Chapter 9
Two weeks, four days, and nine hours is how long it takes for a vag to heal from superficial burns and six dissolvable stitches. Atticus managed to steer clear of me during that time, stating that I was in no shape to show my face in public. Granted, he wasn’t wrong. My eyes are still decorated with ugly green and brown bruises around them. Thankfully, the swelling went down quickly, but it’s no surprise I still look like a wreck.
Sliding the dark, oversized, oval sunglasses from my wild hair, I fix them over my eyes. There’s no doubt in my mind that I look every bit as foolish as I feel in them, but at least they do the job of concealing the markings.
Walking back through the clinic, I scuff my signature boots across the pristine laminate flooring. It’s not like anyone here gives a shit, anyway. Atticus pays them handsomely for their discretion. I rush through the hallway ignoring the staff as they chatter amongst themselves. The entrance to the building appears as I round the corner. I’m a footstep away when a nasally voice stops me.
“Have a great day, Mrs. Lennon!”
I turn my head, glancing over my shoulder to see the overly friendly receptionist waving enthusiastically.
Ignoring the woman, I push the glass door open, stepping outside the clinic. The Louisiana heat engulfs me, hating that we’ve made it to the in-between stage of spring and summer, meaning it’s the start of swamp-ass season. Sweat drips down my chest, making me cringe at the realization I have to walk several blocks in this heat.
Boob sweat is the worst.
I’m grateful that I had enough foresight to wear my sports bra and athletic leggings. I twist my curls in a messy bun as I trek my way to Ladrón”s gym. The dilapidated building sits in the industrial area. Not so coincidentally, the warehouse I bought isn’t far from Ladrón’s. You’d never know by its appearance, but Ladrón”s gym is known for churning out some of the best success rates in N’awlins. Shaking my hands out, I pull the front door open. A bell chimes around the main entrance where a young teen looks up from the sign-in desk.
“Welcome to Ladrón’s. If you’re a member, please come sign in.” A beautiful smile graces the boy’s face, his dark eyes shining behind thick frames. A hint of an unfamiliar accent ticks in the back of my mind.
As I make my way to the sign-in desk, I give the boy a courteous smile, “Good morning, cher. I’m signing in for the weapons training class this morning.”
His cheeks grow a healthy shade of pink at the use of the endearment. “Th-thanks for c-checking in Miss…” he stutters.
“Mrs. Lennon. Though, I do prefer my friends to call me Mae.”
Recognition seems to light the boy’s eyes. “I know your son, Liam. He-he’s my best friend, well, one of them. We all go to Everest Hill together, ma’am.” Gone is the shy boy and in his place a proud friend instead.
A genuine smile threatens to crack my crafted mask as I offer the young teen my hand.
“Any friend of Liam’s is a friend of mine. What was your name, cher?” I ask as footsteps sound from behind me, alerting Liam’s friend.
A rich, teasing voice tickles my ears, “Isn’t he a bit too young for you?”
The boy coughs on his spit as a laugh slips freely from my lips.
“Marco, my name is Marco. But, my friends call me Ricky.” I quirk my brow as the boy quickly recovers and shakes my hand firmly.
“It’s very nice to meet you, Ricky. I hope Liam doesn’t cause you too many problems at school.” I smile, thankful that my kid has someone in his corner.
Goosebumps travel up my spine as the mystery man behind me brushes his hand against my lower back. Ricky’s eyes widen as the man in question approaches the desk.
“No, ma’am, Liam is great. I’m actually a grade above him, but he sticks up for me. Being a Ladrón in a school full of rich kids means they treat me…different.” Ricky’s shoulders sag dejectedly.
The mystery man claps his copper-toned tattooed hand on Ricky’s shoulder, lightly pushing the teen over and making him scowl. Stunning obsidian eyes lit with playful energy meet mine, taking my breath away. His face is clean-shaven, adorned with twin dimples as he smiles making him appear not much older than myself. His jet-black hair is slicked back, giving him a contrasting bad-boy vibe along with the hundreds of dark, sensual-themed tattoos decorating his bare chest and arms. Around his neck sits a delicate, silver chain rosary with black beading, the crucifix more detailed than the ones I have come across.
Holy shit. He’s gorgeous.
Catching myself before I start drooling, I give the man a genuine smile while offering him my hand. His dark eyes flit to my hand, studying my gaudy wedding ring. A delicious heat wraps around my fingers as the gorgeous man lifts my hand to meet his soft lips.
“It’s an absolute pleasure to meet you, Mae. My name is ángel Ladrón and this ragazzo is my nephew.”
ángel and I depart from the front desk, leaving Ricky behind to work the long line gathering behind me. I learn that Ricky’s mother, ángel’s sister, was the head of the Ladrón Cartel syndicate. He explained how she passed away unexpectedly,
“Cancer, fucking ugly way to go for a Reina, but she wasn’t going to take the easy way out. Ricky’s father lives in Italy. He’s not a bad guy, but he is absent more often than not. Ricky has two families he represents, so life at Everest Hill can be hard on him. The kid is tough. He says your boy is a good friend. Any friend of Ricky’s is a friend to the Ladrón family.”
Walking into the air-conditioned gym, I find an empty corner to place my belongings. ángel leans himself against the poorly painted brick walls, observing the few members roaming about.
Pulling the dark shades from my face, the bright fluorescent lights cause me to hiss my displeasure.
“What the fuck happened to your face?” he shouts, making me cringe as I hear the assumption hidden in his tone.
Turning on my heel, I walk towards the dingy blue mats. My heart lurches out of sync, knowing that I haven’t addressed any of the trauma from that night. I raise my arms above my head and begin stretching my limbs, praying to whatever God is out there that I don’t have a panic attack.
Get your shit together, Mae.
Pushing off from the wall, he stalks in front of me, his expression far too furious for someone that I’ve only just met. “Who do I need to kill, lucecita?”
Swallowing the blockage in my throat, I squat deeply continuing my stretches. “No one, I’m fine. Thank you for the offer, though.”
His dark gaze travels over my well-covered body as if he can see through the barriers. Nodding sharply, he steps back, allowing me the space I desperately need. After warming up, my feet carry me over to the weapons’ room. My clammy hands reach for the foam-padded Kamagong sticks. Phantom pain forces me to breathe heavily, my lower back tense, preparing for a strike that never comes. Chatter around the gym sounds distant like I’m drowning in a pool while everyone around me is oblivious.
That’s it, cher. You’re so close to breaking for me.
.
.
.
My baby! You killed Danny.
Atticus’ voice paralyzes me, but Mrs. Fremont’s fuels my rage. Blinded by pain, paranoia, and the haunting guilt that I deserve every bad fucking thing that has ever happened to me, I kick my foot out at the bins holding the practice weapons. “FUCK! Fuck! Fuc—” My screams are cut short by warm hands gripping my sweaty face.
ángel’s handsome face fields my vision, the gym now empty. “Forgive me, I didn’t want to hurt you. I had a feeling that compression wasn’t going to help,” he soothes, his thumbs gently caressing over the bruising under my eyes.
Holding my hand up, I stop his apologies. “It’s fine, I’m the one who’s sorry. I shouldn’t have come today.” Looking around the gym, I sigh. “Sometimes this happens, I freak out like that,” my hands waving in the general direction of the mess I made.
“I lost Liam’s dad before he even had a chance to know I was pregnant. It was a barn fire…I was there. After that I started getting these panic attacks.”
Dropping his hands from my heated face, his eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Your husband isn’t Liam’s father? I don’t mean to pry,” he laughs lightly. “Okay, maybe I do mean to pry. Atticus Lennon is a well-known figurehead here in New Orleans.”
With a trembling breath, I confess my truths to my newly appointed tattooed priest. “We fell into an agreement and married when Liam was only six months old. He’s all I know.”
ángel nods his head in understanding, not a trace of disdain on his flawless face. However his hands flex at his sides, the sound of his knuckles popping filling the silence between us.
“Is he why you were wearing sunglasses in the building?” he asks, moving straight to the point.
My shoulders tense as I reconsider if he’s someone worth trusting. “Something like that–” Obnoxious beeping interrupts my sordid confession making ángel’s jaw clench, sensing that our time to talk is over.
“For what it’s worth, lucecita, I’m glad you came here today. Despite the bad shit, you met a friend of your son and me, of course.” That mischievous light from earlier finds its way back to his eyes, masking the darkness that bled through.
After saying our farewells, ángel walks me out from Ladrón’s, only for me to stop in my tracks when I see Atticus’ black-pearl car idling next to the curb. His haunting eyes pierce through me before landing on ángel. Atticus’ smile grows unnaturally wide as ángel brushes me to the side, forcing my feet to trip over themselves, as he swaggers his way over to the driver’s door.
The stark contrast between the man I just spilled my truths to the man that is unfolding before me is enough evidence to rebuild the walls around my heart.