SALT: A HEIGHTS NOVEL

by Mara White

  “Shit ain’t fair. Never has been. Don’t tell me you just realizing that now?”

  “No,” she said and paused. Salana wanted to say something like, ‘I miss you,’ or ‘I want to see you,’ but those words felt incendiary, irresponsible. And what if they weren’t reciprocated? How would that make her feel? Maybe the attraction was one-sided. Could the whole thing be an act of rebellion on her part? Good girls make good choices.

  Fuck that shit. It was her life, if she wanted to invite in an enormous amount of conflict, that was her business. She froze while a warm flush captured her body, spreading from her brow and cheeks and settling into her core with the realization that she wanted to invite Santiago and everything that came with him into her life. It was hers to live and she wanted this. She wanted him. Maybe she always had. He was a gift and the world had returned him to her, placed him in her arms so she could thank him for being there for her.

  Salana was sure that it wasn’t as straightforward as simple psychology, wasn’t based solely on the fact that they’d shared traumatic experiences together, life-changing moments which had forged an unusual bond. No, Salana had been attracted to him in the hospital, before she even remembered who he was. The combination was somehow explosive—Santiago, prostrate and vulnerable before her and yet looking so street and hard. The innocent face of a child while he slept, the confusion when he awoke, the intensity of his smoky gaze as he sized her up and she dominated him, holding him down, inflicting pain with the large needle. He took the pain and faced her with defiance and the whole interaction had soaked her panties with arousal. God, and then when she bled on him. It was horrific and sexy, the heat outside, the freezer, the fear and arousal blending enough to make her lose her mind. Salana had never known anything to be this exciting. She wanted all of it and more. Her family would never understand it. But thankfully, they didn’t have to. It was between her and Santiago.

  “Santiago, I…”

  “Listen, I know you want to help. I get it, but I don’t know what to tell you. Life’s a bitch and this is how it goes down. My old man always said he’d see me on the inside someday. Well, now here I am.”

  “No.” Her statement was strong. He was wrong. She wouldn’t let it end like this. “I was going to say that I miss you. I know it’s only been a couple of weeks, but I do. I miss you. I’ve missed you, Tiago.”

  He was silent for way too long. She clenched her fists and pounded the mattress beside her. Why was she such an idiot? He didn’t care about her at all. Humiliation. Blood flooded her face until she was surely as red as a lobster.

  “Miss me, Salt? Fuck. You don’t even know me. And believe me, you don’t want to get involved with someone like me. I got nothing but trouble.”

  “Give me a chance.” Salana was more committed to the idea than even she had anticipated. Rejection felt unbearable; she needed him to see what she could see.

  She had always been a strong person. Her father called her stubborn, but Salana was steadfast and determined, the same qualities that had gotten her through medical school, a prestigious scholarship, top honors, her pick of hospitals for residency.

  “Hold up, give. you. a. chance? The fuck you mean? Like romantically? You saying you want to be with me, Salt?”

  She bit her lower lip. Her heart thudded and felt like it wanted to shoot out of her chest like a cannon. She’d soaked her panties again, over the phone, just listening to him. “You saying you want to be with me, Salt?” suddenly became the most romantic sentence she’d ever heard in her life. Tiago was sexy. He was volatile and unbridled. He hadn’t been polished by prep school or groomed by determined parents. He was wild and free, with a healthy side of totally fucking dangerous. Tiago was a mistake, one she wanted to make from the bottom of her heart.

  “I want to try, I mean if you—”

  “Shit. I’d fucking eat you alive, girl. Destroy you, just say the word.”

  Her breath caught. It sounded violent, explosive, and yet she remembered how gentle his kiss felt. An invitation to lose herself. She salivated at the thought but remained silent, reining in her breathing, her runaway heartbeat. “But you gonna wait for me on the outside like some kind of prison wife? That ain’t no life—”

  A message cut off his voice. “You have sixty seconds remaining on this call, please hang up and dial again to be reconnected.”

  “They cut the phone time in here, Salt. If I get out, I’ll hit you up. We’ll talk.”

  “Santiago, I—” The dial tone sounded shrill in her ear.

  Fuck. How infuriating. How frustrating! Salana groaned, turned in her bed and screamed into the pillow. Her hips desperately ground into the mattress. She was swollen and needy, her body aching to be filled by him. She placed her palm in between her legs and shamelessly touched herself. Her fingers greedy, her passion for Tiago overcoming common sense and possibly good judgment.

  What was he doing to her? What was she turning into? Santiago was an uncontained wildfire and she was blindly, but willingly, walking right into the hot center.

  Salana ate her salad by herself in the courtyard in between the ER and the main hospital buildings. The sun was out, but not so oppressive as it had been. Her mom was upset about the break-up with Eric. She’d left her voice messages about considering a break instead of throwing in the towel entirely, stating that Eric was only concerned about her safety and her future, not trying to crush her dream like she felt. Eric was realistic whereas she was emotional, and according to her mother that made them a great match—not incompatible. Eric actually had the nerve to call them and ‘apologize.’ What a piece of work. Her parents were meddlesome, but she knew they meant well. Her mother would flip the hell out if she knew about Tiago in the robbery alone, forget the kiss or the phone call or the emotion brewing inside her. The tingles she felt when she only so much as remembered the sound of his voice over the phone.

  “Hey stranger! This seat taken?” It was Annette, a nurse she’d spent plenty of shifts with.

  “Only if you brought pizza, because this romaine isn’t greasy enough.” She scooted a cheek so her co-worker could sit beside her.

  “I’m trying to cut the carbs too, but I’ve got Oreos, will those do?”

  “Sold,” Salana said, smiling at her friend.

  “Salad, is that your secret to that body? Don’t think I can’t see it under your scrubs.”

  “What, this?” Salana said, pointing down at her lap and talking with her mouth full. “I think that’s three-quarters genetics and the rest track and field. Oh, and crew for the upper body.”

  “Oh really? Wait, UPENN, right? Damn, girl. You still run?”

  “Every night after work. But all I did was sit around and study during medical school.”

  “I heard you and Mr. Perfect split. Those rumors true?”

  Eric was well known, one of the top orthopedic surgeons at the hospital if not in the entire state of New York. Maybe the world. Salana wasn’t impressed anymore. She was over the accolades; his accomplishments didn’t make him God or a hero, but enough people sure acted like they did. And now she felt like Eric acted that way as well. She was ready to put the relationship behind her, Santiago or not.

  “All true. Everything you heard. I have Stockholm Syndrome from the robbery and I’m marrying my captor and having his baby. Hence the need for pizza.”

  “I did hear something about that too, but I wasn’t going to say anything. Is your kidnapper at least cute?”

  “He’s in jail, so I can only show you his mugshot.”

  “Sounds exciting.” Annette laughed and shoved a cookie into her mouth. “You’d think this place was high school by how fast the rumors fly.”

  “Life moves fast in the ER, you gotta be up to date or else lives might be lost.” Annette handed Salana a few Oreos with a smile. “I’m glad, cause that guy’s a prick,” she blurted out, covering her mouth with the back of her hand.

  Salana joined her in laughter.

  “I’m sorr
y, I’m sorry,” Annette screeched.

  “Don’t be sorry, I’m not. My mom is taking the break-up harder than I am, if that tells you anything about us.”

  “Well, that’s to be expected. Every mother’s dream is for her daughter to marry a wealthy, successful doctor.”

  “Yeah, but I’m going to be the successful, wealthy doctor instead, so Eric can go fuck himself.”

  “Touché. That’s what I told my mom too when Julia and Ben’s dad didn’t want to stick around. We’re better off without him. I got a job, I can take care of my kids.”

  “Amen.”

  They ate their cookies smiling.

  Chapter 13

  Tiago

  Santiago had a hearing and the judge ordered his release on insubstantial evidence. He was anxious at discharge, wished they’d let him walk straight out of the courtroom. His uncle had been killed in a prison riot two days before he was to stand trial. Santiago had nightmares that he wouldn’t make it through the two nights leading up to his discharge.

  When he finally walked out into the sun he realized how lucky he was. Twenty-two days on Rikers, a fucking record in processing. He’d heard of cats sitting in limbo for months if not years. Fuck getting caught in the system waiting for the same people who screwed you over to tell you it was your turn to spin their rigged roulette wheel. He lit up a cigarette as soon as he got off the bus. Walked from 125th Street South to his grandmother’s apartment. She cried when he walked in and he held her frail body. She wanted to feed him, but first he wanted to shower and erase the agitation of captivity off of his skin.

  His grandmother put on rice and was chopping onions, in a hurry to get some food in him.

  “That girl stopped by twice, she brought me information about lawyers and some flowers. She cares about you, Santi. I could see it in the way she spoke about you getting out.”

  “Salt came over here?” he asked her. She smiled at the name. Santiago felt that burning sensation again as it rushed through his face. “You let her in here, Ma? Let her see our place?”

  “She’s been here before, mijo. What’s wrong with my house?”

  Santiago couldn’t imagine Salt in the fucking projects, taking the elevator up all those flights by herself. Lucky she made it to his floor without getting robbed. Might as well let her experience it all so she could run while she still could.

  He ate enough for three grown men. His grandmother squeezed his shoulder and stood up to get him another serving.

  “No, Ma, I’m good. You stuffed me.”

  “They didn’t feed you in there,” she said, holding the pan and spoon, eyeing his stomach with reproach.

  He scrolled through his phone. Word was already out that he was out of the box. He stood to leave, wiping his mouth on a cloth napkin.

  “Thanks, Ma,” he said to his grandmother as he hastily kissed her forehead. “Don’t wait up for me, I’ll be late. Put the fan and the radio on so you can sleep some.”

  Chico was downstairs with his old lady’s vehicle and had the reggaetón so loud that the frame of the car rattled with the bass.

  “Let’s get the fuck out of this neighborhood. Want to head uptown, get drunk, find some pussy?”

  Santiago smiled. It was good to be home. Good to know too that Chico was never going to grow up.

  He was drunk and high. Santiago smoked weed, he drank beer and wasn’t really into much else. He didn’t like the heavy stuff, hard liquor included, never wanting to feel out of control or dependent on anything or anyone. He could watch his own back, he wasn’t taking a bullet for any damn punk. They were drinking at a bar in the Heights, one of those new ones that banked on the hope that all of the yuppies flooding into the neighborhood would support the business. Except tonight it was full of Dominicans and that made the party a little louder. They were celebrating his release and, as usual, it was starting to get rowdy. He had a girl on his lap and found himself in the sweet spot of knowing he could get laid if he wanted to. Her ass was ample and round, and Tiago kept his fingertips right at the curve of her waist. She was a girl from the neighborhood, whose name he’d already remembered and then forgotten again. He was bad with names, but her hair smelled like powder and cherries, and it felt just good to be near someone. His back was to the entry and he kept straining his neck turning around to get a look at it, damn nerves were still shot from the robbery and Rikers Island. Every night there he’d been on edge waiting to get woken up with a shank at his throat. Thankfully, nothing ever happened. Tiago had never liked to feel fragile or vulnerable; he wasn’t one to hang onto tragedy either, had learned to roll with the punches from the tender age of five when his mother was first incarcerated for drugs. He took another hit from the hookah which Chico had packed with weed. It would probably get them thrown out of the place, but at least it soothed his tense muscles and the tight tendons in his neck that were making it hard to concentrate on the spectacular ass on his lap. She got up to dance with her friends when he reached down to adjust his dick.

  “It’s starting to rain,” Chico said. Tiago looked out the window. Summer rain was a blessing, it broke the heat even if momentarily, but then it doubled down on the humidity. A flash of bright pink blurred in the periphery of his vision, streaked down the sidewalk with grace, and was gone as soon as he’d seen it.

  “That’s your girl,” Chico said. “She runs. Every fricking day.”

  “You sure?” Tiago asked. He didn’t like the prick of jealousy he felt when Chico knew more about her than him. “A lot of people run.”

  “Yeah, but she’s the only blonde who runs at night and comes this far uptown. She better watch her back.”

  “I’m out,” Tiago said. He threw a few twenties down on the table.

  “Welcome back. You already whipped. What about the honey you were banking on all night?”

  “She’s all yours,” he said, already walking away. The draw he felt toward Salana was as intense as an addiction, controlling his muscles and bones. He would follow her wherever she went; the crossing of their paths felt like destiny. Whereas before his future had felt proscribed by his circumstances, his connection to Salana made him want to reach out and touch the unknown. He’d never had anything like her before, and the enticement was stronger than the voice that told him he didn’t have a popsicle’s chance in hell.

  “Salt, wait up!” he shouted over the din of the rain and the low rumble of traffic that never left Broadway.

  SALANA

  She instinctively froze when she heard his voice. She blushed in the darkness, not so much from her sweat and rain-soaked spandex, her ponytail, and wet strands of hair plastered to her face, but from their exchange on the phone. She’d confessed a lot to him in the fifteen minutes the collect call had allowed them.

  Salana turned and approached him, hands on her hips.

  The confidence in his body seemed contagious; it rippled off of his form like a heat wave, made the air around him transform into something different. Something that belonged only to him. His presence commanded attention. Tiago wasn’t just handsome to Salana, he was sinfully tempting, and she was hooked on the risk she felt, the precarious balance on the edge of what would be socially accepted.

  “I’d ask to walk you home, but it looks like you’re running.”

  God, that smile she could feel in the floor of her pelvis. She wouldn’t be able to keep her hands off of him; it was dangerous for her to even be around him.

  “It’s okay, I can start my cooldown now. I’ll walk from here on out.”

  “How far did you run?” he asked. His hand fell to the middle of her back and Salana’s body purred under his touch.

  “Eight miles. Do you run?”

  “Yeah, when I gotta get out of somewhere quick! But nah, mostly I lift weights, play some basketball. I played baseball as a kid.”

  “I’ve always been a runner, track and field as far back as middle school.”

  “That’s where you get that ass from.” He winked at her and s
miled again.

  Salana melted, against her own better judgment. Her knees felt weak, her belly churning with the delirium of desire. She wanted to tear his clothes off, bite him, pull him inside of her and let him grind out his satisfaction on her body. She swallowed.

  “I looked at everything, girl. Seen it all while you were concentrating so hard on jamming the needle in my arm.”

  “I’m not the greatest at IV’s.”

  “I felt your body, too, when you were shot in the arm. Thought about it while I was locked up. I’m not gonna lie, Salt. I want to be with you.”

  She turned her head and looked at him. She liked his transparency. He was so honest and forthright even if what he was talking about was sexual in nature. Eric had never spoken to her so openly about her body, if or when she turned him on. It was refreshing and also deeply arousing. She remembered that he talked in bed, and she wanted to hear him say those dirty things again.

  She stopped dead in the street. He wanted to be with her. Done with wondering, Salana was emboldened to take her life by the horns and forge her way forward, exploring what she wanted, instead of what others expected of her.

  “Do you want to come over?” she asked him. The flush of warmth was head to toe, intoxicating and exhilarating. She hoped a full-body blush didn’t accompany it.

  Vampires can only come into your home if you invite them in.

  Tiago assessed her digs like a true New Yorker, asking her how long she’d been in her building and what she paid for rent. He balked at her answer and she felt a tinge of embarrassment because she’d seen his rundown public housing apartment and it wasn’t a pretty sight.

  He crossed his arms and nodded as she gave him the grand tour, ran a hand over her leather couch and whistled at the en suite bathroom in the largest bedroom.

  “You got two bathrooms and three bedrooms all just for you?”