Loving a Colombian Cartel Thug 3

by K'Aliyah Knight

  I turn my head away from his stolen caress. My cheek is still delightfully warm from his touch. Lemme keep telling myself that no matter if Lorenzo is in love with a dead bitch or gets brand new over the phone this morning, I love him. Only him. I will never cheat on him.

  “You love me, Rocky. You told me so.”

  “Yeah, when you helped me get rid of Lorenzo’s bitch,” I assure.

  “Okay,” he chuckles. “Make it seem like tit for tat. Like you only spent hours with me holding you, talking to you, making love to your mind, your soul…”

  I glare at him, while pushing my body back onto the headboard and into a seated position. Chuey wants to say body. Nope. I didn’t fuck.

  “So you were good with me because you needed to get rid of Janyca’s body–”

  “Who I learned I didn’t kill! Nigga you came over to help me get rid of a body. Then come to find out, the bitch wasn’t dead. You tricked me into chilling with you, Chuey. You know how creepy that is? While Janyca lay dying, we were cuddled up, talking…talking about us…” I snap under my breath. There’s never been us. But I entertained that idea, a dangerous ass idea for Chuey’s sake because of Janyca!

  I had gone over Janyca’s house. Stupid. I’d confronted her for fucking my man. She had said she was pregnant; I shot the bitch in the belly. My first shot ever. I ran outside, thinking she was dead, and called Chuey. Later I found out my bullet hadn’t killed her but Chuey had busted a few more slugs in her skull.

  As I’m sitting here, really thinking about it—damn, I actually tried so fucking hard in the past not to think about it. Head cocked, eyes narrowed, I glare at Chuey. “I panicked. While you said, I was brought into Colombia illegally, and that I could go to jail and that Lorenzo’s bitch–”

  “His fiancée, the girl whose ring you’re wearing.” Chuey smiles.

  My eyes water. “I don’t care. Lorenzo wasn’t going to marry Janyca. He prolly just gave her this ring just…just…”

  Chuey starts to hug me, as I cry. He comforts me in ways that only he can. This shit is insanity. He. Is. Always. There. For. Me. No matter what.

  The door opens and my heart almost explodes. “It’s okay, cuzzo.” Chuey pats my back. His body cues not to flee in paranoia. He hugs me for a few seconds longer as Blu and Lakitha come in.

  “Blu’s high-strung self has something she wants to say,” Lakitha says, while handing me a warm ceramic cup of tea, with a hint of honey.

  “I was finna apologize…” Blu begins; she doesn’t take interest in this affection because it’s the Colombian way. “Trick, I can’t deal with all that crying, look I’m sorry.

  “Rocky is sad because I just told her, Lorenzo is in jail.” Chuey says from the background.

  “Lorenzo–“ My breath catches. This lying bastard. My husband, my love, my life is in jail! Chuey was trying to romance me two seconds ago, not tell me about my Lorenzo!

  “Yeah, our big bro got caught,” Lakitha comes to sit down.

  RITA

  “Miguel why are you here?” Dumb question right? Even if it’s dark outside, and past my bedtime, I couldn’t sleep. But I can't believe after all we've been through Miguel is back in my life. I guess it's like Lorenzo and Rocky—always seems like bad timing. Our love story didn't start at 12, but much younger. Even when I didn't want Miguel to be my rock, he was. Unlike my son and my daughter-in-law, I expect no bitches or niggas to come between them and tear them apart like Miguel and me. I've loved this man since the beginning of time, since I could crawl, walk and talk.

  “Margarita, shush,” Miguel steps inside of the marble entry of my son’s home. He holds me tight, rubbing my back. I don’t cry, but my love still acts like he owns this, as if he knows all. He says, “I know, my Bonita, but I can feel your thoughts.”

  We begin to kiss, to touch. Miguel’s hand grips my ass as we back toward the stairs. Soon as my bare foot begins to climb up the first step, he snatches me up. My legs wrap around his waist, he carries me. His mouth never leaves mine, taking the stress of the day away with each move.

  When Miguel’s lips move away, I grumble. His chuckle is soft, tickling my ear. Then he whispers, “Dónde está tu habitación, mi amor—Where is your room, my love?”

  I point to the bedroom down the long corridor. Once we get inside, Miguel sets me down. It’s lighter in this room since the glass door to the balcony is open. A full moon shines inside. With his arms wrapped around me from behind, Miguel gifts me with the softest lips to my neck then begins to nibble in a way that makes me weak and forget the current state of events. Soon as we get into my bedroom, he shuts the door. I flick on the lights, needing to see his caramel muscular body. At 41, he is no less sexier or stronger than he was at 21.

  “Margarita,” he says. He comes toward me again, placing rough, warm hands beneath my shirt. His hands massage my skin as he pulls off my shirt. Then he reaches into the elastic of my pants and grabs my ass with each hand, pulling me toward a rock solid dick.

  “Mmmmm,” I sigh. All nightlong Miguel touches and pleases my body. By early morning, we still haven’t gone to sleep yet. I smile and purr as he kneads the knots in my back. There's a knock at the door.

  “What?” I snap.

  “Be kind, my boni—“

  “Oh hush, Miguel, this is better than those stupid day spas Rocky takes me too.” I pout. “Nothing can touch your dick massages,” I smile wickedly and get up quickly, pull on a white tee and go to the door. When I open it, Rockwell is back to her old self. Beautiful and happy but there's sadness behind her hazel eyes that always lingered there since she was a teenager, whenever Lorenzo was away...

  “Chuey is taking me to see Lorenzo.”

  “How?” I blurt. First, I know Rocky and Chuey are tight like that. Have been since they meet a few years ago when Chuey came from Colombia to Illinois. I never forget that Chuey is Santiago Junior. I won't forget that my brother’s grave should be pissed on after I’m able to catch him slipping and murk him. So anyway, back to how?

  “How is Chuey going to get you into some maximum facility?” I chide.

  Nothing but hope motivates her. Rockwell says, “He knows a guard where Lorenzo is being kept.”

  “Okay so when we...”

  “Just me, Mama Rita. Can you watch the kids?”

  “Girl, don't ever even ask that.”

  “I'm... I think,” Rocky’s eyes shift side to side, “There’s something wrong with me and Lorenzo –“

  I figured as much. Yet the hopelessness that weighs down on Rocky’s shoulders tells me that she doesn’t even know what the deal is. I bite my lip really quickly; maybe she shouldn’t go with Chuey. But then again, these damn Colombian men. If Lorenzo is tripping for no reason, checking on him is best. “Go see about your nigga. And maybe get you a conjugal visit. I know my son. Lorenzo is just pissed that he put himself in this situation working for his bitch ass uncle.”

  Rocky blushes a little, as if hoping my advice is true. Before she starts away, she adds, “Good morning, Miguel.”

  “What—“ I reply, baffled.

  Rocky’s hand goes to her thick hip, and she gives me this try me look, “Mama Rita, Lorenza comes straight to you when having a bad night. Last night, Lorenzo’s chubby baby sister was my little sidekick.”

  Now I'm blushing. I turn around and step back into the room. Miguel is on my bed and the muthafucka already has the nerve to be saluting me!

  But you've heard it before. If dude can get it up. Ladies, the only job you have is to get the anaconda back down.

  ROCKWELL

  “You’re the only image in my mind,

  So I still see you, around…

  I miss you like every day; wanna be with you, but your away…”

  Beyoncé’s “I miss you” streams through my mind as Chuey guides me up the tiny plane by the small of my back. I want to be a 100 miles away from my nigga’s cousin, but I need to see Lorenzo. Chuey can make that happen. My husband has his faults. Very b
ig ones. But my own one misdeed—killing Janyca— can be the end of us.

  I can’t fathom what the fuck went wrong besides that. He has to know that I bodied his bitch, the bitch he really wanted to …

  Moving toward the back of Santiago's jet, I take a seat on a thick, white leather chair, wanting to be alone. I place my hand in the seat next to me as Chuey comes back. He's dressed up all professional like I've never seen him; wearing an Italian suite, custom made, and shoes that must be approximately 3Gs. Looks even more like his dad by the minute, with regard to being a classic man at the moment. Yet, no matter how dapper, Santiago is odd, and downright creepy.

  There’s pepper spray in my Hermes bag, tho.

  “Everything is going to be okay, ma,” Chuey says. He eyes my bag as if anticipating sitting next to me. I gaze out the window, arms folded. Chuey sits in the row in front of me, reminding me that this is going to be a long ride.

  “Rocky....”

  “Don’t.”

  “Rockwell...” Chuey says my name like he enjoys every syllable.

  “How may I help you, Santi Junior,” I mock. It’s a wonder that I just found out that Chuey was Santiago’s first born. Anyhow, I could see why Chuey didn’t claim his father. He's quiet for a while. Clearly, his government name pisses him off. Ironically, nobody on earth likes Santiago Mendoza.

  The song continues to play in my mind. Beyoncé still harmonizes. It hurts my pride to tell you how I feel, but I still need to… Why is that…? We were good the last time I was with Lorenzo. How could it be? I bite my lip until a tiny bit of copper compels me to stop. The fuck did I do? We’ve been married for 22 days. The honeymoon just ended and he left me with a tan, and a promise to get me pregnant soon as he returns from the mission. I cradle my arms around my belly. Chuey just took me to the doctors before we boarded.

  My heart skipped so many beats as the cold jelly was applied to my abdominal. Honestly, I wanted to wait a while before giving my husband another beautiful baby. The hardness on Chuey’s face as the doctor says I was indeed 11 weeks. Unlike my wanting to wait for Lorenzo to get some act right. Chuey most likely wanted me to never be pregnant. Ever.

  Chuey held onto the ultrasound picture for a while. Then he smiled and congratulated me. I don’t trust this muthafucka, not one bit.

  Chuey hands me a bottle of water.

  “What's this for?” I ask.

  “Take your prenatal vitamins.”

  “Don't.” I shake my head. “Why when we're alone you take on this roll... Like we're together. Nigga you haven’t even been up in this! You never will. So I don’t need you to play super daddy, monitoring my ability to take prenatal vitamins!”

  “I want the best for you, Mrs. Medina.” His eyes lock onto mine as he says, “I’ve said that from jump, right?”

  My eyes narrow. He likes to call me Ms. Townsend, my maiden name, but I feel like this is a blow. And what the fuck does he mean from jump. Yeah, we started out cool. There was never a reason to be cruel to him on account that Lorenzo and me had been feuding when we met. But then again, when we met, I tried to play his ass. Show him some play to get the fuck away from Lorenzo’s psychotic ass.

  I roll my eyes, glaring him up and down. “Chuey, what are you up too?”

  “For the moment,” he begins then licks those sexy lips of his. So like my Lorenzo's. He pauses and says, “I just want to be your friend, like ... I have been.”

  I hold out my hand. “A’ight. Treat me like a dude then, let's shake on that.” Even as his big strong hand engulfs mine, I have a feeling that this much needed friend zone is not a good idea at all. But we shall see what it means to keep your friends close, and your enemy’s closer…

  LORENZO

  To think Rockwell brought her stupid ass all the way over here when I told her I wasn't finna speak with her got me pissed. The guard made it extra clear how fly she looked while waiting for me to come to the visitor center. Man, I used to love when niggas would be all over my bitch. Can't even front like I don’t care now, and just send the bird on. So I let the guard brag.

  “Man, you sure you don’t want to see your old lady? Your bitch,” he says looking me dead in the eye as if he’s just disrespected me by calling my wife out her name. But I don’t give a fuck. “She got hips and ass for days like…” he places his fingers to his mouth, kissing them. “You wanna go fuck that? Somebody should be fucking that, man?”

  But I ask, “Aye, did my moms rolled through with my bitch?”

  “Nope. Just Mrs. Medina and Agent Caesar Cruz,” the guard replies.

  My eyebrows furrow. Who the fuck is that? Prolly one of those Feds that really wants me to rat out my Tio Santi. Maybe Agent Cruz is tryna see what Rockwell will say too. Far as I'm concerned, Emerald and Gonzalez are the only muthafuckas working with me. Those greedy bastards don't seem like the type to add to the crew.

  But I know one thing. I know exactly who brought my bitch to see me.

  Chuey.

  Double homicide ain't but a cool minute away. So I’ma bid time. Pretend to be good with them two Fed fucks. Next Chuey gon’ wish he was never born. Since I still got mad love for my baby mama, I’ma kill my Rocky nice and softly...

  CHUEY

  Damn, lil mama looked like a beast in her all white Chanel pantsuit, black Hermes bag, and black Manolos. How the fuck could Lorenzo not come out to see her? I’m sitting in my rented Maserati. Have to keep up appearances. Since I’m Cruz in New York, I don’t have too many flashy things, but rented this car and had it waiting for when Rockwell and I landed in the states. When we got to the facility, I had Rockwell stand back as I checked in as Caesar. The guards know not to speak my name anyway. Rockwell didn’t blow my cover calling me Chuey, since she would hardly speak.

  Damn, I'm feeling like a fool, inching by the luxury condo that Yvonda and me share. It's so much traffic on Central Avenue. Even though it’s the middle of the work day, I pray she doesn’t step outside. Even the doorman knows Caesar personally. He would wonder too.

  “Let’s get something to eat,” I say out of the blue while shifting in my chair, trying not to look over at my crib.

  “Not hungry.”

  “You ain't had anything to eat since breakfast. Since you were all happy that I could get us here. Shit, I went through so much to do that.” Rockwell doesn’t even know the half of it. If one of the muthafuckas that I put away started calling out Caesar Cruz and making threats while I was with Rocky, my cover would be blown. Luckily, Lorenzo was showing his ass as usual.

  After inching down the street, I make another turn and my silent companion finally speaks.

  “Where are we going, Chuey? The airport isn't this way?” She looks around with narrowed eyes.

  “I’ma feed you first, like I already said,” I repeat.

  Rockwell’s stomach growls on key. She tries to turn on the radio to mask it but I shake my head and pull into the valet at Astoria hotel.

  “Why here? The last time you took me to a hotel nightclub, your stupid ass tried something.”

  I smile, thinking back to the resort town. Rockwell was just about to give up the pussy. Closest I ever got. Man, I didn’t even really want it when Janyca lay dying. Well, of course, I would have cut; I would have made love to this girl. But at the nightclub, Rocky had that ass grinding up against my dick. It was the only time lil’ mama had acted foul, on retaliation from Lorenzo throwing her clothing down to a gang of bitches. I sigh. All I’ve done to get the pussy? And that's some ass that I will die tryna get again. But she had been so persistent; so hard and tough on Lorenzo when I tried to mend her broken heart a year back when my cuzzo first began to show his ass. I reminded her of the finer things in life, taking Rockwell to a fashion show that had her reminiscing on when she was going to be a clothing designer. All the things that she can’t do being Lorenzo’s bitch were things she enjoyed with me.

  “Best steak, ma. Promise.”

  “Steak only, believe that.” She points at me then
gets out. Rockwell puts on a smile as the valet takes her hand and escorts her up the sidewalk. This muthafucka is trying not to get a tip, flirting all extra hard with her.

  “The keys.” I buck up on old’ boy. Even in this suit I don't fucking play. I loop my arm into Rockwell's. Her firm bicep contracts, but Rocky’s too tired and depressed to fight.

  The ambiance is rich. The attire is strict, and what should be my other half, has us fitting right in as she’s seated on a plush red chair. The lights are low, with one single candle glowing in Rockwell’s hazel eyes. I can tell Rocky is hesitant about the romantic environment until the waiter offers the drink menu.

  “Scotch for me,” I say as, Rockwell looks through the leather bound menu.

  Rocky orders a mojito, realizes her predicament and opts for a Shirley Temple. The drinks come quick.

  “I guess I can pretend that this has a kick,” she mumbles while sipping on the weak virgin cocktail. My eyes glue on those plush lips as Rocky begins to suck on the cherry. Before she can notice me staring, I stop. I want this contentment that she’s low-key beginning to feel to stay. Once we’ve gotten a few drinks, and started on dinner at the white linen table, Rockwell acts like the girl I fell for giving that beautiful smile of hers as she digs into the steak.

  “Chueyyyy, damn this butter, boy that's what I'm talking about.” She adds more steak butter and proceeds to eat the entire 8-ounce porterhouse. “I’ma have to do two hours of Pilates for Lorenzo.”

  “For Lorenzo?” I slip. Shit, shouldn't even have gone there.

  “Um do I detect some jealousy?”

  “Nah, nah. Not from me.”

  “Then why the fuck you just came for me, Chuey?”

  “Disrespecting you is never my intention. Let me clarify, what I'm saying is looking good for you, just for you, is the best thing in the world. Confident that you have done everything in your power mentally, emotionally and physically to stay healthy now I love that.”