6. Chapter 6
Chapter 6
W hen they returned to the warehouse, Julio asked Miguel what happened to his face. Miguel mumbled something about it being his fault and headed out to one of the trailers. He didn’t even look at Naz or Meg.
Julio’s gaze was on Naz when he asked Meg for an explanation.
She just shrugged and told him she didn’t know, that she was getting changed at the time. Then she showed off her jeans and tank top combo, which left some of her midriff bare.
Naz stared at the striped shoes on her feet. They were as ugly as when he’d bought them. That she still wore them probably meant she hadn’t had any other shoes at the apartment. Which made sense. Why else would she have been barefoot the day she arrived?
He stayed out of the way that afternoon. A few perimeter checks finally brought the silence to his head that he craved.
Rocks stepped in front of him when he circled around to the side of the warehouse, and Naz focused on the massive man.
“You bust up Miguel’s face?” Rocks didn’t know how to speak in anything but a bellow.
Naz’s knuckles ached. He doubted Rocks was looking for an answer and didn’t bother giving him one.
Rocks scowled and punched him in the gut.
Naz went down without a sound, refusing to let his body curl as he breathed through the pain that was making him want to vomit. Vomiting was no good. He’d choke on it before he got his mouth to open properly.
“Hey, stop that!”
The voice was Miguel’s, and at the sound of him approaching, Naz managed to get his feet under him, trying to hold it together enough to fight back. Being on the ground wouldn’t work. They could kick in his ribs. He shoved to a stand but checked his lunge toward the large man when Rocks just glared at him instead of following up on his sucker punch.
Miguel grabbed Rocks’s arm anyway. “For fuck’s sake,” he wheezed. “I told you, I started it.” His nose had stopped bleeding but had a discoloration to it. Naz wondered if it was broken.
He took a step back so he could see both men’s movement better. Letting that big-ass fist hit him again wouldn’t keep him in the fight long.
Rocks spat on the ground. “One of us always comes before some cunt.” He turned, stomping toward the warehouse.
Miguel’s gaze twitched toward Naz. “We good?” he asked, uncertainty in his tone.
Naz shrugged, then headed toward the spigot. He stuck his head under it to try to cool off instead of stalking after Rocks. His rapid pulse and uneven breaths were a steady chant telling him to take Rocks out. His brain jabbered about the threat.
When the beat of his heart slowed back to normal, he turned off the water, sluicing away the excess with his stinging hand. His scalp wasn’t completely smooth. He’d have to shave the stubble away later.
The water dripped on his shirt and splashed his jeans. At least his work boots were water proof.
The edge of exhaustion pulled at him, and he made his way to one of the trailers. It was empty. He settled down against the wall, staring at the grody couch across the way but not really seeing it.
He should text Ramiro about the new episode at the apartment, but if he did, Ramiro would pull him off the job.
With how quiet the trailer was, it would have been a good time to eat one of his protein drinks. No one would be around to watch him struggle to pour it down his throat. Eating was a pain in the ass.
His still-aching stomach said not to bother with the attempt. Diego always warned Naz away from not eating. You had to consume or be consumed, he’d say; you can’t defend yourself without the energy to back it up.
Naz continued to stare, letting his thoughts drift. They filled with other memories of Diego. For such a scrawny guy, he’d been obsessed with teaching Naz how to work out. He said building muscle built a defense so he wouldn’t be shit on again. That would have been laughable—while Diego’s arms were toned, he was in no way bulked out—except Diego had more than held his own the first time Naz had seen him, brutal in the way he dispatched the men Naz had always wanted to kill.
The trailer door clicked open, the sound preventing his mind from sinking down into the memory it had been drifting toward.
Meg jumped up the last step, the backpack she still had on thumping with the movement. She smiled at him when she saw him there, but the smile faded when they continued to stare at each other.
“Hey,” she said, her voice high, and then she headed toward the back bedroom.
Naz rubbed a hand over his stomach. Rocks had boulders for hands. Naz was likely going to bruise. Before he could gather himself to leave, Meg returned, sliding down the wall near him, though not as near as the times she’d sat with him before. She’d ditched the backpack.
She shouldn’t be sitting with him. He should go.
Her hand extended into the space between them, one of her Post-its stuck to her finger.
Naz took it from her, careful not to touch her.
‘Thank you.’
He liked her gratitude more than her apology, but it also confused him. She’d been the one to stop him when he would have continued beating on Miguel. She’d defended the shit Miguel had been saying. Naz didn’t believe for a second she hadn’t heard every word.
She’d even said she would enjoy what Miguel wanted to do.
He couldn’t wrap his head around her at all.
He shoved her note in his pocket, reminded that he had her others there as well. Each time he changed jeans, he shifted them into new pockets.
What the fuck was wrong with him?
“Can I ask you something?”
Her voice snipped his thoughts. Naz nodded, staring at the couch in front of him.
“Back at the apartment, you stared at my tits. You’d looked at them before, but it felt different.”
The hair on the back of Naz’s neck rose as he remembered liking the way her breasts had looked. His dick hadn’t twitched or anything, but he hadn’t felt disgust from checking her out.
“Have you changed your mind?” Her voice downshifted into a whisper. “Do you want to fuck me, Ignacio?”
He jerked away from her, his shoulder hitting the table in the corner before he could check himself.
Meg let out a surprised gasp and then started giggling. The startled, happy sound filled the trailer, letting his pulse slow and drawing his gaze to her.
She shook her head, trying to swallow the laughter, but changing it into snorting hiccups instead. “Okay, okay,” she said, holding up a hand. “You don’t have to run away. I take it back.”
He eyed her, wondering if he’d ever felt so pathetic before. She hadn’t been trying to force him into anything, and yet he’d scrambled away like a frightened child.
She patted the stained carpet beside her. “Come back. I feel safe with you again.” Her smile faded as she stared down at her jeans, rubbing at them with her other hand.
Naz eased a bit closer so he wasn’t pressed against the table. It was a rickety piece of shit. He was surprised it hadn’t broken when he bumped into it.
“I was more worried about you than I was about Miguel. I thought I was wrong about you.” She shrugged. “I suck at reading people. It’s better to assume the worst.”
Naz didn’t disagree. People were the fucking worst. Even the ones he trusted, Diego and Ramiro—well, sort of Ramiro—were assholes, but they were assholes that weren’t out to hurt him.
“I thought I’d been right about you, so it hit hard when it seemed like I wasn’t. I feel better now.”
Her words washed some of the tension in his body away. Even when she shifted closer, so close her arm pressed against his, his body didn’t become stiff. Her head found the place on his shoulder that felt like it was starting to belong to her.
The thought confused him. He should get away from her, but he didn’t really want to.
“I stopped you because I was worried you’d get in trouble. Killing Miguel would have pissed off Julio. He’s got a temper, one I haven’t quite figured out yet.”
Julio’s anger all stemmed from his insecurity. It would take way too much concentration to explain that.
“It would have been better if you just let Miguel do what he wanted.” A sigh leaked out of her. “Then if Julio got pissed, it would have been at Miguel, not you or me. But I get that you wouldn’t have been okay with that. Seeing people have sex bothers you. Sex itself bothers you.”
Naz was back to feeling pathetic.
“But you don’t really not have a dick, do you?” she asked.
His huff of breath surprised him. It almost sounded like a laugh. He shook his head.
“Good.” When he started to pull away, her arm wrapped around his. “No, not good because I want you to use it on me. I couldn’t figure out how you would take a piss without one.”
The huff returned, feeling almost natural. When he turned his head, she smiled up at him.
“So your name’s really Ignacio?”
Why did it sound so different when she said it? He nodded. However much he hated it, that was his name.
“But you prefer Naz?” she asked, her eyes intent on his face.
He did. He should nod again. Then she’d never use his full name.
His hesitation ended in a shrug.
Her smile widened. “It’s like you said I can call you whatever I want.” Her head rested on his shoulder again. “I kind of like that,” she mumbled, her arm loosening around his.
His breaths were long and even. He didn’t mind having her close.
“My name is actually Margaret. Margaret Reyes.” There was a hitch in her voice as she said it. “But I prefer Meg. My father was the only one who called me Margaret, and he was an asshole.”
Naz had memories of his own father, but it was the opposite of what Meg was describing. Those fragmented childhood memories were the best thing in his life. He remembered laughter mixed with loving words and hugs. His father was the man he wanted to be, but he was too broken to ever be like him.
It was his father who had first called him Naz. When Diego had gotten him out, using the name had made him feel almost reborn.
“I’ve never had a friend before.” Meg’s voice slurred, and she let out a loud yawn, snuggling deeper into his shoulder. “Maybe that’s what you are.”
Naz didn’t hate the way it sounded, but she was wrong.
He answered to Julio. He couldn’t be her friend.