commander, letting him know of Marco’s egregious trespass, telling him he could accept the new normal or join his friend.
I guess Marco didn’t garner the type of loyalty Angel does because the guy took it well and even implied he was open to re-establishing business with el Diablo since they were no longer in the skin trade to which Snake gave a noncommittal “We’ll see.
” After which he snapped, “Saban, come,” like I was some errant child, pulling me behind him on his chopper, making me leave my bike in Ellie’s care.
I didn’t even get it back until today — nearly a week later.
As far as our so-called relationship goes, I don’t know what to make of it.
Every time I step to him, he finds a reason not to touch me or take it farther than chaste kisses. It wasn’t until I noticed him eyeing the bruise I got struggling to get away from Marco that I realized the mark bothered him.
He’s acting like I’m some type of fragile flower. Unable to take it anymore, I confronted him about it when he brought my bike back strapped to the back of his truck a little while ago.
“I’m not broken, Hadrián. Didn’t even realize there was a bruise until the next day.” Shrugging, I tapped my foot, irritation bleeding off me in waves.
“I know that. You better believe I know it.” Cutting me a wrathful look, he continues wiping the bike down. Slapping the rag against his thigh. Then storms past me into the house.
“Now, you are acting like all this is my fault.” Coming after him, I square off, stepping wide, planting my hands on my hips. This is a fight we need to have. We always have one after an incident.
“I never said that,” he scoffs, opening the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water, signaling me to leave him the hell alone if his body language is any indication.
“Seems like you’re mad you put Marco down. Mind you, I never asked you to do that.” Crossing my arms over my chest, I watch him slowly turn towards me. We never talk about any of the incidents that have occurred, not even the first one.
“He sealed his fate when touched you.” Taking a long swig of the water, he eyes me before putting the water down with a snap on the counter.
“Because I’m yours now?” My body feels so rigid as I ask the question. It’s like we have this thing hanging over us. Like we are both waiting for a teetering Jenga tower to fall, but no one has the courage to knock it over and just start over.
“You’ve been mine, little torment.” I could have died right then, and the world wouldn’t owe me a dang thing. Still not good enough though, because why all the rigmarole?
“You have a funny way of showing it.” Rolling my eyes, I meet his sharp gaze with a challenge.
“The fuck you mean?” Mouth pulling back into a snarl, he steps into my space, dipping low. He cants his head to meet my eyes.
“How many, Snake?” Not looking away but meeting him head-on.
“How many what?” His voice is so awful, so cruel like even having to speak or acknowledge me is annoying.
“How many men have you killed because they tried to claim me?”
“Lost count.” He pulls himself to his full height, his eyes slitted into the creature he’s come to be named for. La serpiente has fully emerged.
“And all this time you tried to act like we meant nothing — like I was nothing to you.” My throat tightens at the accusation.
His tread is heavy, his gaze is hard as he moves to corner me at the counter. “The fuck you say?”
“You acted like I was nothing to you.” Tipping my chin up, I meet his fierce gaze.
Hard hands cup me so gently my eyes nearly tear as I meet the dark hazelnut of his.
The coarse pads of his work-worn fingers brush my cheeks. “You are everything, Saban.” Stepping closer still, his mouth covers mine in a soft brushing caress. “My everything.”
So much promise in his eyes. Cherished has no meaning because what his eyes hold is so much more than that.
He takes the kiss deeper. His mouth consumes me. I drink him up. Lapping, tasting, taking everything he wants to give me. Elation barrels through me. I’m like a tumbleweed dancing along the prairie with no direction, no will of my own as he devours my mouth.
Not even breaking the kiss, he lifts me onto the counter so our bodies align.
Every inch of me connects me with him. His body is so warm.
The hot Alabama sun and detailing his chopper did the work.
Our bodies hum, and we lock into each other like we were always meant to be.
Looping my arm around his thick, corded shoulders, drawing him closer, I sink into the man I always knew was meant to be mine.
“My little torment,” he groans, dragging his dick against the softest parts of me.
“Snake,” I moan, straining to get closer. He could ask me anything in that moment, and I’d do it.
I feel the instant of the vibration of his phone moments before he pulls away, his mouth pulling into a hard line when he glances down.
“Wassup?” Holding up his finger for silence, he moves to the door going outside.
I jump down in a huff, disappointment at the interruption slicing through me.
Refilling his water, I place his bottle back in the fridge.
His expression is troubled when he dips his head back into the door. “I have to take care of some business with Angel. Don’t wait up.”
Nodding, I look on as he leaves without a backwards glance. The cold reality of life may well have doused me with the water I just poured.
The legitimate enterprises of the Cruz Construction, of which Hadrián is the COO of has long hours, but cartel and MC hours run longer, and I know without a doubt this is what his leaving now means.
I grew up in this world and nothing about it surprises me, so what compels me to look up his location well past midnight is a mystery. I chalk it up to the newness of what’s happening between us.
The dot pings in the middle of nowhere just like the night Easy, and I were taken. My tummy drops. Angel was stabbed that night. What if something happened again?
In minutes I’ve pulled on my Henley and jeans, tucked my locs back into a low ponytail and peels out of our driveway following the signal of his location.
Pitch black, sinister and bad vibes hammer down my spine when I arrive at the destination where Snake’s geolocation leads me.
I walk my bike the last little-bit once I know I’m close enough to the location.
Leaving it behind a thicket, I creep forward. I see a figure crouched badly in brushes not nearly high enough to obscure her from anyone daring to look this way. She’s trying to hide but not doing a particularly good job of it. Then I see her face.
“What the hell are you doing out here?” I ask, eyeing Kandie, the town resident cut-up, tipsy baker and gossip queen. She jerks her head in my direction. Her curls are piled in the back in a slapped-together messy bun.
Her eyes go wide like I’ve surprised her.
Our hair is the only difference. She’s dressed the same as I — in all black.
Well, one more difference is the black camouflage I used on my skin to deflect the moonlight — something Snake taught me on the trek to the US, to help us blend into the darkness when the patrols were out.
“Same as you, obviously,” she says, looking back at the warehouse, still not telling me what brought her here, or rather, who.
“You know what they’re doing out here?” She asks, worry etched on her face.
Pressing my lips with disdain, I give her the answer she deserves. “If I did, I wouldn’t be here, merdé.”
She quirks her brow at me as if to say, I don’t know what that French word is, but it sounds like a lot of sass.
“Watch your mouth, lil’ girl.” Pulling her flask out, she takes a swig, handing it to me before pulling it back.
“You twenty-one yet?” she asks, snatching it back to her chest like it’s too precious to be wasted on someone too young to appreciate it before dangling it in front of me.
“I don’t know.” Shrugging, I take it from her loose grip, taking the pink bedazzled bottle to the head like a veteran, but my nerves are shot, and I need something to settle them.
I can’t remember the exact year of my birthday or the day, really.
The therapist Snake paid for out-of-pocket says it was a way to distance myself from the trauma, though I know I was nine or about to be when he rescued me.
“I can get us closer.” Motioning for her to follow me, I sneak between the thick shrubs leading into the woods.
By the time we take twenty minutes of a circuitous route to offset Kandie’s stomping, Snake, Padre, Rocco, Angel and Ulysses Shelby, the county sheriff everyone knows Kandie is secretly seeing, are gone.
“We can go in now,” I mutter, seeing that the spot where the truck and the bikes were is empty.
The chill of the night is eating through my clothes. I shiver, but it’s not only from the temperature.
Not even from this vantage point can we see inside the warehouse. That does nothing to ease the piercing dread spreading over me. I hear voices. They are muffled. People are in there. Probably kids as well. When he all but promised he’d never deal in kids after what I went through.
“Come on.” Making quick work of the lock, I pull a black knit cap over my head.
“Here. I always keep an extra.” Handing her the twin, I wait until she pulls on the cap, tucking her thick curls inside.
We pull our hoodies up to cover the rest of our hair and head in.
The moment I walk into the warehouse, my entire universe caves in.