Now I smell the booze, too.
I take a step back as he smiles and sways.
A moment later, he’s yanked out of my space and slammed against the wall. Santos gets in his face, his fist tight in the man’s shirt, pinning him. “She ain’t your honey. Stay the fuck away from my wife or you’ll deal with me.”
The man holds his hands up. “Sorry, bro. Didn’t mean nothin’.”
“I ain’t your bro, asshole.” Santos releases his shirt with a shove. “Get the hell out of here.”
I look toward the front desk. The clerk is coming around it toward us.
“I’m so sorry Mr. Chaves. Mrs. Chaves.” He grabs the man by the arm. “Go back to your room and stay there until check-out or I’ll call the police.”
The man shoves out of his hold. “I’m goin’. I’m goin’. A man can’t even get a bag of chips in this dump.” He stumbles off.
“I apologize,” the clerk says.
“No problem. Not your fault,” Santos replies.
The clerk looks at me. “If you need anything, please let me know.”
“Thank you,” I say, and he returns to the front desk.
Santos feeds some bills into the machine. “What do you want?”
I press the button for my selection, and he gets something as well. On the ride back up the elevator, I can’t help mentioning what he did. “You really took care of that creep. Thanks.”
“No problem, just doin’ what I promised—takin’ care of you.” Santos is now wearing a scowl, so I try to think of something to make him smile.
“Mrs. Chaves,” I repeat the title the clerk called me, trying it out with a sly look at Santos.
“Don’t like the sound of it?” he asks, quirking a brow.
“I didn’t say that.”
“Well, don’t worry. You’re giving it back to me in three months.”
My smile falters at the way he sounds like he can’t wait to be rid of me. “You know this isn’t easy for me, either. I know you’re stuck with me. Do you think I like feeling like I’m not wanted? Like I’m some chore? You think I like being foisted off on you? I don’t.”
He looks like he’s about to say something, but his phone goes off. He shifts and digs it out of his hip pocket, glancing down at the screen before putting it to his ear. The doors slide open, and we exit the elevator.
“Hey, man.”
In the quiet hallway, I can hear the loud voice on the other side.
“Hey, Saint. Where are you, man?”
“Why, what’s up?” Santos replies.
“Party at the clubhouse. You’re missin’ it. Asia’s askin’ for you.” The voice chuckles.
“Had some shit come up. Sly told me I could take the weekend to deal with it.”
“When you gettin’ back?”
“Tomorrow.”
“All right. Hit me up when you roll in.”
“Will do.”
He disconnects and swipes the lock, letting us into the room.
“Who was that?” I ask. I know I shouldn’t but my curiosity gets the best of me.
“Nobody.”
“Does Mr. Nobody always invite you to parties?”
He pops the top on the can of soda, ignoring me.
“What clubhouse was he talking about?”
“Eavesdrop much?”
I shrug, feeling no guilt. “It was hard not to, as loud as that dude was talking.”
“Just a place they party.”
“Who are they?”
“You just don’t quit, do you?”
“Nope. Who is Asia? And why’d that guy call you Saint?”
He sits on the side of the bed and drags a hand through his hair. “Okay, look. There’s something you need to know. Now’s as good a time as any to get it out in the open.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Kami—
I stare at Santos, wondering what awful thing he’s about to tell me, when he reaches out a hand and snags mine, pulling me to sit beside him.
“I’m prospecting for the Kings of Carnage.” He stares at me expecting some response, I suppose.
I frown, because I really can’t make sense of those words. “The Kings of what? Is that like a band?”
He huffs out a laugh. “No, they’re not a band. They’re an MC.”
“What’s an MC?” I wish he’d speak English.
“Lord, you really are clueless, aren’t you?”
I try to get up because he’s being a jerk, but he tightens his hold on my hand, pulling me back down. “Just listen.”
“Fine, then explain it to me. Just don’t treat me like an idiot.”
“The Kings of Carnage are a motorcycle club.”
My mouth falls open. “What, you mean like a gang?”
His eyes slide closed for a second. “Never mind.”
“No. I want to know. What does prospecting mean?”
“It’s what you do to get in. It’s a probationary period where they see if they want me as a brother. You do your time proving your loyalty and that they can count on you. I was a hang-a-round for a year before they decided to let me prospect.”
I take in what he’s saying, but I’m still unclear on exactly what it all means, especially in regards to me. The words fly out of my mouth before I can think to stop them. “Sooo… what about me?”
“What about you?”
“Are you going to tell them about me? That we’re married?”
“Fuck no.” He stands and paces to the window. Lightening flashes, lighting his face as he peers at the sky.
“So, then what? I’ll be a secret?”
“You’ll stay out of sight. It’s not like you’ll ever have to meet any of them. They rarely come by my place. And I sure as hell won’t be taking you around the clubhouse.” He huffs a laugh. “You’re mother would string me up alive.”
“Why, what happens at the clubhouse?”
“Stuff no seventeen year old girl needs to know about. That’s all I’m saying.”
“This was a bad idea, wasn’t it?”
He turns from the window to look back at me. “No shit.”
“Is Saint your MC name?”
“Yeah.”
“So do I call you Santos or Saint?”
“You can call me whatever you want.”
He suddenly feels even more like a stranger, and now he even goes by a different name. “I guess you were right when you said I had no idea what I was signing up for, huh?”
“Well, it’s done now. And it’s only temporary. We’ll make it work. I’ll handle it. You just have to trust me.”
“Yeah. Sure.” I don’t sound convinced, because I’m not, and I don’t care if he knows it. I’m so tired, suddenly. I feel like all the energy is draining out of me. I just want to take a long hot shower and go to bed.
Santos slumps back against the headboard and picks up a flyer off the nightstand. “Looks like there’s a pizza place that delivers. You hungry?”
“Not really.”