Chapter 2
Rio – Six months later
I’m in fucking hell.
And about to get doused in gasoline.
The fast clicking of stilettos echoes closer, reaching me along with the feminine scent—musk, cashmeran, jasmine—of the expensive perfume I had specially made for her birthday.
Hurricane Maeven is here.
I don’t lift my gaze from the spotted dirty tile and the nine hundred and ninety-two spots I’ve been counting, not even when the long sigh, charged with what I can only assume are large doses of fed-the-fuck-up, fills the room.
“When I accepted this job, I made it abundantly clear, Riomar Castillo, that I’m not here for this kind of fuckery.
” Maeven’s voice is sharp and tight, and she doesn’t stop there.
“You had a wonderful day today. Your new album is trending on social media with people calling it an instant classic. We announced your tour, but instead of shaking our asses to your songs in a club flowing with champagne, I’m here bailing you out of jail. ”
I still don’t look at her beyond the five-inch heels with bows on the backs. “Did you know there are 992 stains on these tiles?”
She pushes closer. “No, but when you look for a new publicist, for the right amount of money, you may be able to find 992 candidates that will be willing to put up with this shit.”
She pivots back to the way she came. I push to my feet, raising my gaze from the floor.
“Don’t leave, Maeven,” I say, finally looking up at her.
Her hair is pulled into a high ponytail that dangles even as she pauses.
Her jeans and red top with what looks like a keyhole in the front make her look relaxed and laid back, but her face gives more of an on-my-last-nerve vibe.
It’s accentuated by the reddish hue on her brown skin, most likely from annoyance. That’s my fault.
“Why shouldn’t I?” she asks while glaring at me as if she could disintegrate me with her gaze.
Yeah, she’s pissed at me, and I can’t blame her.
“It wasn’t my fault. Noryel came in looking for trouble.
I was having a good time, chillin’ with my people, until that asshole started throwing shots until he threw a glass at us.
I went over there and showed him I didn’t need a glass to make a point.
” I flex my fingers against the raw pain in my knuckles.
“Rio, you broke his nose and dislocated his shoulder. He won’t be able to make his next gigs.”
I shrug. “He had it coming.”
“Yeah, I won’t argue with you there because everyone knows Noryel DD was in real need of an ass whooping.
But it didn’t need to come from you. It was reckless.
You keep acting like a hot trigger and falling for traps constantly.
This shit is getting old.” She turns her finger in a circle as if to say look around us.
“Do you know the kind of favor I had to pull so charges weren’t pressed against you? ”
Anger storms up my spine. She doesn’t have to do me any fucking favors.
“No, you don’t. Because I, Esme, and Kresh are constantly bailing you out. I should cut my losses with you, Rio. I could be making this money with someone easier to manage.”
And now she throws the whole team in my face. Esmeralda “Esme” Fernandez is my lawyer, and Lucrecia “Kresh” Bravo is my agent. Both work in tandem with Maeven to manage my career. But at this point, I don’t care. “Do it, then. I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone who doesn’t want to be here.”
I sit back down on the chair.
“Get up. I’m not doing this here.”
She turns on her heel, walking in quick, New York strides.
I follow because I’m not dumb enough to stay in jail if I shouldn’t even be here.
Outside the room, the cops are waiting for us.
Esme, with her asymmetrical bob, is talking to them.
Her no-nonsense lawyer expression is on full display as she nods.
The officer who arrested me hands me my jewelry and phone. “Stay out of trouble.”
“Fuck you,” I say back.
Maeven stops walking to pin me with what I recognize as her shut-the-fuck-up look—flat lips and a scowl that could scare the hair off a Maine Coon. I smile and follow her out.
Outside, a large Suburban is waiting for us.
We hop in, and Esme leans close, her eyes sharp on mine.
“Stop fucking up. You’re lucky we were able to secure witnesses who saw him throw the glass your way before they got paid off.
But you can only get lucky so many times, Rio.
It’s getting old. We don’t want you to ruin everything you’ve got going on. ”
I nod. “Thank you.”
We drive up the West Side Highway to Riverdale to drop off Esme.
I’m always struck at how different from the other parts of the city it is.
If you went by the all the lush trees and the mixture of private homes and exclusive buildings, you wouldn’t think there are subway stations and poor neighborhoods just miles away.
The suburban feel is like a mirage. I don’t get to contemplate that much as we are soon headed to my place in the Upper West Side.
Maeven stares out to the night river view as we maneuver back on the highway.
The silence in the car is heavy, other than the driver’s loud gum smacking.
Maeven’s not on her phone like she always is.
This time, she’s pensive, her leg tapping on the floor of the car like a ticking time bomb.
She’s going to quit. And she should. No one signed up for this shit, but she’s getting paid well, so fuck her.
If she wants to walk away, goodbye. I’m not begging anyone to stay, even if I lose opportunities.
So what? I can make more songs, and I can hire another publicist. One that doesn’t nag so much.
Except, she’s like family, with a fierce and protective presence, taking care of me during my worst times.
I’m not forcing anyone to stay, though.
When we get to my place, she jumps out of the car, and we head into the building.
Tito, my cousin and bodyguard, is waiting for us at the door, wearing fresh clothes and a baseball cap.
He’s built like a linebacker, pure muscle on every inch of his body.
His imposing body is at odds with the worried expression on his face.
His brown skin looks a little ashen too.
We got separated when I got arrested, and he was probably the one who called Maeven and Esme.
He claps my shoulder and ushers us into the building. “How was it?”
“It was fine. Almost had to fight someone there too.” I look at Maeven as I say it, but her face remains blank. I want to piss her off so she can quit and walk away without dragging this shit out. I hate when people make up their mind and then keep pushing shit off.
Tito looks at me, his eyes panicky, his mouth pale. He knows she’ll dump me too.
“Maeven, what were you getting into?”
She doesn’t bother to look at us. “Esme and I were having dinner with Vale and Alondra. We were working on their wedding plans.”
Shit. Alondra is Esme’s best friend and Maeven’s cousin—they’re all like sisters. She lives in North Carolina with her fiancé Valentin. They’re in town to discuss wedding planning and were supposed to meet us after to celebrate my album release.
Yeah, I’m getting my ass dropped today.
The music blares before the door opens to my penthouse. It’s not any music. It’s my music, my art, my pain, mi alma. The people who were partying with me at the club are all here. When everyone sees me, they scream my name.
A few girls surround me, and someone hands me a Presidente beer.
Maeven intercepts it instead, her eyes pelting me with that look I can’t decipher. “Tell them all to get the fuck out.”
“They came to party with me.”
“Tell. Them. To. Get. The. Fuck. Out.” Her voice booms through an open mic.
Conversations diminish. The DJ stops playing.
All eyes are on her as she blinks a couple of times but doesn’t miss a beat.
“You all heard me. Get out. You’re not Rio’s friends.
I didn’t see any of you trying to get him out.
All you’re doing is mooching off his alcohol and food. ”
“Y quien es esta cabrona?” one of the women says.
Maeven points to the door. “I said, get the fuck out!”
In a matter of a few minutes, the penthouse empties, except for me, her, and Tito. “Go wait outside,” she tells him.
The minute the door closes, she stares me down. “What the fuck is your problem? Do you think this is a game? You’re fucking up your life and damaging your career. You’re either drinking, getting high off your ass, or fighting.”
“I thought you were quitting,” I say with as much sarcasm as I can muster.
“I should. I should walk away and leave you to your mess.”
“Why don’t you? I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone.”
She jabs a finger into my chest. “You don’t want to need me, but you do.
Your tour is not selling very well. Your name is more associated with fuck-shit behavior than music these days.
That album is a masterpiece, but people won’t know it because of your antics.
But that ends right now. You’re going to get your shit together if it kills me.
I booked you an appointment with Dr. Jacinda Smith.
She’s a psychologist, very discreet, who can help you work out some of your issues. ”
“I don’t need to see a counselor. I’m just wild.”
She holds my gaze, unmoved. “You’re not wild.
You’re letting your hurt get to you. You’re acting dumb.
If you keep going down this path, you’re going to do something that’s going to fuck up your career for good.
How long until someone you’re hanging with plants something on you?
How long until one of these little thots you keep hanging around with accuses you of something or gets knocked up because you’re too drunk or high to realize it? ”
“I’m not—” I stop. “Tito is always there.”
He’s my best friend. I trust Tito with my life.