Bad, Bad Things (2 page)

“I don’t think he is.” Marco toys with his straw. “It’s all about power and control with him. Or at least that’s what I hear.” He shrugs. “Apparently there was some big brouhaha between Cruz and his coach. Sergei owns the team and he spent a shitload of money bringing Cruz to the program. I hear this was his way of disciplining him.”

I’m not sure why—maybe I’m just a total pervert—but the idea of Sergei subjugating Cruz turns me on something fierce. I can just see Sergei shoving Cruz down on his knees while he unzips his fly. I’m taken back to that night in Cabo when Marco and his boyfriend let me stay in their room and watch. My clit throbs and my toes curl as those memories leave me all warm and tingly.

I squeeze my thighs together in an attempt to lessen the pulse of my sex. I need to focus. “Who told you about this?”

“A journalist never reveals his sources.”

I start to point out that spreading gossip via Twitter and a blog isn’t really journalism, but bite my tongue. “Look, I need the source so I can shield you from the shit storm that will most definitely ensue.”

He relents with a dramatic sigh. “The ex-girlfriend, some Eurotrash celebutante.

Monica something-or-other,” he says with a wave of his hand. “And yes, I checked it 10

Bad, Bad Things

out. I got close enough to Cruz at a club opening in Vegas a few weeks ago to ask. He got very shifty.”

“Who has the tape?”

“Cruz.”

“The only copy?”

“He keeps it on him when he travels. Wears the key around his neck. There’s a false bottom in his suitcase.”

“What! Who
does
that?”

“I know,” Marco says with a laugh. “Like some spy, right? Instead of state secrets it’s man porn!”

I lean back in my seat and chew on my thumb. It’s a nasty habit but one I’ve never been able to break. “Cruz’s team is coming here to play that big expo later this week. I saw one of the billboards on the way over here. Sergei will come to watch his team. It’s the only time I can make my move. It’s cutting it close to the deadline though.”

Marco seems suddenly tense. “You’re really going to do this?”

“Do I have any other choice?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“They’ll kill my mother and me and Mona and that worthless junkie she loves without so much as a second thought.” I shudder with remembrance of the cold, almost dead look in my attacker’s eyes. “Of that I’m sure.”

Marco slumps in resignation. “Well you can’t pull this one off alone.”

“Yeah,” I agree, inhaling a calming breath. “It’s time to round up the girls.”

* * * * *

Two hours later, the old crew is back together. Fox and Jolie sit across from me, their backs against the sofa as they try to digest all that I’ve just divulged. They both expressed outrage at my beating the night prior. Here, in the privacy of my bedroom, I 11

Lolita Lopez

bare all the bruises from my horrifying experience. The finger marks around my throat and scratches on my upper arms. My skinned knees and broken toe and black eye.

“Maybe we could pool together whatever liquid assets we have,” Jolie suggests.

“None of us can get this kind of money together, not even you, Jolie.” I shoot down her suggestion as nicely as possible. Obviously shaking down my friends for money was my first instinct but when it wasn’t feasible, I moved on to Plan B. “And if these people think my friends will keep bailing me out, they’ll never stop asking for more.”

“This is just fucked,” Fox grouses. “And if you don’t want the whole world to know what happened here last night, I suggest you get someone over here to fix the front door. It looks like someone took a goddamned battering ram to it.”

Not surprisingly, Fox is still nursing a hangover. She relies heavily on the Texas Sunrise clamped in her hand. A rainbow of ink discolors her fingertips. Black smudges mar the edge of her right palm. She’s wearing that thick rubber band around her wrist again. That never bodes well. Her yoga pants ride low on her curves and display a wide swath of tanned tummy. A white
Star Wars
tee two sizes too small barely holds in her C

cups. Green flip-flops dangle precariously from her toes.

Jolie is the yin to Fox’s yang. Where Fox knows how to rock that just-rolled-out-of-bed look like no one’s business, Jolie looks as if she just stepped out of a Bergdorf window display, in her simple yet elegant green silk dress and patent peep-toe pumps.

Her bared shoulder lends an air of sophisticated sexiness and highlights the beauty of her brown skin.

Fashion sense seems to be ingrained in her DNA. Not surprising for the daughter of the first African-American supermodel. With her stunning looks, Jolie could have easily followed in Mommy’s footsteps but chose a different path, eschewing fashion for a stint as an events coordinator in one of her father’s hotels.

“This is really serious, O.” Fox plays with her rubber band. “I mean, like, call the FBI or DEA serious.”

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Bad, Bad Things

“And tell them what?” I throw up my hands. “My drug addict sister’s loser boyfriend ripped off a shipment of coke, got scammed by his connection and now has the entire Mexican mafia after him? Oh, and sis and douche bag just happened to fuck off to God only knows where, leaving me to clean all this up? Yeah, I bet that will go over real well. I’m sure the feds will be lining up to help me out.”

“But blackmailing someone like Sergei Alexandrov?” Jolie visibly shudders. “He stayed in one of our hotels in Paris once. We had to clear out the floors above and below and let his team come in to do bug sweeps and all sorts of crazy stuff.” She shakes her head. “This isn’t going to be easy.”

“Neither is watching some cartel enforcer kill my family!”

Jolie jumps at my too gruff reply. She sighs loudly and picks out a black hair tie from her purse. She runs her fingers through her silky black hair, gathering it together and twisting it into a loose bun at her nape. “So what’s your plan?”

“Whatever it is, it better be damn good.” Fox swirls the remnants of vodka, lime and cranberry juice in her glass. “We haven’t pulled one of these since senior year at Cran-Can. We’re rusty as hell and this is no time to make mistakes.”

“We’ve done this half a dozen times at least.” I try to sound as reassuring as possible. “We’ll just do what we do best. I’ll take care of the B&E. Fox, you’ll take care of Cruz. Jolie, you’ll set the scene.”

“The team is staying at our hotel,” Jolie says, pulling out her iPhone.

Fox smirks. “That’s convenient. Guess that means we don’t have to pull the fire alarms or cause an infestation scare of some kind to get the players moved.”

“A lot less fun though.” I catch her gaze and wink. If there’s one think Fox loves, it’s devious little stunts like that.

Jolie’s fingers tap away at her screen. “According to the booking info, our mark is in a shared room but I’ll make sure he’s moved to a private suite.” She does some more tapping. “You’ll need a uniform of some kind. Housekeeping or room service,” she 13

Lolita Lopez

decides. “You’ll have to pull the whole shift though. Security is tight. If you try to slip in after shift change, it won’t work.”

“I’m not afraid of a little hard work. I’ll pay off a maid and get her uniform. I want your hands clean.” I turn to Fox. “Yours too.”

“Hooking up with him won’t be a problem.” Fox makes a face and downs the last of her cocktail. “But I’m not sleeping with him.”

“I would never ask you do that,” I say with all seriousness. “You just need to get the suitcase key, pass it off to me and keep him occupied long enough for me to get what I need.”

Jolie looks up, her lips drawn tight with worry. “You’re not going to ransack the place are you? That could complicate matters.”

I shake my head. “I know where it is. I’m going to grab it and go.”

“What if he calls the police?” Fox gets up and makes her way to the tiny built-in fridge near my entertainment center. She grabs a bottle of chilled vodka, the glass bottle fogging up as the vodka splashes into her glass. “The last thing we need is the cops poking around in all this, especially with a fucking Mexican drug cartel involved.”

“He won’t call the cops.” In this, I’m absolutely confident. “What’s he going to say?

That someone broke in and stole his sex tape? A sex tape that he obviously made on the sly? I mean, do you really think Sergei Alexandrov okayed a video camera in the room that night?”

“Do you really think Sergei Alexandrov is going to let you get away with this?” Fox eyes me over her glass. “This isn’t high school, where the worst that might happen is expulsion. Back then our parents could clean up our messes by spreading around a little money and handing out favors. But now?” She takes a long, hard drink and then shakes her head. “This is the real world, O, and in the real world, people get hurt.”

“You think I don’t know about hurt?” My voice is shrill so I reel it in. If there’s one thing I’m not big on, it’s emotional displays. Saying anything more on the subject of life’s generally shitty treatment of me won’t get me anywhere. “Look,” I say calmly, “I 14

Bad, Bad Things

know I’m asking a lot of you. This is risky and I’ll do my best to bear the full brunt of the consequences if it all goes tits up but if you’re uncomfortable taking part, I understand.”

“Hell yes I’m uncomfortable!” Fox stalks back over toward us and plops down with a hmmph. “I’m finally getting my shit together—”

“Uh-um.” Jolie clears her throat and points to the vodka. “You do realize it’s barely two in the afternoon, right?”

Fox shoots her the finger. “All right. I’m getting
some
of my shit together,” she rephrases while giving Jolie a look of utter annoyance. “I don’t need a felony extortion charge on my rap sheet. The press would kill my chances of putting together my publishing company. I haven’t been working my ass off for the last year to lose this, the only thing I’ve ever really wanted, when I’ve come so close.”

“So you’re out?” I fully appreciate her position. Fox has been drawing and producing and selling her own line of graphic novels and manga since high school.

Whatever her problems—and she’s had a ton—that drawn fantasy world of hers was always the rock that kept her somewhat grounded.

“Yes. Aw hell. NO!” Fox gulps two-thirds of her glass. She hisses and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “I’m in. I’ve always got your back, O.”

Jolie holds out her hand, palm up, and waggles her eyebrows. I slap my hand down on top of hers without hesitation. Fox rolls her eyes and joins. “Christ, we’re a sappy bunch.”

That gets Jolie and me giggling. It suddenly hits me just how amazing my two best friends are to risk so much to help me. I’ve always heard it jokingly said that you know your best friend is
really
your best friend if she’ll show up with garbage bags and shovels, no questions asked. Jolie and Fox are those friends.

Teary-eyed, I sling my arms around their necks and pull them close. “I don’t know what I’d do without you guys.”

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Lolita Lopez

“Probably get snuffed out by some cartel crony,” Fox comments as she ruffles my hair.

Jolie snorts and sits back. “Your sense of humor is terrifying.”

Fox just shrugs and finishes off her vodka. “We can’t all be awesome.”

She starts to get up for another glass but I stop her with a gentle hand. “Maybe we could cut back just a little until this job is done?”

Fox huffs but relents. “Yes, mother.”

Satisfied, I reach for a nearby notepad and pen. “So this is how it’s going down…”

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Bad, Bad Things

Chapter Two

“Come on, Mama. One more bite?” I gently prod her mouth with the silicone-tipped child’s spoon. She jerks away and bangs a fist against her chair. “Okay. We’re done.”

I set aside the bowl of pureed squash flower soup—her favorite—and carefully wipe her face with a damp washcloth. The left corner of her mouth droops and orange-tinted saliva oozes from her lip. I swipe it clean. Her green eyes bounce from side to side as she shakes uncontrollably, arms and legs undulating in a jerky rhythm. I offer her a sip of water through a straw. Washcloth at the ready, I catch the stream from the left side. “More?”

She shakes her head. “Na-na-na-no.”

Deciphering her stuttered and jumbled speech has become second nature. “All right.” I put down the glass and cloth. She tries to brush her bangs from her eyes but misses. Instinctively I reach out to help but stop myself just before touching her.

Although it frustrates her to try and miss, it pisses her off even more when I help her.

She eventually gets them moved out of the way.

“Ha-ha-ha…” Mom stops and gives a lopsided frown. She makes a clunky motion with her hand. “Sna-sna-snip.”

“Haircut?” I guess correctly because she smiles. “Sure. I’ll get Bonnie to come over and do your hair sometime this week. Maybe I can give you a mani-pedi tomorrow?”

She nods, her head bobbing wildly. I’d have one of the girls at Bonnie’s salon do it but I know how difficult it can be to attempt to paint the toenails and fingernails of a woman who can no longer control her body’s movements.

“De-de-mo-mo-mo-na?”

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Lolita Lopez

“Mona?” I cringe inwardly, my stomach churning at the thought of my drug-addled older sister hiding out in some crack house with her douche bag boyfriend.

“She’s not here today. She’s still at the beach house with Carter.”

I hate lying to my mother but there’s no other way. Her memory isn’t as good as it used to be and she gets confused so easily. I’d rather just lie to her than try to explain Mona’s drug addiction and the mess she’s gotten herself into this time. But after seven years of caring for my mother and shielding her from Mona’s dumbass moves, I’m something of a pro.

“I’ll try to get a hold of her later, see if maybe she’d consider coming home sooner.”

Another lie. If I knew where Mona was, I damn sure wouldn’t be chatting her up. I’d be asking her where the hell she is and when she was going to tell me she had the Mexican Mafia on her ass.