“What?” I snap.
“Look,” Miguel pulls the white cloth from in the folds of his checkered shirt. With biceps that can kill, Miguel could fool any woman. I really hadn’t seen past the handsome Latin chisel of his face to notice Miguel is a man of the cloth. “I'm changed, Rita. I'm not that man anymore.”
“Ain't that convenient,” I smirk. “Now that you're pretending to be all holy, let's see if God really gotcha back.”
“This isn't an act!” his voice booms as he watches me take bullets from my gun. I leave one single bullet in the chamber.
My God in the church! What is wrong with me? I remember turning away from The Lord after leaving Colombia. Why do people do that? After bad shit happens, we turn from God? Yet, that's exactly what I did. Then I met LaShawn Townsend. Rockwell’s mom invited me to church. It took a while but I grew. Every once in a while, I slipped up and let Henry back into my life. That’s how Lorenza got here. I close the chamber with a jerk from my hand, point and shoot.
Either God still loves dude or he’s one lucky muthafucka. Miguel doesn't even flinch as the revolver clicks.
I try again and he reaches over to snatch my gun.
We end up scuffling until an older couple starts into the church. The abulitos make me embarrassed for the first time in a while, as their eyes glare at me. So, I snatch my gun from Miguel and hurry out the door past the horrified couple.
They mutter to God in Spanish, and look at me in judgment as I step out the building. My hands go to my knees, I bend over and throw up. A vengeance Bible verse keeps ringing in my head as I continue to heave.
Chapter 23
LORENZO.
“I'm pregnant,” Janyca says. She’s standing there with a lilac, laced panty set on.
“Bitch, what?” This is the first thing out my mouth as I’m eating in her living room. Damn, her carne asada taste so good, but this trick just ruined my appetite. I push the black, square glossy plate of food away. “Jan, we need to be about this new shipment to Hoover now that the Italians are almost eliminated.”
Janyca comes to sit across from me, in a bright purple leather chair. “Lorenzo, the baby is yours.”
“Nah, ma. Not mine. I ain't smashed without a glove,” I reply.
Janyca is supposed to be my smart bitch. Analytical and shit, not fucking knocked up. Any bitch could be replaced but we’ve been working shit out for a cool minute. Besides, she’s too educated for this. Her family has good connections. The trick has a nest egg, with this phat crib, smack dab in the tourist area.
“Remember that time the condom broke?” she says, trying to touch my arm.
“Nah, ma.” I get up and start down the hall.
How the fuck I look ruining my relationship with my childhood love over Janyca? Her father works with international affairs. He’s made good money by looking the other way as my rock passed by. Janyca stepped into the business of getting Santiago’s shipment into the States because she always has a new scheme, and innovative ideas. The pussy was good enough when celebrating, but not to fuck up a deal.
Janyca hurries around me, her pretty feet twirling around on the white marble floor. She says, “You’re going to be a daddy.”
“Yeah, I am, but not with you.” I swat her stupid ass away for that as we enter the large living room. But she moves quick–not like a pregnant chick–and blocks the door.
“Come on, Lorenzo. We make a good team. We always have.”
“Yeah. When ya mind was on that money, strategizing and working shit out. Yup, that’s exactly how we’re a good team, making moves.”
“But...”
“You love me. I know you do!”
“Nah, Jan. I don't.”
She starts wrestling with my belt buckle. I push this bitch. I always try not to put hands on a female. I'm out the door into the dark of night in seconds, walking across the dirt driveway to my car. Damn, I can’t even remember why the fuck I came over here all late for.
~~~
“Where's my apple juice?” Rocky grabs one of the white satin dining table seats. Looks like she’s been sitting in the entryway ever since I left an hour ago. Damn, that’s what I left for. I wanted to get her juice and check on Janyca because the bitch didn’t answer my call. It’s time for a new shipment. So, my chick is sitting here all distrustful, like I’m the fucking enemy. And I haven’t done shit wrong but come home empty-handed. Shoulda got Rocky’s apple juice first. Janyca had said she became pregnant about the time Rocky had told me she was getting rid of the twins. It was when I came back to Colombia that one time before killing Raphael. So, I could tell Rocky. I ain’t fucking cheated, but…
“I didn't get it, Rocky.” I step toward her. “C’mon baby, let’s go to bed.”
“Why? It's 11 pm.” She looks at her Chanel watch, “You’ve been out for 47 minutes and 22 seconds. So where you been, Lorenzo?”
“Nowhere.” I start toward the stairs, ain’t finna deal with this shit right now. Janyca just pulled that stunt. Rockwell ain’t having me tripping. When I feel my girl isn’t following, I stop and stand right before her. Rockwell looks up at me all defiantly; damn, she is still too cute in an ugly-ass ruffled pajama set. “Rocky, I'm finna go to sleep, lil’ mama, that’s where the fuck I’m finna go. Are you finna clock my hours of sleep too?”
She lifts up, reaches around and pops the back of my head. I buck up and Rocky doesn't even grimace. Her hazel eyes turn to a heated chocolate as she says, “I heard bitches used to be here. Used to live here. You had a private chef.”
“And?”
“Where are they?”
Pulling my shirt off, I walk up the stairs. Rockwell is hustling up the stairs behind me like she’s going to do something. Talking about is the mattress on the bed new? When she asks me about some irrelevant hoes for the umpteenth time, I laugh. “Okay, Rocky, use your brain. One, my kid sisters are here. My son is here now. Two, you really want me to disrespect you like that?”
“What the fuck is so funny, Lorenzo?”
“Rocky, I'm not in the mood.”
“Nah, man where the fuck have you been!” she shouts, standing at the middle landing.
I snatch her ass up as delicately as possible and hold her over my shoulder. In our room, I close the door and think twice about tossing her five-month pregnant ass on the bed. “Why you tripping? Do you want to wake up the whole house?” I ask, placing her on her two feet.
“Like I said,” she defends, arms folding defiantly. “You left almost an hour ago to get me some muthafuckin’ apple juice because I had mentioned that I wanted some. Yeah, you tryna pretend to be a good baby daddy. Then you come back all empty-handed. Toi said that she had heard from some of your crew that they missed the bitches that used to go hoeing around here. So whatcha been up to Lorenzo?”
“The store was closed. I took a walk along the beach. Now I'm back. Can a nigga come home, or should I go?”
“No, Lorenzo, don’t leave me,” Rockwell says in this cute, tiny voice. She smiles and kisses me. Rocky starts touching me down so damn good, the hammer is ready to get active.
“Sit down baby,” she says.
“Fasho’.” I sit at the edge of bed and she slowly gets down on her knees.
“Boo, why you on the floor,” I ask suspiciously. Lil mama seems borderline bipolar.
“Can I cater to my man?” She smiles.
I pause for a second. “Hell, yeah.”
She starts to take off one Timberland and talks, but I’m not even listening as, Rocky says, “Hmmm, my uncle Marcel used to run through hoes. But this one time, he found him a smart chick. She always told me to clean up shop. She said to be meticulous. Maybe not in those words but to know what is going on…”
“Yup.” I shrug. Not giving a damn what the bitch told Rocky, because lil’ mama sounding sexy, no matter what she’s flapping those gums about.
Rockwell gets on the bed and begins to pull off my shirt and massage my shoulders, “She said, ‘everything
you need to know about a nigga is right in your face.’ Yup, that’s what she said.”
“For real…” My eyes close and I feel so damn good right now. Stupid ass Janyca is gone from me, I’m not working for Santi. Nothing matters but my girl.
Then there’s a ringing in my ear, a vase is shattering over my shoulder as Rockwell hits me upside my head. “Muthafucka, so tell me why there wasn’t no sand at the bottom of your shoes? You took a walk along the beach? Bitch, please!”
I’m off the bed in seconds, swatting away the Timb that goes flying toward me. The fucking one-woman-army ain’t no joke.
“Damn, Rockwell, for real,” I say, slapping away the other boot, and I reach over and grab her before she can throw an 8 by 11 picture of us at my face. “Look,” I shout at Rockwell and she jumps. Holding her shoulders, I add, “Keep on acting like a ratchet ass female.”
“Yeah, I will.”
“Nah, you see, ma, I don’t come home to no fucking hostile environment.” I threaten her crazy ass.
“Bye, then,” she shoos me away.
I nod my head at that, and then go into the bathroom to clean the blood from the side of my face. “I bet it would be the end of the fucking world if I got my lick back, huh?” I say while turning on the rain sprouts of the shower.
“Boy, I fucking dare you to come hit me!”
I peek to see that Rockwell is comfortably lying down and not prepared to throw something at me. I don’t even feel like arguing with her crazy ass, so I slam the door.
When I finally come out after a hot shower, Rocky has barricaded herself to one side of the bed with pillows, leaving me with just a small portion of the bed.
For hours I try to think back to the last time I fucked Janyca. And wish I didn't fuck with chicks I do business with, but it's too late for that. The bitch is just as far along as Rocky. Damn. Ain’t like I cheated on Rocky with her, but Rocky ain’t finna take that as an explanation. I could introduce Janyca to Rocky as a business partner, and then tell my girl Jan accidentally got pregnant. If I add that Janyca is already scheduled to get an abortion…
But I really don't remember the condom breaking tho.
Rocky’s whimpering begins. I move the pillows and begin to spoon her, and then rub her tummy. “Bae wake up,” I whisper, that fucking bitch Tamms, got my girl having nightmares and my babies in distress.
“Lorenzo,” she cries and I hold her tighter.
“You don't have to be afraid, ma.”
“I know.” She rubs the tears in her eyes and nestles on my chest. “I miss my mommy.”
“I know bae.”
“Renzo, don’t leave me,” she says for the second time tonight, but this time she means it. Rockwell’s eyes close again and I stay awake, tryna make sure her dreams are sweeter.
Chapter 24
RITA.
1989...
“Mayté! Yo hot mommi! Looking good girl,” I said from the top of the landing at mi PapiLeón’s mansion.
“Margarita, you know I have to do all this extra stuff just to look like something these days...” Santiago's childhood girlfriend was damn near in tears. Only nineteen and she didn’t even know how to accept a compliment anymore. Even though Mayté was model material with beautiful Latin-Afro features, the thick curly hair, the wider nose and mouth, but trying to keep a dog like my brother wasn't easy. “Rita, you always look so cute, even when you aren't trying.”
Walking down the stairs, in my jeans, stiletto boots, and top, I shrugged at her compliment. Dressing up really wasn't me. Besides, men came regardless and I don't need the hype since I was only drawn to the hard ones.
“Is Miguel coming with us to dinner?” Mayté asked, taking Santiago’s hand as he came from the office door. She was so respectful in our home that she wouldn’t even give her man of fifteen years a kiss.
“Nah...” I replied. My brother glared at me and walks toward the double doors in front of us. He was mad that our double date didn’t include Miguel, not that they were cool. But because my date wasn’t Colombian.
Mayté interloped her arm into mine, and bashfully asked, “You're cheating on Miguel again?”
“Yeah,” I shrugged. I wanted to add that she should cheat on Santi too. “Girl, you know we have that type of relationship. When I wanna be bothered, I'll call him. Besides I just met this Cuban dude, Javier was...”
“Looks like love.” Mayté said as we walked down the marble front steps. The groundskeepers had mi madre’s roses in bloom to perfection.
“Yeah, Javier told me that. Every other word out of his mouth is love.” I shrugged, stopping at one of the 14 cars parked out front. Javier could put it down like no other, Miguel can too when I’m with him. But there were others that catch my eye, depending on where I was and whose around.
“Have you fallen for your Cuban lover?” Mayté asked.
I looked to the side, I know Santi is trying to listen, but pretending to open the door for us, so I whisper, “Love? Never. But just listening to Javier and the things he says, the way he…” my voice lowered even more about the next part since a few of my father’s honchos were guarding the perimeter. Mayté’s laughter and blushes might as well have been a caption. Damn, Santi was her first and only, poor thing.
“Puta!”
We turned around. Mayté’s eyes widened with fear. Papi took the cigar from his mouth, reached over and slapped me. The ashes and cinders caught my cheek.
“While you're whoring yourself around, Santi is making a name for himself.”
Come again?
“These walls echo,” León continued, “I can fucking hear you coming down the steps.”
My chest rose and fell. It was all a lie. Santi and I just got back from almost dying in Los Angeles. I was far from defenseless. Now I loved dick, big ones that made me pant and beg but I wouldn’t put it before my father’s hustle. I looked to Santi. This muthafucka looked like a straight bitch, as if finally amnesia left him, and he remembered how I saved his life.
The look on León’s face read that he didn’t know his oldest daughter was the reason his youngest and only son was still breathing.
“Margarita, I heard how you fucked up in LA.” Papi continued to puff his cigar and shake his head. “Almost all of our men on the mission died because of you, Margarita. If Santi hadn’t been there, you’d be dead too!”
This was bullshit. Waving him off, I started to walk away. Yes, it was defiant, but I was no longer a child. I was 20 years old, grown ass woman and no longer had to deal with this.
“She walks away from me?” León laughed in embarrassment as his goons silently look everywhere but on us. He followed me toward the double doorways of the house as my mom is came down the patio steps. His fingers entwined with my curly hair and he drags me along, up and into the house.
“León! Mi amor, stop,” my mom commanded.
It hurt, but I didn’t scream. My father could continue with the dramatics, all the while I wanted to slap the dog shit out of my brother. As I'm damn near pulled along, Mayté stared in horror, begging Santi to do something, say something. Funny, I had told her the story about LA and I was kind enough to not include the Mexican prostitutes.
“The oldest should take my place. No puta will be in control of everything that I've made,” he shouted, stopping in the foyer of the house, so his own mother could witness my shame.
“León!” my mom screams. “You're–”
“Shut your mouth, woman!” he told her. León paused for a second to catch his breath. His hand went into the double-breasted custom suit, to soothe his beating heart. No amount of anger about dying was going to keep him from humiliating me, tho. It was the first time I noticed mi papi was getting sick. But stubborn as he was, León continued barely able to speak, saying that Santiago would take the throne. And I watched the crowd divide. The smart ones, knowing Santi ain't worth shit, shook their heads. They were the loyalist to mi senile papi. The others who're just in it for the money don't give a fuck.
They were stupid enough to not give a damn who would rule when León died. Papi slapped my face with all of his might. As he fell on the floor, struggling to breathe I walked away. A throbbing beat through my skull, the hit was hard enough to jar my bones. Warm wetness seeped from my nose. I descended the porch stairs again with a busted lip.
“You'd shame your padre?” someone asks as everyone runs to crowd around and save León from his weak heart.
I didn’t even look back.
Our mansion was at the highest point overlooking the sea. If I had walked around back I could have taken the hundreds of stairs that lead down to the beach. But I wouldn’t go back, so I started for the stony hill at the end of the driveway, and slowly travelled down. I was probably too dazed to remember that this is dangerous. I’d only done it a few times to sneak out the house, since the master suite my parents stay in was near the stairs.
“Rita. Rita,” Miguel called out to me.
“Fuck you!” I waved him off, almost tripping over the gravel.
“I'm sorry.” He made it to me and tried to help me balance, but I could give a fuck right now. I could die today, because I’ve shamed my father over some bullshit.
“You know me, huh? So I’m a fucking whore that can’t take care of her own?” I screamed, finally sinking onto one of the boulders.
“Margarita, what should I have done, go against Santi? I’m sorry, honey,” Miguel looks at me so sincerely. Anybody stepping up to León to tell him about his son, nah, not ever going to happen.
I've known the childhood love of my life and I will never be able to go back to that good shit. At five years old, we were married at the church that I would later attempt to murder him at. Right in front. Mayté did the ceremony and we both said ‘I do.’ Mayté even had paper rings for us to exchange. When we were seven the muthafucka kissed another bitch. I was cool. Mind you, in our culture men can do what they want. I allowed him to have his fun. At the beginning, I was just as dumb as Mayté. That’s how we Colombiana women do–either that or become whores in our father’s eyes. You marry the nigga you first had eyes for. When I went through puberty, other guys began to notice me. Papi had his Glock cocked. I snuck around. Anyway, since I’ve grown up in a man’s world, I decided to get like Miguel and have some fun too. And it wasn't till he just let Santi lie on me about LA that I knew we could never get back to us.
Loving a Colombian Cartel Thug 2 (Loving a Columbian Cartel Thug) Page 7