Ocho
I’m about to murder my only friend's brother. This motherfucker won’t move, leaving me no other choice but to move him myself.
“After that, you think I’d let you fucking leave?” he squeals. “I know for a fact you’re smarter than that. There’s no fucking way.”
“That you’d let me? Is that what you just said?
” The laugh that comes out of me sounds just as crazy as his fucking words.
“I don’t know who you think you’re talking to like that, but it sure as fuck ain’t me.
I don’t need you standing here trying to do whatever it is that this is, and I don’t need your permission to do shit, pendejo . Step aside.”
“No,” he growls out like a fucking pit bull. The ferocity in his voice is so striking I feel it in my stomach, and it makes me twitch down deep. Oh hell no.
“Call off your guard dog, man. Better yet, take his ass out for a walk,” I shout over my shoulder to tattoo guy. He hasn’t piped up to say shit. But I hear him thinking. He’s not an idiot; he knows the longer I stay here, the more of a liability I can be for him.
“Or maybe I’ll just cut you loose.” I release my blade and hold it up between us.
“You wanna stand in my fucking way? Gahead, Pendejo .” I watch his hand untuck from his crossed arms and move toward my knife before he wraps his fingers around the sharp medal, as he stares into me.
He looks like a fucking psycho, and it makes my insides flip.
Oh, mis diosas. Oh my goddesses. “I don’t take orders from some man. ”
“I’m not just some man, you fucking little demon.” ?Demonio? Did he really just call me a fucking Demon?! The world’s about to have one less pretty boy because I’m gonna fucking kill him.
My eyes catch his muscular forearm flex as he continues to squeeze the shit outta my girl.
This pretty boy has veins. Veins that are currently prickling my brain every time they flex under his inked skin.
I’m staring at them like I do when I memorize shit.
They look thick and bulge as he squeezes the shit outta my blade. ?OH DIOSAS! OH MY GODDESSES!
The more I look at this half-naked, fine as hell man, the more I’m starting to salivate. I’ve never looked at something that wasn’t food and literalmente started to drool. This motherfucker’s something else. Pinche delicioso. Fucking delicious.
“I’m the man trying to protect you right now.” He says as his free hand smacks his chest right above his heart and his fresh ink. ??Qué?! What?!
He’s speaking English, but I don’t understand the words that he’s saying. I’ve never heard them before, and I sure as fuck don’t know what to do with them now that I have. ?Por qué diría eso? ?Qué diablos le pasa? Why would he say that? What the fuck is wrong with him?
“Fucking let me, you demonic little shit.” His stupid, handsome face looks just as serious as the words he just said. The intensity in his stare is strong enough to make my body go still. It’s like he flipped a switch and shifted the fucking juju in the room.
His alpha male energy is rolling off of him like dark thunderclouds.
It has me standing down and looking up, like I’m waiting for the rain to fall from the sky.
I always know when bad weather is about to come through.
It feels instinctive, like something only I can sense.
And now is no different. Porque él es la tormenta. Because he is the storm.
He’s staring back at me and doesn’t fucking breathe or blink when he pushes the fisted blade with my hand gripping the handle toward my side. He’s using the same amount of conviction now as he did before when he called himself out as being the man to protect me.
His big ass hand lets go, and his long fingers stretch out. The split skin on his palm is red with little blots of blood. Damage from the storm.
Blood doesn’t usually bother me. I’ve seen a fuck ton of it splattered on sidewalks, in puddles on bodega floors, and in stains on clothes that I couldn’t wash out. I’m not phased by it at all. Except for right now.
I’m staring at his cut-up hand, and I’m getting angrier by the fucking second. Like, it’s one thing when I think about stabbing his ass, but it’s another thing for him to do it himself.
??Está completamente loco?! Is he fucking crazy?! First, he punches a wall, and now this? I don’t fucking like it. Like at all. What the fuck is wrong with this man?! What’s he trying to prove out here? What a psycho.
“?Qué intentas demostrar? ?Por qué te lastimas de esa manera? (What are you trying to prove? Why are you hurting yourself that way?)” These questions are loud in my head, and I shout them up into his dumbass face.
He smirks as he leans his body into my personal space.
And that’s exactly how this feels. Personal.
“In English, Ed, I didn’t catch any of that.” Ed? ?Cual Ed? Who the fuck is Ed?
“Why the fuck would you make yourself bleed like that?” Idiota . He can’t go grabbing fucking switchblades.
“To prove my point.” He’s smirking at me like this is some kinda joke. It’s not.
“Which is what? That you’re a dumbass who goes around cutting himself on sharp objects that he shouldn’t be touching in the first place?”
“That I can handle anything that you put in front of me. Do your fucking worst.” He sounds so sure of himself and looks cocky as hell, lifting his chin to me with a permanent smirk on his fine ass face.
“I’m not afraid of a little blood or pain, especially if it means you’re safe.
And right now, the safest place for you to be is here, Ed. With me.”
“Don’t call me, Ed,” I spit out, nearly choking on the nickname or whatever the hell that is.
“Ok, Ed,” he says with a giant smile. Puta madre , are you fucking kidding me? This man has veins and dimples?
“It’s like you’re asking to get stabbed, Pendejo .” It’s a fucking shame I’m gonna have to kill something that’s so pretty to look at.
“Like I said, do your fucking worst, little Demon.” Oh, está tan muerto. Oh, he's so dead.