The Slayer (Untamed Hearts #2) (12 page)

“Is it from a prison?”

“I assumed you wanted me to accept the charges,” Alaine said and then jumped. “Oh, hold on, please.”

She held out the portable to him, her eyes on his face rather than his bare chest. He took the phone and then turned, glancing over his shoulder to watch her look lower, taking in the length of his bare back.

“Who was that?” his cousin Marcos asked in Spanish. “She sounds very white. Like country white
without
the crust.”

“She
is
very white,” Chuito assured him, also speaking Spanish. “She’s my neighbor.”

“Is she hot?” Marcos asked, still sounding amused.

“Hell, yes, she’s hot.” Chuito glanced at her over his shoulder again as Alaine went back to cooking something. She met his gaze and then turned back quickly, as if she knew she had gotten busted looking. “So hot it’s a problem.”

“You got a hot woman in your house, and that’s a problem?” Marcos didn’t sound amused anymore. “Motherfucker, I have been down for six months. I would fuck Luis’s grandmother right now. I don’t want to hear about it.”

Chuito felt like shit, but he couldn’t help but laugh. “I miss you, Marc.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Marcos didn’t sound convinced. “Miss me so much you move to wherever the fuck you’re moving to.
Garnet
.” He made his accent thick on
Garnet
as if trying to prove a point. “With the extra-white gringas. Why is she answering your phone?”

“I thought you didn’t want to hear about it.”

“Does she have big tetas?”

“No.” He turned around and looked at her again, letting his gaze drop for one brief moment while she stood at the stove. “She’s got little perky ones. They’re nice.”

“Eh.” Marcos groaned, not sounding impressed. “Anyway, what’s wrong with you? You sound off.”

“I’m sick.” He sat down at the kitchen table as he said it. He ran a hand through his hair and fought the misery when it crashed back over him.

“Sick?” Marcos asked him harshly, like getting sick wasn’t an option, but then he paused as if something occurred to him. “What? They don’t have fucking cold medicine in Garnet?”

“I haven’t looked.”

“How long have you been sick?” Marcos asked, his voice lower and concerned.

“A few days.”

“How sick are you?”

“
Really sick
.” Chuito swallowed hard and looked up at Alaine, making sure she really wasn’t understanding him. “I’ve been working hard since you went down. A lot harder than I was before.”

“You think you caught it from the snow girl?” he asked slowly. “Or somewhere else?”

“No, I probably caught it from the snow girl,” he said, knowing his cousin was asking him if he was doing something harder than cocaine.

“I told you to stay away from the snow girls,” Marcos snapped at him. “What the fuck is wrong with Latina pussy? I mean that literally. Latina pussy solves a lot of problems, and I never get sick because of it.”

Chuito cut him off with a groan. “Stop.”

“Okay, Chu.” Marcos took a deep breath. “Look, my father gets sick all the fucking time. He can’t always get help for a cold in here. You’ll live. Just stay hydrated.”

“Been drinking coffee.”

“No fucking caffeine,” Marcos growled at him. “You drink water. Lots of water. You drown a cold. Are you really going to be a professional fighter? You think you’re crashing from the stress of it?”

Chuito heard his unspoken question, if he was getting clean because of the fighter spot. “Yeah, they gave me a spot at their gym. They think I could get a UFC contract. That’s their goal. It seems crazy, but whatever. They’re all crazy here.”

“Holy shit,” Marcos whispered. “For real, Chu? Is that honest?”

“Yeah.” He knew his cousin was asking if they were still speaking in code. “That’s honest. They’re building this huge fucking gym. It’s got a real octagon in it. I trained yesterday with Clay Powers. I also kicked the shit out of the Deputy the other day.”

“The cop?” Marcos laughed. “You kicked the shit out of that big motherfucker the Deputy? The one who quit the UFC to be a sheriff?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“That makes me so happy.” Marcos took a breath as if he needed a moment to process that. “I wish I could’ve seen it.”

Chuito swallowed hard and looked at the table that became a watery blur. “I wish you could’ve too. I really do miss you.”

“You fucking cry, chica, and I’m hanging up on you,” Marcos growled at him. “If I can give up pussy for two years, you can live through the flu without cold medicine, especially if kicking the shit out of the Deputy is the fringe benefit.”

“That’s why I came, you know?” Chuito told his cousin. “I figured it’s the least I could do.”

“Yeah, it is the least you could do,” Marcos agreed with him. “And you know what, cabrón, you better fucking win. I’m not kidding about this. You get over your cold, and then you beat down anyone who stands in your way. I want to see your Boricua ass on television. Represent.”

“I’m still coming back when you’re out.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not getting out for a while,” Marcos said and then yelled, “¡Me cago en ná! Three minutes!”

Chuito sighed. “Just hang up.”

“No, that motherfucker can wait.” Marcos’s voice was low and threatening, making it obvious he was still speaking to the other inmate waiting for the phone. “Now I’m staying on the phone twice as long. Just ’cause I fucking feel like it.”

“You’re supposed to be on good behavior,” Chuito warned him, because he knew that sound in his cousin’s voice. “If you do something stupid, you’re never getting out.”

“
No pussy
,” Marcos reminded him. “I’m on good behavior. I promise you I’m the most well-behaved pendejo in here.”

“I doubt that.” Chuito sighed. “Are you okay, Marc?”

“Sure, I’m great. I love it here. It’s like fucking Club Med,” he said before he added, “Without the pussy.”

“At least you get to spend time with your father.”

“Yeah, lucky me. You could do something and go down, and we could have a family reunion.”

Chuito laughed, because it had come very close to happening. “I guess I’ll just stay here instead. It’s snowing, you know? That’s ironic.”

“I’ve never seen snow,” Marcos said and then added, “The cold kind. Not that I would ever look at the other kind. ’Cause I’m on good behavior.”

“An ideal prisoner.”

“Fucking ideal. I have to go, Chu.”

Chuito closed his eyes, because he didn’t want him to hang up, but he just said, “I know.”

“Shave your head,” Marcos added. “So no one pulls your hair when you’re fighting.”

Chuito looked at the table, wondering why he hadn’t thought of that. They did drug tests with hair follicles too. “Yeah, I’ll do that.”

“Okay. Bye, cabrón.”

He stared at the phone when it clicked off, feeling tears sting his eyes again.

“That was your cousin,” Alaine asked softly.

Chuito nodded as he kept staring at the receiver in his hand. “Yeah.”

“You miss him?”

He lifted his head, seeing that she was studying him from her spot at his stove. “I do. Very much.”

“How long is he in prison for?”

“Another year.” Chuito flinched even as he said, “If he gets out on good behavior. That’d be a fucking miracle.”

“You don’t think he can behave in prison?”

“He
hasn’t been
behaving in prison.” He shook his head. “He’s been in solitary three times. At this point, I’m just hoping his sentence doesn’t end up extended.”

“Why’d he go to solitary? Drugs? I heard there’s drugs in prison.”

“There
are
drugs in prison,” Chuito promised her, unable to help the wince that he had ended up here in Garnet instead of down with his cousin in Miami. “But he doesn’t do drugs. Bud sometimes, but that doesn’t count. It’s been fighting mostly. He got into a lot of fights when he first got in.”

“But not now?”

“That’s the thing about fighting. If you’re good at it, motherfuckers stop fighting with you. It’s only another year. He’s okay,” he said more for his benefit than hers. “He’ll be okay. His father’s there with him. He can make it. I got to make sure Mamá gets him money. I’ve been doing it, but—”

“You’re talking in Spanish,” she reminded him softly.

“I’m sorry.” He lifted his head and stared at her. “It’s the crash. I have a fucking headache.”

“Coffee,” she suggested.

“
Si, por favor
. I don’t have any, though. I drank all mine.”

“I brought some over.”

“I’m gonna pay you back for this,” he said as he gestured to the stove. “My head feels like it’s gonna explode. I couldn’t cook right now to save my life, but I
can
cook. I’ll cook for you when I get better.”

“I don’t know too many fellas who cook,” she said as she worked at making coffee.

“I cook okay. I’ll get my mother to send me a care package from Miami. You ever have
mofongo
?”

“No. Sounds horrifying.”

“Picky. I told you, all gringos are picky.”

“Is
gringos
an insult?”

He shook his head. “No. That’s what you are.”

“It sounds like an insult.”

“It’s not.”

“I don’t go around saying,
You’re Latino; that means you’re a thug
.”

“I am a thug,” he reminded her.

“That seems like a stereotype. I’m pretty sure it’s politically incorrect.”

Chuito laughed at her, surprised once again at just how distracting it was to be around her. He almost felt normal as he asked, “You try to be politically correct?”

“Why don’t you?”

“’Cause I’m a Latino thug, and I don’t have to be.” He held up his hands with a smile. “It’s one of the rare joys about my station in life.”

Alaine laughed. “No one in this town is gonna know what to do with a fella like you.”

“Good thing I plan to talk to as few people in this town as possible. I wasn’t even supposed to be talking to you. If Jules finds out you slept in my bed last night, she’s gonna smoke my ass and put me out of my misery. Let’s tell her.”

“Let’s not,” Alaine said as she turned back to him with another smile. “Then I’ll never get another neighbor. Unless they find some other fighter who needs a place to stay.”

Chuito considered that, feeling something uncomfortable roll in his stomach. Not jealousy, but something much more dangerous. The thought of another fighter in such close quarters with this pretty gringa, who was so fucking naive and trusting she crawled into bed with a gangster like it was a sleepover, made him more than a little irrational. He realized right then, if anyone hurt this woman, he was going to get scary in a way this town couldn’t handle.

He was attracted to her. He’d have to be blind not to be, but it was more than that. Like he told her last night, he felt very protective where she was concerned. It was a strange sensation, because he hadn’t come across a woman who churned that up in him.

Still, it was there, and he couldn’t deny it to himself…or her.

“I’m not gonna go anywhere,” he promised her. “The only fighter you’ll have to deal with is me.”

He was going to get clean and stay clean. He knew it in his bones, and it wasn’t just about prison anymore. Or a fighting career.

It was about making sure Alaine wasn’t lonely.

Right then, she became his one and
only
reason for living in the backward hick town of Garnet.

Chuito had a cause now, something to bleed for.

And that was all he needed to stay.

At least for now.

Chapter Thirteen

Garnet County

March 2011

“Ladies and gentlemen, the main event of the evening! Five rounds in the UFC Light-Heavyweight division. Scoring this fight, our three octagon side judges are Jason Petry, Chris Panel, and Tom Haggerling. When the action begins, the referee in charge of the octagon, Mister David Laural.”

Alaine took a deep breath as she watched the ref bow on her small television. They broadcast the fights at Hal’s Diner in town, but she wanted to watch it alone.

It wasn’t the first of Chuito’s fights she’d watched on television, alone in her apartment, with her breath trapped in her chest the entire time, but it was the first title fight.

This one
really
mattered.

This was the one he had been training day and night for. The one he had nursed bruises for. The one that had him waking up with more than one nightmare over the past month.

He wanted this title so badly.

For his family.

For his future.

And Alaine thought she wanted it more than him, as if that was possible. She wanted a reason for him to stay here, and a title belt would certainly give him an excuse to keep doing what he was doing.

The payday alone was enough, because that was apparently not something Chuito had spent much time thinking about until he got his UFC contract.
The money
. The insane, crazy amount of money that he made doing this.

The payday for losing a title fight was insane.

For winning?

It’d be enough to retire, and Chuito wasn’t anywhere near retirement age. He was one of the youngest fighters in the UFC. Alaine hadn’t honestly considered the money either, because Wyatt and Clay weren’t ones to put on airs.

She had nearly fallen off her chair when Chuito confessed to her just how much it was. This money would take care of his family. It’d give his cousin a reason to stay out of gang life, something that Alaine knew Chuito worried about since Marcos had been paroled.

God, she wanted him to win.

She wanted a permanent reason for Chuito to stay in Garnet. To protect his family and stay here, because she knew if he lost, he was going to go back.

He had been wavering over it for months.

He’d gone back to Miami four times since Marcos was paroled, and every time he came back, he looked a little wearier, a little more concerned, and his nightmares would get worse and worse.

Alaine knew because she woke him up from them.

Their bedroom walls were connected.

When she heard them, she went to him with the key he had handed back to her. Always waking him up carefully, soft and gentle in a way he had come to recognize.