Lorenzo
My goons told me soon as Rocky started packing her shit a few weeks back. She had been hiding cardboard boxes, and a few items of clothes in the back of her walk-in closet. Part of me just wanted to see if my bitch would. Now the other part of me is feeling low-key hurt, when I shouldn’t give a fuck about Rockwell in the first place.
I had been trying to be good to lil’ mama since our son died. Finding out the boy was mine still feels like a shot to the chest with a Teflon vest on.
Soon as the landlord opens the door to his apartment a few doors down from Rockwell’s, three of my goons guns go straight to his face.
“What do you want?” he spits in Spanish.
I give the old dude that look which tells him not to waste my muthafucking time.
“Okay, okay,” he snaps, hand shaking as he digs into his greasy pocket. He pulls out a master set of keys. “The purple one,” he stutters, while trying not to touch my hand as he passes it over.
“Gracias, mi amigo,” I tell him. Moving along the sidewalk, I shake my head. Miguel really gave this girl his crib. Rocky has credit cards and billions of dollars at her disposal but didn’t want to even touch my money. Yeah, she was on a fuck Lorenzo mission since we were kids.
“Y’all can go,” I command my crew, while unlocking the front door of Rockwell’s place. I step inside. The apartment is larger than the one moms had us living in when we were kids. No patchwork or holes in the light yellow walls. Most of the furniture is masculine. I realize it’s shit that moms won’t allow Miguel to move into their new home once they marry.
The shower is running, down the hall. I step into the room slowly, rubbing my hands together. My mind is wondering as to how to bring my girl home. Fuck her hard and long on this bed, or make her ass patiently wait until we get home.
Her cell phone vibrates on the dresser.
I step over to it. Maybe I ain’t finna fuck Rocky, maybe I’m a murk this bitch. I glance at the stream of text messages from Chuey beginning this morning.
Chuey: Have a good day, beautiful.
Rocky: Thanks u 2.
At first I consider that she really is blowing this dude off, but why the fuck is he messaging her anyway.
Then at noon the texts continue.
Chuey: Any plans this evening.
Rocky: Call me. We need to talk.
Chuey: I’ll swing by.
Rocky: Nah, I just tried to call you. We need to talk.
I grit my teeth and nod my head. The fuck they need to talk about?
Chuey hadn’t responded all day. The muthafucka probably didn’t like those words: we need to talk. He just replied a minute ago with, I’m on my way over.
Lemme sit the fuck down then. I start over to the chair near the bedroom door as the shower stops. Instead of sitting down, I glance at the pajamas on her bed. Damn, I always loved little mama in these fuzzy pjs in the wintertime. I put those close away, and dig in her drawers. I can hear her getting out, but I continue to rummage around. Of all the Vicky Secrets and shit that she has at home, I notice that there’s no lingerie. I grab a matching hot pink panty and bra set. After sitting it on the bed, I take a seat. Pulling out my Glock, my finger goes straight to the trigger and on my lap. I wait.
Rockwell steps into the room with a plush towel around that fat ass and those big ass breasts. “Renzo!”
Her short ass almost falls back. She grips the bathroom doorframe, to right her bare feet. “Lorenzo, h-how, wh-why are you in my home?”
“Ya home, ma?” I laugh at her stupid ass. “The fuck you mean this is your home. Nah, this shit ain’t fly enough for Rockwell. My bitch loves the finer things in life.”
“Nope, I don’t. You got me so wrong, what else I don’t love is you. Now get out!”
I shake my head, “Nah, ma, I can’t fucking do that. Let’s just say that we have a date coming soon.”
“Date? What do you mean,” she asks, while gripping the towel tighter.
“Girl, I’ve seen every inch of that body.” I clap my hands. “Even after four kids, you still bring a nigga to his knees. But since you didn’t want Chuey to see you in your old lingerie.” I pause to point my gun at her bed. “Put that shit on real quick. He’s on his way.”
Rockwell’s head cocks to the side, those amber eyes narrow. “I wish…”
“You wish what, girl?”
“I had never met you, Lorenzo.”
“Bitch, get dressed. Shut the fuck up,” I command.
“You’re so stupid, Lorenzo.” Rockwell puts on the bra and panties. When she steps to the drawers, I’m next to her in seconds. I grab her arm, and start from the room.
Putting my gun back in my waistband, I compliment, “Nah, ma. You look good.”
The door bell rings. I push Rockwell toward it. “Your dude is here, invite him in.”
“Who?” She stumbles, then looks up at me with tears in her eyes. The look I give back tells the bitch not to continue to fuck with me. A nigga doesn’t have time for the stupidity. Rockwell holds her left arm over her belly, while opening the door with her right hand.
“Rocky, beautiful, why are you crying?” Chuey says.
I see red. I throw a haymaker straight to Chuey as he starts into the house.
Chuey
This muthafucka blindsided me with his quickness. I wasn’t even assessing the situation while stepping to the door. Now, I realize the Escalade a few blocks down belongs to my cousin. Lorenzo bashed on my right eye. That shit is going to swell tomorrow.
Rockwell screams as we take off.
“Where’s your crew, dude?” I cockily ask, landing one to his gut. That doesn’t even faze the muthafucka. We go blow for blow, knocking down lamps and pushing over the side table.
We crash through the sliding glass door. My body slams onto the balcony floor with Lorenzo having a vice grip at my neck. I keep taking body shots to this dude, but the muthafucka has me pinned down. I finally free one arm and begin to pull at his biceps. My throat is burning. I can’t breathe.
Then Rockwell appears. She’s saying something in Lorenzo’s ear…
“Don’t move, Chuey,” I hear Rocky say into the darkness. I can barely see out of one eye, the other is fully shut.
Rita
Lorenzo Junior acted like a fool today. He had me so ashamed as I watch him and his cousin Phillip Junior play videogames tonight.
Blu comes to sit next to me.
“Hey, mi amor,” I tell her as she wraps herself into my arm.
“Whatcha doing?” she asks.
“Why you so damn lovey dubby?” I chuckle, trying to get the story I had divulged to Rockwell out of my mind. I had to tell her that Lorenzo and Chuey were brothers. After the story, I think it got through to her brain that being around Santiago Junior was just too fucking crazy for me.
“I miss Lala.”
“Aw, Blu, Lakitha has been calling on a daily. She’s in her element, working that brain knowledge.” I kiss my oldest daughter on the forehead, then add, “Why don’t you go see about—g”
“Uhn-uhn, moms,” Blu says, shaking her head.
“What?”
“You want me to check on that bitch?”
“Aye dios mi—”
Blu begins to stand. “Guess I’ma just get up and go to sleep.”
I wave her off. “Whateva, Blu. You are so damn judgmental and unforgiving. You’d think I didn’t spend not one night worried about you!”
“Bye!” She stalks away.
I start to arise, feeling antsy. I warn the boys about the games, since it’s a school night, and start for the hall to the stairs. By the time I make it up to my bedroom, I am yawning. Now when I step inside of my bedroom, it’s a different story.
Miguel has placed roses around the bed. He’s lighting one of a hundred candles around the bed.
“Damn, I thought we were going to be good until we marry next week and move into our place…” I stop myself from licking my lips, as he turns around
in just pajama pants. His muscles drip in caramel.
“But you had a bad day,” he replies. “All I want to do is massage your back, maybe even your feet.”
With a smirk, I turn since he’s twirled his finger for me to do so.
Miguel’s strong hands go to my shoulders, as I stand there. When his lips start kissing my neck, his dick is hard against my ass. My legs get weak.
“Now you know…” I warn him with a smile.
The pipe is pushing weight, but we’ve made promises to God in hopes that He will bless our marriage. We need all the help that we can get, being childhood sweethearts. Miguel couldn’t endure the fact that Santiago raped me. He’s apologized for not fully being there for me back then. I’ve apologized for running away—or running after another man, rather. Henry is the muthafucka that could give a fuck about our daughters.
“Don’t worry, Margarita,” Miguel says into my ear. Then again he begins to kiss my earlobe ever so softly. “I’m just going to make you feel better. You had a hard day…”
I haven’t told him about my conversation with Rockwell regarding Santiago and Lorenzo’s true relationship. But I know that he’s felt my tension all evening at dinner.
His hands creep up under my shirt. Miguel’s fingers glide over my back. This dude is not giving me a damn back rub. He reaches around and grabs one of my breasts, gripping it like he already owns it and I haven’t even said, “I do.” My pussy is milking for him.
“Miguel,” I whimper. I try to move away.
“No, mi corazón. I love you.” He holds me tightly, with one hand and the other starts to sneak down into my pants. I toot my ass against his erection, and Miguel bites my neck. As I’m tooting for him, Miguel’s finger starts to work inside my walls.
“Just a massage,” he says, breathing warmly against my neck.
“Mhmmm, Miguel we are too old for this,” I reply. “We sound like little kids. All there is left for you to say is, ‘just let me stick the head in.’”
My man’s laughter is ever so sexy as he repeats my words, “Okay, lemme just put the head in.”
I turn around and slap Miguel’s arm. I love this moment. We are two grown ass individuals in love. I step up to Miguel, ready for the games to end. The sex in his eyes matches mine. Dear God, forgive us…
Miguel silently leads me to the bed as candlelight flickers off his buff body. I lie back.
Our eyes connect as he climbed up on top of me. While reaching up to rub at Miguel’s chest, I lose my breath. Damn, this man was fine when we were teens but he’s even sexier now.
“Can I stick my tongue in your pussy?” Miguel asks.
“Stupido, you don’t even need to ask,” I shake my head and smile, leaning up on my elbows as he moves lower. There’s a cocky grin on Miguel’s face before he’s fully submerged under the sheets. As he chows down on my pussy, I damn near bite my lip off not to scream so loudly. My fingers go into his thick jet-black hair. “Miguel, fuck me now…” I try to catch my breath. He sucks, licks and bites even harder, making my body spasm.
The dick becomes my sleep aide as Miguel pulls me into a hug an hour later. We spoon. In minutes, I'm asleep within his embrace.
After that lethal dose of the pipe, I anticipate not waking until late the next morning. But as soon as my body dips into a dream, I’m startled into a seating position. I reach for my Glock on the nightstand since I've got a lover that doesn't stay stepped and wouldn't know how to shoot an elephant from two feet away.
“Lorenzo?” Miguel asks through the darkness as he's up beside me.
“Yeah,” my sons hard voice replies as he flicks on the lamp. “I been knocking for a cool minute. Moms, wake yo ass up. Get dressed, we need to talk.”
I snap, “Boy—”
“C’mon son, is that anyway to speak to your mom,” Miguel adds in, rubbing his sleepy eyes.
“The fuck wrong with you?” Lorenzo addresses Miguel. “Don't think I don't know you moved in when my bitch moved out.”
I sigh.
“And I also know ya ass been coming over late at night and shit, all hours really to check on my moms. Nigga you up in my piece so get some act right. Don’t come at me period.”
“Respect your mom is all I'm saying,” Miguel reiterates. “It’s the Colombiano way,” lingers in his fatherly tone. I’m sure my son can’t stand him even more.
I pull the sheets up closer. “Just give me a minute, nigga. Damn!”
He gives one last mad dog before stepping out.
“Damn Rockwell...” I murmur while moving from all the tangled covers. I slink over to the dresser for panties and a sweat suit.
“How did she deal with him?”
“Hey, that's my son,” I half joke. Even though Miguel is making a common statement, I will never stop stepping up for my son, even if the nigga doesn’t deserve it just then.
“Margarita, I've prayed for them more than I pray for us,” is the last thing I hear Miguel say before I step out the room and amble down the stairs. You'd think I would have thanked him for praying for my seed. Now as I stand in the downstairs living room. Lorenzo is leaning against the mantel. Upon hearing my arrival, he turns around to provide a look that almost kills. Lorenzo asks, “Why you ain't tell me that bitch ass Santiago was my pops, huh?”
I’ma need Miguel to pray harder.
Lorenzo
Moms just stands there staring at me like how the fuck I know. Since she won’t speak, I will.
“This shit just adds up,” I begin wishing Rita would deny it. “Part of me would rather Rocky have loved Chuey enough to lie for that nigga’s life. The other part... Moms, I’ma need you to open your mouth, speak! Does that muthafucka know?”
She takes a deep gulp, still planted at the archway of the living room. Though she has found her voice, Rita still plays dumb with, “What do you mean?
Shit, this woman right here is the reason the nigga who played dad to me, treated me like shit. I know that now. I sneer. “You fucking your brah. Did Henry…” I can barely get the black nigga’s name from my mouth since we've hated on each other forever. I rub my silky hair and say, “Is that why Henry always treated me different from my little sisters? Because you fuck ya brah?”
“Stop it!” she says.
“Damn, you can finally speak but that's all you gotta say, ‘stop it?’ Nah, fuck that. Henry treated Blu differently too. Is Blu Santiago’s kid too? You loved your brother’s dick enough to give him his first born son and only daughter?”
“Lorenzo...” Rita sounds hurt while sinking down onto the leather couch.
No matter how much I love my moms, and I’m doing my best to not disrespect her, my stomach is in fucking knots. I need to know.
“What about Antoinetta? Henry wouldn't bring his bitch ass to Toi’s funeral last year. Toi was his too? How long you been fucking your brother off and on?” I spit these words like venom. My veins are frozen with disgust for the only woman I've loved unconditionally.
Rivers of tears from Rita’s eyes prompt me to stop. But she hasn’t told me her side yet.
“So me, Blu, Toi. Yeah, we're Santiago’s, right? Lakitha and Lorenza's nappy headed asses belong to Henry?”
“Shut your mouth!”
Rita and me both turn to see Miguel. He's put on wrinkled jeans and a thermal.
I laugh hysterically at the muthafucka that just tried to command me to be quiet. “Brah, my advice is that you strap it up—”
“Escuchar a su madre! Listen to your mother,” Miguel commands.
“That’s what the fuck I’m tryna do.” I glare at her. Waiting for her version of the truth.
“One day, Lorenzo,” she says as if each word brings her to the brink of ultimate pain. In another world, I would be asking who the fuck I have to murk since there are tears in her eyes. “One day, almost thirty years ago. When Santiago and I went to San Pedro, California, he did some foolish shit on a deal. We got back... Santiago blamed the deal on me. Leon was so very mad.”
“Ma, that ain't my concern.” I shake my head. Learning about a family squabble doesn’t have shit to do with me.
“Listen,” Miguel orders. Under normal circumstances, this dude would be picking up a few teeth for his tone. Not right now tho, my stomach is churning. Mom’s story can only end one way. All bad.
“Leon got so pissed with me for Santiago’s lies. He slapped me around in front of everyone in his crew, Mayté, and Santi’s lying ass. Everybody!” she exclaims through gritted teeth. The humiliation of her father still as hard as it was from day one. “I walked away from him. In that day and age, in Colombia, you do not walk away from your parents. Even now, it’s still the end of the world. Anyway, with a busted lip from Leon I went to the chapel, got on my knees to pray. Prayed late into the night. Santiago came to tell me that Leon had a heart attack. Our padre was dead. Then Santiago…”
“Nah!” I shout. I don't want to hear another word.
I lean my forearms against be fireplace mantel, head down. I've trusted my tio. Given him respect until he didn't show me love when I was in jail. Shit, I haven’t even had my crew go hard on that muthafucka while he’s been in hiding. All because Santiago is blood, and I’ve already sat on the throne. But…
“Santiago knows I'm his son?” I can hear myself ask.
She nods.
“That's why you went over and tried to check that nigga the day we arrived,” I ask, rubbing the back of my neck.
“Yeah,” she whispers. Rita’s face is red. I can tell that it’s hard for her to even look toward Miguel. She tries to tell me that it was only once; I’m only Santiago’s seed.
“Say no more.” I step to my mom and take to my knees. Rita's arms wrap around me quickly; she sobs uncontrollably. I hold her tightly, apologizing for my behavior tonight.
Moms mumbles, cries and apologizes too.
“For what?” I ask, rubbing her back.
“Because I never wanted you to know.”
“I'm glad that I know,” I reply even though it's hard to speak. “I'll be back.”
Loving a Colombian Cartel Thug 3 Page 11