Keep It Sexy (KIS Series Book 3) (8 page)

Chapter Ten

Billie

If there were any correlation between how a man danced and how he was in bed, Christian would be king of all that is sex. The man could dance; his hips and movements followed every beat of the song like he was born this way. It was mind-altering. And the song we were dancing to wasn’t helping matters, especially after he translated part of it. I knew this was wrong; he was my boss and nothing good would come from this. He was my recipe for a disaster.

I knew he had a phone full of numbers because as I looked for a song to play, some girl named Hannah sent him a very suggestive picture. And then there was this whole Ava thing. Suddenly, I felt like trash, like a sad excuse for a vagina. I was letting his attractiveness, charm, and dance skills suck me back into my pattern. I wasn’t going to allow that, not anymore. Abruptly, I stopped and stepped back. Christian’s hands fell lifelessly to his sides, and he seemed confused.

“I’d better get back to work,” I said. Chris cleared his throat while rubbing the back of his neck.

“Yeah, okay,” he replied. The fact that no customers were coming in allowed us to dance without an audience; still, there were things to do. We worked in an awkward silence while a few people came and went. We were painfully slow. When my break came around, I grabbed my backpack from the employee locker room and took it to the dining room. I sat, taking out my lunch and a book I had been dying to read—Adam Smith’s
The Wealth of Nations.

As I opened up the lid to my plastic container to eat whatever Pete had made for last night’s dinner, Christian pulled out the chair across from me and sat. I had a fork full of Pete’s cheesy experiment midway to my mouth when he made himself comfortable as he dragged out his own packed lunch. His smelled and looked delicious. He caught me ogling his food.

“Want some?” he asked, tearing the tortilla dish in half. He didn’t wait for my answer before he took out a napkin from his pack and set the food on top of it, pushing it in front of me.

“Um, thanks.” I wasn’t the type of girl to refuse food in front of a man. It looked delicious, while Pete’s food looked
alive
; I swear it winked at me. I threw the fork in the Tupperware and pushed it aside. Before I could take a bite from Christian’s lunch, he spoke.

“It’s called a
mulita
. It’s pretty much a quesadilla with pieces of grilled steak and guacamole inside.”

I nodded before taking a big bite. It was like a fiesta with a dancing Mariachi band, piñatas, and colorful confetti in my mouth. I groaned. Christian smiled before taking a bite of his half.

“Good, huh?” he mumbled.

“Oh, God, it’s soooo good. You made this?” I asked, swallowing my food as I picked up a Diet Coke from my pack to drink.

“Nah.” He swallowed. “Promise, not to laugh?” He picked up a piece of food and popped it in his mouth.

“I don’t make promises I can’t keep,” I replied as I lowered the can from my mouth. Christian looked at me like he was lost in thought. Something passed in his eyes before he blinked it away and cleared his throat.

“My mom cooks for me. It’s her way of still feeling like she can do something for me. I haven’t needed her help since I was a kid, so…” He shrugged. I nodded, then ate more. “So besides your personal information, I know nothing about you.”

“What do you want to know?” I asked cautiously.

“The patch on your backpack.” He pointed at my bag on the floor.

I had that etched into my backpack since I was fourteen, when I was deep inside the game; it was a black patch with a knotted green M and A intertwined with a hidden cross. I left it there to remind me of what I’ve been through and the things I had to do in the name of
family
. And why I wouldn’t go back.

“I’ve seen it before,” he added.

Yeah, I bet you have.
I relaxed against the back of my chair before answering.

“It’s a family emblem,” I replied. Christian nodded.

“The McAllister family.” He wasn’t asking, he knew. “
Don
McAllister’s family.”

“The man, the myth, the legend.” I sighed, annoyed. “Are you going to fire me now?”

Christian snorted. “Why would I do that?”

“Because you know who my dad is, and what my family is all about.”

“Billie, I’m well aware not all of us are products of our parents.” He looked at me and raised his eyebrows as if to ask,
am I right
? I was glad, but confused that he wasn’t going to fire me after finding out who my dad was. It didn’t feel real to me. “You don’t believe me?” he asked.

I had a hell of a poker face, but with Christian it seemed to slip at times.

“Sorry, but I have a problem when it comes to trusting people.”

Christian chuckled as he tossed a balled up napkin inside his empty food container. With a smirk, he sat back on his chair.

“You’re preaching to the choir, c
hiquita
. I came up the same way you did. Hustlin’ to make money. You might have been dealing with larger quantities, but I know how it feels to be drained from
that
life. And the burn in your gut every time you wake up, never being able to shake the feeling of dread and waiting for the other shoe to drop, because sooner or later it
always
drops.”

His face had gone expressionless. It was the same look I used to see in the mirror right before a job. I didn’t know what to say so I just nodded. I finished the food in silence, but it wasn’t awkward, it was comfortable like we had reached a level of understanding and respect for each other.

Whether I wanted to admit it or not, Christian and I were cut from the same cloth. Both trapped between what we were and who we wanted to be. But in his case he had left that life behind and made something of himself. I, on the other hand, had one foot in the real world and the other in my past—too chicken shit to admit that maybe I wasn’t ready to leave it all behind.

“So, you know Jade?” he asked with uncertainty in his voice. My lips tugged into a small smile. This was his way of changing the subject.

“Yeah, we’ve been friends for a long time.”

“Vegas was really hot, I bet.”

I laughed. “You suck at making small talk.”

Christian rubbed the back of his neck. “And you’re a ball buster.”

I smiled, leaning in to whisper. “But maybe you love it.”

Christian’s tongue shot out to lick his lips. His gaze flickered between my lips and eyes.

“
Un poquito
,” he said, holding an invisible cube between his thumb and index finger. I laughed, but my amusement died abruptly as my past came crashing into my present.

Chapter Eleven

Christian

It felt like a roller coaster ride being around Billie. One minute she was fun and playful and the next she would suddenly retreat back into herself. And it didn’t bother me. It was a challenge to see how long I could keep her smiling and laughing before she went serious. We’d only been alone for a few hours, and I couldn’t remember the last time I had this much fun with a woman who wasn’t naked.

I didn’t make it a habit to become friends with the opposite sex. I placed them in one of two categories—employee or booty call. And who was I kidding? Ava and I had never been friends; I hardly knew her. I knew every curve and freckle on her body, but inside? I knew nothing, and I wasn’t pushing to find out. Billie, on the other hand, had me on the edge of my seat waiting to see what she would do or say next. But soon I learned keeping her around meant inviting others into my world I had no business dealing with. I heard the front doors of the bar open and Billie’s face froze. I didn’t bother turning around. I saw three guys walk in from the security mirror I had installed in the corner of the wall directly in front of me.

It was obvious two of them were related to Billie. They looked a lot alike besides the height difference. When they stopped in front of our table, I stood, plastering on my
welcome
mask even though I could feel they weren’t here for a drink or for a friendly visit.

“You guys here for a drink? I can take your order at the bar.” The one I assumed wasn’t related to Billie, because of his blond hair, chuckled at me like I was a joke. My jaw clenched.

“Sure,
boyo
, we’ll take a drink.” He moved away so I could pass. I could feel anger seep into my shoulders. Dudes like this always pissed me off. There was an unspoken rule on the street; you don’t come into someone’s home and start shit. Apparently they didn’t get that memo where they were from. I rounded the bar just in time to see Billie stand from her seat and follow behind.

“What can I get you?” The three pulled bar stools and sat.

“I’ll do a shot of Powers,” the Irishman said.

“Sorry, man, the only Irish whisky I carry is Jameson.”

All three scuffed.

“But I bet you carry a shit ton of
tequila
, right?” the one with short hair asked as he leaned in. My jaw tightened to the point where I thought my teeth would crack.

“As a matter of fact, I do, and I can pour you some as long as you show me your ID.”

He laughed without humor while he slammed his palm on the wood, revealing a tattoo on his hand.

“Do you know who we are?” he said through gritted teeth. I looked down at his hand, amused as Billie hustled over to stand by my side.

“All right, enough—” she started, but I interrupted.

“Yeah, man, I know who you are,” I said. “But you don’t get to come to my house and start shit, unless you’re looking for an ass kicking.” The three pushed back from the stools, causing them to fall.

“Enough!” Billie yelled with her small arms stretched out between the three and me. “Lincoln, get the fuck out of here, or so help me God.” The blond looked at Billie with intensity in his eyes and then glared at me as if to tell me we were in a rivalry. With the muscles of my jaw moving, I nodded slightly. The look on my face said,
bring it on
.

“Your da wants you over the house for dinner,” he said to Billie. She exhaled heavily.

“Fine, I’ll be there tomo—”

“Tonight, Bil.” The one in the middle with a funky haircut had spoken. “
After
your shift.” He looked at me apologetically but I thought I had imagined it because it was gone in a matter of seconds. His stare lingered a little on me, like he thought he knew me, but wasn’t sure. And we had met before, a long time ago. It almost felt like a lifetime ago. When I wasn’t known by my real name, but by something else.

“All right, I’ll be there. Now leave.” The two who talked shit gave me a knowing smirk before they left. Billie rushed over to the dining area and picked up the fallen bar stools.

“Chris, I’m so sorry. They’re assholes and—”

“It’s okay, Billie, really. I can handle myself. It’s not your fault,” I said, jumping over the slab of wood.

“Yes, it is. I knew this would—”

“Hey,” I said, taking the stool from her hand and setting it down. Softly I moved my knuckles along the side of her face. Billie’s eyes fluttered shut as she moved her face closer to me, melting against my touch. My heart began to speed. I felt its power colliding against my rib cage. I looked down, suddenly becoming mesmerized by the defined curve of her top lip. I wasn’t sure why I hadn’t noticed it before. I wanted to kiss her so badly, but thought against it. Instead I…hugged her.
Fucking idiot
.

Billie gasped in surprise. Her hands hung like limp noodles at her sides before a beat passed and she finally hugged me back. She patted my back awkwardly before I pushed back, feeling like a fool.

“Um, so, are they your relatives?”

She smiled a little teasing smile. “You’re really bad at this.”

I groaned, scratching my neck. “I know. I feel like I’m thirteen and just discovered the opposite sex around you.”

She giggled. “Why?”

“Fuck if I know.” I grinned, and I knew my dimples appeared because she gave me those eyes every girl gets when they see them. But with Billie it was different. I liked the way she was looking at me. With the others, I was doing it for my benefit, but with her I liked the reaction my smile gave
her
.

“To answer your question, yes, the bald big-mouthed one is Donnie, the younger of my two older brothers. And the other one, the one that could be a tiny bit more reasonable, is Lincoln.” She grunted, then moved on to pick up the rest of the stools. I bent down to pick up the last one.

“Is the Irish one your boyfriend?” The thought of her having someone hadn’t crossed my mind until now. I felt an invisible grip around my throat. It was smothering, maddening. Billie didn’t bother to look at me as she pushed the stool under the bar.

“Ex. We broke up a long time ago.”

“Does
he
know that?” I grunted.

“Yeah, he knows. He just has it in his head that we’ll end up together in the end.” She looked up, her lips thinned out. The chokehold was back, but now the tightness had traveled down to my chest. I jumped on the bar, swinging my legs as I sat while I tried to shake the feeling.

“How did you meet?” I asked.

Billie grimaced. “Our dads were best friends growing up.” She shifted so she was in front of me with two feet of distance between us. “His dad got into some trouble and shipped Connor over here when he was twelve. He’s lived at my father’s house ever since.”

“So you’re Irish?” I asked, not wanting to hear about
Connor
anymore. Her lips curled up, amused, like she knew what I was doing.

“Aye, half,” she said with an Irish accent. “My ma was born here.” She chuckled when she saw the awe on my face. “And what about your family? You’ve gotten an earful tonight about mine. Tell me about yours.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

I jumped off the bar and leaned against it, mirroring her stance. I told her how my parents had moved to Colorado from Mexico before I was born, and my mother had been pregnant with me when they crossed the border. Roman was two, and my parents’ marriage was already on the rocks. Soon after I was born my dad started stepping out on my mom and spending our money. When she caught him trying to steal the last of our money she was going to use to feed us, she kicked him out. I was three. I don’t remember him at all, but Roman does. He remembers a lot of things that I don’t.

Billie stood there listening to me so intently that I imagined she was burning every single word to memory. When our conversation shifted back into her life and her brothers, we ended up sitting back down. When it came to her dad she spoke sparsely about him and made sure not to discuss specifics. I noticed that right away. I wasn’t surprised, though; she was trained never to reveal anything that could incriminate herself or her family. In a way, I was disappointed, but then I remembered how
I
had been in the same position once.

Three years ago

“Chris, I need your help.”

I was lying on my bed smoking a blunt, listening to music, when Roman came rushing through my door. From the orange glow of the streetlight spilling through my window, I could tell he was panting and sweating, a bloody cut on his lip. I pushed off my bed, turning on the light to see the damage. It was worse than I thought. Half his face was swollen. I could see half a shoe print on the side of his forehead where it had already started to bruise and his left ear blossomed like a cauliflower as it spewed blood.

“What the fuck happened?”

“I gotta do good by Marquis,” he said, stepping inside my room and sitting on the corner of my bed. He walked with a limp. I was afraid to ask what else they had done to him.

“What do you mean? Why would you need to?”

Roman looked down, ashamed. He tried to close his eyes, but winced.

“I’m slinging for him.” The air left my lungs, and I instantly feared for our mother. Marquis was a top dog around here. He dealt large amounts of crack and cocaine. He didn’t bother messing with weed. I heard he was worried marijuana would become legalized in Colorado, so he preferred selling the hard stuff. Roman and I capitalized on that and started up our own little business. I didn’t even bother asking Rome why he did it. Money was a hell of a temptress and so was that type of lifestyle.

“How much you owe him?” I was putting the pieces together.

“In pesos?”

“Oh, now you’re making jokes? What the fuck were you thinking, Rome? Did you ever think of mom when you were shaking hands with the devil?”

Roman stayed quiet.

“How much?” I asked again. 

“Twenty stacks.”

“Fuck.” I walked to the opposite wall of my room, and rested my forehead against it, trying my best not to add on to the beating Roman took.

There was only one other way I knew how to get that much money in a short amount of time. We knew a cat who would take stolen cars and resell them. Stealing cars wasn’t my forte, but I knew enough to take one. I pushed off the wall then started fumbling through my drawers, grabbing a couple of black sweatshirts and sweats. “Go get your gloves,” I ordered my older brother. He didn’t respond, just went to the living room closet to grab his stuff. Quickly, I slipped on my clothes, sliding the gloves over my hands. Then I called Ratchet.

“Christian Rrrrodriguez, I think it’s been years since we’ve spoken.” His voice was higher pitched than most men.

“You in need of a ride?” I asked. He giggled, making a noise one would make after seeing something good to eat.

“I like a man who gets right to the point. I’m actually dying to get my pretty little fingers on some nice, long, hard American muscle.”

I rolled my eyes. “Like what?”

“A Tesla.”

“You’re kidding me, right?” Teslas were the newest toy in the playground; everybody wanted one, but they were hard to steal. With my novice experience, I wasn’t going to risk getting caught trying to break into one of those. Ratchet giggled again.

“I know, young lover, those things are tighter to get into than a midget’s pussy. Tell ya what. Since you’re my favorite of the Rodriguez boys, I’ll settle for an Escalade.”

I huffed in relief. That, I could do. “Color?”

“Surprise me, baby.” He hung up. I marched into the small living room as Roman emerged from the bathroom.

“You good?” I asked, eyeing his face. Even with a black and blue face, he looked pale.

“Yeah.” We locked up the apartment, jogging down the stairs, out into the front lawn of the building. I took a quick look over at Ava’s apartment. Her bedroom light was on and I wondered who she had in her bed tonight. Once we were inside my truck, I drove out of Aurora and into Denver.

“We need an Escalade,” I told Roman.

He stayed quiet, but looked around as we entered Cherry Hill Village, an upper class neighborhood in Denver. I drove around for a few hours. I was starting to think we weren’t going to find one until suddenly someone drove a silver Escalade up a driveway and parked. The man getting out was in a business suit, his tie loose and his hair disheveled. He slammed the door closed, then rubbed his face in frustration.

I felt bad for him, but then looked at my brother and that faded away. We waited for another hour before I drove away and parked my truck a distance from the house. Without saying a word to one another, we left the car and silently jogged into the night, keeping away from the streetlights as we headed to the house with the Escalade. Rome stood guard because at this point he could barely keep up with me and was pretty much useless.