Reno: Devil’s Disciples Book 5

by Hildreth, Scott

  Not for much longer, I hoped.

  Carma stepped out of the bedroom, covering her naked self with nothing more than her arms. “There aren’t any towels in the bathroom.”

  I stood. “Shit. Sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” she said. “Are there any in the laundry?”

  I felt like a complete idiot. I had great intentions, but my delivery—at least when it came to housework—was absolute shit.

  “I did a load,” I said. “Let me get you one.”

  I grabbed a handful of towels and carried them to where she was standing. After handing her one, I folded the rest and took them to the bathroom. While I was putting them away, I realized I my woman was naked in the shower.

  I watched her distorted silhouette through the privacy glass for a moment. A sensual show to say the least, watching her cover herself with lather was as erotic as anything I’d ever seen.

  While she shampooed her hair, my cock grew so stiff I couldn’t help but take off my jeans. In a moment I was completely naked, watching her rinse herself clean.

  I opened the shower door a few inches and peered inside. “Have room for one more?”

  She glanced over each shoulder. “It’s small, but I think we can make it work.”

  I got inside. My mere presence forced her against the far wall of the three-foot by three-foot enclosure.

  I was pressed to the door, our bodies were touching, and she was smashed against the wall.

  She chuckled. “Maybe I should get out and let you have it.”

  “Maybe you should bend over and let me have it.”

  “I can’t bend over in here,” she complained. “There’s not enough room.”

  She was right. There wasn’t.

  “My cock is as hard as a rock,” I said. “This is ridiculous.”

  She glanced at it, and then looked me in the eyes. “I want it.”

  I laughed at the thought. “There’s not enough room.”

  She glanced around as if to see if there was something she could change. After a quick survey, her eyes met mine. “This is dumb.”

  Frustrated, I quickly lathered up, getting her covered in soap in the process. Then, we rinsed as one. I slung the door open and stepped out.

  “Stay in here,” I said.

  I positioned myself in the center of the doorway with my cock in my hand. “Back that fine little ass of yours up to the doorway.”

  She grinned and did as I asked, backing her sweet little pussy up to the shower’s door opening.

  I guided myself between her legs. As the head pressed against her wet lips, I paused. “Brace yourself.”

  With the water cascading along her back, she pressed her hands against the far wall. “Bring it.”

  I gripped her hips in my hands and began to fuck her like I was angry—because I was. Not with her, but with my situation. A home with no garage, only one bathroom, and a shower I couldn’t fuck in. A kitchen with two broken cabinet doors, a water heater that leaked, and an air-conditioning system that worked—unless it was hot outside.

  I pounded myself in and out of her tight little pussy without mercy, taking my life’s frustrations out on her, one thrust at a time.

  “Fuck yes,” I howled. “I love this little pussy of yours. Shower sex is the shit!”

  Lost in the myriad of possibilities of what I could do with my two upcoming paychecks, I buried myself into her balls-deep one stroke after the other with such force that I drove her against the shower wall each time I pounded myself into her.

  Water sprayed in every direction. With the door wide open, and the water going at full blast, it had her, me, and the bathroom floor covered, completely.

  “I’m going to cover you in cum,” I warned. “And you’re going to have to take another shower just to wash it off, you sexy little fucker.”

  “Please do,” she breathed.

  As the water splashed against everything I owned, I closed my eyes and imagined we were in a shower large enough to fuck in. That I wasn’t standing on the bathroom floor, and she wasn’t standing with one foot in and one foot out of the smallest shower stall in San Diego County.

  I pounded away like a man possessed, banging my balls against her clit with every “in” stroke. Then, just as I sensed my balls beginning to unleash the mayhem, my right foot slipped on the wet floor.

  My left foot followed.

  My feet shot sky high, stripping my cock from her tight confines.

  Horizontal, and four feet off the tile floor, time seemed to stand still. I glanced to my right. Carma was wide-eyed and open-mouthed, watching me fall to what was undoubtedly going to be my death.

  I glanced to my left.

  My reflection in the mirror confirmed my darkest fear.

  I was truly going to fall flat on my back, cock up, into a pile of water that my extension cord was draped through.

  Filled with the realization that I may die from electric shock, I plummeted to the floor.

  Bam!

  I hit with such force that it knocked the air from my lungs, and the stiffness from my dick. After catching my breath, I glanced around the room.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  I tried, unsuccessfully, to raise myself to my feet. “Do I look okay?”

  She couldn’t help but laugh. “Not so much.”

  I drew a breath, let it out, and attempted to stand. After slipping on the wet floor a few times, I eventually rose to my feet.

  My back was sore, my elbow was bloody, and my cock was flaccid.

  “That’s it,” I screeched. “I’m done with this shit-hole.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean we’re moving,” I said.

  “We?” she asked.

  “Well,” I said. “You’re basically staying here.”

  “True.” She carefully stepped from the shower and got her towel. “Where are we moving to?”

  “Somewhere that has a shower big enough to fuck in,” I said.

  “And an air-conditioner that works?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” I responded. “And a garage.”

  She yanked the extension cord from the outlet. “And an outlet in the bathroom?”

  “At least one,” I said with a laugh.

  She kissed me. “It’s nice to dream.”

  While she dried off, I nursed my wounds. I wasn’t prepared to make any promises yet, but I wasn’t dreaming.

  Not in the least.

  37

  Carma

  Mister Reeves and Mister Ortiz were exchanging tales over the backs of their booths. I found it funny that Mister Reeves had been reading the same book for the two weeks that I’d worked at the diner, but then again, he didn’t read near as much as he talked and gawked.

  “Looks like you two are having far too much fun,” I said, topping off Mister Ortiz’s coffee.

  “Someone needs to talk to him,” Ortiz said. “I doubt his wife will. He’s difficult to get along with.”

  “Oh, she’ll talk to me,” Reeves said. “It’s getting her to shut up that’s tough. She’s like that rabbit on the battery commercials. She just keeps going, and going, and going…”

  “Maybe she’s trying to tell you something,” Ortiz said over the back of his seat.

  My eyes were darting back and forth between them as they spoke. Seeing their friendship develop was cute. From what I could see they were both set in their ways, with Ortiz reading the daily paper and eating biscuits and gravy, and Reeves reading a novel and eating scrambled eggs, toast, and ham.

  The same thing, every day, for both of them.

  “You two should join each other,” I suggested. “It’d be easier for you to communicate.”

  “I’m doing fine just the way I am,” Ortiz said.

  “Likewise,” Reeves chimed.

  I looked at each of them and shook my head. “Suit yourselves.”

  I visually checked from table to table, seeing if anyone needed anything. Halfway through my tables, George s
houted at me from the kitchen.

  “Carma!” he bellowed. “You’ve got a phone call!”

  A phone call?

  My cell phone, as always, was in my purse. I didn’t believe in carrying it when I was at work. If I did, it was all too easy to be tempted to use it. If I used it, it looked unprofessional.

  Fearing that something happened to Reno’s motorcycle, and that he wouldn’t be able to pick me up, I sauntered toward the kitchen.

  George poked his head through the doorway. “You might want to hurry. It’s your mother, and she sounds upset.”

  I sped up my pace, stepped into the kitchen, and looked around. “Where’s the phone?”

  George pointed to an office at the rear of the kitchen. “In the back.”

  I rushed to the office, leaned over the edge of the desk, and picked up the phone. “Mother?”

  “Carmelita,” she said, clearly in tears. “They’ve picked up your…they took your…they’ve got your father.”

  She was frantic. My immediate thought was that the cartel had kidnapped him. I hoped that wasn’t the case. “Who? Who picked him up?”

  “Immigration,” she sobbed.

  My heart sank. I wished it was the cartel. At least there’d be a chance that Reno could save him. With Immigration, there was no chance of him being released. He’d be jailed, deported to Mexico, and released to a country where he had no money, no home, and no family.

  “What can we do?” I asked. “What do we do. What…who has him?”

  She didn’t immediately respond.

  My perfect little world began to crumble around me. After my father was deported, my entire family would have to cross the border to be with him. If he attempted to come back the United States to be with us, he’d be placed in prison. Returning to the United States wasn’t an option. Being caught and then sent to prison was a chance he couldn’t afford to take.

  “Mother,” I stammered. “I’m…I’m scared.”

  “They picked him up when he came…on his way out of the store. It was a raid for those construction workers…the ones that hang out by the fruit stand in the morning. Mister…Mister Valsaquez…he saw them take him away.”

  My mind began to go in a thousand different directions. I wanted Reno to fix it, but there was nothing anyone could do.

  “What are we going to do?” I asked.

  “I don’t know, Carmelita.” She sobbed. “I’m scared, too.”

  “I’ll be home as soon as I can get there,” I blubbered. “I’ll leave as soon as I can.”

  “Carmelita?”

  “Yes, mother?”

  “Be careful, Carmelita.”

  “I will, mother.”

  With a shaking hand, I hung up the phone.

  Then, I cried like I’ve never cried before in my life.

  38

  Reno

  “Watson,” I said to the desk sergeant. “I need to see Detective Marc Watson.”

  He didn’t bother looking up from his computer monitor. “Is he aware you’re here?”

  “He will be when you fucking tell him.”

  He looked up. “Name?”

  “Reno.”

  “Full name?”

  “Re. No.” I gestured to the two chairs at the side of the lobby. “I’ll be over there.”

  In five minutes, the door buzzed, and then opened slightly. Watson peered through the opening. “I haven’t got the paperwork approved for the—”

  “Not why I’m here.” I stood. “You got a place where we can talk? In private?”

  “Sure.”

  “Private as in private?”

  He pushed the door open and stepped aside. “Come on in.”

  Being in a police station was contrary to everything I believed in. When it came to Carma and her family, however, I was willing to take whatever measures I must to take care of them.

  I stepped past him. It was nothing like on television. There were normal-looking offices with normal-looking men in them. There wasn’t one uniformed officer anywhere to be seen.

  “Read the write-up in the newspaper?” he asked over his shoulder.

  “I’ve seen it. Didn’t read it yet.”

  “Manos’ cousin and two known cartel members were arrested up the street from Manos’ place by a patrol cop,” he said. “They were coming back to the house in a truck that happened to be fitted with stolen plates. From what we could tell, the truck was El Alacrán’s.”

  “Black Ford?”

  “Yep.”

  Relieved that the three men weren’t still at large, I gave a nod. “Yeah, that was his. Will they do any serious jail time?”

  He chuckled. “The rest of their lives. They had a hundred kilos of cocaine and a few guns. They’re what we like to call fucked.”

  In light of the new situation, the news did little to make me feel that Carma was any safer.

  I followed Watson along a corridor and through a locked door, into a conference room. He closed the door behind us and pointed at a table that sat in the center of the room. “Have a seat.”

  There were no security cameras, no mirrors, and no pieces of furniture, other than the table, chairs and a phone. I picked up the phone, turned it over, and unplugged the cord. “Can I speak freely in here?”

  “This room’s secure,” he responded. “It’s an attorney-client room. Won’t get either of us in trouble. Nobody can hear us, I promise you.”

  I sat down. “Sorry about shooting you the other night.”

  He chuckled. “Not that big of a deal. Scared the fuck out of me at first, but I understand your reasoning.”

  “That guy was a fucking animal,” I said. “Couldn’t take the chance of him getting to Carma. Not again.”

  “He’s where he belongs,” Watson said. “Prick probably would have escaped from prison anyway. Seems they all do.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Upper echelon of the cartel,” he said. “They pay tens of millions to the right people, and you’d be surprised who looks the other way.”

  I let out a long, exaggerated sigh. “I need some help.”

  “With?”

  “Carma’s father is in here. He was picked up by Immigration, ICE, whoever. I need to get him out of here, and I need to know what I need to do to do it.”

  “He’s an illegal immigrant?”

  “Yep.”

  He shook his head. “There’s nothing I can do.”

  “Nothing?”

  “Absolutely nothing.”

  “You just told me the cartel can buy their way out of prison,” I argued. “I want to buy his way out. What’ll it cost me to get him out of here? Name it.”

  “It’s not a money issue.”

  “What is it, then?”

  “It’s an issue with paperwork,” he said. “He needs documentation of residency. A Social Security card, photo ID, birth certificate, passport, something.”

  “Alright. I need to get that shit. Tell me where to go.”

  “It’s not that easy. Forgeries are easily spotted with most of that stuff. Real documents are nearly impossible to obtain. I’m sure there’s someone somewhere who might do it, but I have no idea where that person might be, or even if they’re in this country. I’ve heard of people making US passports in Japan, but not here.” He gave me an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what I can do.”

  “That’s not going to cut it, Brother,” I said. “I need to get him out of here. No bullshit, no excuses, just results. Fuck up some paperwork and let him out. That shit happens all the time. Murderer gets let out because they got him mixed up with a guy on a DUI warrant. Let the guy out and claim you had a brain fart.”

  “I wish it was that easy. It’s not.”

  “It can’t be that difficult,” I said. “Sure didn’t have any problems getting him in here. Just reverse the process and get him out.”

  “Like I said, it’s not that easy.” His gaze fell to the table for a moment. He looked up. “What’s his name?”r />
  “Oscar Arturo Valdez Rosarita.”

  He nodded. “I’ll see to it that he has everything he needs. That he’s comfortable.”

  I pounded my fist down onto the table. “He doesn’t need a fucking cup of coffee and a warm blanket, detective. He needs to be with his fucking family. You motherfuckers took him from the god forsaken grocery store. He went to get a pound of fucking coffee and you pricks arrested him. I need him out of here. Do you understand me!?”

  I realized that I was standing, and that he was, too.

  With a cautious hand, he reached toward me, steadied my shoulder and let out a sigh. “Look. I’m truly sorry. I really am. This isn’t at all what I want, and certainly not what I think our resources should be spent on, but those decisions aren’t made in my office. Believe me.”

  I pressed the heels of my palms against my temples. “You got an Ol’ Lady?”

  “I do.”

  “How would you feel if one day they took her and put her in Mexico?” I asked. “Told her she couldn’t leave? If she did, they’d throw her in prison? If any time you wanted to see her or be with her you had to go to Mexico?”

  “I wouldn’t like it.”

  “Wouldn’t like it, or you’d do whatever you could to fix it?”

  “I’d try to fix it.”

  “Well, imagine you’re me. Or I’m you. Or however you want to look at it.” I lowered my hands. “Now. Find out a way to help me out. I know your resources are limited, or whatever. But do what you can, will you?”

  “At minimum I’ll make sure we keep him here as long as we can,” he said. “That he doesn’t get shipped back immediately.”

  “Before you put him on a bus, you call me. Agreed?”

  He nodded. “Agreed.”

  I extended my hand.

  He shook it. “You have my word.”

  In the past, I wouldn’t have taken a cop’s word as being anything but idle chatter.

  This time?

  I believed what he told me.

  I had to. He was my only hope.