5. Hayat
CHAPTER FIVE
hayat
Ky’s father and stepmother used to live next door to my pop-pop and nana. I’d met them both countless times. Neither had impressed me. Jamie’s parents had randomly stopped by Carver Towers twice. Each incident had been less than joyous for their son. I hadn’t thought it was possible to dislike any of my in-laws as much as I did Hadley Renchford, but Jamie’s mom had proven me wrong.
She told me she was a beloved…princess? Duchess? I’d stopped listening to anything she said about ten minutes after meeting her the first time, when I noticed how she dismissed Jamie whenever he tried to speak to her. Something royal was all he had ever said about her and his douchebag father before and after their two visits.
Royally fake.
I called bullshit.
After witnessing how much of an asshole she was to Jamie, I might have threatened—emphatically promised—to drown the woman in the pool above our living room if she ever tried to visit again.
That had been more than two years ago. She hadn’t tried to visit again. Hadn’t even attempted to call Jamie, as far as I knew. Which was a good thing for her, because if she ever showed up at our door again, I was going to ask Sammy to eliminate my mother-in-law.
Even if she wasn’t legally my anything, I considered the guys mine in every way. It didn’t matter that I didn’t have a ring or a piece of paper that declared me anyone’s wife. We were committed to one another for life, and that was all that mattered.
When it came to the families of my three amazing men, Sparks’s was the only one I’d never been introduced to. And there was a huge reason for that.
The PCC.
Sancho and Miguel Guerrero ran the Pacific Coast Cartel. Several times a year, Sparks’s brother gave him a call, a few of which he actually answered. But Sancho was a no-go for him, a major hard limit no one dared to push him on.
But despite having never come face-to-face with the man before, I knew as soon as I saw him that I was looking at Sancho Guerrero. Sparks had made sure I was familiar with the face of the one person I was supposed to run from if he ever approached me.
Seeing him in the flesh drove home all the stupid decisions I’d made recently. And now I was tied to a chair, facing one of my unborn baby’s grandparents. That was definitely going to earn me a well-deserved, not-so-fun spanking from Jamie.
So many times over the last few months, I’d told myself I was staying silent for the guys’ benefits, not wanting them to worry. We’d all been exhaustingly busy, and I didn’t want to add more stress to them. But the truth was, I hadn’t been ready to face the reality of how much our lives were going to change with my pregnancy.
That shouldn’t have kept me silent about suspecting I had a stalker, though. Of all the shit I’d kept to myself, that was the one thing that had not only put me in danger, but potentially everyone I loved.
I’d had more than one indication I was being stalked. Random things had engaged my fight-or-flight and made me stop to see if someone was following me. What if it was nothing more than my mind playing tricks on me? I’d been so tired, overworked, and fighting morning sickness—not to mention stressed to the max with the discovery of being pregnant.
Bile filled the back of my throat, burning my chest as my indigestion spiked higher. Apparently my kid wasn’t a fan of Sancho any more than any of their daddies was. But I fought through it, tilting my head back and smirking up at the man standing over me, all smug and thinking he had the upper hand because he was the head of the PCC.
Still tasting blood, I licked my teeth slowly, refusing to flinch at the sting when the cut on my lips tore a little more. He was going to pay for every fucking drop I bled. Sammy must have rubbed off on me more than I thought, because I couldn’t wait to watch Sparks’s father be slowly tortured to death.
Merry Christmas to me.
“Ah, the notorious Sancho Guerrero. I’m humbled to be graced with your presence.”
His narcissism was easy to play with. He straightened his suit, the gleam of something evil glittering in his eyes. They were brown, but more like mud. Not the sweet, warm, melted chocolate Sparks’s turned when he looked at me.
“Nice to know my son has been talking about me.” His voice was raspy from all those Cuban cigars Sparks said his dad liked to smoke. It grated down my spine, irritating me. Sparks had never told me what his dad had forced him to do, how he’d become the cartel assassin prince. Or how much blood had seeped into his soul with each kill he’d been forced to execute.
Jamie had given me a few details, however, so I was aware of the evil that lurked right below the surface of Sancho’s skin. But even with all the atrocities he had forced on his youngest son, the depraved ways he’d attempted to break him, the motherfucker hadn’t broken Sparks’s soul like he’d hoped.
“No, actually. Sparks rarely speaks of the sick bastard he unfortunately shares DNA with, the one who enjoys torturing little girls for fun. But I have a few friends who gave me the horrific details about the piece of shit standing in front of me, wasting the oxygen in this dank room.” I sniffed a few times, my nose scrunching up. “Maybe get a better cleaner in here to get rid of that piss smell. I know a guy. Want me to give you his number?”
My mouth tilted up in a version of the twisted smile I’d witnessed on Sammy often enough as I continued. “Nah. You’ll be meeting him soon enough. I’m sure he will be all too happy to give you some suggestions. But if he doesn’t, my friend Samara loves a good discussion about eliminating any bodily fluids.”
It was hard to miss the way his throat bobbed at the mention of Sammy’s name. “Samara Vitucci?”
“Well, I call her Sammy. Her last name is Reid now. Do you know her? She’s a close friend of mine. Just like her big brother.”
Another audible gulp caused him to choke on his words. “R-Ryan Vitucci?”
I licked the blood off my teeth. “You know Ryan? He’s kinda intense, don’t you think?”
“Very,” he wheezed.
“But, no, I was talking about the eldest Vitucci. Vaughn.”
His face turned gray then a very sickly shade of green. Tugging at his tie, he took half a step back from me. “You have an unusual group of friends. I thought my son only had limited contact with the Vitucci family.”
“Who would tell you such a lie? Didn’t your creeper tell you that I was with Vaughn’s wife and daughter at the mall when he snatched me?” I tsked him much like the asshole had earlier when he’d taken me. “Honestly, do you have to be a total idiot to be a criminal? Is there an IQ section on the job application? Or is it just those who work for the Guerrero family? Well, I mean, with the exception of Sparks.”
Sancho started wheezing. “Miguel failed to mention that you were close to the Vitucci family.”
I nodded my understanding. “An easy mistake. I think it’s a difficult conclusion to come to, what with me being the godmother of Vaughn’s daughter. I’m sure he won’t be too upset that you took me with his wife and child so close by at the time I was snatched. But he may not be so understanding when I tell him how your goon threatened both my best friend and my goddaughter.”
Sweat was rapidly soaking through his dress shirt, that green tinge to his skin growing more noticeable in the harsh overhead light. Flicking my gaze over him from head to toe, I determined that both Sparks and his older brother Miguel—whom I’d only seen once and from a distance at a cartel warehouse fight—looked very little like their father. All those good looks had to have come from their mother.
Thinking of Miguel, who was an older version of Sparks, I couldn’t help the sinister smile that teased my lips. Sparks was the better brother in every way. Looks. Personality. His generous, kind heart.
But something was definitely off about Miguel not filling in his daddy dearest on the smaller—gigantic—details. Like how Samara was my close friend. Or that the two most important people in Vaughn’s life were everything to me. Miguel definitely hadn’t informed his dad that Abi and Amala had been with me when I was taken.
I could imagine the rage on Sammy’s and Vaughn’s faces when they found out what had happened at the mall. It was my fault, too. I should have been more careful. Taken one of my men with me. Yet another stupid decision, but this one had put two of the most precious people in my life in imminent danger.
If Vaughn decided to kill me, I’d accept that. If Sammy wanted to torture me and slowly dismember me while I was still awake, feeling every slice, every grate of the serrated blade of the saw she used to detach her victims’ limbs from their bodies, I wouldn’t beg for mercy. I deserved whatever pain they would want to inflict upon me for letting those motherfuckers get so close to Abi and Amala.
Settling a little more comfortably, one leg stretched out in front of me while I hooked my other foot around one of the chair’s legs, I gave him the cocky smile that drove my mom crazy. She and Kin always said that was the look that scared them the most. It meant bail money was needed.
I definitely would have preferred jail to this shit any day of the week.
“So, Nacho, didn’t McGraw tell you all about me? I mean, you would expect your second-in-command, your own son, flesh of your flesh, to keep it real.” Irritation flickered across his face at my wrong-naming him and his eldest son. I had a black belt in annoying people. I kept my skills fresh by using them on Vaughn at least once a week. “Seems like Maguire didn’t confide in his favoritest daddy in the whole wide world that the girl he wanted you to have snatched out of a crowded mall far out of PCC territory was also an ally of the Vituccis.”
“Miguel may have forgotten to mention that small, pertinent detail,” he gritted out.
My cocky grin grew, and I could almost imagine my mom’s groan. “Yeah? That seems totally sus if you ask me, Gancho. I’m in a relationship with your youngest son.”
All that green color drained until he looked like a ghost beneath his tan. Where the fuck had this idiot been hiding if he didn’t know I was living with all three of my rockers? Hadn’t he been the one stalking me? We were in a committed, lifelong relationship. The only way any of those three was getting rid of me was through death. And if they even thought about trying to leave this world without me, they were going to be in for one hell of a surprise.
Although, if my three men came to rescue me and got themselves killed by Broncho, the sweat-soaked slimeball in front of me was going to get his own psychotic stalker. Because I planned on making his eternal stay in hell as chaotic as fucking possible.
“It’s so hard to find reliable help these days, don’t you think, Kalanchoe. It’s even worse when it’s your own son. That must twist those old, low-hanging gonads. I’m sure you can find a good urologist to help with that, though.”
Despite sweating so badly I wondered if he was going to fall over from heat stroke, he sent me a glower. “You like to run your little whore mouth too much. Hasn’t my son taught you to be respectful when in the presence of a man?”
Pretending to think about his question thoroughly, I shrugged. “He does get a little twitchy when I tell Vaughn to eat a bag of dicks. But Vaughn isn’t here.” I canted my head left and right, doing a swift search of the empty room. “And there don’t seem to be any actual men in this room. Soooooo…”
Sancho made a snarly sound that might have scared me once upon a time. It was odd how many things didn’t scare me much after becoming friends with Sammy.
“I’m curious though, Gazpacho, how did you father such an amazing man like Sparks?” His nostrils flared, but I gasped dramatically before he could answer. “Oh no. Did I stumble onto a dark family secret? You aren’t Sparks’s or Monique’s daddy, are you?”
He started ranting in Spanish, but I ignored him. Instead, I turned my gaze back to the camcorder. “Hey, Michelle. Did you know that Evancho here isn’t even your bio daddy? That must sting.”
Another of my dramatic gasps filled the room, causing Sancho to pause in his ranting monologue. “Oh my! I’m not sure I understood it right, but didn’t Delanco here get promoted through the PCC ranks because of your mom? Marrying her, producing an heir and a spare, that got him a ticket straight to the top of the PCC. But if he isn’t your daddy, then that would mean…”
Letting my voice trail off, I tipped my head back, sweat beading and dripping down my face. Were they turning the heat up even higher? Fucking assholes. “Huh, I guess if you happened to do a DNA test and, by chance, discovered Mooooochacho isn’t your papa, then that would mean…”
Sancho’s backhand wasn’t unexpected, but the pain that radiated through my entire face, made my ears rings, and my vision blurry for a few seconds was a teeny-tiny bit worth it.
Tasting more blood in my mouth, feeling the throb and immediate swelling around my eye, however, I wasn’t so sure about. A flicker of fear sparked in my veins. Hitting me in the face was one thing, but if he started targeting other areas of my body, things were going to end very, very badly. Little Baby Cutter-Carver would be in danger if this piece of shit took his physical abuse out on my midsection.
But my mom always said I never knew when to keep my mouth shut.
Licking my bloodstained teeth, I snorted in amusement, refusing to flinch, to show a single ounce of fear. “No wonder you had Sparks doing all the heavy shit when he worked for you. You hit like a pussy-assed bitch.”
Another sharp pain exploded through my face, so intense my breath left me in a rush. Ah, fuck. That hurt. But all I gave him in return was another unconcerned, bored lift of my lips. “You’re only proving my point here, my dude.”
Laughing dryly, he shook his head. “You should learn to shut your whore mouth.”
I had so much blood in my mouth, I wondered if my teeth were covered in red as I grinned up at him. “You called me a whore once already. Try to switch up the insults a little. Here, let me show you how it’s done. I can’t seem to remember if they call you Bitch-o or Bitch-acho. Which one do you prefer? Me, myself, I like just plain and simple Bitch. Basic. Yeah. That suits you perfectly. Basic Bitch Guerrero.”
His next blow stunned me so much, it felt like the world shook. But when my eyes could focus again, I realized that someone else had apparently joined our party. The building shook around me, causing the light above my head to flicker. Rubble and plaster rained down on me like snow. Another blast of something powerfully explosive caused Sancho to lose his balance. He fell at my feet.
Too bad for him, his minions hadn’t secured my ankles. The crunch of his nose breaking under my kick was a nauseating sound. He released a muffled shout, but I kicked him again. He dropped his head to the dirty floor, unmoving. If it weren’t for the wet sounds of his breaths coming from his broken, gushing nose, I would have thought he was dead.
I also would have been okay with that.
I was more concerned about my shoes. Seeing that his blood had sprayed all over my favorite pair of white running shoes, I wanted to cry. I loved those shoes. It broke my heart to see the blood splattered across the tops and sides. They might have seemed like a ratty pair of athletic shoes to anyone else, but for me, they held so many good memories. I’d worn them for years. Nana had been with me when I’d bought them. Her, Abi, and…Maddie.
No. Nope, nope, no. I wouldn’t think about my grandmother and my stepcousin. They didn’t get to take up space in my head while I was dealing with PCC bullshit.
Yet another explosion went off. More rubble fell from the ceiling, a few large pieces striking me. It hurt, but I tuned out the stinging scrapes on my exposed skin, the sharp blows of the bigger pieces hitting my head and back.
A large slab of the ceiling landed on Sancho’s back. Whether it was the pain from the boulder-sized piece of cement or the loudness of the explosion itself that snapped him back to reality, I wasn’t sure. But when he lifted his head, the blood still pouring from both nostrils and out of his mouth as well, I kicked him in the face again.
And again.
And again.
He could barely fight back, his fingers clawing at my legs, desperate to inflict some form of damage. But he couldn’t move more than a few inches with the weight of so much debris on top of him, making him an easier target.
Sancho screamed explicit curses at me with each brutal kick I landed to his face, his hands, the top of his head. Vibrations slithering up my legs were my only indication that I had broken Sancho’s bones. My laughter startled me for less than a second because it reminded me of how Sammy giggled when she was playing with her prey.
God, I loved that girl.
More blood coated my shoes. They had already been ruined after the first two kicks, but by the time the motherfucker was unconscious again, barely any white was visible. My heart squeezed. After the last few years without Pop-Pop, Nana, or Maddie in my life, I should not have been emotional over a pair of fucking shoes. But seeing all that blood, knowing they would never fully come clean, broke my heart.
I could replace the shoes, but I couldn’t remake new memories with Maddie or Nana or Pop-Pop.
It was like I lost all three of them again.