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

“You can’t threaten me.” Edward huffed.

“I can,” Chuito assured him. “I just did.”

Alaine didn’t wait for Edward to make up his mind on the situation. She jerked her arm out of his hold when it loosened. She ducked underneath the ripped, corded muscles of Chuito’s biceps and then slipped her fingers in the belt loop at the back of his jeans.

“Come on,” she whispered and then touched the Puerto Rican flag tattoo at the back of his neck reassuringly. She swept her thumb over the word
Boricua
under it like a caress to let him know she liked him just as he was. “We broke up.”

“If you’re not dating Alaine, you’re not welcome on this property anymore,” Chuito said to Edward rather than follow her. “There’re two legal ways of dealing with trespassing in this county. One of them is calling Wyatt, but if I’m dealing with it, I won’t be calling the cops.” The deadly threat was easy to believe as he promised, “I will end you, motherfucker.”

Chuito closed the door before Edward could respond, and then pushed past Alaine. He walked up the stairs, and Alaine ran up behind him. “I’m sorry.” When he opened his door, Alaine walked into his apartment with him. “Are you upset?”

Chuito opened his freezer and grabbed a bottle of liquor he kept there. Without saying a word, he got a glass out of the cabinet and filled it up halfway. Then he drank every dang drop. He winced but didn’t cough as he set the glass down on the counter and refilled it.

The anger still throbbing off him had her already frayed nerves raw. She
did
just break up with her second boyfriend in less than a year. This trying-to-please-her-father thing she had been working on really wasn’t turning out very well.

She jumped forward and grabbed the drink before Chuito could down it.

“Alaine, don’t—”

She tried to drink it all. She honestly did, because she knew Chuito drank it when he was stressed out, and she couldn’t imagine being more frazzled than she was right now.

It was just that it tasted like liquid fire, and it burned her throat.

She coughed and choked. Her eyes watered, and she lifted her hand to her mouth as she wheezed, “It’s dreadful. How do you—”

“I’ve got more practice,” Chuito finished as he took the cup from her and drank the rest of the contents. He gave her a hard look. “That
pendejo
called me a spic.”

She winced. “I’m sorry.”

“He should be dead right now.”

“Thank you for being diplomatic.” She gave him another apologetic look. “He didn’t deserve it, but I appreciate it.”

He stared at her for a long moment and then turned around and poured himself another drink. He took the shot and then tilted his head to look out the window. “He’s still out there.”

“Should I call Wyatt?”

“No, I already told you I wasn’t calling Wyatt.” Chuito’s voice was still threatening. “The game is to see if he leaves before the Patrón kicks in and chills me out enough to maim him instead of murder him.”

Alaine poured him another glass and pushed it toward him in silent offering. He drank it, and this time he didn’t wince, which was nothing short of a miracle. She filled up the glass and then took another big gulp, coughing a second time as she pushed up next to Chuito and looked out the window.

“Why did he say what he did?” Chuito asked her, the two of them still standing tightly together as they looked out the small window above the kitchen sink. “Did that imply what I
think
it did?”

“I wouldn’t sleep with him tonight,” Alaine admitted.

Chuito turned around. “Screw waiting for the Patrón.”

“No.” She jumped after him when he walked toward the door. She wrapped her arms around his waist, but he kept going. “He’s not worth it, Chu. I promise.
Please
.” He wasn’t listening. He just kept walking and taking her with him, like a big, unbending wall with legs. “We’re broken up!” she reminded him. “I’m never seeing him again. He’ll leave and go tell his friends that I’m a horrible lay like Joe did, and I can finally give up on dating forever. I’m terrible at it anyway. He’s the last one.
Forever
.”

Chuito stopped so fast Alaine lost her footing. She ended up on her ass on the floor, her fingers in the waistband of his jeans. He turned around in her arms so that her face was level with his crotch, and she arched an eyebrow as she looked at it.

Usually she was subtler, but it was right there, and everything about him was so masculine and beautiful. Carved. Hard. Decorated. She touched the S in his Slayer tattoo etched over his stomach muscles that were deep with ridges impossible to ignore.

His breath hitched, but she didn’t care.

“Alaine.”

She lifted her head and blinked at him, the action feeling slower somehow, as if her world had just been placed inside one of those Jell-O molds her mother used to make.

“You’re touching me.” His voice was low and sexy—the way it got sometimes at night when she lay in his bed talking to him.

“I know,” she whispered and looked back to his stomach. She splayed her hand out over it, enjoying the way it felt too much to stop.

“Okay.” Chuito reached down and wrapped both hands around her arms. He pulled her to her feet so that she was looking at the thick line of his throat, and the way the muscles on either side of it bunched as if he were stressed. She ran one finger down the curve of it, and for just a moment she swore he shuddered, before he choked out, “You’re drunk.”

“Maybe,” she agreed, because she knew where he stood on the two of them, but she
always
wanted to touch. If she had an excuse, why not go for it? She threaded her fingers into his short dark hair. She tugged, just to see how it felt, and Chuito surprised her by letting her pull his head back. He looked so good, so incredibly sexy. The rush sang into her veins, hot and needy as she rasped, “Oh my God.”

“I’m obviously drunk too.” Chuito pushed her away, forcing her fingers out of his hair. “I didn’t eat yet. Just—” He rubbed a hand over his face and stepped back until he hit the door. “You should go.”

She swallowed hard and looked away, because the rejection stung. She felt it heat her cheeks, and she closed her eyes against the sadness that swept her up without warning. “Yeah, okay,” she whispered as she fought tears. “I’m sorry for touching you.”

“It’s not you,
mami
,” Chuito said softly and then reached out and caressed her hair, brushing it away from her face and tucking it behind her ear. “You know it’s my issue.”

“Bullshit!”

He flinched, because usually she didn’t swear. “Alaine—”

“No,” she said before he could give her one of his crappy excuses. “It
is
me. You didn’t want me. You told me to go back to the church.”

“I didn’t know you were going to date assholes!” Chuito gestured to the window as evidence. “Your taste in men sucks!”

“I give up!” She threw up her hands as the tears spilled out and rolled down her cheeks. “I give up, Chu! No one wants me. I’m broken.”

“You’re not broken.”

“I
am
broken,” she promised him. “Very, very, very broken. I’m cold.”

“Cold?” Chuito let out a broken laugh. “Are you crazy?”

“No, really, you don’t know. I’m not very good in bed.”

“Don’t tell me about it.” Chuito held up a hand to stop her. “I didn’t know you’d been sleeping with Edward or that dick Joe before him.”

“You thought I was going to buy a car without test-driving it first?” she asked in disbelief. “What century are you living in?”

“I thought telling you to go back to church would change your stance on that.” Chuito shrugged. “I—” He paused and then turned to the door. He grabbed the handle and twisted it. “Go, Alaine. I’m drunk. You’re drunk.”

“You think you can just dismiss me?”

“It’s my apartment,” he reminded her. “I’m dismissing you. Right now.”

“Fine.” She grabbed her purse off the kitchen table and brushed past him.

Her door next to his was locked, so she had to fish in her purse, but her hands were shaking and she was crying. She was embarrassed, and she wished she had grabbed the bottle off the counter so she could drink all his tequila and just pass out to escape her life. Especially when she could feel Chuito standing there staring at her while she cried over her crushed heart and ego.

“Here’s an idea,” Chuito said slowly as if he didn’t trust himself to speak, but he did anyway. “Maybe it’s not you.
Maybe it’s them
.”

“It’s not,” she assured him as she found her keys. “It’s me.”

“You’re wrong.” He sounded sure about it too. “I guarantee you, if those fuckers told you that you’re cold, then it’s them.”

“I can’t do it alone either.” She put her key in the door and turned the lock. “It’s me, Chu. Be happy you’re not interested. I’m leaving you alone now.”

She stepped in, closed the door, and threw her purse on the floor. Then she walked to her bedroom, her breathing ragged, the tears dripping down her chin as she kicked off her shoes. She pulled off her top and threw it on her comforter in a huff.

Alaine sat down on the edge of her bed and buried her face in her hands. Five years, and she couldn’t stop herself from loving him. From wanting him. From thinking about him every waking moment.

She hated herself for living for those times, late at night, when she’d hear his dreams turn into nightmares, and she’d have a reason to go to him. He was so different at night, without the impenetrable shields he put up during the day.

She closed her eyes, imagining what he would look like with the covers pushed down around his waist, the edge of his boxer briefs barely visible, all that beautiful, tanned, and tattooed skin showing.

The door to the apartment burst open, and she just had a second to grab her shirt and cover herself before Chuito was filling up the doorway to her bedroom.

“
Coño
.” Chuito looked at the ceiling rather than Alaine sitting there with her arm across her chest. He turned as if he was going to leave, but he stopped, showing her his back. He put his hand on the frame and swallowed hard before he asked quietly, “What do you mean, you can’t do it alone?”

“Really?” She laughed. “I have to spell it out to you? The gangster. The man who is too bad to be with someone good?”

“Just answer the question, Alaine,” Chuito said with his back still to her. “Spell it out for me. Remember, we don’t speak the same first language.”

She rolled her eyes, because that one was very old. The different-cultures excuse had expired three years ago. “Spare me.”

“Did you put your shirt on?”

“No, I didn’t.” She threw it at him for good measure. He flinched when it hit his back. “I’m not an angel, and you’re not a devil. So what are you going to do ’bout it?”

“It is official that you’re not allowed to drink Patrón anymore,” Chuito growled.

“It’s my apartment.” She tried to imitate his harsh, unbending way of demanding things. “Get out.”

“Why are you taking this so fucking personally?” Chuito asked in disbelief.

“It
is
personal, and you know why.”

“
Ay Dios mio
.” He gripped at the door frame so hard his knuckles lightened with the effort. “Just tell me why you think you can’t do it alone.”

“Why do you care?”

“Because I don’t want you to think you’re broken.” His voice was suddenly choked with agony. “I care about you. I don’t want you to marry some pendejo who doesn’t know what he’s doing and have you spend the rest of your days unhappy. I want you to enjoy life. That’s
all
I want.”

“I’m going to be unhappy. Married or not. The man I love won’t be with me. I tried dating, Chuito. I tried going back to the church and being with
my people
, as you so politically incorrectly put it. Didn’t work out. Now get out.”

“Are you gonna tell me?” he asked as if he didn’t hear the rest of her speech.

“Are you deaf?”

“That’s not very politically correct either.”

“You’re a nasty drunk!” she yelled at him.

Chuito laughed. “Trust me, I don’t win the award for that tonight.”

“I can’t come,” she announced, because he clearly wasn’t going to leave otherwise. “I have tried. Alone. With a partner. I can’t do it. I don’t know why. Time for you to leave.”

Chuito was silent for several heartbeats before he asked, “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. I think I’d notice if I had an orgasm.”

Chuito ran his hand down the door frame, his back muscles tense as if he was having an inner battle with himself. Then he rested his cheek against the wood and whispered, “I could make you do it.”

Alaine sucked in a sharp breath, because the sound in his voice, the promise, the low rasp to it caused something hot to spread over her so fast she couldn’t breathe.

“One time,” he said as Alaine tried to find her voice. “That’s it, mami. I’ll do it one time. Then you have to promise to never let me touch you again.”

She put a hand to her chest, because she realized he was serious. After five years of wanting him, of loving him, he was going to…

“It’s not sex,” he cut off her train of thought. “I can’t fuck you.”

“Why not?” She hated the soft, desperate sound in her voice, but she couldn’t help it.

“I’m an addict. You know that. Getting off the drugs has never changed that.  If I—” He swallowed hard, and his voice was still full of pain. “I just can’t. I shouldn’t even touch you.”

“You drink,” she pointed out. “You’re not addicted to that.”

“Alcohol is not my drug of choice. It’s the exact opposite of it.”

“I’m not cocaine,” she reminded him.

“That’s what you think?” He glanced at her over his shoulder, his dark gaze running over her for one long, hot moment until it stopped to rest on the pink lace of her bra. “To me you’re coke. Fine. Smooth.
Perfectly white
. Very bad for me, but so fucking sexy I don’t give a shit. It’s worth going down for.”

Well, that was erotic, but the way he talked about it made her nervous.

“You don’t still want to do cocaine, do you?”

He laughed and turned back so he wasn’t looking at her anymore. “I want to do it every day. I miss it like I miss sex. So much it makes my cock hurt.”