by Korry Smith
We were two chemicals, different and alike, that were corrosive to anything they touched, our molecular bond was too strong to stay away. The attraction between us was undeniable, but as all things go, in the end, the two unstable compounds were going to combust.
I closed my eyes and sighed. “Boom.”
Ten minutes later, we had the duffel bag in our possession, and we were standing across the street from the senator’s mansion. It wasn’t anything like I expected, and the conversations I had with Alex describing the home he grew up in were vague. I’d created this vision in my head of a pastel house with a white picket fence and grass on the front lawn, not a Four Seasons.
The grand reveal was a disappointment, but there was no way in hell we were getting into this building. The security measures were top of the line. There were secret-service guys with black suits and earpieces posted at the entrance. Several cameras bolted to the pillars were pointing down at the street and at the chrome-plated double doors that were leading into the hotel. They zoomed and panned in, capturing and documenting, every face that had the unfortunate luck of having to walk by Fort Knox on their way to work.
“Who the hell does your father think he is, the fucking president?” I grumbled, shaking my head in disbelief.
“No,” Alex replied with resentment. “The fucker thinks he’s God.”
My guy was many things, all buried below the surface, and he projected a man that instilled fear into people who crossed him, but I saw past the bullshit and into him because he allowed me.
He wanted revenge, but he was smart enough to know that it wouldn’t change anything. The pain would still be there, torturing him for days and years to come. This job and everything that was to follow was a temporary Band-Aid to a permanent and deep-seated wound that would never heal.
And that broke me into a million pieces.
“They’re assholes, baby,” I said, hooking my arm with his and snuggling close, selfishly stealing his body heat but also wanting to comfort him. “They don’t matter.”
“Yeah, I know,” he said, reaching around with his other hand, and tapping the tip of my nose to lighten the depressing mood. “Well, what do you think, kid? Should we get this party started?”
I reached into my hoodie’s pouch and pulled out my stopwatch. “We have forty-two minutes and thirteen seconds until the senator comes home.”
“Forty-two minutes?”
“Well...” I glanced down briefly and backed up at him. “Forty-one minutes now.”
“That’s plenty of fucking time,” he said, waving me off.
I laughed.
It didn’t matter if we had a hundred years or five minutes to do this job; we were destined to run out of time. That all too consuming fire we had for each other was our Achilles heel, and eventually, that weakness, our distraction, was going to get us caught.
“Come on,” he said, taking a step back from the edge of the sidewalk and turning north.
We walked a few feet down the street, his arm wrapped around my shoulders for warmth, but a chill wind came with a vengeance, blowing my hair around and away from my face. It felt like a thousand knives stabbing me all at once, freezing me down to the bone.
I shivered.
Alex, hearing the chattering of my teeth, looked down at me with his eyebrow cocked. “Are you cold?”
“It, it, it’s bbbbelow eighty-fffive degrees, is, is, isn’t iiit?”
“With the wind chill, it’s about sixty-five… maybe seventy.” Alex smiled and maneuvered himself in front of me to block out the wind. He rubbed his hands up and down my arms to generate heated friction. “How are your ears?”
My eyes widened in mock surprise. “I, I, I, have eeears?”
Reaching up and tugging on my left lobe, he gave a firm nod. “Yes, it appears so.” Alex dropped his hand to pull out a knitted beanie from his back pocket. He placed it on my head. “A wise person told me once,” he said, tucking my hair up inside and pulling it down over my numb ears, “that a beanie was a proper disguise for a well-known outlaw, such as yourself.”
“Oh, yeah?” I said, gazing up at him and that unruly black hair. I frowned. “Where’s yours?”
“Ah, don’t you worry about me, I’ve got that shit covered.” He reached back and pulled up the hoodie on his sweatshirt.
It shocked me how just a small change in his appearance made a huge fucking difference. That simple flick of his hood on top of his head turned me on to a level that I didn’t even know was possible.
It wasn’t fair to other men for Alex to be this beautiful.
“I like it,” I said, feeling hot and uncomfortable as the heat of my attraction flooded my chest and face.
“Look at us, we’re completely unrecognizable, kid.” He grasped my hand and tugged me towards the curb. “Let’s go flaunt our faces.”
“What?” I gasped, and damn near choked on my spit. “You’re joking?”
“Nope,” he said, looking both ways down the street, an extended break in the oncoming traffic. “I need you to run now.”
“Oh, okay…” I was barely able to get the words out before Alex was dragging me across four lanes.
With our disguises firmly in place, and a bag full of cocaine on Alex’s back, we made our way to the other side of the building, towards the underground garage, instead of going to the heavily secured front entrance.
Slowing down to a walk, we came to a closed gate, a thick steel one that kept the wrong people out. Alex glanced around, looking to make sure the coast was clear, before releasing my hand and pulling out his phone.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I’m calling Marcos to let him know we’re here.”
“What?” My heart stopped. “Marcos’ here?”
He scrolled through his contacts. “No.”
I grasped my chest as my heart regained its steady beat, and I sighed with relief. “Good.”
His head shot up. “Wait a sec... are you afraid of Marcos?”
“Um...” I shrugged. “Maybe a little.”
He laughed.
“Why is that funny? You’re the one who told me he was someone to fear. Was that bullshit?”
“No,” Alex said, his laughter dying down and taking on a serious tone. “He’s a deadly and frightening man, but you, of all fucking people, should be the last person to fear this asshole.”
I shook my head slowly, confused as to why I would be immune to the terror.
“Look,” he continued, “Marcos is in your fucking debt now. Do you get that? You own him.”
“But I’m the one who shot and killed his brother.”
“Bingo,” Alex said and winked. He turned away from my shocked stare, pressing the phone to his ear.
I own him?
The most prominent and baddest boss of a Mexican drug cartel was indebted to me, an eighteen-year-old high school dropout? That revelation was unbelievable, and I was at a loss for words.
“Hey, kid,” Alex said, tapping me on the shoulder and redirecting my attention to the gate.
“What?” I whispered.
“Enter this number.” He pointed and led my eyes to a keypad.
“Okay,” I said, flipping the cover open, my fingers posed and ready for the code.
“1, 1, 9,” he said, giving me time to enter the numbers, “8, 2, and then press pound.”
Doing as instructed, the keypad beeped, and the gates rolled open.
“We’re in,” Alex said, nudging me forward. “Where do we go now?”
The garage dimly lit with an orange overhead light gave off an eerie feel, and the walkway slanted downward, took us deeper underground into the pits of Hell. It was quiet, making the scuffling of my sneakers and Alex’s voice echo and bounce off the concrete walls.
“Babe…” Alex grabbed my arm and pulled me backward. “It’s this way.”
“Where?” I asked, squinting to see where he was pointing.
There was an elevator to the right in the di
stance, but Alex was leading me to the left towards these gray double doors.
“We’re going to the kitchen?” he asked Marcos, pausing, and listening for the answer.
It was in times like these that I wished that everyone was as loud as Len.
“And then what...? Do they know about...? They don’t…? What the fuck am I supposed to say if they ask?”
Alex looked like someone kicked him in the nuts. He squeezed the bridge of his nose, and breathed in deep, trying to keep his aggravation under wraps. He didn’t want to fuck up our connection by losing his temper.
I smiled to myself, amazed by how attuned and a part of Alex I had become in such a short amount of time. I could read his thoughts by just the tenor of his voice and body language. He was an open book to me, now and forever.
“This shit better not become an issue...Baby,” Alex said, tugging on my sleeve, and regaining my attention. He jerked his head slightly towards the doors. “Knock on it.”
I pointed to myself.
“Yes, baby.” He chuckled, rolling his eyes. “I’m talking to you. Knock on the door.”
I raised my hand and hesitated, taking a deep breath to prepare myself for whatever was behind this door. It could be a trap with the police on the other side, lying in wait to take the Bonnie and Clyde wannabes down.
Knocking four times, I took a step back and waited. Alex was beside me, getting the final instructions from Marcos before hanging up the phone.
“Did you knock?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said, chewing the shit out of my nails.
“Jesus, woman. You need to relax,” he said, pulling my hand away from my mouth.
“I’m fine,” I said, gulping loudly. “Do you think we should knock again?”
As I was asking that question, the door swung open and revealed a short, rail-thin Hispanic man with a phone glued to his ear.
“Sí, los veo. ¿la joven mujer y el hombre?” he spoke gruffly, his dark eyes assessing us. He nodded to Alex. “¿Qué pasa? Do you have the wildcat?”
“Yup,” Alex said, shaking the duffel bag off his shoulder, and swinging it towards the front. He patted it. “It’s right here.”
“Show me,” the man said, eyes narrowed with distrust.
“All right.” Alex dropped the bag with a thud. He bent down and zipped it open, spreading it wide to showcase the endless white baggies.
As I stared down at the cocaine, it occurred to me then that it was our ticket into the building. It was a shady, backdoor drug deal, and Miguel was the middle-man, the familiar face that would ease the air.
Which, was now thick and uncomfortable.
The man reached down and grabbed a bag, slicing it open with a pocket knife. He licked the tip of his pinky and dipped it into the white substance. Placing the sample on his tongue, he smacked his lips loudly and hummed with satisfaction at the taste of, what I imagined, to be pure merchandise.
“Si, todo esta bien. Hablaré con usted mañana. Adios, primo.” He hung up the phone. “Close it and leave it.”
Alex zipped the bag shut and rose to his feet. “I have an arrangement with Marcos.”
“Yes, I know, and for these drugs, I will personally make sure that you get into Senator Ryan’s penthouse without a problem,” he said, stepping away from the entrance of the door and ushering us in with a grand sweep of his arm.
“Go ahead,” Alex said, placing his hand on my lower back to ease me forward.
I couldn’t move. My feet planted to the cement and unwilling to cooperate. All the doubts that had been plaguing my mind resurfaced and caused this strangling fear to overwhelm me. I started to shake my head no, to turn around and run, but then a soft and reassuring whisper, ‘It’s okay, baby. I’m right here,’ changed everything.
And just like that, all my stage fright vanished. There was nothing be afraid of, not this petty drug dealer or the unknown danger that lurked behind these doors. I had the love and the trust of a criminal who stood less than a foot behind me. I knew with him close by that nothing terrible was going to happen.
He would never allow it.
“Hola, damita.” The man gave me a polite smile as I turned to the side to squeeze past him. “I’m Ramon.”
“Hi,” I replied, my return smile terse and not as polite. “I’m Kid.”
Chapter Nineteen
It left my mouth without thought, and Ramon nodded in assent, reaching out to shake my hand. He didn’t question it. And why would he? I was a kid. By the mere look of me, I was youthful and innocent, wide-eyed, and impressionable. He didn’t know the real meaning behind that slip of the tongue, but someone did.
I could feel Alex before he touched me.
He was a tornado in my life, sweeping me off the ground and spinning me into his chaotic funnel, around and around, unwilling to ever let me escape his entrapment. My affliction, my treatment, and my cure, all twisted into one obsession, had given me my name.
And at first, I fucking hated it.
It was patronizing. People used it to remind me of my age and how young and infantile I was—as if I didn’t already fucking know. But more than that, it stood for the one truth that I didn’t want to realize, and that was how inappropriate my feelings for Alex were. I was seventeen and lusting after this gun-wielding criminal, a tattooed God, who was ten years my senior.
It was illegal.
It was wrong.
It was shameful.
That made me want him even more.
“Kid?” His voice was a purr in my ear. The heat of his body radiated off him in waves. “I like it.”
My heart hammered in my chest “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
We both recognized what that meant and who I’d become.
“Shit.” I gasped as his finger traced the curve of my spine.
When he slipped his hand into the waistband of my jeans and tugged me back into his chest, forceful and dominant, I wanted to throw him against the nearest wall and devour him.
My name was Kid, and I fucking belonged to Alex Ryan.
“What the hell happened to you guys?” Ramon asked, bringing my focus back to the forefront. He stood there with a questioning look, taking a step back and fully examining our appearance. “Did you get caught in a downpour?”
From the tips of our boots, all the way up to the shirts underneath our coats, were fucking soaked from unexpected rainwater. The hoodie and beanie hid our dampened hair, but from the occasional drip of water down our brows, it was quite clear that we were wet and miserable.
“Yeah, you could say that.” Alex cleared his throat and discreetly removed his hand from my jeans, but he didn’t stop touching me. He kept his palm flattened and rested on my lower back.
I shivered.
“Here, let me get you something dry to wear,” Ramon said.
“No, man, that’s not necessary,” Alex said, stepping out from behind me and grasping my upper arm. “We’re on borrowed time.”
Ramon scoffed. “No, trust me; it’s necessary, but first things first.” He glanced around looking for someone, and then brought his fingers to his mouth and whistled. A young guy in a waiter’s uniform came running from around the corner, and Ramon was pleased. “Damien, there you are. Grab the bag and take it to my office.” He tossed Damien keys. “Make sure you lock up, all right? I don’t want anyone walking in there.”
“You got it, boss,” Damien replied, jogging past Alex and me, keeping his eyes cast down and muttering an apology when we brushed shoulders.
Ramon directed his attention back to us. “Shall we go?”
“Let’s do it,” Alex said, pulling me forward, but I kept my feet fixed in that spot.
Damien was small, no taller than me, and for the past sixty seconds, I’d been hearing him grunt and pant behind me. The poor guy was struggling to pick up the bag. A very prominent vein was bulging out of his forehead, looking like it was going to burst, and sweat was rolling down his face.
“Wait,”
I said, jerking Alex back.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, brow furrowed with worry.
“Do you think we should...” I started to say only for Ramon to cut me off.
“What’s the problem?”
The lack of concern on his face for Damien’s plight was disconcerting—never mind the fact he entrusted a bag of dope to a guy who looked no older than me.
I hesitated, and Ramon tilted his head to the side, unsure what the hold-up was, but irritation heavily marred in his features.
He sighed and tapped the face of his watch. “Tick tock tick tock, remember?”
I glared at the jerk and just came out with it. “Maybe we ought to help your friend over there. He’s not moving the merchandise very well.”
“Who?” Ramon asked.
I pointed towards Damien, who was wiping the sweat from his forehead and widening his stance. “Your busboy.”
Ramon laughed, shaking his head. “Damien, you bitch, pick up that fucking bag like a man, you got this little girl feeling sorry for you.”
Little girl?
That’s worse than kid. I wanted to murder him.
“Fuck you, boss,” Damien replied, slinging the bag over his shoulder.
“Fuck me? I’m the one who gives your sorry ass a job.” He guffawed, turning his gaze back to me, smirking arrogantly. “See, he’s fine.”
I shrugged. “Whatever, I just thought the guy could use some help.”
“First mistake, Kid, is giving a shit. That sort of thinking is likely to get you killed.”
I stared at him, unblinking, not knowing what to say to that. In the back of my head I knew he was right, but helping a guy carry a bag full of drugs out of a fucking doorway was smart and not careless.
Ramon laughed again, more boisterous and mocking, and said a few things in Spanish. Some words I understood to be demeaning to females. He waved Alex and me forward, leading us away from the door and into the deeper parts of the kitchen.
I tugged on Alex’s sleeve and whispered, “What the hell was that about?”
“It’s nothing. Ramon doesn’t know how different you are.”
“What do you mean?”