11. Rico
Rico
Snow probably believes her life is a series of unfortunate events. And, I never want to take away from the shit she’s been through.
But maybe that’s what the term touched by fire means. Let the homie Prince tell it, fire is both destructive and cleansing. Bad and good.
Because as much bullshit as Snow has encountered, sometimes, it seems as if she bounces back, dusting herself off and trying again.
If I hadn’t seen the track marks myself, I’d have never guessed she was on that shit. Even my cousin is stumped at her new labs. There’s some slight inflammation in her liver, her blood pressure a little higher than normal.
But that’s it.
Shit that can be fixed with diet, exercise, and abstaining from drugs and alcohol.
“Rico,” Snow huffs. “Slow–”
“You wasting breath talking, Snow. Get them fucking legs up.”
It’s raining outside, or we would be in the sand. Instead, we’re in my indoor gym, watching the storm form over the ocean.
Well, I am. Snow’s about to fall on the treadmill.
I worked out before I woke her up, my damp shirt around my neck as my fingers hover over the controls. I’d just turned up the speed, and Snow was holding onto the handles for dear life, like the time on the machine doesn’t read two minutes.
“Let go and pump your hands, Snow. Ain’t no handlebars when we running on the beach.”
Her eyes balloon as she snaps her head to me, stumbling a little.
My lips spread, and I turn up the speed again. “Careful. You only gotta run a mile, and then we can start legs.”
I think she whimpers, but I can’t hear it over her feet slapping on the conveyor belt.
Maybe I can get my get back without snapping her neck.
That thought has me grinning harder.
“Rest as much as you can. I only need to check my email and then we touring the hotel.”
Snow ignores me, but I know she heard me. I don't take it personally. She can't feel her legs.
She probably hasn’t worked out since she had to relearn to walk. If you look carefully, you can see on her legs where they put rods in them, scars and indents that stick out just barely on her golden skin.
Maybe she has something to prove to herself. Maybe she has something to prove to me. But after that initial complaint, Snow took everything I gave her. For an hour straight, I worked every muscle on her lower half. Even when her legs shook like she was twerking, she completed every rep, every set.
She earned a little down time, I guess.
I smirk as she plops down on the couch in my office. She whimpers after every sip of cold water, but that’s it. Not even a glance or glare my way.
Miele bought her a whole new wardrobe with my card when she first got here.
Nan’s orders, not mine. My cousin is growing up too fast for me, nothing like the shy and precocious teenager I’d met when we celebrated Fredo’s life here.
I scolded her when I saw some of the things she bought for her, demanding to know where she even knew to get them.
Now, I’m lowkey thanking her.
Snow’s been slowly getting her weight back since the ibogaine treatment. She’s still too skinny, but that's not stopping my dick from stirring as I stare at the beads of sweat that disappear into her sports bra.
And her hard ass nipples stabbing the fabric.
My computer finishes loading, so I lose myself in all the emails I have, and deciphering them so that I know what’s actually being said. I wasn’t lying to Snow about rearranging my whole life. All the other shit I’ve been into is dead in the water with this eye patch.
Most niggas in the Armed Forces will be discharged or retire and find work in the private sector. After all, there’s more money and less oversight to still do the shit you did when you were a slave to the government.
So that’s what I did. The correct term is mercenary.
A gun for hire. Me and most of my old unit.
Gathering intelligence. Destabilizing regimes.
Maybe even setting up scandalous bitches in compromising positions.
It was fun, and kept my pockets lined and me out of trouble.
I’m attractive, but I have a forgettable face.
Tall, but not too tall. Could speak a few languages and dialects, so I could come off American, or Afro-whatever.
Forgettable.
Niggas will remember a nigga with an eye patch. Or a scar cutting into their brow.
So I’ve been communicating with all my contacts that I’m sat down permanently.
Shad texted me the picture I sent Asa to confirm what Snow did to me, but I didn’t reply.
He’d be on her side, like he always is, and I don’t miss the times where he and Sean would ask me about her and look judgmental when I’d shut it down.
The bros don’t even know just how sick Shad gets with his spying shit. He takes nosy to a whole other level, but since he never presses people like Peanut does, it goes over everyone’s heads.
Not me.
I know that nigga be all into our lives, just like I knew he’d see that picture. I was fifty-fifty on him reaching out, but that’s probably because Snow hadn’t even talked to Auty yet.
Maybe later.
Most of the time, companies committed to causing mayhem in the name of the almighty dollar aren’t too keen on letting you live a normal life. So, I had to get creative with my retirement plans.
Asa doctored up a couple pictures, and boom, Fredo Alvarez is no more.
Shad always laughed that I assumed his identity after I was discharged, but since we had the same DNA, I figured it was a no-brainer.
I wasn’t doing that shit forever.
And since he got caught up in Tiny and Set’s war, it wasn’t like he had a death certificate. The organizations I worked for loved the shadows, so they didn’t ask many questions. They just wanted results, and I more than delivered.
So for the second time, Fredo has died.
I sigh, exiting out of my encrypted email. When my eyes dart to the couch, Snow is already watching me.
I don’t know which is more jarring. Seeing her with freckles again. Seeing her with a quarter-inch of hair. Or seeing the way she’s looking at me.
Like she’s trying to figure out.
It was never hard for her before. Even through all the lies and half-truths, she knew me.
She saw me.
It’s part of the reason I’ve stayed so far away. Snow walks around aloof by choice. Because she doesn’t like what she sees. But that doesn’t mean her eyes don’t work.
I don’t like that she has to figure me out. I don’t like that she doesn’t trust herself anymore, when it comes to me.
You’re so damn confusing, Rick.
I blink hard, ignoring Fredo. It’s one thing to go back and forth with myself when I’m alone. I do not need Snow thinking I’m hearing voices in my head.
I thought you didn’t care about Snow.
“Rico, are you okay?”
My sight focuses back on Snow, and her eyes are pinched in concern.
I relax my face and smirk. “You good to walk? We got a lot of ground to cover.”
She frowns instantly, and I barely have enough time to dodge the empty water bottle she launches at me.
“Ay, you getting too fuckin’ comfortable,” I grit without thinking. Standing, I grab the bottle and toss it in the trash. I narrow my eyes at her victorious smile.
“Oh, you real mad,” she cackles, before wincing as she stands. “My bad, Patches.”
“This shit is temporary. All them wigs you wear, you don’t know if you finna be a plucked bird for right now or for the rest of your life.”
Shock registers on her face at my comeback. Shit, I don’t know where it came from either.
I’d never been one to really go back and forth, except with the bros. Snow would try to get off her jokes, but I always laughed at her, never threw one back.
But that Patches shit was weak. Too fucking soon.
“You’re a dick. My edges are growing back same as my crown,” she says, but she still rubs her fingertips to make sure she’s telling the truth.
Hasn’t she seen herself when she looked in the mirror?
You know Snow never liked her freckles.
My gaze shifts to them. Her face is still flushed from the gym, making them stand out more.
Though, no matter how much makeup she caked on, I could always see her freckles. They, much like their owner, have never been able to blend in.
“You know, Shad drifts off like that.”
My jaw ticks. “Don’t compare me to no other nigga, Snow. Let’s go.”
I storm out of my office, not even sure where the flare of jealousy comes from.
Both Shad and Sean always had a crush on her, ever since she spent the night giving them pointers on their music.
She’d never seen him like that, even if the world speculated that she was in the middle of Cochise and Shad’s public rap beef last year.
No, Wyn never crossed that line with Shad. Not even because he’s Set’s brother, or because fucking two of my bros is too much.
Somehow, some way, they formed a bond that rivals mine with Haze. She’s fiercely protective of him, and he’s the same with her. He left his phone in the car the day Pooh ambushed me when we met with him, and while he was gone, Snow kept blowing his line.
His phone was open to the thread, so it was nothing to read their messages. After she cussed him out for disappearing on us, she agreed to appear on stage with him. From there, they talked about everything; Shad’s baby mama Mace, advice about Wyn’s first album, even her fears about getting sober.
She was unapologetically honest with him. He knew everything about her, and didn’t have to pull teeth about it, either.
I wish I could have lurked more before he came back.
Though, knowing Shad, he would have let me look if I’d asked.
“We gon’ start at the hotel, and make our way through the grounds until we end up back home… Now, technically, it’s a boutique resort, since we got activities and shit, but that’s a lot of words, I guess.” We’re in the lobby now, by the gold La Villa de Abedul sign on the wall.
One of my cousins is manning the concierge, and she waves at me before handling a guest. Nearly all of our rooms are full, since it’s still January, and the foyer is bustling with activity as the experiences for the day are beginning.