Chapter Twelve
Rome
A few hours earlier
I take a sip of my drink, the amber liquid going down smoothly. I survey the room with narrowed eyes, irritation prickling at my skin.
We’ve been at this bar for hours and I’ve been over it since hour one.
Arnold showed up drunk as fuck, apparently having spent his day pre-gaming.
He showed up with a bruise on his cheek and when I asked him what happened he said he slapped himself, trying to sober up, but forgot he had his ring on and cut himself.
Dumb as hell, but okay.
He’s been rambling in circles about being a fuck-up and needing to beg for something.
Micah, Christian, and I tried to convince him to skip tonight since he clearly wasn’t in a headspace where he could enjoy the night but he wouldn’t hear it.
I’m sure he’s going to end up throwing up everywhere and we’re going to have to hear Amerie’s mouth about letting him get like this.
Every time I hand him some water to sober him up, Cortez sidles up to him to give him more liquor.
To top it off, Cortez has some friends here that aren’t invited to the wedding.
When we loaded up into the bus to bring us to the bar, he arrived with a group of five other guys.
He claimed that they happened to be on vacation in Tulum as well.
I call bullshit on that, but it’s not my coin nor Arnold’s he’s spending so I’m letting it slide, but I’m keeping a watchful eye.
Arnold sits on the couch across from me, rubbing his hand back and forth across his low-cut Caesar with a dazed expression.
We’re here with close to twenty of his friends, colleagues, and clients.
Everyone has been trying to celebrate him, but his demeanor has left them with no option but to give him a wide berth.
Cortez and his boys walk over to the couches and Cortez holds out a rum and coke for Arnold.
“Here you go, cuz. I got you a re-up.”
“Yo, he’s had enough,” I state, no room for argument in my tone.
Cortez scrutinizes me from head to toe. “You his daddy or something? You don’t look like my uncle Marquise, but I don’t know. Maybe y’all switched bodies or some shit.”
His boys co-sign his dumbass with a collective cackle.
“He’s damn near incoherent. He needs to sober up.”
“Says who?”
I lean forward, folding my arms between my legs. “Says me.”
He puffs his chest out in a show of strength, but I clock the gulp of air he swallows. His friends constrict their eyes at me looking between us, waiting for their boy to put me in my place. Little do they know their fearless leader is nothing more than a punk ass bitch.
Jalen, Christian, Micah, Troy, and one of Arnold’s clients, pro football player Nick Graves, flank me on the couch. They don’t say anything, but their presence is enough to let Cortez’s boys know they’d be foolish to make a move.
Cortez coughs into his elbow. “Whatever, man. This is supposed to be a bachelor party. We’re here to turn the fuck up. Y’all like to be lame as fuck, I see.”
Arnold groans, reminding everyone that he was the original reason behind this tension. “I’m good, y’all.” His eyes close as he says something else that no one can hear or understand.
Cortez grins, sliding down into the seat next to Arnold. “See? He’s good.” I send a death glare his way, prompting him to lift his hands in surrender. “Anyway, yo, Arnold, your girl keeps some bad bitches in her circle, huh?”
The rest of the clown squad let out whistles and howls of agreement, confirming my suspicions that they’ve been around for a while, because how else would they have seen the women Amerie hangs around? A growl hums beside me and I turn to see Micah watching them with barely veiled fury.
“Uh, sure, yeah,” Arnold agrees.
Cortez strokes the lines of his goatee with a move straight out of a bad kung fu movie. “They all bad as fuck. That one bitch, what’s her name? Dani? I’d bend her Amazonian ass over any day.”
“Watch your mouth,” Micah warns.
“Oh shit, son. That’s you?” he jokes, the laughter of his goons boosting his confidence.
“No. But you need to watch how you talk about women when you’re around me. I don’t play that shit.” We all echo his comment.
He pretends to shiver in fear, cackling at his own antics. “Right, right. My bad. What about Miss Evelyn? Any of you got eyes on her? She fine as hell but she kinda mouthy. Those the ones that look the best with my dick in their mouth.”
“You must not value your life, huh?” Jalen asks, his voice a deathly low rumble.
“Yo, Arnold, is this who you spend your time with? Who the fuck is this clown?” Nick asks.
“Watch who you calling a clown, fool.” This man is a fucking idiot. Nick Graves is lethal; he’s one of the biggest linemen in the game and he’s got about six inches and one hundred and fifty pounds on Cortez. He really doesn’t value his life.
Arnold runs his hands along his head again. “He’s my cousin. He’s just d-drunk.” No, he’s an asshole. That’s his default, it’s just dialed up because he’s drunk.
“Shit, I’m drunk and I’m not saying dumb shit like this,” Troy adds.
“Facts,” Christian agrees.
Jalen’s eyes remain locked in on Cortez. “I’m waiting on your answer. Do you value your life or nah?”
Cortez’s eyes wander around the room, careful not to land on Jalen. I grip my glass tighter in my hand, wishing it were Cortez’s skull.
“Y’all too sensitive for me. I’m just speaking my mind, I ain’t know that was against the law. Shit. I’m not checking for neither of them anyway.” He rubs his hands together in front of his chest. “Nah, I’m really checking for Janelle’s fine ass. She thick as a bitch.”
I crack the knuckles on my free hand because I know before the end of the night they’ll be introduced to Cortez’s face. I gulp down the rest of my drink, sniffing as I sit the glass on the table in front of me.
One of the goons claps hands with Cortez at that statement, earning a growl from me.
“That ’bout to be you, my boy?” another one of the goons asks.
“Hell yeah, by the time this wedding is over, I’ma have fucked her seven different ways. Arnold, my boy, tell me, how was the pussy? Was that shit tight or was it whack? Is that why you left ol’ girl for her sister? I hate when bad bitches have weak ass pussy.”
Arnold’s head snaps up at that.
“Cortez.”
Everyone’s eyes turn to me. Christian, Troy, and Nick look concerned. The goons look amused. Jalen and Micah are the only ones who know how close to death Cortez is right now.
“Think carefully about the next words you say. You’ve already been warned once about watching your mouth. If I have to tell you, I’ma speak in a language I know you understand.” Cortez has gotten his ass beat for his mouth before but if I do it, I’ll make sure the lesson sticks.
One of the goons laughs but quickly cuts it off when the other ones don’t join.
“You threatening me over some pussy?”
I sit on the edge of my seat. “I don’t make threats.”
He runs his tongue over his teeth, contemplating his next move. “I don’t see what the problem is. Arnold got to tap both Cross sisters. I’m just saying if we passing pussy around…”
No one hears the end of Cortez’s sentence because my fist ramming into his face cuts it off.
I hear protests from both sides of me. Glass shatters around me and I hear bodies hitting the ground, signifying my boys are probably fighting Cortez’s to keep them away from the two of us.
Nothing could get me off Cortez’s ass right now.
He tries to grab my shirt to give himself some leverage, but I knock his hand down.
I allow my rage to take over until I’m literally blinded by it.
All I see is red. I do hear him though. I hear his whimpers of pain and the sound of his bones cracking beneath the weight of my fist. They mingle like an orchestra in my ears, until I feel fingers pressing into my back and shoulders, trying to pull me back.
“Rome, Rome! Let him go! He’s out.” I recognize Jalen’s voice, briefly piercing the haze around me. When I look down at Cortez’s face, I see a bloody mass. His eye is already swollen shut and I can’t even tell where all the blood is pooling from.
I allow the guys to pull me up and away from Cortez’s limp body. “We gotta go,” Christian announces, eyes searching the bar for police.
I lose a chunk of time in the hysteria that ensues. I don’t remember leaving the bar or ending up at the local police station. I don’t remember speaking to anyone or anyone speaking to me.
What I do know is that she’s here. Her energy latches onto mine, shifting it to something less dangerous and more recognizable. As I walk out of the cell block behind Troy and Christian, I scan the area until I spot her.
My mouth tips up into a grin at the sight of her dressed in a black bustier top, waist beads, severely ripped jeans, and heels. Those damn waist beads.
Amerie runs into Arnold’s arms. He seems to have completely sobered up now, so that’s one less fight we’ll have to deal with tonight. She stares at the bruise on his cheek, her eyes stormy as she runs her fingers over it.
“Are y’all okay?” Eve asks.
“Let’s get out of here before we say anything,” Jalen says.
We all pile into the party bus that the ladies were using for their night out.
Apparently, the rest of Arnold’s guests got out before the cops arrived.
Jalen managed to get Nick out so he wouldn’t end up on the news and jeopardize his season, so it’s just me, Jalen, Micah, Christian, Arnold, and Troy.
Janelle, Eve, Amerie, Dani, and Nova left their other friends at the bar.
They plan to send the bus back for them once we get back to the hotel.
Janelle sits beside me on the bus; the only parts of our bodies touching are our knees but her support rolls over me in waves, coating me in its warmth.