Chapter Six Adrian
After picking me up, Patricio helped me to get some clothes and other necessities I needed. He asked what meal I had craved the most while locked up and laughed when I told him I wanted him to take me to the greasiest taco truck he could find.
By the time we make our way to the hotel, it is late, and there is little to no staff working. The hotel is bigger than I had imagined. There are three large buildings, each with thirteen floors that surround several outdoor pools. The entire hotel is painted in matte black, with accents of skulls and goth-inspired décor. I am tired, but Patricio insists on giving me a tour. There is a fine dining restaurant, a bar, event rooms, and past the front desk are stairs that lead to several offices.
We make our way up to the penthouse I’ll be staying in .
“It was already furnished, but you are more than welcome to make any changes,” he says as he opens the door. Anything’s better than prison.
It’s bigger than any house or apartment I lived in growing up. We moved around a lot, depending on what we could afford and how many bridges my mom had burnt. There are three bedrooms, a large living room, kitchen, and a patio with a pool overlooking the city lights. Patricio had been asking me what things I would need when I got out. His questions ranged from my daily routine to the style of clothes I liked. I’m impressed when I see the middle room set up with free weights and exercise equipment. Los Antros taught me a lot about discipline. Those of us who had it would wake up early every day to train and keep our minds focused.
“Thalia helped with the clothes.”
I follow him to the back bedroom closet that’s filled with basic solid color tees, pro clubs, Ben Davis hoodies, and Dickies pants. Several pairs of white tennis shoes and… cowboy boots?
“Those were a gift from Conejo.” Patricio laughs at my facial expression. “As were these.” He opens the doors on a black cabinet, and inside, it is filled with guns, ropes, and other weapons fit for a sicario.
“Tomorrow, we will go to the training compound so you can meet the guys you will be working with. It’s important you remember that when we are working, I’m not your tio; I am your boss, and I will have expectations of you. I can’t let the other men see you being favored.”
“Don’t worry about me. I know how to gain respect.” I only spent the last three years gaining the respect of one of the most notorious prison gangs in Houston. I could hold my own. Patricio nods in agreement.
“Get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”
I take a long, hot shower before heading to bed. It’s simple things like this that I missed. Showering without a time limit, eating something other than ramen, and walking around naked. I make some sopa de fideo before I head to the room to sleep. I take the manilla envelopes with me and take out the pictures of Mireya.
I had many conjugal visits, thanks to the courtesy of Vidal, but I don’t remember my dick being as hard as it is right now, just looking at her pictures. I can only imagine how her pouty lips would feel wrapped around my dick. How her hair would feel wrapped in my fists. I developed a deranged taste for sex since I had been locked up. Some of the women who came to visit would have particular needs or kinks they wanted fulfilled, and I learned quickly to explore my own kinks.
I grab a cigarette from the nightstand. I would torment myself a bit before I fall asleep. Maybe I would jack off and cum all over these photos.
I thought for sure I would be able to sleep all day, but sleeping in was 10AM for me, and then I was up, and my body needed its regular routine. I worked out for an hour, ate breakfast, and then showered before I got ready and headed downstairs.
I’m headed to meet Patricio when I see a familiar face checking in an older couple and handing them their key. She doesn’t notice me at first, but the moment she does, her cheeks flush. I look straight at her. She is wearing the same uniform from the pictures. A black polo t-shirt with Calavera Hotels embroidered in red with marigolds and roses beneath it.
Before I can decide on what to say to her, I see a shadow descending the stairs. The figure steps out, and I recognize the similar features, the same nose, the same eyes with long lashes, high cheekbones, and full lips, but hers are painted black.
Thalia Consuelo.
My half-sister.
I walk past both of them to the staircase. I’m too tired to deal with an emotional family reunion. Thalia wrote to me a few times while I was away. It was in her letters that I found out more about the waste of space that was our biological father. She poured her heart out in those letters, telling me how Ivan had ruined her life. Even though he didn’t abandon her and her mom, he also did not stop her mom’s abduction and death when Thalia was ten years old. I know Thalia would have almost preferred he had abandoned them over the pain of knowing him and what he was capable of.
I had to remind myself the coward was dead, and I didn’t need a reminder more than myself that he ever existed. I know Thalia is not to be blamed, but it is still a sharp reminder of the broken parts of my mother. The broken parts of me.
Once I make it up the stairs, I turn into Patricio’s office. He is sitting at his desk when he looks up to see me standing in the doorway. We have company, it appears, and while I recognize Conejo, I am not familiar with the older man in a cowboy hat sitting on the couch. His smile lights up when I enter the room.
Conejo stands to shake my hand. “Como estas, cabrón? Did you get my gifts?” he says, and I nod, laughing as I take his hand.
“I did. I’ll be dead before I wear those ugly things. ”
“Everything okay in the penthouse?” Patricio asks.
“Todo bien.” I say, letting him know everything is okay, but my eyes observe the stranger.
“I wanted you to meet your grandfather.” He motions towards the old man, who stands with his hand out. When I give my hand, he holds it as he smiles at me. For a second, it’s as if something like sadness washes over him. We stand observing one another. He wears a flannel and some jeans with his boots and a cowboy hat on his head.
“I wanted to see you for myself. You held yourself well when you were locked up, but I want to make sure this life is something you choose, Adrian.”
“I don’t think I have a choice when it comes to survival, but if you’re questioning my loyalty, then I can assure you I’ve earned my place.”
Conejo nods in agreement as my grandfather continues to take me in, that sadness still lingering.
“What’s the plan to find my mom?” I ask Patricio to avoid the looks of Vicente Consuelo. So much for avoiding emotional baggage today.
“Today, you’ll want to go to the compound and get to know the men you’ll be working with. Ricky got here last week and has been training with the men. We’ll start with the first house, but we’ll need to send in spies. Pa, did you get the cellphone I told you to get for Adrian?” He looks at Vicente.
“I don’t know nothing about that shit. I had Thalia go get it.”
A knock comes at the door and Conejo walks to open it.
Thalia stands outside, arms crossed and a phone box in her hand.
“Abuelo, are you trading me in for a new favorite grandchild?” She looks at me and smiles softly. Don Vicente laughs as she makes her way to hug him. She hands me a box with an iPhone inside.
“It’s activated, but it’s not set up yet. Let me know if you need help.” Her words are cold and sharp as she hands me the phone.
“Ven, Mija, grab the good bottle of tequila. We have something good to celebrate.”
She grabs the bottle and pours out five shots.
“To family,” Patricio says, and with that, we all drink.
A few shots and an hour-long story from Don Vicente on the history of Calavera Hotels, and I make my way back down to the lobby.
“Adrian,” I barely hear her whisper behind me. I turn to see Mireya just inches from me. I take in her presence. She smells like vanilla, and I want to lean in to take in more of it. I look right at her. She has a fearful look in her eyes, like I’m a ghost she’s seeing for the first time. Her lips are slightly parted, and my damn cock still wonders what it would be like to slide in between them. My brain, however, is still hellbent on destruction, so I decide then and there to be petty.
“I’m sorry… do I know you?”