“It’s okay. I didn’t do it because I wasn’t ready, there was so much more than that. I knew Melody had been in Las Vegas and I knew about Zoe. I wouldn’t ever have been able to live with myself if you didn’t try to work it out with her, if you had stayed with me simply because we had a baby.”
“You know her and I were bound to blow up at some point. We were too hot-headed, fought too nasty. It never would’ve worked. But I’m just sorry about everything I said. I didn’t mean it, not really at least.”
“It’s alright. You’ve long been forgiven. Now, tell me what else has happened at the club.”
Widow proceeds to tell me about Dixon getting engaged to Indra and their new arrival. A baby girl named Khloe. Booger and Camila have a little boy named Ransom, who’s just turned four months old. Of course, there’s my niece, Luna, who’s six months old. Widow tells me Zane and Octavia are expecting a little boy too. That he’s due any day now and they haven’t picked a name for him. It’s crazy how our entire club can change in such a short amount of time.
Widow and I end up sitting out here in the living room and chat for an hour until Dante and my father come back in. Our talk went so well, but one glance at Dante and my father tells me they’ve both been hiding something from me.
“What’s wrong?”
“I . . . I didn’t want to tell you this, mija. Not until later. Not until you had seen your sister and brothers but I can’t live with myself if you don’t know.”
Widow widens his eyes and shakes his head from left to right, almost like he’s signaling my father not to tell me. Meanwhile, Dante makes his thoughts clear as day. “She deserves to know.”
My father inhales and comes over to me, takes a seat beside me, and clasps my hands in his own. “Amara, your mother . . . she . . . she died two weeks ago.”
No. This can’t be.
This can’t be real.
He must be lying.
He has to be.
Rising from the couch I stagger backward and bump into the coffee table. The last thing I remember is flying backward and seeing the ceiling before it all goes black.
Chapter Twenty-Three
You’re allowed to scream, you’re allowed to cry, but do not give up
~ Unknown
Dante
Amara was so flustered when her father told her about her mother’s death that she fell over her own feet. She ended up falling backward and hitting her head on the ground. I took her to the local hospital and had her admitted to the emergency room. After a couple hours there and a few tests, she’s thankfully alright. It could’ve been much worse.
I’m in bed twirling her hair around my finger and my cell begins to ring. I’m quick to retrieve it from the bedside table so it doesn’t wake her. She only got to sleep maybe an hour ago. I’m too worried to sleep, so I’m up, watching over her.
“Hola, este es Dante.” I answer the phone, telling them who I am since I don’t recognize the number.
A jumbled computer like voice responds to me. “Nos vemos en el Zócalo en una hora. Trae 500,000 pesos y guardaré el secreto de tu hermano. Deja los pesos en una bolsa de cremallera y entiérralos en las plantas que estan al lado de los bancos azules. Solo tu.” I’m told to meet this individual at a monument the Aztec’s created in the center of Mexico City and to bring 500,000 pesos. This person says they’ll keep my brother’s secret and instructs me to leave the pesos in a zipped bag and bury them in a plant next to a pair of blue benches.
“¿Quién fregados crees que eres?” I growl, needing to know who the fuck this person thinks they are.
Manic laughter greets me on the other end of the line. “Alguien con quien Angel nunca debería haber jodido. Trae el dinero o tu padre lo sabrá todo. Tengo muchas fotos para mostrarle.” They reply and say they’re someone Angel should’ve never fucked with. I’m told to bring the money or else my father will know everything and this person has the photographs to prove it.
It’s the last thing I hear before the line goes dead.
Motherfucker.
Carefully I pull the duvet back and slide out of bed but tuck the covers around Amara so she’s comfortable. I have a safe here in the house in the closet. It’s tucked away under where I keep my shoes. I head into the office and immediately come to a halt. What the fuck am I doing? I won’t pay this fool. No. I’m not a man who compromises.
Exiting my closet as quickly as I entered, I swiftly change into new clothes and head for Javier’s room on the opposite end of the house. I take no time in crossing the distance and bolt through his door. The lights suddenly come on. “Dante? What the fuck. I almost shot you!”
“We have a problem, hombre.” I’m drastically playing down how bad this is. If anyone finds out Angel is gay this could call for them to slaughter him. You see, Latin countries aren’t very accepting of those who’re anything other than straight. Street gangs could take it amongst themselves to correct ‘nature’s problem’, as they have called it in the past.
“Shit? What time is it?” Javier grumbles while placing his gun beside him. He picks up his phone. “Motherfucker, it’s two in the morning?!”
I chortle, “You act as if you weren’t once the partying type.”
“What is this problem you need my help with?”
Javier and I don’t see eye to eye very often, but Angel is our younger brother and we will do whatever we need in order to protect him. Angel had confided in me that he also told Javier. We are brothers after all, and our bond is strongest together.
“I just received a call. Someone knows about Angel, they have photographs and they want me to bring them a ransom to pay for their silence. No one has my number, Javier. Only the familia.”
“Mmm . . . was Angel seeing anyone?”
I think for a moment and nothing comes to mind. “I don’t believe so.”
“No, he was. He just started seeing that one guy. Fuck. What’s his name? Shit. T . . . Ta . . . ah, Tadeo! Yes, Tadeo Hernandez.”
“Was this new?” My mind is already going to a more likely option.
“Yes, maybe the last month or so.”
“Hernandez . . . did you just say Tadeo?” I know of a Hernandez family who is also involved in the Latin Cartels, but his name isn’t Tadeo. I know an Elías Hernandez, but he is Bolivian. He’s the youngest son of Arsenio Hernandez. “Is this man actually Elías Hernandez? Do you have a photograph?”
“Mm, maybe.” Javier unlocks his phone and scrolls through the photos. “Ah, yes. We went out for a drink one night together.” My brother turns the camera to me and I’m instantly proven right. This man isn’t Tadeo.
“We need to get in contact with Angel. Call him.” I order.
“What the fuck? You call him.”
Javier doesn’t know Angel and I had a big blow up. “I can’t. He won’t answer. I wasn’t able to keep my promise, Javi. Angel will be marrying Fatima Alonzo in four years.”
“You’ve got to be shitting me right now.”
“Am I a man who jokes about things such as this? Call our brother.” I head for the door to Javi’s bedroom.
“Where the hell are you going?” Javi asks.
“To see if this coward will show his fucking face, or if he’ll make one of his goons do it. Regardless, someone is dying today.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Hearts are wild creatures, that’s why our ribs are cages.”
~ Morticia Addams
Dante
There are very few things I’ll lose my head over, but the biggest one is my familia. If you fuck with them, you fuck with me. Angel is known as the violent, erratic one . . . though I can match him depending on the circumstances.
I’ve been standing in an alleyway across the street from Zócalo for about ten minutes. I have a duffle bag and I’ve filled it with cut bricks of copy paper to make it appear like there’s some weight to it. I’ve almost hit the hour mark, so I walk forward, across the street to the median were the bench is and dig my hands
into the planter beside it. I have to do a good bit of work before my bag can fit under it, though once I’m done I scoop the dirt back over and flatten it.
I did come alone and followed almost every other order that was given to me by this ballsy motherfucker, but I won’t be leaving. I’m going back to the alley from where I came and I’ll stand in the shadows, waiting for this idiot to show his or her face. When they do, I’ll make sure they understand just why no one should fuck with the Lopez Cartel.
I stand with my back against the stone of the neighboring building and wait. There’s just enough illumination from the streetlights that I can see the median area. There are only a couple benches there, with one of them being a turquoise color.
A few more minutes pass by before I see anyone approach the area. It appears to be a man from this far off. He takes a seat on the red bench across from the turquoise one and waits a couple minutes. Though, he nervously checks to the left and the right. Mmm. I wonder if this is a pawn of my enemy, or if my enemy is simply a nervous one.
The man stands abruptly and goes for the planter, digging ferociously and now I make my move. Stalking my prey, I ensure to stick to the shadows so I can’t be seen until the very last moment. I walk with haste, yet not too much as I don’t want to be heard. This fucker will only know I’m here when he feels the chill of my gun pressed against the back of his skull.
I hear a sigh of relief coming from this man just as he pulls the duffel free. Though, when he unzips it, the paper won’t be the only surprise he gets. I take my gun from the back of my pants and aim, patiently waiting.
“Fuck!” He sneers while I smile.
“Guess you thought your terms would be met, hmm?” I say, clear as day. The man jumps from his shock and slowly turns toward me.
“Mmm, Dante Lopez. I should’ve known you’d come here personally and not send one of your men.” I take a good hard look at this man, knowing for a fact this is Tadeo Hernandez. I’d met him once at a charity function in Belize. He looks a tad bit different from the first time I met him, though time will do that.
“So, fill me in on the details here. Did my brother decide you were trash like your father and then you grew rageful, determined to light his world ablaze?”
Tadeo spits on my face, so I pistol whip the son of a bitch. “Angel is the trash. He is nothing but a manwhore who can’t keep it in his pants. Cheating piece of shit.”
I pull the safety back on my gun and pistol whip him again. He stumbles over his feet and falls to the ground. “Now I may not understand my brother most of the time, but I do know he is a faithful man. I never even heard your name. If you were important to him, he would’ve told me. Do you hear me, Tadeo? You meant nothing to him.”
“Your family is all the same, selfish psychopaths.”
“Hmm?” Now this piques my interest.
“The things I did for your brother . . . it shouldn’t shock me. You’re all cut from the same cloth. So, what do we do now? Is this the part where you levy me to get what you want from my father?”
I chuckle lightly, wiping my hand over my mouth. I really can’t hold my laughter back. “Did you intend to out my brother to the world in an attempt to harm him?”
Tadeo stares for a moment before his temper comes out full throttle. “Are you fucking stupid? Of course, I did.”
I nod my head a couple times, “Yes, you see that’s what I thought. Now, let me ask you this. If you could go back and change what you did, would you?”
He spits at my feet, giving me the only confirmation I need.
“You asked what happens now. Well, I’ll make it simple. Now is when you go to Hell.” I pull back the trigger without even giving it a second thought. The bullet pushes past his skin and enters his head. All of a sudden the spitting, ill-mannered Tadeo suddenly grows quiet.
I begin walking back to the alleyway, leaving his body in the street, and head back to my car which is parked another street back.
There are lines I will never cross, though when it comes to my familia I will cross every line I’ve ever set for myself. You see, they are the most important thing.
Chapter Twenty-Five
He wears the smell of blood and death like a perfume
~ Unknown
Amara
“I can’t fucking believe it.” Damon says, wrapping his arms around me. He holds me close, not letting me go, even with the rest of our siblings behind him. He doesn’t give a shit, and neither do I. My relationship with Damon has never been easy. We were the two who always fought the most growing up, and it even flowed over to adulthood. But in saying that, we were always the two who’ve been here for each other.
Damon beat the shit out of my ex who cheated on me with Alice Cummins during my sophomore year, and I was the one he bitched to when Morgan Jennings kissed the quarterback. So, Damon and I might say some rough shit, but we’re here for the other whenever we need it.
He begins to pull away, but I halt him, not letting him create more of a distance between us. He looks even worse in person, so very thin. “You need to eat more. You’ve gotten so thin . . .” I keep my tone in a hushed whisper, not wanting to alert Lyon, Ashton, or Rose.
“There’s no need for hushed voices. It’s nothing new. These three have told me the same.” He confesses.
“Did you stop eating?” I question, wanting to know a little bit, but not too much.
He nods his head. “Yeah. There was just other important shit. Eating seemed low on the totem pole all things considered.”
“Well, it’s not. You need to take care of yourself. The same way I’m taking care of me.”
He snickers lowly. “Yeah, you wouldn’t say. Wanna fill me in on the shit you haven’t told me.” Damon stares at me, making me feel like a berated schoolgirl.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, getting the gist.
“Acting dumb has never worked for you. I could tell when we chatted earlier this week how you were holding something back. What is it?” Damon’s tone grows a bit more stern and nervousness rushes through me, hitting me in the center of my gut. I’ve been debating saying this to him, and it’s only because I feel fucking crazy for saying it.
“I’m not coming back, Damon.”
He draws his brows together. “What the fuck. Where?”
“To America. I’m going to stay here with Dante. Not here, but in his house in Chihuahua.”
Damon takes a step back and throws his hands in the air. “Is this some sort of fucking joke? You have some sorta thing for knights in shining armor or somethin’? You fuckin’ got Stockholm syndrome?”
“Stockholm is when you fall in love with your captor. Dante isn’t keeping me prisoner.” I say, getting a bit pissed at his reaction. I knew it was going to be bad, but I didn’t think about it being this rough.
“Damon, I need you to try and understand. Life wasn’t going so well for me before Lucien had abducted me. I thought I was going to die there . . . when I got out I started seeing life a little bit differently, and I need to do what’s right for me. For the first time in my life, I’m putting myself first. I need to stay here, brother. A place where no one holds my past against me. I need this fresh start.”
“Yo, let go of our big sis.” Ashton says, shoving Damon out of the way. Ashton wraps his arms around me and so does Lyon. I feel like one of those dolls where the eyes come out of the body when they’re squeezed too tight.
“Whoa, alright. Let me go. Both of you. You’re gonna suffocate me!”
Both of these two knuckleheads bust into laughter. Both my younger brothers have grown a bit of facial hair. Ashton must be in the gym every day because he’s at least grown twice the size he was when I last saw him, and it’s all muscle. I doubt he even has an ounce of fat on his body. On the other hand, Lyon is clad in what must at least be a three-thousand-dollar suit. Our mother always said he was the smart one, and damn it shows.
Meanwhile, I peer my gaze past the two of them and see Rose. Short,
tiny, little Rose is sitting on the couch, smiling up at me. “You wanna go get some air? I’m sure these three will talk you to death.”
She’s giving me an out, and man I’m taking it. “Yes, let’s go. This way,” I say, hearing the click of her wedges against the tile floor. We both walk onto the back patio.
“I’d hug you, but we’re not huggers.”
It’s true. Rose and I are . . . pretty tough chicks. If you ask me, we were much easier to raise than our brothers. They’re the ones who always ran crying to Mom. “Thanks. I’m certain those three are going to get a lifetime amount in.” I say, sitting on the stone wall.
Rose follows my lead and sits beside me. “All things considered, you look fabulous.”
“Wow, did I just get a compliment?”
“Stop being an asshole. I assumed you’d look like hell, but obviously I’m mistaken.”
“Did Damon tell you I took a couple weeks to decompress after it happened?”
She nods. “Yeah, I would’ve needed the same if I were in your shoes as well. Or, at least I think I would’ve.”
“You probably would. It’s a lot to process once you’re out.” I mumble, thinking about how two weeks could’ve made a difference.
Pressure is applied on my hand, so I look down and see Rose has grabbed it. “She wouldn’t have wanted you to see her like that, ‘Mar. Mom was sick. She was so sick.”
“I don’t understand what happened.”
“She was misdiagnosed and by the time she got to the right physician her cancer had metastasized. Instead of given months, we were given weeks.”
Tears threaten to fall and I try so hard to not allow them, but they come rushing through. “I wish I could’ve seen her one last time.”
“She didn’t want any of us to see her the way we did. Trust me. Before it got bad, she told me how she wished it could’ve been a sudden thing, ‘cause she didn’t want us to watch her wither away.”
Amara (Reapers MC Book 12) Page 11