Another shrug as he stalks toward me, caging me against the dresser. “It’s not the first time, and it won’t be the last, Jefa. They’ll be fine.”
I hear that shit all the time; everyone involved in our doings calls me that, but when it comes out of his mouth? I love it. Smirking, I try pushing past him. “Dale, hurry up.”
“Gimme two minutes.” He looms in closer. “I just need to take a piss, wash my face, and rinse my mouth.”
I nod and lift two fingers, wiggling them in his face. “Two minutes.”
Said fingers wind up in his grip, his lips brushing over mine. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Gimme your phone,” Ángel says as we park beside a run-down white van outside of Martinez’s house. The bastard’s car is still here, which means I’m probably right on time.
“For what?” I ask, brow quipped.
“Just give it to me, Benni.” His tone is no-nonsense, palm extended for the device in question.
Sighing, I fish the phone out of my back pocket and hand it over, watching with a keen eye as he whips out his own and starts fucking around with both of them.
Two seconds later, my phone lights up, his contact ID plastered my screen. My heart shoots up to my throat in embarrassment. I’ve got him locked in as Papi with the black emoji heart beside it.
Ángel grins, cutting me a sideways glance. “Papi, huh?”
“Please,” I scoff, throwing in an eye roll. “You act like I don’t call you that all the time.”
“I’m laughing ‘cause we think alike.” He holds out his phone for me to see, and I nearly melt into a goddamn puddle. He’s got me as Mami with the crown emoji. I’m still staring at it as he pulls it away and passes back my phone. “Keep the call connected.”
I take it, but not before asking, “Why?”
“‘Cause I know damn well you’re not about to let me go in there with you, and you need ears, that’s why.”
He thinks I need ears? Really? Do I look like a newbie to him? “I got this,” I grit, lifting my chin proudly.
Ángel scoffs an amused laugh through his nose and gives a little shake of his head. “Never said you didn’t, so just listen to me. I’m already muted on both ends. Lock the screen, tuck it in your pocket, and forget about it. If some shit goes down, I got you.”
Yep, he’s trying to kill me.
I almost melt again, about two seconds away from jumping in his lap and doing what we do best. I can’t help it, especially not when he’s sweet like this—makes him more addicting than he already is.
Leaning over the center console, I invite him closer, dragging a claw under his chin when he does as I’ve asked. “Drive away, okay?” My eyes fall to his soft lips. “I don’t want to risk anyone seeing you.”
Chuckling, he slides one of his large hands around the nape of my neck, reeling me in all the way. “Not a chance in hell, mami. I’m not leaving this lot until your ass is back in the car.”
“Ángel…” I warn, but I’m shut down with the softest kiss as he shakes his head.
“The answer is no. Now go, fuck his whole day up.”
Este hombre… This man.
I smile like a fucking loon against his mouth, pecking him one last time as I maneuver my phone into my pocket. “I’ll be back.”
I’m out of the car after that, lightly shutting the door behind myself, the weight of my diamond-crusted 9mm pressing into the small of my back. Trotting up the porch steps of the small house, I slither my way to the weathered door and give four short knocks, noting there isn’t a peephole. A wicked grin carves itself on my face as I all but press myself against the entry to avoid being seen through the windows. That familiar rush of adrenaline tied to this lifestyle floods me, amping me up from zero to one-hundred in sheer seconds.
Oh yeah, this is going to be fun.
Just a few moments later, I hear Enrique approaching, the locks coming undone, and then the door swinging open.
“Surprise,” I chime, cocking my dark head to one side, wicked grin firmly in place.
Enrique pales almost immediately, his brown eyes bulging from their sockets. He starts sweating just as quickly, too, stupidly rushing to close the door.
Fortunately for me, I’m still faster than his predictable reaction. I shove my arm in through the gap, effortlessly blocking his escape. “Eh, eh, eh…not so fast, Martinez. We need to have a little chat, mi socio.” My friend.
And yes, I’m using that term loosely.
The fat fuck stumbles back as I wedge my way inside his home and shut the door, motioning for his wrinkly wifebeater and stained boxer-wearing ass to lead the way. “Let’s sit, shall we?”
Enrique nods, still wide-eyed at my abrupt visit and shuffles down a small hallway lined with pink floral wallpaper. It’s dirty and as worn as the door, much like everything else. The frames are covered in a thick film of dust, the floors littered with all kinds of crud, cigar guts, and trash. I’m almost positive I remember him telling me once that his wife died suddenly a few years back. It looks like he hasn’t cleaned up at all since then. This place is a fucking pigsty.
He leads me to what I presume is the living room and points to one of the smaller couches. I’d say I’m not keen on sitting on this grimy piece of crap, but before Tommy and I had enough money to buy Ma new furniture, ours looked like this too. I’m no stranger to the slum life. Hell, it was worse in Cuba, and my current place isn’t luxurious by any means.
Dropping into the proffered seat, I fish my phone out and set it face down on the weed-dusted coffee table just as Enrique claims a seat on the sofa across from me. He eyes me warily as I proceed to pull out my handgun and set it right beside the phone, rays of the sun glinting off the tiny diamonds. His eyes widen impossibly more, bouncing from the weapon to my now reclined form.
“So…” I cross one leg over the other, smirking at the knowledge that Ángel is about to hear this entire exchange play out. “Where’s my money, Martinez? You’re past ninety days. A week past, actually.”
“I don’t have all of it,” he answers, his obvious Cuban accent thick. It’s thicker than my mom’s.
My brow arches, hands clapping quietly. “And why not? I gave you what? Three months, right?”
“I know pero no es tan fácil.” It’s not that easy.
“Do tell,” I urge him. “How so?”
Enrique shrugs, his lips thinned nervously, glistening beads of sweat clinging to his wide forehead. “I have bills to pay, Jefa, y el hombre que vive aquí no me ayuda aunque tiene dinero guardado.”
Evidently, his roommate doesn’t contribute around here, yet seems to have money stashed away for a rainy day. Interesting. “So why haven’t you kicked him out?”
I swear the man’s sullied white tank top goes from dry to drenched in a millisecond, highlighting the yellowed sweat stains beneath his arms. He blanches, too, and shakes his head briskly. “No puedo.” I can’t. “He’s bad news, already threatened to blow my head clean off once when I asked him about rent. Yo no quiero problemas con nadie.”
“Well, I hate to tell you, Martinez, but you’re surely asking for problems when you try avoiding the inevitable. You’ve been coming to me for…how long now? Two years? Tu sabes como yo soy, which means you knew I’d come around sooner or later. Lo siento que you have such a shitty roommate, but that’s not an excuse. Had you come to me and said you needed more time—”