Trashed: An Eastside Brewery Novel

by Mia Hopkins

  I reach the back door and look inside. Carmen is there, singing with her eyes closed. She’s wearing yellow rubber gloves. Her hair is tied up in a messy bun. All I see are her long, long legs as she dances around, mopping the floor and giving an imaginary Selena concert.

  God.

  She makes my heart happy.

  I walk through the back door and give it two solid knocks.

  “Hey,” I say.

  Carmen’s eyes fly open and she jumps back, knocking over the mop bucket. Water spills everywhere.

  “You motherfucker,” she says.

  “Wait, what?”

  Carmen chases me out the door and around the backyard, whacking me with a wet mop and cursing me out in Spanish and English.

  “You scared the shit out of me.” Thwack! She gets me on the side of the head. Now I smell like purple Fabuloso.

  We’re laughing. I drop the bag, grab the mop handle, pull it from her grip and toss it on the ground.

  Her dark eyes are full of that fire I adore. “Let’s see,” she says. “Breaking and entering. Trespassing.”

  “What?”

  “I’m listing the charges I’m going to press against you.”

  I put my hands on her hips and pull her close. I press my body against hers so that we both can feel how much I want her. “How about you kiss me instead?”

  “Trying to cop a plea?” she whispers.

  “Naw, I don’t roll like that,” I say. “I’m taking this to the box.”

  “The box?”

  “Jury box,” I say. “A trial.”

  “You’ll lose.”

  “Not if I’ve already won.”

  I kiss her, right there in the sunshine. I’ve never felt more free.

  Thirty-One

  Later, we’re sitting on the steps of her back porch. She’s holding my hand.

  Just like I did with my brother, I let the story go. I tell it slowly and clearly. I tell her about my father’s confession and my scheme to get protection for the brewery. I see fear in her eyes when I tell her about Ochoa and my cut ties with ESHB.

  “But will Ruben keep his promise?” she asks. “How do you know?”

  “He’ll keep his promise because he’s a gangster,” I say. “That’s how we operate. We balance profits against losses. Ruben thinks, will it cost him more to keep me in the gang or to cut me loose? In the long run, he wants to protect his profits. He wants to run his side hustle with Las Palmas, and he doesn’t want me to get in the way of that by selling him out to the Organization.” I look down and notice she’s taken my hand. “These things I’m telling you, Carmen—they’re dangerous. People die over information like this.”

  “Why are you telling me?”

  “Because I’m done,” I say. “Seeing my father again, I realized something. He lived so many secret lives, he got lost in them. Over time, he began to believe his own stories—his own lies. I don’t want to be like that. I want one life. One good life.”

  It hits me—Dreamer liked to brag he was one step ahead of everyone. That he could beat the system and play by his own rules. But I’m old enough now to see the real Dreamer Rosas. He’s living in his own prison, far from home, far from his family.

  He can never come back.

  I reach forward and touch Carmen’s cheek. Her skin is so warm and smooth, it’s unreal. “I’m so sorry I left without telling you why. I cut you off because I didn’t know how much to share with you and how much to hide. I thought I was keeping you safe. But now I know. I’m telling you everything from now on. I will never keep any secrets from you.”

  She blinks slowly at me, falling under the spell of my touch but still not convinced. “But why me?” she says. “Of all the women you could be with, all the women who’d want to be with you, why me?”

  For a moment, she sounds like the shy teenager she must’ve been once, a long time ago.

  “Because you’re real,” I say. “The most real woman I’ve ever met. Smart. Fierce. Sexy as fuck. I can’t pretend to want anyone else but you.”

  She stares at me, still wary.

  “There’s no one else for me,” I say quietly. “No one else.”

  We sit together in silence for a little while. I feel shy, as if I’ve shared too much.

  At last she asks, “So what did you bring me? In the bag?”

  I reach over to where the paper bag lies on its side in the grass. I open it for her. The smell of fresh herbs fills the air.

  She looks at me and I know what she’s remembering—that first morning we met in the garden. The first morning we ever made love.

  “Oh,” she whispers.

  “For you, Lady Chef.”

  She puts the bag aside and slowly, sweetly, climbs into my lap. Her legs drape over the step and she wraps her arms around my shoulders. I breathe her in. I swear to God, nothing smells as good as this woman. I rest my head against hers, close my eyes, and listen to her breathing. I keep waiting for the voice inside my head to tell me it’s too soon. Much too soon. But there’s no voice—only the truth I feel in my heart.

  “I love you,” I whisper.

  She kisses my forehead and both my closed eyes. “I love you too, Eddie.”

  Our bodies want each other—always have, always do. They were just waiting for our hearts to catch up.

  We kiss. For reals. We kiss. My thoughts stumble around, drunk on her. I want to go back in time and visit myself, stuck in a prison cell, reading romance novels and convinced that happy ever afters don’t happen in real life—at least not for people like me.

  I would say to myself, “Just you wait, fucker. Just you wait.”

  After a long time, I whisper, “Where are your parents at, baby girl?”

  “My mom took my dad to physical therapy,” she says quietly. “His therapist is in Santa Clarita.”

  “That sounds far.” I kiss Carmen’s neck.

  She moans. “It’s very far. She’s the best, though.”

  “When do they usually get back?”

  “Well, here’s the thing. They don’t like to drive in rush-hour traffic.”

  “Uh-huh. Go on.”

  “So they usually go to my Tía Yoli’s house in Valencia and have dinner there. Then they drink coffee and talk.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “They’re not usually home until nine or ten at night.”

  “Shit. For reals?”

  She smiles. “For reals.”

  That’s it. I need her.

  Now.

  I pick her up. The back door has swung shut. I kick it open like a fireman and carry her inside.

  In her bedroom, I sit down on her bed and she climbs on top of me, straddling me. We’re both trembling, starving for each other. But Carmen holds back. Slowly, she strokes my arms, my neck, my face. Her fingers trail over the fading cuts around my eye.

  She leans down and kisses me, one soft kiss, then two. I close my eyes to concentrate, but my hands can’t stop touching her. They roam all over her body. I run my hands up her back and over her hips. I untie her dark, smooth hair. When it’s loose I run my fingers through it. I can’t get enough of touching her.

  Our small kisses quickly melt into long, hungry kisses. She presses the tip of her tongue into my mouth. When I lick it once, she moans. When I lick it again, she starts to move her hips back and forth, grinding her weight down slowly on my hard-on.

  It’s hot—too hot. I push her back slowly.

  “You know, this is what we are,” she says.

  “What?”

  “Sweet and dirty.”

  “Who is who?”

  She smiles. “We take turns.”

  Looking up at her, I slide my hands under her T-shirt and lift it up over her breasts. She’s not wearing a bra, and her small breasts fit perfectly in the palms of my hands. I lean up and suck on her dark, perfect nipples, first one, then the other. She arches her back and grinds down again. I groan, high on Carmen, high on her body.

  With a small smile, Carmen
pushes me back on the bed. She undoes my belt, takes off my shoes, and pulls down my pants and boxers all at once. I flex my abs and my cock stands straight up at her, hard and aching.

  We take off our T-shirts at the same time. I stare at her beautiful tits. She stares at my chest. I lean up on my elbows so she can get a better look. It’s all on display—muscles, tattoos, scars. My history.

  “Be honest,” I whisper. I grip my shaft with one hand and run my other hand over my abs. “What do you really see when you look at me like this? A gangster? A lowlife? A thug?”

  She climbs onto the bed and kisses me again. “Shh.” Her hand is cool as she strokes my chest. “I see a survivor. I see you.”

  I watch as the woman of my dreams kneels between my legs, takes my dick in her fist, and gives me a slow hand job while licking each of my balls. Her warm tongue glides over my sac again and again until the ache is so powerful I think I’m going to pass out. Then she pops the head of my dick between her lips and sucks on me like a popsicle. Again, she takes her time. Inside her mouth, she teases me with her tongue. When she takes me deep at last, I arch on her bed and grab the sheets in my fists.

  “Okay, stop,” I say, breathless. “Time out. Your turn.”

  I flip her on her back and kiss her deep, stroking her breasts. I slide off her shorts. Underneath, she’s wearing pink panties. I rub her through the cloth until her pussy plumps up against my fingertips and her panties are soaked through. When I slide them down at last, I take a deep breath and fill my lungs with the sweet, rich scent of her body.

  “Open your legs for me,” I growl.

  With a smile, Carmen parts her legs nice and wide. I look down at her. The windows are open. Sunlight fills the room. My eyes feast on her body, resting at last on the soft, sweet lips of her pussy. So fucking beautiful. Gently, I spread her open with my fingers, exposing her tight opening and the shiny bead of her clit.

  Perfection.

  I dive in. I lick her delicate lips, up and down, opening her like the pages of a book. I stroke her with the tips of my fingers while I lap at her clit with a steady, gentle rhythm. When she’s dripping, I take a drink of her sweetness and slide my fingers inside her, pressing deep until she squeezes me back, moaning my name again and again and again.

  “Please,” she says.

  With my fingers stretching her, I tease her clit lightly with my tongue, up and down, licking her until she’s whispering curses at me.

  “Please, make me come. Please. I want to come.”

  I press the tip of my tongue firmly against the root of her clit. I begin to fuck her with my fingers, back and forth, the wetness dripping down over my hand. I can feel her tension ramping up, higher and higher.

  “Please,” she begs.

  I strum her hard. She bucks against the mattress, arches her back, and screams. Her muscles grip my fingers. I can feel the hard contract and release of her orgasm, her tight little cunt sucking at me, so beautiful and dirty and perfect.

  I don’t give her a moment to catch her breath. I withdraw, climb on top of her, and massage her hot, trembling pussy with the head of my cock.

  I kiss her deep. I let her taste herself on my lips.

  “I never want to leave your bed,” I whisper against her lips. “I never want to let you go.”

  Breathless, she reaches for her nightstand and pulls a condom out of the drawer. She hands it to me. “Then don’t.”

  We watch as I roll the condom on. The rubber barely stretches over my aching cock.

  With a smile, she reaches down and rests the head of my cock against her pussy. I brace my arms against the mattress on either side of her torso. She rubs my back, pulling me close.

  Eyes locked on hers, I slam my dick into her so hard we both groan. The aftershocks of her orgasm ripple against the head of my cock.

  The pleasure I get from being inside Carmen is so powerful, I feel her in my soul.

  She touches my face. “I want it,” she says. “I want you.”

  I turn off my brain. I turn off the noise. I tune out everything that isn’t her. My world sharpens to a single point of light, a single star—Carmen.

  I fuck her for a long, long time. I alternate between slow and deep and shallow and quick. I lean back and spread her legs open wider to get a better look at my cock buried deep. The dark lips of her pussy are stretched tight around my shaft as if she can’t take me—but she can, and she does.

  I lick my thumb, reach down, and draw tiny circles on her raw little clit. She jumps against me but grabs my arms. Her nails bite into my skin.

  “Eddie, yes. Oh God.”

  I take my time and make her come again, exploding like fireworks against my dick. I close my eyes and wrestle back my own orgasm. When her second climax fades, her eyes are glassy and sleepy. She’s high.

  “Use me,” she whispers in my ear. “Use me to make yourself come.”

  I lie down on my back. Out of fear of wearing it out from too much fucking, we change the condom and roll another one on.

  I watch, hypnotized, as this dream girl slides down over me, balances back on my thighs, and rocks her hips back and forth, squeezing me hard.

  “After that first time in the garden, I never thought I’d see you again.” She throws her head back and closes her eyes. “I gave up. I thought, it will never be as good with anyone else as it was with him.”

  I stroke her breasts and circle my thumbs around her nipples. My eyes are locked on the erotic show between her legs.

  “I never thought I’d see you again either, mi reina,” I say. “I thought you were lost to me. Like so much else.”

  I sit up, grab her, and flip her over again. She wraps her long legs around my hips.

  “Now that we’ve found each other again,” she whispers in my ear, “how about we keep holding on?”

  I hammer her hard, fucking her the way we both like it. Our bodies slap together and the wet, obscene sound of my dick sliding in and out of her fills my ears. She locks her hands behind my neck, closes her eyes and smiles.

  “You’re going to make me come again.”

  “Damn straight I am.”

  We explode together at last, two rockets going off, lighting up the sky, setting everything we touch on fire.

  In the grip of my climax I have a flashback of a torch blazing four stories high.

  You can see the explosion from the freeway.

  You can see it for twenty miles.

  Epilogue

  One year later

  The night before the grand opening of the Eastside Brewery taproom, Rafa smudged the building with burning sage, adjusted the feng shui with mirrors and lucky bamboo, and said prayers calling on multiple gods and minor-league spirits to protect the new business and its owners.

  The ESHB homeboys holding the corner also provided a good source of security.

  Thanks to Carmen’s contacts in the restaurant world, the grand opening got lots of attention. Food critics, beer enthusiasts, and other weird media people have fallen in love with the newest craft brewery in Los Angeles—started by former gangsters. Imagine that.

  I saw some familiar faces in the crowd—Dino Moretti from Giacomo’s. Rigoberto the chef and his family. Even Sugar from the employment agency came to visit—I mean, Deanna. I call her by her real name now. We’re friends. She’s happy I’ve found my way.

  Anyhow, the line was out the door. Some of our customers had never even been to East LA before.

  For opening weekend, Carmen fired up the ovens and baked a batch of sandwich rolls. She set up a stove in the back room with three big pots: cochinita pibil, pollo en mole verde, and pork in red chili sauce for tortas ahogadas. For vegetarians, she made sandwiches of queso fresco, tomatoes, and ripe avocado, just like the colors of the Mexican flag.

  Her sandwiches are beautiful. Works of art. And they went well with the four beers Sal and I served that weekend.

  Eastside Pride, our signature brew, a hefeweizen flavored with the herb hoja santa.
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  Forever Mine, an amber ale Sal made just for Vanessa.

  Esperanza, a malty, Mexican-style dark lager.

  And my brother’s newest beer, introduced just in time for our grand opening—Trouble IPA, a hoppy, crisp India pale ale. This one is my favorite by far. But I’m a little biased.

  As promised, Sal taught me how to take care of the taps, clean the lines, and change the kegs. The cash register took me a little more practice, but I eventually got it. More or less.

  My favorite thing to do is talk to the customers. I love learning about their lives, who they are, why they’re here. Everyone has a story.

  This taproom is a family affair. On opening weekend, it was all hands on deck. Vanessa stayed in the front of the house, welcoming everyone in and answering questions. Sal and me stood behind the counter pouring beers and providing an authentic thuggish atmosphere, obviously. Carmen worked in the kitchen, serving up tortas with the help of a kitchen assistant—my old buddy Boner, her prep cook. Chinita and Muñeca warmed up the crowd lined up outside by passing out cups of water and telling knock-knock jokes. Even our grumpy younger brother Angel came down from Salinas to clear glasses and load the dishwasher. I tried to give him some pointers, but he ignored me. That’s all right. He’ll catch on eventually…little shit.

  At the counter, Carmen’s mother and father sat front and center, greeting old and new customers alike. The Centenos make our operation legit—the old generation standing by the new. Carmen’s mother is very, very slowly warming up to me. Her full-blown hatred has died down to disgust. I can live with that for now.

  I haven’t heard from my father since I left Washington. I’ve been tempted to visit Daisy, but after talking to Carmen, I decided it would be safer for her if I just stayed away. I’m almost sure Daisy dropped off the bus ticket that night at Rafa’s. She’s probably keeping tabs on us for Dreamer.

  For now, there’s plenty to keep me busy and out of trouble. The taproom is open every day from four to midnight. Since Sal and I now have our driver’s licenses again, we spend the mornings making deliveries. When he goes to school, I run the show. My job title? Sal calls me the “get-shit-done guy.” The fixer. He says I’m essential to this operation.