Chapter 9 Alma
Alma
It couldn’t have been Efren? Right? Why the hell would he come to Houston of all places?
My brain can’t keep up with the swarm of questions sprouting inside as I fail to focus on the simplest of tasks at the hotel.
Something took root in me last night. I can still feel it, like a current humming under my skin.
The moment I realized it wasn’t Curtis but a stranger, I should’ve been terrified.
Instead, it thrilled me. That thrill hasn’t stopped echoing.
I’ve never taken charge like that while giving a blowjob.
Shit, I’ve never made that kind of effort to make any man cum.
My throat stings where he savagely took me.
And God, the way he took me. The way I enjoyed it.
I throw another load of sheets into the large washer. This morning I was half tempted to call out of work, but that would be inconsiderate, considering I promised to cover Rayven’s shift.
My brain feels like it may explode as I try to make sense of last night. The blindfold. The blowjob. The way I was soaking wet when he finished in my mouth. The way he left me there, breathless and wanting more.
Even after I heard the door close and lifted the blindfold to the murder scene laid out in front of me, I wasn’t concerned. Dr. Curtis Anderson was laying there in a pool of blood, and I couldn’t scream.
As I circle back through last night’s events, there are two significant moments that stick out.
The first is how unbothered Claudi seemed to be about having a dead body in his club.
He hates having to call the police, and yet he was nonchalant when they turned the club into a crime scene with yellow tape surrounding the confession room.
Curtis Anderson had been shot dead—a bullet straight through his eyes—but no one could name who did it or what their motives were.
I told them exactly what I knew: I was blindfolded, forced to orally pleasure the suspect, then set free.
I leave out the part where I enjoyed it entirely too much for what it was—a violation, they claimed.
The second moment came after two hours of questioning, returning home to find Don Cheetos with a used condom in his mouth.
When I opened the shower, I got another surprise, finding a very drunk and naked friend of Larix’s lying in his own vomit.
I had to bring everything, including Don Cheetos, to work and shower at the hotel.
Am I stuck in a recurring nightmare?
“Hey, you almost done?” I hear a voice behind me.
“Mireya!” I exclaim when I see her standing in the doorway.
I haven’t seen Mireya in person in a few weeks due to our conflicting lives and schedules. Mireya stands with a wide smile on her face, baby PJ wrapped to her front with the rebozo I’d gifted her. Long brown strands frame her face. She’s glowing with motherhood.
“Hello mi pequeno hermocho.” I plant several kisses on the baby’s face and lift his little foot, eyeing the Ojo de Venado bracelet I’d given him.
“Calm down, it’s still there,” she assures me.
“Good! You can never be too safe. There’s bad energy everywhere! What are you doing here?” I ask, worried about my friend.
Thalia could handle the shit she was dragged into, she’d been a part of organized crime her whole life, but Mireya hadn’t. I also know she’s the type to suffer in silence rather than say anything.
“Adrian is talking to Patricio upstairs, and I told him to bring me so we could see you.”
Patricio is the second son of Vicente Consuelo. Since the eldest son, Ivan, had passed, Patricio and his younger brother, Enrique, were next in line as heirs to the Houston location. Patricio had no children, but it was clear he would pass everything to his nephew, Adrian.
“I’m glad you did,” I reply, the weight in my chest slowly lifting. “Let me throw in this last load, and I’ll take my lunch break.”
One of the benefits of working at Calavera Hotels is the access we have to the amenities. A large gym, a staff kitchen, laundry services, several large outdoor pools, a gambling area, a cigar room, a bar, and several restaurants inside. My favorite is Tres Coronas.
Mireya and I walk down to the restaurant, and she fills me in on motherhood, her breastfeeding journey, sleep cycles, and milestones. All the information I can’t quite grasp, not having any children or even siblings myself, but I love the way her face lights up when she talks about PJ.
We’re almost to the restaurant when a large man stops us in the main lobby, greeting Mireya and the baby.
“Mireya, Adrian let you leave the house?” He laughs, the sound warm but edged, and I can’t help staring.
There’s something about him that tugs at me, as if my memory is straining to place him.
Maybe I’ve seen him around the hotel before?
He’s older, with a firm jaw and a head full of unruly black curls.
But it’s his eyes that catch me. Not blue, not green, but an amber so dark it borders on yellow.
Even after he moves on, I’m still staring at the space he left behind, unsettled, certain I’ve seen him before.
“Alma.” Mireya’s voice cuts through, pulling me back. “Are you okay?”
“Who was that?” I ask, more sharply than I mean to.
“That’s Ignacio Fernandez.” She shifts the baby on her hip. “But everyone calls him Conejo. He’s Genesis’s father.”
That must be where I recognize him from. Genesis Fernandez isn’t exactly a friend of mine, but she often accompanies Ariella, Thalia and Adrian’s younger cousin.
“Well, I’m as surprised as he is that you were let out of the house,” I tease. I nudge Mireya with my elbow.
“Honestly, me too.” She rolls her eyes, but the grin that follows makes us both laugh. The sound feels like a quick release of tension I don’t realize I’ve been holding.
We trail the hostess through the dining room until she seats us at a corner table by a tall window. From here, the hotel’s front driveway is on full display. Three black Escalades idle at the curb.
“Damn. Looks like La Reina del Sur is checking in.”
Mireya follows my line of sight and sighs. “Yeah, Adrian can be a bit protective.”
“Wait, those are all three, your Escalades?”
“Ya. I’m not used to all the bodyguards and security, but Adrian doesn’t want a repeat of last year.” She winces.
I catch myself staring longer than I should. Something about the scene feels staged, like a warning that this place, for all its chandeliers and white tablecloths, is still orbiting around power I don’t fully understand.
Last year, Mireya’s mother kidnapped her. I still haven’t been given the whole story, but I’m quickly learning that the Consuelo family is complicated.
“That one is really fucking tall. He’s fucking scary,” Mireya says. She points at the large man who steps out to guard the vehicle.
“Damn he’s tall.” I say, noticing the way he towers over the other men.
“Adrian calls him Lurch.”
“Yup, he’s definitely Thalia’s brother!”
We both let out a laugh. Thalia is obsessed with Halloween and gives everyone a spooky nickname. Adrian had been dubbed Frankenstein when he first started working at the hotel.
“How tall do you think he is?” I ask, still curious.
“At least seven feet.”
“Is that a nut roll he’s eating?”
“Ya. That’s all he eats. You’d think they’d call him something like Candy Man, but ironically, his nickname is El Carnicero.”
We bust up laughing before our meals are delivered to the table, and we eat in silence.
“I miss you guys.” I sigh. “How’s it been living at the Consuelo Villa?”
“It’s been nice having family around, but I miss the times when it was just you and me in the apartment.”
“Shit, you and me both.” I’d trade Larix for her in the blink of an eye.
“How has the new roommate been?”
“I don’t even want to think about her.” I groan before I shove a bite of pancake in my mouth.
“What happened?” Mireya pries.
“Last night, Don Cheetos had one of her used condoms in his mouth, and there was a drunk guy in the shower again.”
“Again?”
“Ay pues asi la puta vida,” I say begrudgingly. I stab my fork into another bite of pancakes and drive it into my mouth.
“Oh my god. Alma! What the hell? You can’t live like that. Did you say something to her?”
“No.” I sigh. “I don’t want any more tension than there already is, and we barely see each other.”
“What can I do to help?” She reaches across the table.
“I’m not even sure at this point.”
Technically, I could move out and sign a new lease. But I don’t have the money to break my current lease. Especially since Claudi had to close La Cuevita for a week for investigations.
PJ fusses, and Mireya unswaddles him to nurse.
Watching her cradle her son makes me unexpectedly sentimental.
Had my own mother ever held me like that?
Or had something already gone wrong by then?
I know now that Missy wasn’t my biological mother.
Detective Johnson ran several DNA tests, but I still have no idea when our paths crossed.
My earliest memory of her is hazy but warm.
I must have been four when she found a battered dollhouse at a yard sale and poured herself into fixing it.
She painted the walls, glued tiny shingles back in place, even cut strips of fuzzy fabric for carpet.
When we left it behind during one of her impulsive moves, I think we both cried the entire drive.
“I have an idea.” Mireya’s voice pulls me back. She’s watching me intently, as if she’s been waiting for the right moment. “Why don’t you take mine and Adrian’s old penthouse?”
“Really?” The word slips out, half hopeful.
“Yeah, why not?” Mireya bounces PJ gently as he settles against her. “You’d save on gas by being closer to work. And it’d give me peace of mind knowing you’re here.”
“I’d still want to pay you.” My voice drops. Pride won’t let me take anything for free, even from her.
“Then we’ll come up with something.” She shrugs like it’s nothing.
I hesitate. “Don’t you need to talk to Adrian first?”
“Nah.” A quick smile appears. “What’s Paquita say? Aqui las mujeres mandan.”
“Okay, look at you, Reina del Sur. Your Spanish is leveling up.” I laugh, but secretly I want to climb across the table and hug her.
Houses, apartments, motel rooms—home in a physical sense—has always been temporary for me.
A concept that slipped through my fingers with every move.
But home as a person? That is Mireya. Her voice grounds me when my thoughts spiral, and her stubborn loyalty gives me hope when I want to give up.
Everything else in my life feels borrowed, but this friendship is the one treasure that’s mine to keep.
The time we spend together passes quickly. It feels like old times. Adrian eventually comes down and steals Mireya from me. I’m standing in the lobby when I remember I left my to-go box. Not in this economy.
Rushing back into the restaurant, I stop dead in my tracks when I see the man working behind the service window. He’s wearing an all white chef suit, a brown bandana tied around his head, and his emotionless eyes stare back at me. Efren.