Loving a Colombian Cartel Thug 2 (Loving a Columbian Cartel Thug)

by K'Aliyah Knight

  Soon as I put my overnight bag in the trunk of the Hummer, Rockwell is all over me, kissing and rubbing and shit.

  “Rocky, you finna make me get you pregnant real quick,” I tell her after she tongues me down and has my dick on swole.

  “Um hum,” she smirks.

  “Nah, ma. You was screaming about having my baby not two hours ago.” I say, setting her down and she gives those sad hazel eyes.

  “You can retire this minute, Lorenzo. That's when I’ma have another baby by you.” She rolls her neck.

  I pat the top of her head. “Nah, ma. I got a kingdom to rule. And when I get back home tomorrow, I’ma beat the pussy up and get you pregnant anyway. Who knows, you might already be pregnant.”

  Something flashing in those champagne colored eyes got me feeling some type of way for all of two seconds. Then Rockwell says, “Oh no…” while she gives that thousand watt smile. She starts to back up toward the house and shake her head ‘no.’ Damn, she’s too fine with her thick, little shape. Rocky heads up the steps with a smile. She waves and watches as the Hummer cruises away. For a second I want to stop the SUV so I can step out and kiss my girl once more. This marriage stuff, damn, shoulda done it sooner.

  Love me some Rockwell.

  Chapter 97

  ROCKWELL

  Lila smells like Johnson and Johnson baby oil and was nice and powdered up while Lorenza rocked her. “Momma lemme help,” Junior says as I clean the water for Lisa's bath time.

  “Okay baby, take your sister’s pajamas off while I hold her up–”I could barely get the words out my mouth. Then I hand my son his five-month old sister and step to the bathroom.

  I'm hocking up food from all the way back to last week into the porcelain toilet. It's one of those days. Lorenzo tried to sex me so good that my brain went dumb yesterday morning. No matter how on point the dick is, I worry. Okay, when we’re making love, I am stupid. But as he was heading to the SUV, my mind went back to square one. Worrying about him and wanting to make sure he’s okay. He mentioned getting me pregnant again. At that moment, I had a premonition of my nigga being dead, and me raising our kids alone…

  While leaning against the Venetian clay wall, I wipe my mouth and look over at the toilet. I can’t heave anymore there’s no more food left in my stomach.

  “Oh Rocky, mi amor.” Mama Rita comes into the bathroom. “Junior said you weren't feeling well.”

  “Yeah, I’m a mess, just leave me.” I try to smile. Inside, I'm feeling embarrassed for lying on this toilet seat.

  “No.” She reaches under my armpits and helps me up like I weigh nothing.

  “I'm just not feeling good,” I say.

  “Yeah, of course, you're finally pregnant.”

  “Finally?” I laugh. Fuck being overwhelmed; I look at myself in the bathroom mirror, seeing how hysterical I appear. “Hell nah, I ain't pregnant.”

  “Yeah. You're about a month or two along.”

  “No, Mama Rita. I’ma give Lorenzo all the babies he wants, but I told his ass after he lets Santi do his shit without involving my boo. The hell I look like raising these three kids with Lorenzo running the streets?”

  “No, Rocky,” she says, helping me into the bedroom. Damn the kids have already scattered. So I know Mama Rita is about to take care of me like I'm one of her own.

  “You are pregnant, girl.”

  “But.”

  “No buts.”

  “Please.” I want to cry as just like yesterday, a vivid image of Lorenzo’s dead body takes over me.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” I smile, tryna keep breathing. So I’ma tell Lorenzo that he must quit and that I'm pregnant all in the same sentence. Maybe I’ll even tell him that Lakitha got accepted to NYU and she’s starting this fall. Yeah, I can say all of that in one breath.

  Yes, I just need to wait for Renzo to return. I keep my mind on the fact that my husband will return to me by the grace of God, as he always does. I continue to tae short breaths, trying to calm my heart.

  When Renzo returns, I’m going to tell him how scary it is being the wife of a cartel thug. But my heart hurts so bad right now…

  ~~~

  The next morning, I thought I’d wake up with a smile on my face, preparing for my husband’s return. But night terrors plagued me all night, until my sweaty body propelled from the pillow. I sit up, panting from a bad dream, screaming out, “Renz…”

  It’s barely dawn. The sun is starting to peek over the sea. I look over at his side of the bed. If Lorenzo were here, he’d hold me tight, murmur something in Spanish to my tiny belly. He’d tell me he didn’t want our baby to worry about my dreams. And I’d tell him I am probably a little bit pregnant so the baby has no worries yet. This almost makes me smile.

  After a quick shower, and putting on an exercise bra and cargo shorts, I decide to take a morning walk along the sea. As usual one of the goons grumbles while trying to keep pace with me and put on his shoes. I trudge slowly through the sand, letting my feet dig into the cool, dampness of it.

  I’ve walked about seven miles, when the goon speaks, “Mrs. Medina!”

  The words are so hard and loud they jar my bones. Lorenzo told me that his people would never address me. As I turn around blood from the goon’s exit wound goes splattering into my face. The Glock he was holding falls to the floor as does he. Then I see another man. Older, with ashen gray skin and sunken eyes.

  “You murdered my daughter,” he says, holding a smoking revolver toward me now.

  “What…” I stutter the words. My mouth goes instantly dry so I can’t even lie. The truth is all over my face.

  “Janyca. Bitch, you killed my baby, Janyca,” he says, then cocks the barrel in the direction of a beach resort…

  “Follow me,” Janyca’s father says in an emotionless voice.

  Chapter 98

  CHUEY

  Since Lorenzo and them are gone, I thought I’d keep tabs on Rocky but Blu is in the main mansion so all the females are flocked around her. I woke bright and early, as usual but Rocky didn’t run yesterday morning. I assumed she wouldn’t run today. So I figured, might as well do one of the things I came to Colombia for.

  The mansion that Santiago has given my mom is all but desolate. The rooms have been covered with white linen, and only the wing that Mayté resides in gets servicing by maids. That makes me hate on my father just a little more, as I pass by the live-in nurse who has just exited the room.

  “Mayté is doing well today,” she says in Spanish, with a tray of half eaten toast and eggs.

  I nod and then step inside. The windows are open wide and my mom is in a rocking chair, with a blanket over her frail frame. Her hair is around her shoulder, somewhere between a fro and curls, as she softly brushes at it.

  “My son, how I wish I could go for a swim.” Mayté looks wishfully away from the sea below, and at me. Her once beautiful dark skin is a dusty color in need of sun. I’m tempted to carry her outside for this sunny day, when she looks at me all worried. “Son something,” she starts hacking and heaving and it breaks my heart as I get her a glass of water.

  After a few minutes she is okay and sitting back in less pain than before. “Santi, you–”

  “Ma, please don't.” I try not to be angry, but that’s not my name. Not ever.

  “What's wrong? You look like you have a broken heart.”

  “Nah, not me, that’s Sean’s thing,” I try to smile it off. My little brother, the player had always been the one to go straight to Mom when his latest situation didn’t work out.

  “My son.” Mayté gives a stern look, so there will be no lying.

  “Maybe… But not for long.” I sit down on the couch beside her rocking chair.

  “Tell me more.”

  “Ma... I'm in love with Rockwell.” These words have never exited my mouth to anyone but Rocky, but they sound right and true.

  “Wait, Rockwell, that's a unique name. Is that... A few weeks ago I got an invitation to
some wedding with Lorenzo and a ‘Rockwell.’ Tell me, no,” she sighs and sips her water. “No son. What have you done?”

  “For the first time in my life, I've probably made my father happy for all of two minutes. But the icing on the cake is getting rid of Lorenzo.”

  “Oh no,” she shakes her head, eyes brimming with tears. “Son, you and Lorenzo have grown up like brothers when you were younger. Margarita’s relationship with the girls’ father, uh… Henry was ruined, so she could come back home and help me! Just so she could he-help–”

  “Mom, its okay, don’t work yourself up,” I reach over and touch her arm. What is my mom talking about? The “girls' father"…? I shake it off as all the medication Mayté takes, realizing she needs to rest. When her mouth opens, I say, “Mama, don’t speak, it’s okay.”

  “Listen, mi corazón, Margarita vowed not to ever come back, she was living in tourist country. Then I had some cosmetic surgery just to look good for your father! Everything is that puta’s fault! So I begged Margarita to come home and see me after years of her living on the coast.”

  “Yeah, I know,” I nod, remembering my mother was sick when I met Lorenzo. We were both five. He was two weeks older.

  “You two were just alike, son. You loved Lorenzo! Were you too little to remember!”

  “No ma.” I sigh. For months I've been in my emotions trying not to want Rockwell so much. Even when I was on her tough. Lil’ ma held off on me. I was surprised. Then I told myself one taste. Even though we didn’t fuck at Janyca’s house, just the time that we had together meant something. Rocky is supposed to be my girl.

  Always been real with my ma, so I tell her, “I've never wanted anything more in my life. Rarely have I gotten what I wanted. You ain’t either, being married to Santi, so you know how it is. Grew up trying to get respect, something! From Santi,” I argue. Damn, I remember right before Lorenzo and them left, my father even had the nerve to give Lorenzo the pearl handle pistol that should have been given to me. “Mom, I went to college, wanted to be a brain surgeon–”

  “Don’t give me a list of shoulda-coulda-woulda’s because you could have been a brain surgeon! You were smart enough. Medicine was your passion. Reading books, soaking in a wealth of education, but you let your father talk you into that degree.”

  “I know.”

  “Wait-wait-wait,” she pauses feeling weak again. “You’re supposed to be Special Agent Caesar Cruz? What happen with that? Your father came and bragged to me about you making it into the FBI, son! What in the world happened to that? And you had some girl, some fiancée named…”

  “Yvonda,” I look away. Special Agent Jones. Yvonda Jones is a dark skinned, beautiful black woman. She is smart and everything I should want. I–as Caesar Cruz– wanted her before I took this mission. We met while attending New York University for graduate degrees together.

  “So what of Yvonda? Yvonda was ready to become Mrs. Ceaser Cruz. I still speak with her on the phone from time to time. Just a week ago, should I have told her you weren’t here taking care of me? Better yet, Yvonda even wanted to surprise you and come down for the weekend but I knew you didn’t want her to meet your father. Santiago Luis Mendoza Medina– now you're making stupid mistakes!” Mayté’s voice is barely above a harsh whisper.

  “Not all mistakes. After years of education, associating with the right crowd, now I'm in. I have been on special assignment to take down my father.”

  “Well, are you?” she asks, sounding relieved.

  I look down at the plush pile carpet, too ashamed to meet Mayté’s eyes. “No. A select few in the bureau are on Santi’s payroll. It took a lot of pull not to have them roll through Salvatore Ganza’s crib when the Italians took Rocky and Lorenzo,” damn I think back to that day I fell for her. Rocky had been so afraid, and Sal had her in this dress that you could do nothing but want her, no matter what. Instead of dwelling on that, I add, “My mentor Hernandez was almost compromised. The Feds decided not to swoop in and grab Lorenzo and us–technically not me–when Sal Ganza’s crib was lit a while back. Anyway, somehow Santi has sold them on the deal that they could take down Lorenzo instead. Hernandez and Emerald will get money. The three of us Feds, get public fame being recognized by the FBI. Cleaning the streets all over America. Ridding the world of the infamous Phantom while Santi hung low for a while.”

  “So throw Lorenzo under the bus?” she shrugs. “Let’s just forget that you loved him. That he’s blood. That Santi stole the Mendoza’s De Dios from Margarita? That we could give a fuck about them, huh? Is that what we should do?”

  “Mom, really?” I shake my head as she digs in.

  “Look at me, Chuey,” she commands.

  “Ma, I don't need the guilt trip.” I start to get up to leave, but need to say my piece. “Thanks for making Yvonda stay in her lane. She’s better off in New York. I love her. I’ma apologize to her later, but Rockwell deserves better. Only thing Rocky will get with Lorenzo is heartache. You’ve forgotten that while undercover, pretending to be Special Agent Caesar Cruz and getting intel on my cuzzo, that this shit is really my life. Lorenzo ain’t nothing but a new ‘Santi.’ He's going to either be murdered by competition or go to jail.” I glance at my iPhone. Because Mayté is looking so disappointed in me, I continue to dig my grave and add, “Just got word that mi primo should be en route to prison. One where the competition is heavy and then Rockwell will mourn his death. She'll give us the chance she's been holding off on. Rocky loves me too. She told me so.”

  “Stop it!” she snaps in Spanish.

  I finally give my mom all the attention she wanted. Then Mayté tells me something that makes my stomach churn. It makes fucking over Lorenzo even worse.

  “Nah!” I shake my head, can’t believe a word she said.

  “You're so stupid.” Mayté shakes her head. “If anything, Lorenzo is a better man, he’s just playing the hand he’s dealt. He’s not like his father Santi. You've become more like your papa by the day. All over another dude’s bitch.”

  I could fuck over my favorite primo. That will hurt my heart. But Sean? I could never hurt my bro. That nigga is my brother. My life. My fucking heart sinks down into my gut.

  Now I know Lorenzo is my brother too...

  That shit barely sinks into my gut because I get a text from Janyca’s father. He has Rockwell. We murdered his daughter…

  ~~~

  Only God is the reason why I survive. I had driven down the mountains where my mother’s mansion is at a speed that only Dios could save me. Almost drifting near a few cliffs just to get to Rocky, the woman that holds my heart.

  Janyca’s father had told me to come straight up to the penthouse suite. He said that I better hurry or this bitch is dead before I get there. I won’t even imagine how hard I’ma murk that muthafucka if Rockwell has one bruise. Dead… fuck that, I’d bring him back from the grave and murder him a thousand more times.

  I knock at door 897. A barrel goes straight to my forehead as the old man opens up, “Do you have a burner on you?” he asks.

  “Nah,” I reply, frowning at his face. He nudges the barrel of the gun harder at me but then gives this nervous laugh as he realizes I don’t give a fuck. It takes the old man a second, as he hesitates before checking my blazer. When the old man’s left hand reaches for my slacks, my forearm swipes over his right arm, bringing the gun to the side.

  BACA.

  A bullet pummels the doorframe next to me. A muffled cry from the bedroom prompts me to punch him in the gut. The old man falls. I grip the collar of his suit, “Yeah, I murdered your daughter. That stupid bitch hurt the feelings of the woman I am in love with.”

  “Demon!” he spits the word in Spanish.

  I punch him in the nose, the mouth, all over his face with my mind on the fact that Rockwell’s life was in danger. As he leans against the wall inside the living area of the hotel room, I bash my boot into his skull repeatedly. The sound of bone crunching and crunching has me pissed. I’m fucking over
my blood. My half brother for his wife. And there’s no turning back because I love Rockwell Medina too fucking much. After I’m done, I rub my blooded hands across the back of the expensive couch. My shoes make a blood trail against the marble flooring that I’ma have to clean up once I get to Rockwell.

  I step into the bedroom. Her feet are tied to a silk chair. Her hands behind her back. I go straight to her, sink down. The ties around her arms and feet are easy to undo. Then I rub the blood on her cheek. “Mommi,” I begin. “I’ma take this off your face, okay?”

  She nods. Those wet light brown eyes pulling at my heartstrings. I stop myself from kissing the tears that have ran down her cheeks. Slowly as possible I take the duct tape off her mouth.

  “Ouch…” Rockwell says, her breast rising and falling. I reach for those luscious lips but she adds, “Please Chuey, don’t.”

  Since I’m kneeling before Rockwell, I just groan. “Damn, Mommi you know I love you.” My head falls against her chest.

  “Chuey, I know,” she murmurs, while hugging me. “Thank you.”

  “Ma, don’t do that. Don’t thank me.”

  Her hand drags through my curly hair. With my cheek against Rocky’s breast, my dick gets hard. I want her so fucking bad right now.

  “He’s dead ,huh?” Rocky asks in that tiny voice of her.

  “Yeah, ma.” I look up at her.

  Tears continue to fall from her eyes. So I ask, “Rocky, he can’t hurt you. I wouldn’t let him hurt you.”

  “Chuey, you gotta stop loving me.” Rockwell says, trying to take my hands from around her waist.

  “Can a nigga get just one kiss. Dame un beso–Give me one kiss–and I’ma stop trying.” I say, even though just one is going to make me want her more.

  She smiles through those tears. “We murdered that man’s daughter. I feel so bad about that no matter what Lorenzo thinks about her.”

  “Yeah, well, fuck Lorenzo’s feelings and that bitch.” I say, pulling her closer to the edge of the chair.

  Rocky laughs, shaking her head. “Chuey, don’t ever say fuck Renzo’s feelings! I thank you for what you just did here, and I will always regret putting you in that situation with Janyca—.”