The Slayer (Untamed Hearts #2) (10 page)

“I think I should stay with you.”

“I think it is physically impossible for you to be as naive as you’re acting,” he countered. “There is no way this is real. I feel like I’m being punked.”

“I’m not naive.” She shrugged. “I just think we’re capable of being responsible adults.”

“I’ve been called a lot of things, but a responsible adult was never one of them. You can’t sleep in my bed. Not unless you feel like buying a ticket to hell with me. Then, if that’s the case, we can discuss it.”

She huffed. “I wish you’d stop talking ’bout going to hell.”

“If you knew the shit I’ve done in my life, you’d agree with me.” He turned around and glared at her. “Why do you want to help me so bad? Aren’t there nineteen-year-old gringos in this town for you to fuck around with?”

“I don’t have any friends.” She looked at her hands after she admitted it. “At least none my age.”

“We already established we’re not the same age,” he reminded her. “Not even close. Why don’t you have any friends? You look like you should have lots of friends here. You’re all neat and perfect with shiny hair and straight bleached teeth.”

Alaine ran her tongue over her teeth at the mention of the bleaching. “I bought it at the store. No good?”

“It looks fine,” he assured her. “I just told you. Smoking hot.”

“Okay.” She nodded and looked at her hands again. “I appreciate that. The compliment. You’re smoking hot too, but I assume you know that.”

He laughed. “I honestly did not think anything could distract me from this miserable shit I’m going through. You’re sweet, mami. Too bad you’re stuck living next to me.”

“I was really excited to have a neighbor,” she said as she looked back up at Chuito, finding him leaning against the sink studying her. “It’s so lonely here at night.”

“Like prison,” he mused as he glanced around her apartment. “I know why I’m stuck here, but I don’t understand why you are. You don’t make friends in college?”

“I do most of my classes online, but I drive to Mercy three days a week. It’s too far to make friends. I just go and come back, because I hate leaving Jules alone to handle everything.”

“You don’t have friends from high school?”

“I had lots of friends in high school, but they were all part of the church. When I left, they stopped being friends.” She lowered her gaze, because it still hurt her feelings. “I guess they weren’t really my friends.”

“Why’d you leave?”

“I just—” She paused as she thought about it. “I wanted something different for myself. I wanted an education and a career instead of a husband and kids.”

Chuito dried his hands on the towel as he considered that. “They don’t want you to get an education?”

She shook her head. “My father thought it was a waste of money. When Jules offered to pay, he got so mad I had to move out. He doesn’t like Jules.”

“What about your mother?”

“She passed away.”

Chuito hung the towel on the stove, clearly deep in thought. “How long you been in prison here, mami?”

“Over a year,” she whispered miserably. “Alone. In this place every night.”

“That’s a long time to be in solitary.” He lifted his head and looked at her. “What if I hurt you again while I’m having a nightmare? If that happens, I
will
have to take myself out.”

Alaine understood he was talking about the sleeping arrangements she suggested. “Well, this time you’ll know I’ll be there. You said you’ve slept with women before.”

“I don’t usually do much sleeping when I’m in bed with a woman,” he said with the arch of an eyebrow. “I guess if I know you’re there, we’ll be okay, but no sneaking up on me anymore.”

She nodded. “Okay.”

* * * *

Chuito slept in his jeans but took off his shirt. Alaine brought a thicker blanket, because his apartment only had sheets without a comforter. She brought her pillow too and gave Chuito another one from her apartment, because the one he was using wasn’t any better than the scratchy sheets. They really should’ve slept in her bed.

It was past two in the morning. She was dead tired, but she snuggled under the blankets as she looked at Chuito in the near darkness of his room. Even with the bruises from fighting with Wyatt, his face was so handsome. His eyes were dark in the night but framed with long eyelashes that made them more expressive. She noticed he had dimples when he smiled, which changed his whole dynamic.

He was easily the most beautiful man she’d ever seen in her life. Everything about him seemed so much more interesting and complex than the men she knew, and she liked that about him. Very much.

“It’s like a sleepover,” she said with a wide smile. “Did ya ever have sleepovers when you were younger, Chu?”

“No.” He turned on his side and studied her pensively. “We didn’t have enough food to feed extra kids. My mother and Tía Camila could barely feed us.”

“You didn’t spend the night at someone else’s house?”

“No.”

“Why?” she asked curiously.

“’Cause I wanted to be home. I liked to be with my family. I liked to make sure they were safe.”

She frowned. “When you were a little kid?”

“I was never a little kid,” he said as he arched an eyebrow at her again. “Born a diablo. Always a thug, mami.”

“Why do you call me
mami
?”

“’Cause I do,” he said as if it made perfect sense to him. “’Cause you make me feel protective. It’s an endearment, I promise.”

“You make me feel protective too.” She smiled again and reached over and put her hands on his eyes. “Go to sleep. It’s good for you.”

He sounded like he wanted to argue, but the lack of sleep and no coffee obviously caught up with him. Chuito fell asleep almost instantly.

Chapter Eleven

Alaine lay awake, staring at him for a long time afterward.

It almost made her feel a little guilty.

His eyelashes were so long, so beautiful and dark, it seemed unfair they belonged to a man. They were a strange contrast to everything else about him that was hard and unyielding.

She reached out, tempted to run a finger over a long, jagged scar on his shoulder. He had warned her not to touch him while he was sleeping, so she just leaned in closer to study it, trying it imagine what would cause a wound like that. It didn’t look like it had been cared for properly either. It was a little too thick to have been stitched up, and she shuddered at the thought of allowing a wound that size to heal on its own.

Chuito had lots of markings like that, scars that had to have once been terrible injuries. It looked like he had been through a war, and it wasn’t just the scars that brought a warrior to mind. There was such a sharp edge to his demeanor. She noticed tonight that unexpected noises from outside made him jump, and he had a tendency to glance out the window as though expecting an attack.

It was like he was on autopilot, and just because his surroundings had changed didn’t mean the habits did. Alaine now understood how sheltered her existence had been. She thought of all those news reports about wars abroad and then realized there was evidence sleeping right next to her that there were wars here at home too.

And for some reason, they were largely discounted.

She was just pondering the unfairness of it when Chuito started speaking, though his eyes were still closed.

“
Uno, dos, tres, cuatro…
”

She knew he was counting in Spanish, but she couldn’t, for the life of her, imagine what he was dreaming about.

* * * *

“Five, six, seven—”

“Why are you always counting like some pendejo on an exercise video? Just go until you feel like you can’t feel your arms and do five more. About tonight, you come out with me and Carmen, and I help you steal a car after. That’s the deal.”

Chuito looked up at his cousin Marcos, who was spotting him in the garage as he bench-pressed. “Carmen the Cuban?”

“So what?” Marcos shrugged as he stood over him. “I don’t give a shit if she’s Cuban. Have you seen her
tetas
?”

“Take it,” Chuito grunted, pushing the barbell up until Marcos helped him put it back. Then he rubbed a hand over his face and groaned. “Why do I have to go?”

“She’s got to bring her friend along. Always with the friends. Why? All the chicas do that. So annoying,” Marcos grumbled. “I wouldn’t bring you along if I didn’t have to. What is it with them?”

“It’s probably ’cause they know you’re going to stick your fingers in her pussy the first chance you get. They protect their own.”

“I’m going to stick more than my fingers in her pussy, cabrón,” Marcos assured him as he leaned against the barbell. “As long as you keep her friend busy, I’m going to eat it
and
fuck it.”

“Her friend’s probably Cuban too. What the hell am I supposed to do with her?”

“The same thing you do with a Boricua Latina,” Marcos said with a grin. “Make out. Suck on her tetas or something. You don’t have to fuck her since you’re obviously saving yourself for marriage. Just keep her busy.”

Chuito sat up and avoided his cousin’s gaze.

“I’m not you, Marc,” he finally admitted. “Chicas don’t like me.”

“Sure they do. You’re Boricua. You’re naturally
chulo
.”

“I don’t think I’m naturally chulo,” Chuito argued as he turned to his cousin and confessed a fear he hadn’t admitted to anyone. “What if I’m like him?”

“Him?” Marcos pulled back, looking confused for a long moment before he said, “Ay Dios mio.” He came around and sat on the bench next to Chuito. “You are ruining my sex life for that motherfucker? You’re not like him, Chu.”

“Maybe I am.” Chuito shrugged. “I am half him.”

“Okay, I’ll admit you have an unnatural obsession with stealing shit,” Marcos agreed. “And you are a mean motherfucker when you’re fighting. That’s all pretty fucking gangster, but you’re not going to hurt a chica.”

“How do you know?”

“I just know.” Marcos held up his hands in evidence. “’Cause you’re my cousin and I know you, okay? I wouldn’t leave a car unlocked around you. I sure as shit wouldn’t piss you off, but the chicas are safe from you. More than safe. You’re sort of hopeless around them. We have to work on this.”

“I’m fourteen,” Chuito argued. “That’s not—”

“I’ve been fucking for a year now,” Marcos argued. “This is not okay. We need to get your game on, motherfucker, ’cause this shit is hurting
my game
.”

“Can’t you find chicas without friends?”

“They
all
have friends. Even the skinny ones,” Marcos assured him. “Let’s fucking discuss this. I’ve dragged you along enough times to know you got a little game. What have you done?”

Chuito shrugged, unable to meet his gaze.

“Look, why don’t you just focus on the chicas getting off. Just make it about them. Don’t worry about your dick if you’re so fucking uptight about it. Don’t you like sucking on tetas?” Marcos gave him a harsh look. “
Please
tell me you like sucking on them.”

“I like sucking on them. I just start to worry I’ll lose control and—”

“Have you licked pussy? That’s harmless. Just do that.”

Chuito gave him a sharp look. “I’m pretty sure you’re the only one who knows how to do that. I don’t even hear motherfuckers at the warehouse talking about it, and they get pussy all the time.”

“It’s easy. I’m going to draw you a diagram.”

“Please don’t.”

“Juan!” Marcos shouted, leaning back on the bench and looking toward the open door to the house.

“Mierda,” Chuito cursed and turned around, looking for his shirt that he couldn’t find. He jumped up, keeping his back to the door. “I don’t have my fucking shirt on.”

“What?” Juan asked as he came to the door.

“What do you mean, what?” Marcos asked him sharply, speaking Spanish save the word
what
that he spat out bitterly in English. “Why are you always speaking English? We’re home now. We don’t have to speak English at home. Save that shit for school.”

Chuito reached over and hit Marcos’s head on instinct, making sure to keep his back to his brother. “He can talk however he wants. He’s smart.”

“So what? He can’t be smart and speak Spanish at home?” Marcos argued. “The gringos here make you think if you speak Spanish, you’re not smart. We’re fucking smart, Juan. We’re smarter than those motherfuckers. Speak Spanish. Represent.”

“He’s eleven.” Chuito shoved him again. “Stop fucking swearing in front of him.”

“Wow.” Marcos gave Chuito a look of disbelief and then turned back to Juan. “Get me paper. I’m drawing Chu a diagram.”

“Of what?” Juan asked in English.

Marcos put a hand over his face and mumbled against his fingers, “Just get the paper.”

Juan turned to leave, and Chuito started searching for his shirt again, because he didn’t want his brother to see the star tattoos on his shoulders that branded him a thief. “Where the fuck is it?”

“Just let him see the ink. Who cares? My mother already tanned both our asses for it. Which I still think is bullshit, ’cause she doesn’t mind spending the fucking money we make, but we paid for the crime anyway,” Marcos grumbled. “And Juan knows we steal cars. I’m tired of wearing my shirt all the time. I work out to show this shit off.”

“I care,” Chuito argued as he found his shirt under the bench. “I don’t want him to think being a gangster is okay.”

“But speaking English all the time is okay?”

“Look, we live here now. He needs to know how to speak English. Let him speak it. It’s not like he’s going to forget the Spanish,” Chuito argued as he pulled his shirt over his head. “Doctors and shit need to know how to speak English really well.”

“That really pisses me off,” Marcos whispered. “It should piss you off too. No one has more Boricua pride than you.”

“I have fucking pride because he’s smarter than the rest of these pendejos. Let him be him. Let him be better than us,” Chuito said as he sat back down next to his cousin. “Why do you think I steal all the cars and got the fucking stars so we can sell them to Victor without hearing shit from the other Los Corredores? It’s so Juan doesn’t have to know what it’s like to starve and worry about money.”

Marcos snorted. “Yeah, it’s not ’cause it gets your dick hard.”