The Hustle (Irreparable #4)

by KJ Bell

  I stand, scowling at the one woman I haven’t banished from my heart, although I should have many times. She softens me, which makes me feel weak. “You’d be wrong, but I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

  “Look,” she begins, pausing to put Little A in his playpen, “the woman who stormed out of this house a few months ago was not playing you. She was beyond angry. That kind of rage comes from the fear of losing someone or something you care deeply about.”

  Her efforts are sweet, if only to ease her own guilt, but she’s wrong. If Eduardo weren’t alive and well—maybe, just maybe I’d believe Maria cared about me. I want to. I even need to. However, for my own sanity, I can’t.

  “I appreciate you trying to cheer me up,” I say, kissing her good-bye on the cheek, “but, I’m afraid revenge is the only cure for what ails me.”

  Her eyes widen as her hand grips my arm. “No. What are you gonna do? Please don’t go to Monterrey.”

  “Don’t worry.” Her head continues to shake frantically as I give her a small smile. “I won’t get myself killed.”

  “No. You can’t. You can’t go there!”

  “I’ll be fine,” I say, cradling her cheeks in my hands. “I promise.” She nods when I release her face. “When’s Brady get home?”

  Her expression brightens as a smile forms on her lips. “The tour ends in Dallas Friday. He’ll be home Saturday morning.”

  “I bet your dad will be happy to have your mom back,” I say, ensuring our conversation steers far from my future plans.

  Mrs. Preston moved in with Tori after her breakdown. Having her mom around made it possible for Brady, and Second Chances to honor their commitment with their record label and complete the national tour.

  “He’s ecstatic, but Mom’s a bit glum about being so far from Little A.”

  “I bet. Hey listen, I gotta go, but I’ll stop by tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, okay.” She stretches to her tiptoes to kiss my cheek. “Please, promise you won’t do anything to provoke Mr. Torrente or Eduardo.”

  Without making a promise I’ll never keep, I frown and leave my brother’s house as my mind plans out a trip to Monterrey.

  I’m on a call for work when the doorbell rings. I’ve been expecting someone named Peyton from the interior design agency and he’s twenty minutes late. If I didn’t need Javier’s room stripped of toys and trains so I can pretend I was never a father, I’d fire the slacker.

  To my surprise, I open the door greeted by long legs wrapped in a tight blue skirt. They belong to a gorgeous blonde and my dick takes abrupt notice.

  “Hello,” I greet the woman as I end the call I was on without a good-bye. “How can I help you?”

  Her eyebrows crease as though I should be expecting her. “I’m sorry I’m late. Traffic was murder.”

  My eyes focus on the front of the portfolio she holds to her chest. Homestead Designs. The gay male I’d been expecting is a hot chick I’d like to bend over my couch immediately, but she’s still intolerably late.

  “I don’t want to hear excuses, Mrs. . . .”

  “Ms.,” she corrects, unintentionally answering my intentional question of her marital status. “Ms. Miles.”

  “Ms. Miles, late is late. Don’t let it happen again.”

  “No, of course not.”

  Her delicate perfume tickles my senses as she brushes past me into my loft without invitation. My eyes zone in on her ass as she struts to the couch with sexy conviction and bends over to set her portfolio and purse down. My gaze lowers to black five-inch heels and rises to perfectly defined calves. This woman needs to be fucked and I hope she performs with the same abundance of self-confidence she currently exudes.

  She spins, glancing around the loft. “So, which room are we starting in?”

  “This one.”

  “And what would you like me to do in here?”

  “Get down on your knees and suck my dick.” I lift one side of my lips, grinning, and wait for her response.

  She blinks several times. Her expression gives away nothing as she stares at me. Since my face hasn’t been slapped, I know there’s a part of her feeling flattered. I don’t actually expect her to grant my request. My asking was a way to remove the sexual tension by making my intentions clear. Her intensely blue eyes move to my lips before our gazes meet again.

  “I’ve heard stories about you, Mr. Hunter, but let’s get one thing straight. I’m here to work and I have no interests in anything other than a professional relationship. Termination works both ways, so unless you want me to fire you, I suggest keeping your lewd and offensive comments to yourself.” Her eyebrows rise. “Are we clear?”

  “Crystal.” I smirk, silently vowing to get her naked by this evening.

  “Good. Now . . . I’ll ask you again. What room are we starting in?”

  I gesture down the hallway. “Last room on the right.”

  “Please, after you,” she offers with a sly grin.

  The door hasn’t been opened since Maria and Javier disappeared from my life. What remains behind two inches of wood is a reminder of the charade perpetrated by a woman who used her own son . . . my goddamn son to hustle me.

  “Is something wrong?” Peyton asks with genuine concern in her sweet voice.

  “Demons,” I say quietly, opening the door.

  Peyton steps into the room, but I remain at the doorway afraid if I follow her inside the walls will cave with memories of a time when I was actually happy. Her eyes dart around before she turns to face me. I keep my eyes on her as the ache in my chest intensifies. If I see any of Javier’s things, I’ll lose my false composure, and Peyton will see what a fraud I am.

  “This room is fantastic. I assume your son’s outgrown it.”

  Swallowing the lump in my throat does nothing to relieve the pressure of my surging emotions. My eyes burn with the onset of impending tears as I remember my precious son. The memories shadowed behind Peyton hit with debilitating force. The intensity threatens to turn me into a pussy in front of a woman I barely know and would prefer to be fucking rather than sharing my painful past. With a firm jaw, I spin and leave Javier’s room, striding with quick steps to the bar in the front room.

  Peyton’s heels click into the hardwood as she follows behind me. A drink. I need a fucking drink to alleviate the sadness, to make me forget love wasn’t my only loss. That cunt also took my son and robbed me of fatherhood.

  Scotch dulls the pain as I chug straight from the bottle. It’s not enough to completely erase the memories of Javier’s smile when he opened the door to his room for the first time, or the giggle I’d grown so accustomed to hearing every morning.

  “Should I come back another time?”

  As I set the bottle down, the ripples in the scotch hold my attention. I watch until they settle to a flat line. The amber liquid seeking its own level in seconds amuses me. I’ve spent years failing to find such a calm balance, to even out my life and be the man I’m expected to be. I let out a strangled laugh as I lift the bottle and shake it violently.

  Peyton clears her throat, interrupting the kick I was getting out of watching the alcohol bubble and swirl chaotically, unable to escape the glass confinement.

  “He’s gone,” I say with my back to her, setting the bottle down.

  “Oh, God. I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine what it’s like to lose a child.”

  She assumes Javier died, but I don’t correct her. Javier might as well be dead because I’ll never see him again. I mourn everyday as though he’s dead.

  Anger surges through my veins and heat crawls up my neck as I turn to face Peyton. “I need that room transformed into a guest room as soon as possible.”

  “Any particular color scheme?”

  “I don’t give a shit. And I want the rest of the loft redone as well. I expect a completely different home by the time I return from a business trip next week.”

  The frown she sends me sparks my anger. Fuck! I don’t want her to feel sorry for me. I want he
r to do her part in making me forget a family used to live here.

  “Of course. I’ll make it happen, but . . .”

  “Don’t! Remember this is a professional relationship.”

  She presses her lips together and they form a flat line as she nods. “Right. I’ll get started tomorrow.”

  “Good. My housekeeper will be stopping in while I’m gone. You’ll have twenty-four-hour access and if anything comes up you’re unsure of, you have my number.”

  I lift my head, meeting her worried gaze. Her eyes are mixture of green and blue, like a tropical oasis of warm inviting pleasure. They also belong to a woman who’s not about to be sweet-talked into getting naked and pleasing me. However in her stare, I see a glint of desire for more if I were only willing to put some time in to make it happen.

  I’m not.

  Not now . . . Not ever.

  My private jet lands in Monterrey at dusk. I check my phone and see Peyton texted me several times.

  P: Blues or browns?

  P: Hello?

  P: You answering might help speed this along.

  I smile and reply.

  T: What do you think?

  P: Blue . . . More cheerful

  T: Then brown it is.

  P: That’s how this is going to go, huh?

  T: Pretty much

  P: The trains from your son’s room . . . dumpster, or donate?

  T: Donate

  P: Aw, I knew there was a softy under that rough exterior somewhere.

  She’s dead wrong. There are no warm and fluffy parts of me.

  T: Shouldn’t you be working?

  P: Probably, the guy from the job I’m on is kind of a dick.

  I tilt my head back, laughing out loud before responding.

  T: Then you should probably stay off your phone and get back to work.

  P: Will do. Have fun on your trip.

  I chuckle as I exit the plane. A strange feeling swirls in my gut and I shake my head, reminding myself the last thing I need is to let some chick into my life, even one as sexy and captivating as Peyton.

  While waiting in line for a rental car, I can’t help but text her back.

  T: So, maybe greens . . . I don’t know. Surprise me.

  P: A surprise huh? Oh, this is gonna be fun.

  T: I thought I told you to stay off your phone and get back to work

  P: I would do that if you’d stop texting me

  T: Will do

  P: Pink, now that would be a surprise

  T: Not if you want to get paid

  P: Putting my phone away now

  Smog and soot cast an orange glow in the distance as the sun sets. The drive up the mountains to the Torrente mansion brings a rush of unwelcomed memories. Maria and I made this drive many times, laughing and enjoying the beautiful surroundings. As I glance out the window, nothing is beautiful. The rusty hue in the clouds matches the tarnished moments left behind by a woman who pretended she loved me. A woman who tricked me into believing she was mine and we were a happy family.

  The moments when Maria would curl up on her side in bed and stare straight into my soul as though silently telling me she belonged to me still feel genuine. Her ability to plagiarize such sincere intimacy plagues me. Tori’s words surface, questioning if Maria did play me or if something else happened to explain the distance.

  Eduardo is alive, when Torrente was set on executing him. Maybe it was Maria’s own father who perpetrated the hustle. Perhaps Maria was unaware of it. I have to find out how and why.

  Marco, Torrente’s guard dog, and a man I considered a friend before this happened waits at the gate in a golf cart. An automatic rifle drapes his chest as he approaches the gate that’s opening. With a deep inhale, I exit the car, knowing I could die in a matter of minutes. As though we’ve never met, Marco spins me around, slamming my chest into the hood of the rental car. He searches me for weapons and finds nothing.

  “I knew better than to come armed, Marco.” He doesn’t reply. “How’d you know I was here?”

  He remains silent as he drags me by the arm to the golf cart and shoves me onto the passenger seat. When he settles into the driver’s seat, he turns his head toward me. “Mr. Montez is having you followed. You shouldn’t have come here.”

  We drive to the house in silence as I don’t ask Marco to explain. His talking to me could have grave consequences. He escorts me into the familiar marble and glass foyer. Hushed voices filter through a door that leads to Torrente’s office. A moment later, the door opens and Eduardo enters the room.

  His tailored suit emulates a businessman, but underneath, he still emits an air of the thug I watched begging for his life in this very room. He pours himself a drink and spins to face me. “Mr. Torrente is at the beach with his family,” he says, approaching me slowly. I’m not intimidated by him, although I don’t doubt he wouldn’t hesitate to kill me. “I assume you’re here because I have something you want.”

  “Yes,” I answer with my chin high.

  “You can’t have her?”

  The protective edge to his tone is insight into the man he pretends to be, as if he genuinely cares for Maria. Only I know the truth about their past. Perhaps he doesn’t know she told me. “Oh, I didn’t come here for Maria. She was a lot of fun, but I don’t give a shit about her.”

  He lets out a clipped laugh before draining the liquor in his glass. “Yet, you were going to marry her.”

  “That was about appearances.” I shrug. “Helpful to my career. Once I was caught with a hooker, the only way to salvage my company was to play the love card and defend her. Certainly a man of your prestige understands.”

  His taking a moment to size me up works in my favor. He’s struggling to respond in my world now. A world of calculated business transactions, not swift, rage filled gang wars where his reputation helps him. He wants something from me, or I would already be dead.

  “Then why are you here?” he asks.

  “My company made a large sum off of Mr. Torrente’s investments, as did Mr. Torrente.”

  “Mr. Torrente didn’t make a dime off of his arrangement with you. I did.”

  He can’t help but gloat. That’s why he’ll always be nothing more than a street thug. Real leaders, genuine gangsters, don’t have to brag. Everyone knows who they are and what they’re capable of.

  “I take that to mean you’re now running the Torrente Cartel?”

  “That is correct, and I’m sure you’re surprised to see me alive.”

  Footsteps pound into the tile before I have the chance to answer.

  “Daddy,” Javier sings as he runs toward me.

  A smile overtakes my face as I instinctually bend over at the waist with my arms outstretched to catch my little boy who I’ve missed painfully. Javier breezes past me, jumping into the arms of a man he shares blood with—his rightful father.

  I stand, closing my eyes to ease the sting of tears. If they come, they’ll ruin my plans to convince Eduardo I’m not here for my family.

  “Hi, Mr. Hunter,” Javier says, holding Eduardo’s leg.

  “Hey, buddy.” I manage to get the words out while maintaining my composure.

  “Your son loves the beach.”

  Her voice enters the room in singsong before she does, slicing through me like razor blades. Only the searing pain doesn’t come until I see her. The smile on her face confirms how happy she is without me in her life. She’s more beautiful than I remember. A pink sundress hugs every inch of her glowing olive-skin. Her eyes widen when we make contact. They move between me and Eduardo as she makes her way toward him.

  “What is he doing here?” Maria asks with anger lacing each steady word.

  “That is none of your concern,” Eduardo answers, grabbing her roughly by the arm. She stretches up on her toes and whispers in his ear. His features harden as he whispers an answer. I resist the urge to piss all over Eduardo’s leg and carry Maria out of here over my shoulder caveman style. The fear radiating from her as he rel
eases her makes me want to defend her, but she chose him and this life. Taking care of her is his responsibility and if she wants to be abused, that’s her business. “Where’s your father?”

  “They’re staying the week,” she tells him with her head down.

  “Take Javier to his room.”

  She nods, placing her hands on Javier’s shoulders and guiding him out of the room.

  Eduardo grins. “She thinks I’m going to kill you.”

  “Are you?”

  “That depends . . .” His eyes twinkle with malicious amusement as he takes a step closer to me. “You still haven’t told me why you’re in my home?”

  After a curt nod, I answer, “Business. I want to continue what Mr. Torrente and I started.”

  His lip snarls as his obvious disgust for Maria’s father drapes his expression. “Mr. Torrente’s no longer in charge of making those decisions.”

  “Then I’d like to make you the same offer.”

  His head tilts slightly as his expressions shift to curiosity. “Why?”

  “To make money,” I answer with a tone as though it should be obvious and wait to see if he reacts to my insulting his intelligence or lack thereof.

  He eventually counters, “It seems you’re a fairly wealthy man, Mr. Hunter. What’s really in this for you?”

  I’ll never share the hustle I’m working with him, although I know that’s what he’s fishing for. I have to play on his greed and hope it’s successful. If I’ve read him wrong, then my plan is doomed before it begins. “My company does well, but I pay an exponential amount in taxes as did Mr. Torrente with our last deal. I don’t intend to invest using Gibson this time, and I have a friend that can help us with the tax situation.”

  “And why would I be interested in doing business with you? When I have all this?” he asks, glancing around the mansion.

  “Because none of this belongs to you,” I say, knowing my words will hit another weak spot. Thugs always feel like they never get ahead. They always want more than what they’re given, even if they have to take it. That’s how he and Maria’s father became cartel leaders.