Prelude –Trust #2
It didn’t matter to Johnnie. He liked how such simple deeds pleased her.
More than once, he thought about telling her they’d stay in touch after he returned to the States, but he doubted he’d keep the promise.
He enjoyed his freewheeling ways. Fucking whom he pleased, without accountability to anyone.
Back home, club life and his responsibilities to Christopher’s new medical lab would consume him, and Paz would end up as just another notch on his belt.
Not only would he forget her face, he’d forget her name.
He remembered very few women. Three to be exact.
Kiera Arnold because she’d been underaged when she first started hanging around the club and Christopher protected her with the ferocity of a fucking guard dog; Ellen Cooper because she was raw and raunchy and the one who’d brought Ki to the club; and Hopper, so named because she’d hopped from one bed to the next, and the first—only—woman he’d come in without a condom before Paz.
A few months before Grandda’s fake funeral, Hopper disappeared.
Often, Johnnie wondered what became of her .
For whatever reason, Hopper even ran across his mind during his horseback ride to see the outer reaches of his grandfather’s property.
Paz rode tucked against him, dressed in a drab cotton shirt and pants, her feet bare.
They halted under a stand of walnut trees, where she pulled a blanket from the saddlebags, laid it on the ground, then served them empanadas and chicha, a fermented corn drink.
He nodded to the food. “ Comer ,” he urged, hoping he used the correct word to tell her to eat.
She looked at his mouth. The desire in her eyes stiffened his cock, and he wished they were alone.
Snickering, Grandda got to his feet and dusted off his linen pants. “I’ll just take a walk. She looks ready to rip off your clothes.”
Johnnie couldn’t dispute that. The moment Grandda disappeared, he lifted Paz’s skirt, pulled out his cock, and sank into her.
Now, on his last night, he sat with his grandfather on another terrace. This one led to the kitchen and dining room. Just around the side, Grandda kept his oversized hogs penned up. A stench permeated the air.
Death.
Johnnie had been involved in enough murder and body disposal to know the scent.
It invaded the sweetness of the flowers and ruined the savoriness of the food. Just like the apple orchard at his grandparents’ farmhouse, the serene surroundings hid violence and gore.
Johnnie grabbed a tamale, dipped it into his small bowl of aji, a spicy sauce that included cilantro, hot peppers, and lime juice, and bit into it.
He’d miss the delicious food. An array of flavors burst over his tongue—cornmeal, peas, potatoes, pork, capers, carrots, garlic, saffron, and the slight sweetness of the banana leaves that Virtud, Grandda’s cook, used as a wrap .
“I have a proposition for you, John,” Grandda began, opting for a knife and fork to cut into his own tamale. He ignored the aji, taking his time to chew his food. After he swallowed, he sipped his drink. “Hear me out before you decide.”
Whenever Grandda uttered those words, whatever he said next usually pertained to Christopher.
Johnnie bit off another piece of his tamale, glanced at the corner where Paz stood and winked at her.
She was in the shadows of the terrace, hidden from the light of the lanterns, but her giggle warmed him.
“This is important! Pay attention,” Grandda ordered.
“I want to spend my last evening enjoying your company. Let’s leave Christopher out of this.” They hadn’t mentioned him for the entire week, and things had been fine. “He’s not concerned about us, so why should we discuss him?”
Grandda’s lips tightened. “Always so loyal to that demon,” he spat.
Johnnie’s words sounded quite fucking neutral, if you asked him. Of course, Grandda disagreed. He always disagreed when it came to Christopher. “I love Christopher. I also love you. I’ve discovered the best way to keep the peace is to not discuss him with you.”
“As if he wants to hear about me.”
“He doesn’t,” Johnnie confirmed. “But, if I want to tell him how much I miss you and Grandmother, he listens.”
Grief crossed Grandda’s face and Johnnie regretted bringing up Elmira, even in passing.
It still shocked him he’d left the farmhouse to take his cousins, Zoann and Ophelia, to pick up food and then swing by the club to see Christopher and expected to return to sit and talk with his grandmother.
Instead, Aunt Patricia had led them into the bedroom and screamed because Grandmother was dead.
Her mouth and eyes were open as if Death had arrived unexpectedly and stolen her away.
He’d called Big Joe, who’d told him to stay with Aunt Patricia and the girls while he went to the orchard and got Logan.
“Elmira was a good woman.” Tears thickened Grandda’s voice. “Always willing to do whatever I asked of her. I did good when I chose her. She was young and ignorant. The younger a woman, the easier it is to train them.”
Johnnie chose silence over arguing.
“They want to please you at all costs. You are their god. Their minds are more malleable and open to trying new things. Older women are too set in their ways.”
“I prefer a woman who has full autonomy, Grandda. Full agency over her thoughts and actions.”
“Because you know no different.”
“I do,” he insisted. “I’ve learned from Christopher. He has a great respect for women. Girls. The fairer sex.”
“Fuck him! He’s worthless! You’re better than he’ll ever hope to be. You have more knowledge in your pinky than he has in a hair follicle.”
Johnnie stiffened. “Let’s end this conversation now, Grandda. I don’t want to leave angry.”
“When was the last time he complimented you? Rewarded you? Offered more than obligatory nonsense about a good job or whatever he knows how to say?”
Never . Not that it mattered. Johnnie didn’t need worthless words. Christopher’s genuine care came through in his actions and how he always looked out for Johnnie and took up for him.
“Word has reached me he’ll be elected treasurer next year. He’s already served as enforcer and secretary. He’s the current sergeant-at-arms. Next, the treasurer? You’ve never been elected to any position.”
Johnnie shrugged. “Christopher tapped me to run his new lab.”
“He got you out of the way,” Grandda scoffed. “He’s afraid of your talent and power. You’re the heir! The prince. How dare he brainwash you into being his lackey.”
“Make up your mind, Grandda,” Johnnie snapped. “Either he’s a Svengali who hates me or he’s an ignorant fucker who isn’t worth my time.”
“He’s ignorant garbage who has you under his spell.”
“He’s my best friend. My advisor. My protector. If you love me so much, you should thank him for always looking after me.”
Huffing, Grandda returned to his food and finished his tamale, then grabbed his drink and took a deep swallow.
Refajo was half beer and half Colombiana, a local soda.
Johnnie preferred shots of guaro but accepted the Refajo tonight.
He wanted to finish his meal and spend the next few hours fucking Paz.
She’d already packed his bags and cleaned his room.
All that was left was his early morning journey to José María Córdova International Airport in Rionegro. Instead of roughing it on a bus, Grandda would allow Mauricio to drive him there.
“There will come a day when Christopher shows his true colors.” Grandda pulled his bowl of mondongo closer.
The rich soup made from tripe, yucca, and various vegetables, was still steaming, despite Mauricio setting it in front of Grandda minutes ago.
He brought a spoonful to his lips, blew on it, then shoved it into his mouth.
“He is jealous of you,” he said once he swallowed.
Johnnie didn’t bother answering. Before this visit, he hadn’t seen his grandfather in almost two years.
Not since the day Big Joe almost shot him.
If Snake hadn’t called Johnnie, Big Joe would’ve killed Grandda, instead of putting him on a plane and sending him into exile.
Johnnie always wondered what had set the man off.
It no longer mattered. That was the past. Presently , he didn’t know when he’d see his grandfather again.
“Christopher loves me and I love him. We’re family, Grandda. Nothing will ever come between us. Why can’t you accept that?”
Grandda gave Johnnie an indulgent smile. “I hope the day never comes when you see the true extent of that motherfucker’s perfidy. When he takes something you want most in the world and leave you with a broken heart.”
“I assume you mean a woman,” Johnnie said dryly.
“He’s an oversexed, violent pig. And, yes, I mean a woman. The way you share broads will be your downfall.”
“Enough!”
“Move here with me. Together, we can plan your takeover of the club.” He nodded to Paz, still thrown into the shadow, out of the light. “She’s yours. I bought her for you. You don’t have to share her with anyone. She’s yours to mold and to train.”
The earlier conversation came to mind and Johnnie narrowed his eyes. “How old is she?”
“Sixteen. Why?”
“Are you out of your fucking mind?”
“The age of consent here is fourteen.”
“I’m not from here, Grandda,” Johnnie growled. “In the States, she’s a child.”
“Are you taking her to the fucking States?” Grandda demanded.
“That isn’t the point.”
“It is the goddamn point, boy. You adjust to your fucking surroundings. Besides, here or there, she’s a fucking throwaway. ”
“What? A throwaway? What does that even mean? She’s a girl. A human being.”
“She’s a fucking throwaway. Unwanted by her parents and society. I bought her for you and saved her from whoredom.”
“I’ve fucked her for the entire week. She serves me like I’m a fucking king. Isn’t she a whore?”
“Whores are paid. Why do you think I dress them as they are? To distinguish us from them. Her labor is free. She’s grateful for the food and shelter.”