Chapter 16
Efren
PRESENT
“Morning,” I say, entering the kitchen.
“Morning.” Alma mumbles as she reaches to grab a mug from the cabinet.
Piles of curls fall from her ponytail. Her plaid sleep shorts ride up her thighs, and I want to sink my teeth into her bronze skin. I reach over her and grab myself a cup, my body brushing against her as the smell of her consumes me.
That’s all it takes. My dick is rock hard. Alma turns her face, slightly flushed, as she moves past me to the fridge.
“Did you want some coffee?” she offers, pouring horchata into her mug.
This kindness is either her accepting last night as a truce or she’s put rat poison in the coffee. Something she’s not above doing.
“Nah, you can have it. I’ll make something for me.” Only I’ve been in prison for a minute, and I have no idea how this machine of hers works. “Where’s the filters?”
“The what?”
“Filters?” I say again, and she laughs.
“Oh no, my boy, this is a Nespresso machine.”
“Like a Keurig?”
Alma’s eyes go wide, and she lets out a dramatic gasp. “?Nombre!” She crosses herself in exaggerated fashion. “Not in the year of my lord and savior Bad Bunny. No, senor. Nespresso is nothing like a Keurig. Nespresso is divine revelation.”
“So boujee bean water?” My brow arches as i watch her reach into a drawer to grab a small pod.
“No. This coffee is like Holy water for bad bitches. Here,” she hands me her drink, then frowns when she sees me hesitate. “Its not poisioned. I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die.”
She makes a cross over her heart and lifts the straw up to my lips.
Just close enough that her fingers brush my mouth.
Leaning forward I take the straw in my mouth.
I look up briefly to see her long lashes lowered on to me.
Our eyes meet before i release the straw and stand up straight.
Her breathing shifts slightly as she turns back to the coffee machine.
“It’s a pistachio flavored pod over iced with horchata.” She says nervously as she prepares mine.
“Not bad,” I comment. “But the horchata could be better.”
“And you think you can make a better horchata than El Mexicano?” she says turning to face me.
“Absolutely.”
“Well I’ll be the judge of that. I am a certified Whorechata.” she teases.
“I like that.” I laugh and shake my head.
Alma offers a playful smile, and sits down at the small table. I move to the fridge and pull out the eggs, bacon, tortillas and fresh panela. Alma pretends to scroll her phone but i can feel her eyes on me as I move around the kitchen preparing her a plate.
“For me?” she asks when I set her plate down first.
“Of course Kitten. I’m not a complete monster.”
I cut the panela and set it on the table alongside some tortillas fresh off the comal. And add small avocado roses.
“I really appreciate it.” She says her expression softening. “Not just for the food but for helping me last night.”
Between the three of us, Me, Alma, and Ricky—Lurch was just there for the vibes apparently—we covered most of the house and didn’t find anything. A slight smile twitches from the corners of her lips, but then it’s gone.
“Missy was a breakfast type of mom. She’d never let me leave the house with an empty stomach, you know?”
I take a sip of the coffee and nod my head. Alma looks at me, but it feels more like she’s looking through me. Like she’s trying desperately to stay inside a lost memory.
“What’s the story with her? I mean, when did you find out she wasn’t your biological mother?”
“After Esteban died. The detective on the case was looking up my criminal history and couldn’t find a single trace of me. No birth certificate or record of adoption. Nothing.”
“Detective Johnson?” I ask
“Ya, her. She was helping me a lot at first. I don’t know how many DNA tests I took or submitted to different ancestry sites. Nothing ever took, and after a while, I guess she grew bored.”
“What made you think Curtis knew something?”
“He recognized me when I started at La Cuevita. He said Missy had sent him pictures of us together. At first, I didn’t believe him, but then he would give me bits and pieces of information that lined up. Vacations we went on and the different towns we’d move to.”
“So he knew her?”
“He had to. We moved around a lot, and Missy was skeptical of trusting anyone. I never saw her make friends.”
“And did he give you information?”
“Not much at first but he was starting to give me bigger clues. Before you killed him, he gave me medical records.” Her tone is short.
“Sorry I killed your precious client,” I reply, pissed at the thought of them together.
“Do you have to say it like that?” she snarls. “My. precious. client.”
“Is there another word you’d like me to use? Step dad? You do like to keep things in the family.”
“I’m not doing this with you. You know what think what you want.”
“Or you could just tell me. Talk to me about what’s going on?” I reply.
“What’s there to talk about, Efren? While you were locked up, I’ve been trying like hell to piece together my past. And I was so close until you came back here. You fucking shot the only person who could tell me anything.”
I shrug. There was no way in hell I’d say sorry for something I wasn’t sorry about. She stands, leaning over the table, her eyes on fire.
“What do you want from me?”
“I don’t want anything. I want you.” I stand up to face her, bending until our eyes are level.
Her eyes shift before she grabs her plate, and she moves to the sink. When she turns back to face me, there’s a familiar look on her face.
“Let me set the record straight since you seem to not get it. There has never been anything between you and me. I would never do that to Esteban,” she says confidently, her eyes narrowed on me.
“Is that what this is about?” A manic laugh rips from me. “My brother? Stop the acting. You hate my brother!”
“I don’t hate him, and I’m not acting.” She turns her back, and I bang my hand against the table.
“Stop lying to yourself, Alma!” My anger pushes me forward until I’m towering over her, blocking her from leaving.
“Move, Efren.”
“If you loved him so much then why were you standing outside my room that night?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her cheeks flush red, and I lower my lips to her ear.
“I saw you watching me. Watching me fuck her while your hands moved inside your panties. Touching yourself for me,” I whisper. “All while my brother slept down the hall.”
My hard dick grazes her. Her body shivers beneath me, and I know she remembers that night.
“I hate you,” she mutters under her breath.
“You think that, but your body craves me. Your body knows me, and you feel safe with me. Why do you think that is?”
“Shut up,” she fires back.
“You were always supposed to be mine. Not his. Mine!” I press my forehead into hers, and I think she might surrender. Might stop this fucking crazy game of pulling away from me, but she doesn’t.
“No. This is fucked up, Efren. He was your brother!”
“And why does that fucking matter after everything? Did you love him?”
I never cared about the answer before, but a few years in a prison cell and the question had tormented me.
“He’s the only man I’ve ever loved,” she says, her eyes hardening again.
The only man she’s ever loved?
Her ice cold stare matches the frost that settles in my chest.
“Take it back,” I growl
“Never. I loved him, Efren. Always have, and always will.”
My hand reaches out and grabs her neck, pulling her face to mine.
“You’re fucking pathetic,” I whisper, my lips inches away from hers.
Her hand comes out, and my face whips to the side.
I bare my teeth at her before I’m facing her again.
My tongue roams to the corner of my lip, and I taste a tang of metallic from where my teeth had pierced the skin when she slapped me.
“I told you what would happen the next time you slapped me, Kitten.”
Her eyes widen as I squeeze her neck. My free hand pulls her shorts down, and she’s bare before me.
Mine. My hand lands hard against her pussy, and she yelps, her loud sob echoing in the air.
In one quick go, I release her throat from my grasp and yank her hair, turning her until I have her front shoved against the wall.
“Esteban never gave a shit about you, Alma, and you know that.” My hands roam over her bare ass. The velvet touch of her skin beneath mine. “Now tell me again, did you love him?”
“Yes,” she snarls, and my hand finds her ass, coming down hard as she cries out from the pain.
“You know how many times I heard him through the walls. Heard him fucking multiple women.”
“You’re lying,” she cries.
Slap.
Another red imprint of my hand is left on her ass.
“The way they would moan for him, Alma. You should have heard it. I know you love to watch.”
“Fuck you.”
Slap
She cries out, but it’s not enough to break her.
“Tell me you didn’t love him!” I yell.
“Never!” she retorts.
I slap her ass again, harder.
Slap
Slap
Slap
I don’t think I’ll stop, blinded by my rage, but then I hear a small whimper fall from her lips, and her fingers splay against the wall. I massage the raw and red skin on her ass, my hand moving through her folds.
“You’re wet for me, darling.”
She whimpers when I slide two fingers inside her. It’s too much. My dick pulses with need. Pulling my fingers free, I drag her sticky arousal over her ass and deliver another swift slap to her cheek. The wall catches her from jolting forward. A small laugh falls from her lips.
“Is that all you got?” It’s laced with a seductive challenge.
Slap
Slap
Slap
Red welts form quickly, marking her delicate skin. I squeeze a handful of her ass, the skin soft in mine, before spreading her thighs. My fingers slide inside her, this time adding an extra digit. She welcomes it, moaning as her pussy tightens around me.
Her breath hitches as I pump my hand inside her.
She grinds onto my fingers, meeting me thrust for thrust. Something is taking over her—all her big emotions set aside so she can feel this euphoria.
So we can just be this. Whatever we are in this moment.
Two people letting go of all restraints so we can just be who we want to be.
It doesn’t matter if she thinks she loved him. She knows the truth deep down about who he was. In this moment, it’s my fingers inside her. My thumb rubbing her clit, like the strum of a guitar, as her moans become the symphony.
“This is my pussy,” I growl.
She pants loudly as I thrust my hand into her.
Thrust
“My.”
Thrust
“Fucking.”
Thrust
“Pussy.”
“You like this, Kitten. You like the way my fingers are tearing through you. Tell me how much you like it.”
“God. Oh my God,” she says through a choked moan.
The smell of her sweet pussy fills the room alongside the unintelligible sounds of pleasure falling from her lips.
Using my hand like it’s my cock, I increase the rhythm and speed, slamming into her until she’s trembling. I pinch her clit, and she clamps down around me, head falling back as her orgasm rips through her.
I turn her toward me, needing to see her face. The afterglow. The evidence. She doesn’t hate me. Not even close. I’ll let her lie for pride’s sake, but we both know better.
We were made for each other.
I free my dick from the confinement of my sweats. It’s red and angry, the need too much to bear. Pumping hard, I watch her body tremble from her own release. The air hums between us as I groan, my release hitting sharp and fast. Strings of white fly from the tip and cover her swollen pussy.
For a heartbeat, there’s only breathing—hers shuddering, mine uneven. The world narrows to the pulse still echoing through our bodies. Then her eyes lift to mine, dazed and shining, the moment splintering as reality slides back in.
“This means nothing,” she says, voice rough, the words slicing through what’s left of the moment.
I almost smile. “Keep telling yourself that, Kitten.”