Untamed Hearts 1: The Viper
Copyright © August 2014 by Kele Moon
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eISBN 9781623005429
Editor: Maryam Salim
Cover Artist: Valerie Tibbs
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Dedication

To Sonja,
Not a day goes by that I don’t feel blessed to have had you for a mother-in-law. Your

boldness. Your sharp wit. Your ability to always get shit done and most of all for being the most
dedicated mother, grandmother, and friend I have ever met in my life. I admired you for all of it,
and I wish I hadn’t waited until you were gone to dedicate a book to you because you were always
one of my greatest supporters. Honestly, I had planned for these books to be yours, likely because
I thought I’d be calling you every five minutes to help me with the Spanish. It was hard to write
this one without you around, and so shortly after we’d lost you too, but you’re still there in the
pages. It was impossible for you not to be in every corner of this book.

Thank you for welcoming me into your world. Thank you for accepting me when your son

brought me home. Thank you for showing me all the most beautiful parts of the Latino culture in
Florida and teaching me to love it as much as the one I had left behind in Hawaii.

Most of all, thank you for loving my children as deeply and profoundly as you did. To you,

family was everything. No sacrifice was ever too great. It’s that message more than anything else
that you contributed to these books.

We love you. We miss you like crazy. We wish you were still here, but we know you’re

watching over us.

Acknowledgments

Extra Special Thanks To:
My husband for going the distance to help me finish this one. This was not an easy journey.

Losing your mother. Losing my grandfather. Helping me recover from my back surgery. This year
has been the one that taught us that together we are strong. We survive in the face of adversity. We
were able to rise up and get it done when so often it felt impossible. The amount of work you
contributed to this book far exceeds anything I did. Thank you for taking care of EVERYTHING in
the real world while I stayed up nights playing in my imaginary one. Thank you for believing in
this new series and for continuing to do anything in your power to help me share it with the world.
I’m so very grateful you’re my mate. You make every aspect of my life brighter. I love you more
than words will ever be able to capture.

Marivett Villafane for being such a huge help with this book from beginning to end. It wasn’t

just about the Spanish, which I would have never been able to pull off without you. It was about
helping me find my characters. A lot of Marcos’s big personality is thanks to you! You helped him
be distinctively him. For always being there, even late at night, when I pinged you asking any
number of random questions. I heart you like whoa!! THANK YOU!

Jessica Canoto for being willing to read and answer questions. You helped more than you will

ever know! I held my breath the whole time you read the first draft before the book was even
finished and thankfully you are the fastest reader I’ve ever met in my life! Your enthusiasm for

Marcos, Chuito, and all the other Miami characters gave me that push I needed to finish!! THANK
YOU!

Lori Toland for being an amazing friend and always being there to listen to me ramble about

my characters. Double thank you for giving me a place to stay while I finished this. I would still be
working on this book if it weren’t for you! I love you!

Laurann for being the most amazing crit-partner in the world! I love you. Plain and simple.

There are a lot of things I have to be thankful for since becoming published, but meeting you is,
without question, number one.

Karen M for being my resident expert on just about everything. If it’s a legal question or a

car question, you’re always there to help me. Every author needs a friend like you! I love you!

Maryam for being the greatest editor a writer could ever hope for! Thank you for believing in

me and in these books.

Loose Id for letting me be me and helping me share these stories with the world.

Chapter One

Garnet County
January 1, 2014

A Garth Brooks song played on the radio. The windshield wipers worked overtime pushing

away the snow as Katie drove back home after the New Year’s Eve party held at her brother’s place.
The roads were empty at two a.m. Not that they were ever too crowded in her small hometown of
Garnet.

Katie had gone to her brother Chris’s just in case her ex tried to stop by the house after he sent

her flowers for New Year’s Eve, asking for a second chance. Her divorce had been two years of hell,
and Grayson still didn’t want to let go.

Now she was stuck driving back home through the early stirrings of what looked to be a nasty

winter storm. Damn Grayson. She would’ve been happier spending the night on her couch with a
bottle of wine and Ryan Seacrest to keep her company.

Determined to enjoy the first vestiges of the New Year, she turned up the radio. She started

thinking of her mother and deliberately sang along. Her mother used to love Garth Brooks.

Katie didn’t notice the blue car behind her until it was practically on top of her. That little car

just seemed to appear out of nowhere. It had to be doing ninety at least. On a snowy, two-lane road
that was nothing but sharp turns. Were they crazy?

She expected them to pass her. Even if it was a two-lane road, people did it all the time. Katie

certainly wasn’t going to speed up in a snowstorm to make a lunatic driver happy. A chill ran down
her spine when the driver continued to ride her tail rather than pass. For one moment she thought it
could be Grayson, but this driver was noticeably swerving. Grayson didn’t drink.

She slowed down, hoping the driver would pass, but they just remained plastered to Katie’s

bumper in a way that made her feel bullied. Her instincts were on high alert. It was clear this person
was trying to scare her.

And they were obviously drunk.
She turned on her blinker, intent on pulling off the road, but before she could, the driver sped up

and finally made the move to go around her. Katie looked at the driver, but in the darkness all she
could make out was the long hair and slim frame of a woman. She also couldn’t help but notice being
flipped off when the strange woman stuck her hand out of the open sunroof. Maybe if the driver had
been paying attention to the road instead of giving Katie the middle finger, she would’ve seen the
white pickup truck coming over the hill. As it was, the woman didn’t even try to slow down.

As if caught in a nightmare, Katie watched the truck swerve violently to avoid the blue car

suddenly in their lane. The last thing Katie heard before her world exploded was the blaring of a horn
and the skid of tires against icy asphalt.

Glass was everywhere. The sting of it was in her face and neck. She could feel the warm trickle

of blood running into her eye, but all that was nothing but sensory annoyance next to what was going
on with her left arm. The agony was so extreme she wouldn’t have been able to comprehend it before
this moment. A scream burst out of her as the shock of getting hit cleared between one heartbeat and
the next. She tried to tug her arm free from where it was pinned by the twisted metal that was once her

driver’s side door.

She nearly blacked out from the pain. She started hyperventilating as the smell of smoke filled

her senses. She was claustrophobic in the best of circumstances. After five years in a mentally
abusive relationship, Katie didn’t like feeling trapped. She was in such a freak mode, she found
herself trying to steel herself against the pain and willing the strength to attempt jerking her arm free
again…even if it caused more damage.

She needed out of her car.
“I’m calling 911!”
Katie heard the voice from somewhere. Low and gruff, vibrating with panic. She blinked,

focusing on it.

“Stop moving. I’m getting help.”
Katie hadn’t realized she’d been fighting to get out until the passenger side door was abruptly

opened, and the blast of cold air hit her. She blinked at a tan face. Light blue eyes swirled with
concern, hidden partially by locks of dark hair. As insane as it was, this man was so handsome that
for the pulse of one second she forgot the pain, but in the next breath, it slammed into her with such
force it wouldn’t have made a difference if it was Bradley Cooper sitting himself in the passenger
seat of her car.

The handsome stranger was talking rapidly on his phone.
She started crying. Embarrassing. Ugly crying. Punctuated by really dignified statements about

her predicament like, “Ow, ow ow.”

He asked her questions. She thought she answered them correctly.
She couldn’t believe this was how she was starting the New Year.
As she sat there, trapped, in pain and shivering in shock and cold, he took off his jacket and put

it around her. “They’re coming,” he told her, sounding concerned as he held the phone to his ear.
“Mrs. Wellings says they’ll be here in three minutes or less.”

Katie nodded, feeling a little better and a lot warmer. “That’s Jules?” She struggled to stop the

tears and speak clearly. “Can you tell her it’s Katie Foster so she can call my brother?”

Katie actually heard Jules’s screech through the phone. Jules Wellings had been Katie’s attorney

for the divorce and one of her only true advocates. A very busy woman and a mom of twins, Jules
rarely worked 911 dispatch these days, even if her twin brother was sheriff. It was a small stroke of
luck.

The world hazed out in relief then. Knowing it was Jules sending help eased some of her panic,

and this handsome stranger sitting in Katie’s mangled car had kind eyes. He had even given her his
jacket, and it left his arms bare to the cold—really big arms. He had tribal tattoos on his biceps, and
a large snake inked into the corded muscles on the inside of his right forearm. She’d never seen
tattoos like that up close. They made him look undeniably dangerous, but for some reason she wasn’t
nervous in his presence. She focused on him because there was nothing else but the pain to set her
attention on.

He cursed when his phone died. “Hijo de la gran puta!”
“A-aren’t you cold?” she stuttered as she stared at those bunched, tattooed muscles rather than

think of the agony in her arm.

“I just slammed into your car two hours after New Years. You should want my ass to be cold.”

He let out a bitter laugh full of self-hatred as he turned to her in concern. “I’m sorry about this.” He
shook his head. “Coño. That sounded lame, huh? You can’t just say sorry for something like this.” He
rubbed a hand over his face. “This is my worst nightmare. It was the last thing I fucking needed on my
conscience.”

“I know it wasn’t your fault.” More tears rolled down her cheeks. “T-there was nothing you

could’ve done.”

“I could’ve swerved the other way.”
Well, there was that.
“I had a couple beers when the ball dropped. I don’t even know why I hung around Chuito’s

when I should’ve left for Miami yesterday morning. I just hadn’t seen him in so long. Hell, I thought I
was sober. I waited a couple of hours before I headed back home, but obviously—” He paused and
then picked up Katie’s good hand, squeezing it tightly. “I really am sorry, Katie Foster. You seem like
a sweet girl, and you didn’t need my shit luck rubbing off on you.”

“My luck isn’t all that great either,” she confessed as she squeezed his hand back rather than pull

away. “Obviously.”

“Feel better. I promise you a messed up arm’s gonna end a lot better than what this accident is

gonna do to me. You’ll get your revenge, chica.”

She heard the nervousness over the drinks he had. He was likely facing a DUI. He could’ve

taken off like the other driver. Instead he was sitting there, jacketless, holding her hand.

“You should leave,” she whispered. “Go, and I’ll forget what your truck looked like. See if it’s

still drivable.”

“I’m not leaving you.” He snorted as if the thought were ridiculous.
“But the drinking?”
“Your friend, Jules Wellings, she knew it was me who called 911. I met with her a couple of

days ago hoping to get sponsored by the Cellar. Hell, I was staying with Chuito Garcia. He lives
above her offices. She knows where to find me. I promise.” He gave her a sad smile, showing off
white teeth. The bottom ones were a little crooked, making it obvious he hadn’t suffered through four
years of braces like Katie had, but somehow that just added to his charm. “So we’ll just sit here
together and face the bad luck head-on. That’s what I usually do. This time I got company. It’s all
good.”

She looked back to this stranger with no little amount of admiration for his courage. He was a

fighter. Even if he hadn’t just admitted to it, he had the look of a man who spent his days working out
in the Cellar.

The Cuthouse Cellar, Garnet’s one claim to fame, was a state-of-the-art MMA training center in

town. Every day it seemed more up-and-coming fighters chose the Cellar as their training camp. It
was clear he was one of those men who came here looking for fame and glory, but unfortunately for
this one, his life collided with hers instead.

What a shame.
She was still staring at him in amazement. Her intrigue with him was enough to keep her from

crying. The pain still throbbed in her arm, radiating out to the rapid thump, thump, thump of her
heartbeat, but with him near, it was almost as if that crazy strength it took to be an MMA fighter was
rubbing off.

“Does it work?” she whispered.
He frowned. “Does what work?”
“Just f-facing it head-on?” she clarified. “The bad luck?”
He seemed to consider that for a moment before he grinned. “At least you know when the next

punch is coming. Nothing worse than getting blindsided, right?”

“Right,” she agreed softly, looking down to her arm, trying to see how bad the damage was. All

she saw was the blood. It made her stomach lurch, and she looked over to the fighter once more. “I’m
gonna try that. F-facing things. Not hiding from my problems anymore.”

“Where I come from, teenagers would fuck with me when I was young. Hard kids. Thugs.

Nothing fazed them. They’d use anyone to get the job done. They’d make eight-year-olds run their
drugs if it kept the heat off them, and I wasn’t ready for all that. Then I figured out it was harder for
them to threaten me if I was looking them dead in the eye.” He squeezed her hand once more. “That’s
the one thing they can’t take from you. Your courage.”

“I’m not courageous,” she admitted, feeling her cheeks heat despite everything. “I’m the exact

opposite o-of courageous.”

“You seem pretty brave to me.” He tilted his head to look at her with noticeable admiration.

“All the girls I know would be freaking out and screaming their heads off right about now.”

The wail of sirens had him jumping out of the car before she could respond. He faced a possible

DUI head-on, without even flinching. She watched him wave down Sheriff Conner, who beat the
ambulance to the accident site. The sheriff came flying out of the car. He didn’t pay more than a
passing glance to the young fighter other than to say, “Don’t you be going anywhere, boy.”

Then he was crawling into the passenger side of her car, filling up the small space with his

powerful presence. She always forgot just how big the sheriff was until she was next to him. He was
one seriously large fella, but Katie’s mind was on her fighter standing out in the snow without a
jacket.

The sheriff touched the pulse point at her neck and shined a light in her eyes as he asked, “How

ya doing, Katie?”

“O-okay. Listen, Sheriff—”
“Jules is calling your brother. She wanted me to tell you that she’ll make sure he meets you at

Mercy General.” The sheriff leaned over her, shining his flashlight toward the door that held her arm
trapped. “We need to make sure you don’t move until Tommy and the fire department get out here.”

“Yeah, but Sheriff—”
The sheriff picked up the radio on his hip and started speaking into it. Most of what he was

saying was police jargon, but she got the gist of it. They needed bigger equipment out here to cut her
out of this car. The fear washed over her in icy-hot waves. She used her good hand to pull the
fighter’s jacket tighter around her, seeking comfort from it. Her instinct was to start crying again, but
she realized now why her thoughts were scattered in other directions besides the pain. Extreme shock
had settled in at some point. Her arm was still hurting, but her acknowledgment of it had faded to the
background.

More sirens wailed in the distance. Help was coming. She should be relieved, but instead she

looked back to the fighter, standing there illuminated by her headlights. The snow was falling in his
dark hair and resting on his broad shoulders.

“It wasn’t his fault,” she said quickly to Sheriff Conner, wanting to get it out before the fire

department showed up. “There was another car. This crazy woman swerved into his lane right as he
was coming over the hill. None of this was his fault, Sheriff. It was just b-bad luck.”

“Okay, darling.” The sheriff squeezed her good hand. “Just focus on breathing easy and not

moving until we can get you out. Can you do that?”

Katie took a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah, but about—” She paused, realizing she’d never

asked his name. “The m-man out there.”

“Don’t you worry ’bout Marcos. He’s a big boy, and there’s not a scratch on him.” The sheriff

squeezed her hand once more. “You’re the one we’re gonna focus on right now.”

“It was just bad luck,” she repeated, thinking of not just the accident, but a long string of rotten

luck and getting the impression she wasn’t alone as she stared at the fighter again. “It wasn’t his
fault.”

Rather than respond, the sheriff got out of the car to meet the fire truck that pulled up. Katie got

the distinct impression the fighter, Marcos, was low on his priority list, but Katie still worried about
him.

The entire time they worked at cutting her out of the mangled mess of her car, she thought of

Marcos. She would look for him, her gaze searching the accident site when the fear or pain got too
much. She’d usually find him standing out of the way with a brown blanket over his shoulders. She
wished she could hold his hand again, but there were firefighters everywhere. Tommy, the paramedic,
sat next to her taking her vitals, talking in that calming voice of his that made it obvious why he was
good at what he did. He had put a brace around her neck. He was getting her ready for the stretcher as
the horrible grinding of metal being cut away made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

She was shaking. The shock was still clouding her brain. It blocked out some of the pain, but

still she fought for clarity as the relief of finally being free made her vision haze. The world started to
spin as they put her on a stretcher. Tommy had to take extra time with her arm, splinting it on a board.
Katie didn’t have the nerve to look.

“I-I need the jacket,” she told them, knowing it had been tossed aside somewhere. She didn’t

want it to end up at the tow yard. “P-please. I need to take it with me to the hospital.”

“Sure, darling.” Tommy gave her a warm smile that made more than a few Garnet women weak-

kneed.

The paramedic was one of their most eligible bachelors, but Katie was still worried about her

fighter. She breathed a sigh of relief when Tommy put the jacket over her as they wheeled her toward
the ambulance. She was just starting to think everything might be all right when Sheriff Conner’s
voice drifted over from the other side of the street.

“Have you been drinking tonight, Mr. Rivera?”
She wanted to scream at him to lie.
Instead she heard her fighter face it head-on. “Yeah, Sheriff, I had a few beers at midnight.”
She found herself staring at the roof of the ambulance before she could hear how it all played

out. The sirens came to life. Tommy, the handsome paramedic, alternated between checking her vitals
and writing things on his chart. All the while he laid on that charm he was famous for, obviously very
accustomed to making horrible situations a little easier with the good looks God gave him.

Yet all she could think about was Marcos, the mystery fighter with kind eyes, dangerous tattoos,

and a horrible case of bad luck almost as epic as hers.

Chapter Two

Miami
April 2014

The only good thing to come out of Marcos’s fated trip to Garnet County was getting out of that

town without a DUI. Once the sheriff gave him the all clear, Marcos promptly headed back to Miami
and attempted to forget everything about that week. To be safe, he went ahead and moved just in case
the sheriff decided to change his mind and pin something on him.

Marcos’s past made him more than a little paranoid where the police were concerned. The old

apartment had been a shithole anyway. Not that the next place was much of an improvement, but
sometimes any change was good. A new place, a new job, a new cell number, a new life.

That had been his grand plan after his dreams of being a professional fighter had officially ended

the moment he ran into Katie Foster. More than losing the fighter spot at the Cuthouse Cellar, it was
the accident itself that disturbed him.

He remembered the young, pretty brunette with no small amount of regret. There was something

about those wide, honey-colored eyes framed by long, tear soaked eyelashes that haunted him. Her
hair was the same shade of light brown as her eyes, long and wavy, the kind a man longed to touch
just to see if it was as silky as it looked. Everything about her was soft and innocent in a way the
women he knew weren’t. She’d been so pale in the night, making the blood stand out starkly on her
cheeks and forehead. He’d seen a lot of terrible shit in his life, but that image disturbed him more than
most. Perhaps because someone like Katie Foster was never meant to bleed like that, and knowing it
had been his fault had him waking up at night in cold sweats.

That accident was churning up a fuckload of posttraumatic stress.
Even if Chuito had assured him she was recovered, he couldn’t shake the guilt or the strange

pang he got in his chest when he remembered how she’d actually been concerned about him that night.
Even with painful injuries, she had been willing to cover for him, and it just furthered his
determination to stay out of trouble once he got home. He didn’t want to run into another Katie Foster
again, and he was officially tired of the fast lane. He could work hard, keep his nose to the
grindstone, and stay out of trouble long enough for life to somehow forget guys like him weren’t
designed to grow old and live off a pension.

His intentions had been good, but it didn’t take long for it all to go to hell.
“You can’t fire me.” Marcos glared at his boss of the past several months, his eyes narrowed in

disbelief. “I’m the best guy you got.”

Sebastian sighed and lowered his head as he mumbled, “You know the heat’s been sniffing

around my place ever since you started. We’ve had four salvage inspections in the last three months.
The cops came back last night. I can’t do it anymore. I’m sorry.”

Marcos felt that familiar white-hot rush of shame and anger wash over him. He couldn’t argue

with that reasoning. If he were in Sebastian’s place, getting shaken down every few weeks by the
cops, he’d probably fire the ex-con putting a target on his back too.

Even if he was the best body man in Miami.
“Yeah, whatever.” Marcos turned his back on him, determined to gather up his things and then go

and get drunk.

Fuck it, what the hell was staying on the straight and narrow doing for him anyway? Clearly life

didn’t want him to stay out of trouble.

“Tell your tía I’m sorry.”
Marcos winced, hating the reminder that his aunt—one of the only relatives he still had left—had

to turn to an old boyfriend to get him the job in the first place. Something nasty and cutting was on the
tip of his tongue. Once upon a time, he’d been guilty of being a mean motherfucker when it came to
shit like this. He’d likely have punched this pendejo for even mentioning his aunt, but now he just
walked out of the office without a backward glance.

With his tools in the back of his pickup, he peeled out of the parking lot of Sebastian’s Auto

Body, being sure to leave his mark on the asphalt. He picked up his phone, paging through his old
contacts as he kept one eye on the road.

Of course, there was traffic, and he silently fumed as he listened to the phone ring.
“Oh wow.” He threw up his hand after someone cut in front of him. When Marcos missed the

light, he cursed, “¡Coño!”

He laid on his horn, hoping the dickhead who cut him off could hear it. He didn’t even notice that

the phone had been picked up until his friend Luis laughed in his ear. “Road rage, bro. I thought you
were changing your ways.”

Marcos just shook his head. “I just got fired—again. Fuck changing my ways. It never works

out.”

“No shit?”
“No shit. Heat’s been shaking down Sebastian since I started. He finally got sick of it. I was

lucky I kept the job that long.”

“Come down to the warehouse and hang.” The hope was heavy in Luis’s voice. “It’ll be a party.

Old school. Just like back in the day.”

Marcos hesitated, because it was tempting to touch those wild, free days of his youth again. It

was that long-ago dream that always got him into trouble, because the memories weren’t all bad.
There was a time when being part of Los Corredores meant everything to him. It made him
invincible. Untouchable. Dangerous. The days before the darkness. When the gang stood for respect
and unity instead of revenge and money.

The days before Marcos’s mother and Juan died.
Before Chuito left.
And Angel took over.
“You know he’d take you back,” Luis cut into Marcos’s private thoughts. “He owes you. We all

do. Big-time. He’ll literally pay you twenty times what you were making at Sebastian’s. They’re
tagging you anyway. Might as well benefit off it.”

“Yeah, might as well,” he agreed in Spanish, feeling a little apprehensive talking about this over

the phone.

He wasn’t real sure what the Spanish was going to hide; most of Miami spoke Spanish—cops

included.

“And no one can do what you do,” Luis went on. “You’re a fucking artist.”

That was true, and it was nice to hear someone recognizing it again. He gave up the respect of

being a lead member in Los Corredores to spare himself looking over his shoulder every five
seconds, but what the hell, he was being hounded anyway.

“I got to go back home first. Take a shower.”
“I’ll tell Angel you’re coming. You staying the night?”
“Probably.” Marcos honked his horn again when someone cut him off. “Carajo, I need to get the

fuck out of the 305. These pendejos can’t drive.”

“That didn’t work out so good the last time you tried it. I can’t believe that cop let you off a DUI.

I think Chuito paid him off.”

“Some puta got in my lane that night and then took off without stopping. I blew under the limit.

Way under,” Marcos said defensively. He did not like talking about that night. “I got off because that
accident was not my fault. Chu is still giving me shit about it. I don’t need to hear it from you.”

Luis chuckled in disbelief. “That’s why you strip the cars instead of boost them.”
“We’re on the phone.” Marcos held up his hand. “Are you blitzed right now or what?”
“A little.”
Marcos grunted in annoyance, still wound tight and desperate to change the subject. It must have

been more than obvious.

“Sounds like you need a party. A few bottles, a few blunts, you’ll feel better. Come hang with

your bros and remember where you came from.” Luis sounded sincere. “Make some real cash for
once. Get out of the shitholes you’re always staying in.”

Marcos winced. That was hitting way below the belt. He didn’t like being broke, and it hadn’t

been easy, especially since more cash was always there if he wanted it. The past few months hadn’t
been the first time he’d tried honest work since he’d gotten out of prison; it’d just been the longest
he’d managed to hang in there before he was forced to start stripping cars to pay the bills.

“Stick to what you know,” Luis went on. “We can’t all be UFC champions, right?”
“No, I guess not,” Marcos agreed, because he’d certainly tried for that ticket out of the hood.
He’d been fighting at his cousin Chuito’s side all the way back to grade school. They’d

competed in the same underground matches since they were young teens. He’d just had the misfortune
of being in prison the night World Heavyweight Champion Clay Powers showed up at an underground
fight and pulled Chuito out of the dark recesses of gang life and into the spotlight, effectively saving
him from the destiny they all shared. Thug life usually ended in a coffin or jail. Marcos wasn’t as
deluded as the rest. He knew it would end badly for all of them eventually. Serving eighteen months
did nothing if not provide a little perspective on things.

He’d been trying to save himself from the agony, peacefully distancing himself from assholes

like Angel, and more so, from friends like Luis. He couldn’t bear to bury another one after doing it so
many times already. He wanted an escape like Chuito—a way to forget the connection long enough
that maybe it wouldn’t hurt so bad when the next bullet found a friend.

He’d tried to get out, but the fighting spot at the Cellar was a long shot for an ex-con, and that

had been before he’d smashed into Katie Foster on New Years.

He felt so much older than he should.
Before Marcos could come to his senses and start figuring out a way to find legit work, someone

else cut him off in traffic. He was wound so tight, stressed about money, about telling his aunt he’d

lost another job, about the cops that hounded him no matter where he went because of his connection
to Los Corredores. Not selling out his friends had earned him a lifetime target on his back from law
enforcement. If he wasn’t with the cops, he was against them, and the heat reminded him of it every
chance they got.

Marcos rolled down his window and shouted in Spanish, but it did nothing to dispel the anxiety.
Luis laughed again at Marcos’s road-rage issues. “Six o’clock. We’ll party.”
The right thing to do was to hang up and spend the night searching online for a job, but instead

Marcos agreed, “Six o’clock.”

Right then it looked like he was screwed. He couldn’t keep a legit job even if he managed to talk

some fool into hiring him. He’d tried off and on for over four fucking years now. He might as well
just accept that life didn’t want him to be law-abiding.

So he’d live hard instead.
The next funeral could just as easily be his, and maybe it was better that way.
There were no miracles for Marcos Rivera.

Chapter Three

Garnet County

Shock was a handy thing.
It created an oddly hazed, almost romantic memory of a horrible car accident. A handsome

fighter silhouetted by moonlight and snow. Courage. Kindness. Kinship. Marcos Rivera was burned
in her brain—a tanned angel with strange light eyes and dangerous tattoos. The man himself was as
much a mishmash of darkness and beauty as the memory.

If only the rest of the journey had been so pretty. Two surgeries. Hours of agonizing physical

therapy. The panic attacks. Being forced to take the medicine just to function past the pain those first
many weeks. Being forced to get off the medicine in order to crawl out from the covers, get back to
work, and start living again. Reality waited for no woman.

Now spring had arrived.
Her arm was scarred but healing. There were still a few dull aches, but if she got a rare stab of

pain it was cured by a few ibuprofen.

The break would be here before she knew it, and Katie ended the last class of the day in a very

good mood.

“Don’t forget your final projects on ancient Egypt are due Friday. I’m excited to see how they all

turn out.”

Most classes would groan, but this was an eleventh grade AP History class. These were the type

of students who shuddered over the destruction of the Ancient Library of Alexandria whenever they
studied it in class. All that history lost. Katie understood their pain. She still spent nights looking at
her ceiling, wondering what knowledge that long-ago fire destroyed.

She was a geek.
Which was why she shouldn’t be in mourning over the memory of a fighter, long gone—a smoky

mist in Garnet’s history like the lost Library of Alexandria. So much about him Katie would never
know. He was gone by the time she got out of the hospital. She knew because she’d looked for him.
Dazed with pain, eyes glassy from the pills, she had her sister-in-law Lily drive her to Chuito’s place
above Jules’s office, remembering Marcos’s mention of the famous fighter that night. Chuito had
informed Katie that Marcos had gone back to Miami. That was all she had ever been able to get out of
him. Chuito had been annoyingly tight-lipped about contact information.

That was strange.
Katie knew for a fact Marcos didn’t get a DUI. She had a copy of the police report. He’d been

below the legal limit. The phone number was disconnected by the time she called. The address on the
police report was no good. All her letters got returned. Why run off and disappear like that? And why
all the secrets?

Katie had even taken to posting on craigslist, short messages sent out to Miami with the vain

hope of Marcos seeing them and contacting her. All the effort got her was an inbox full of messages
from weirdos, but she still posted at least once a week. At the moment, it was the only way she had to
reach out to him.

She didn’t like that Chuito.
Not at all.
The two of them had been glaring at each other every time they crossed paths over the past

several months. His contempt for her was every bit as potent as hers for him, with all his secrets and
dark looks. She was strangely fearless of the light-heavyweight UFC champion. She knew he
recognized Marcos’s jacket that she wore whenever it was cold. Which had been always since
January. She didn’t care. Let him think what he wanted.

Chuito wouldn’t even give her a damn cell phone number. Jules certainly didn’t have Marcos’s

contact information, and had largely discouraged Katie from seeking him out.

“Turn that one loose,” Jules said when Katie sat in the chair behind Jules’s desk and

complained about Chuito’s silence on the subject. “He’s probably doing you a favor. We wouldn’t
have sponsored him at the Cellar even if he hadn’t taken you out two hours after New Years.
Checkered past is an understatement.” Jules glanced at a file on her desk and mumbled to herself.
“Dunno why Chuito recommended him in the first place.”

Katie snorted in disbelief. Jules’s own husband had been in prison. Everyone knew it, and she

would have called the pretty lawyer on it if the phone hadn’t rung. Jules held up her hand and
answered it, which led to a long conversation about taxes and accounting that made Katie’s eyes
glaze over. Numbers reminded her of her ex-husband. She quietly excused herself and left.

But she was due back at Jules’s desk, to glare a little at Chuito, who was always underfoot there

considering he lived in an apartment above Jules’s law office, and argue some more with Jules. The
last time she was there, she’d noticed Chuito had the same snake tattoo on the inside of his forearm
that Marcos had. That was very curious. They had to be close friends. She was going to ask him about
it the next time she saw him.

This accident had made history geek Katie Foster downright bold, and she liked the change in

herself. Life had taught her nothing if not that time was fleeting and a wasted chance was nothing but a
potential regret. Screw that. She had enough regrets for a lifetime.

The AP students crowded around her desk to discuss their end-of-the-year projects.
She answered their questions as she pulled on Marcos’s jacket and retrieved her purse from her

bottom drawer. She’d already told Principal Jenkins she was leaving early once school let out. Jules
Wellings owed her a conversation that she had been avoiding with impressive skill for almost four
months. Now it was time to hit her when she least expected it.

The last of the students cleared out. Katie gathered her papers to grade, taking the time to neatly

organize them in the soft-sided leather briefcase her mother had bought her the day she had gotten the
job at the high school. Her mother died three months later of a rapidly spreading cancer.

Katie took very good care of her briefcase.
Which was why she didn’t appreciate it when she slammed into Grayson before she even had the

chance to close the classroom door. Katie’s ex-husband frowned down at her. “Heard you’re blowing
off the staff meeting.”

“Physical therapy appointment,” she lied as she dropped down to pick up the briefcase he had

knocked out of her hand, and then spent the time to reorganize the papers. Fuming.

He had the good grace to bend down and help her pick up the papers from her earlier classes,

but she noticed he didn’t apologize about the briefcase as she sat there brushing it off. She rubbed at a
scuffmark on the corner, trying to decide if it had been there or if Grayson had caused it.

“This boy is hopeless,” Grayson mumbled, reading one of the papers in his hand. “Look at that

grammar. You’d think after failing algebra three times he’d at least know how to spell.”

She jerked the paper out of his hand. “That’s mine.”
“Dumb jocks. Why the hell did we decide to stay in Garnet to teach?” He shook his head,

obviously expecting understanding. “They still plague us, Katie girl.”

“Don’t call me that.” She put the paper back into her briefcase along with the rest. “I like Jason

Clover. He tries hard, and Ned said he does amazing things in auto body. We can’t all rule the world
through calculus.”

“Oh, a math jab.” He grinned rather than rise to the bait. “You’ve been spunky since the

accident. I like it.”

“Gross.” Katie shuddered as she stood, unable to fathom that once upon a time she’d thought the

sun and the moon rose over this man’s shoulders. He’d been so different from the other boys in their
town. Grayson understood her love of academics, even if their interests were vastly different, and
she’d gotten married without a second thought as a sophomore in college. How utterly stupid. “I have
to go now.”

She’d take a jock any day over a math geek. Grayson had burned her for her own breed—likely

forever.

She walked out of the room without looking back.
Ashley, the cheerleading coach, who was in the hallway instead of on the field, bumped into her

before the door had even clicked closed, but this time Katie had a firm grip on the handle of her
briefcase out of anger.

“Excuse you,” Ashley huffed indignantly.
Katie didn’t like Ashley when she was the head cheerleader of their graduating class. She liked

her even less now. The only difference was, Katie wasn’t intimidated anymore. She just looked the
striking blonde in the eyes like Marcos had told her to do and arched an eyebrow.

She might have made a snarky comment, but making fun of jocks was something she had struck

off her list. It was called being an adult. Not all cheerleaders turned into washed-up, broke
twentysomethings who spent their weekends at the bar hoping the bottom of her beer bottle would
somehow help her reclaim the glory of eighteen.

Just this one.
She actually smiled as she brushed by Ashley. Katie wasn’t perfect. Her arm was scarred to hell

and back, but she had paid off the few college loans she had since getting the new teaching job. She
wasn’t hiring their local lawyer to fend off all the creditors.

Yes, Katie had looked at Jules’s desk when she she’d gotten up. Terrible of her. Oh well.

Ashley had made her life miserable since grade school. If Katie got a small amount of pleasure
knowing the washed-up cheerleader was living with her mother again and had lost everything due to
outrageous credit card debt, she just chalked it up to karma.

* * * *

“I’m sorry, but I’m not helping you with this delusion. Let it go.”
Katie glared at Jules across her desk, but it did little good. This woman once held a spot on the

US Olympic team for judo. She was a sheriff’s deputy in her younger years and was now the only

lawyer in all of Garnet County. Plus there was that incident a while back where she and her husband
faced down a whole crew of real-life mafia guys and lived to tell about it—those mafia guys hadn’t
been so lucky.

Jules Wellings was not an easy person to intimidate.
“Please,” Katie whined out of desperation. “I just need a phone number. I know your friend

Chuito has it. If you could just—”

“No,” Jules repeated as she glanced up from her work with a frown. “And what the heck makes

you think he’s gonna give it to me even if I did ask him for it?”

Katie gave Jules a look, because they both knew Jules usually got whatever she wanted if she put

her mind to it.

“Please,” Katie repeated.
“Okay, let’s actually discuss this.” Jules pushed aside her file and gave Katie her full attention.

“What is the obsession with Marcos Rivera?”

“He was nice to me.” Katie shrugged self-consciously. “I never got a chance to thank him.”
“He crashed into you and ruined your New Year. You have the scars to prove it,” Jules said

slowly, looking at Katie like she’d lost her mind. “He may have been below the legal limit, but he did
have alcohol in his system. What the heck have you got to thank him for?”

“That wasn’t his fault,” Katie argued. “If you’d seen how that woman was driving—”
“He has a record,” Jules cut in before Katie could finish. “He served time for stealing cars. Did

you know that?”

Katie stared at her, knowing she should feel more apprehension than she did. It wasn’t a huge

shock. Jules had claimed before that Marcos had a colorful past. “That doesn’t mean—”

“Bullshit.” Jules cut her off before she could finish. “You know exactly what it means, Katie.”
Before she could stop herself, Katie blurted out, “Didn’t your husband do time?”
“We’re not talking about me.” Jules’s glare became icy, making it obvious Katie had stepped

into dangerous territory. “But for the record, the situation with Romeo was unfair and unavoidable.
Your fella Marcos served time for stealing not one but several cars. He was caught hacking them up
for parts in an abandoned warehouse. Does that sound like someone you wanna get mixed up with?
What if it was your car that was stolen? You think you’d still be wanting to get in touch?”

Katie folded her arms over her chest, knowing it seemed childish, but she just couldn’t forget

Marcos at the crash site, willing to face a DUI head-on rather than abandon her. That sort of integrity
was intriguing, and she’d be lying to herself if she didn’t admit she’d been attracted to him, but this
quest was about more than her long-dormant sex life. She wanted a chance to talk to him once more.
That’s it.

“You’re not a college student anymore. You’re a teacher now,” Jules reminded her before Katie

could put words to her convictions. “You cannot afford to get mixed up with someone like Marcos.
He’s states away. Be thankful for it and move on with your life.”

Jules’s reasoning made sense. Katie knew she should do just that, but for some reason,

everything felt unfinished. She needed closure.

Grasping at straws, she huffed, “But I still have his jacket.”
“Consider it his gift to you for totaling your car.”

“I have resorted to posting notes to him on craigslist,” Katie admitted with a blush of

embarrassment. “You should see my inbox. It’s full of messages from every weirdo in Miami.”

Jules shook her head and laughed. “You honestly think a fella like that spends his Saturday nights

reading the personals on craigslist?”

Katie shrugged. “Maybe.”
“If that boy had to read the personals for a date, you wouldn’t be coming in here every other day

asking for his number. He’s good-looking, I’ll give ya that.” Suddenly Jules frowned and leaned past
her desk. She narrowed her eyes at the staircase as if her cop senses were on high alert and called
out, “In or out. Stop eavesdropping.”

“Oh God.” Katie resisted the urge to drop her head to Jules’s desk.
She knew who’d been listening to their conversation without having to look to see who came

down the stairs. Her skin prickled with apprehension. Even without two UFC championship belts,
Chuito “The Slayer” Garcia would have made her jumpy. He screamed danger, and Katie thought it
was mighty rich of Jules to be giving her hell about trying to get in contact with Marcos when a fella
like Chuito lived in the apartment above Jules’s office.

Maybe, by some small stroke of luck, he hadn’t heard the last bit of their conversation.
“Craigslist, huh?”
Katie stiffened at the rough sound of amusement in Chuito’s voice as he came up behind her. Her

cheeks flamed, and she cursed her light coloring because she knew it had to show.

She turned around in her seat and glared at Chuito, who was almost as good-looking as Marcos.

He didn’t have the light eyes that made Marcos’s features so startling, and Chuito was a little taller.
His shoulders were broader, but the two of them still looked a lot alike, which always gave her a
strange mental whiplash.

“What?” Chuito’s smile faded, and his shoulders grew tense under her scrutiny.
“Nothing,” Katie said quickly. “I was just thinking you and Marcos look alike. Strangely so.”
“Well, duh, we’re cousins.”
“Oh, really?” Katie was genuinely surprised. “I didn’t know that.”
He snorted in disbelief. “What? Did you just think we all look alike?”
“All?” Katie frowned for a moment, and then gasped in understanding. “I would never think that.

I’m not ignorant. I know not all Cubans look alike.”

Chuito narrowed dark eyes at her. “I’m Puerto Rican.”
Katie winced, hearing the insult in his voice. “I’m sorry, I assumed since you were from Miami

and—”

“Just stop,” Jules mumbled under her breath.
“I apologize, but it was an honest mistake,” Katie snapped as she turned back to Jules. “He is

trying to make me uncomfortable on purpose so I’ll drop this. He’s baiting me. I know, because I was
married to a man who used to do it all the time.” She turned back to glare at Chuito. “I don’t care if
you bully me. I’m not letting you win.”

“Chica, I’m not bullying you. I’m telling you flat out. Drop this thing with Marcos ’cause I’m

sure as shit not giving you his number when he went out of his way to change it after the accident. I
dunno what he said to you that night, but let it go.” Chuito’s laugh was bitter. “You’re not the first

woman to fall for his bullshit.”

“Did you tell him I was asking about him?” Katie asked, not sure what she wanted the answer to

be. “Does he know I still have his jacket?”

“Why don’t you give me the jacket, and I’ll get it back to him?” Chuito suggested, his tone still

biting and sarcastic. “Since it’s so important to you.”

Katie snorted. “Not likely.”
Chuito mumbled something in Spanish under his breath and looked toward the ceiling fan in

Jules’s office. “This shit could only happen to Marcos. This is the reason he’s been getting it since he
was thirteen. Unbelievable.”

“Thirteen?” Katie repeated in disbelief.
She glanced at Jules for confirmation, seeing that she had a look of surprise on her face too.
“You’re a liar,” Katie decided as she turned back to Chuito. “And I don’t like you.”
Jules laughed, but then coughed when Chuito drew himself up to his full height obviously

offended.

Jules cleared her throat and said earnestly, “Look, Chuito, can’t you just—”
“No, I can’t. Marc’s trying to forget that accident.” His eyes were still narrowed at Katie. “The

last thing he needs is a call from her.”

“Well, what if Katie gave you her number—”
Katie gasped and turned back to Jules. “What?”
“And he could give it to Marcos,” Jules finished diplomatically. “That’s a fair compromise.”
“Well,” Katie considered that. “Maybe.”
“No.” Chuito shook his head. “I want nothing to do with this gringa.”
Katie straightened in her chair and looked at him directly just the way Marcos had told her to.

“Why do you think it’s okay to insult me?”

“It’s not—” Chuito started and then stopped. “You know what, never mind. Believe it’s an

insult.” He rolled his eyes as if she were completely clueless and turned to leave. “Later, Jules.”

“Chuito—” Jules called as he walked to the entryway.
“No,” he repeated as he grabbed his jacket off the stand by the front door. “Do your friend a

favor and hook her up with a nice, church-going guy here in Garnet. Ask Alaine to help. She knows
plenty.”

As if on cue, Jules’s assistant, Alaine, opened the front door. She had a stack of papers in her

arms as if she had just gotten back from the courthouse.

Alaine gave Chuito a bemused smile. “Help with what?”
He paused, looking down at the pretty redhead and considering her for a long moment. When he

spoke, his tone was softer, endearing in a way Katie wouldn’t have thought possible. “Help her stay
away from mean hijos de putas like me.”

Chapter Four

Miami

This warehouse was, by far, Marcos’s favorite. He was going to be very sad when it was lost to

the inevitable police raid, because it was a cool place to hang out. Los Corredores had had it for over
three years, and Marcos, always the cynical one, had been mourning its eventual demise for a while
now.

The top floors had been converted into bedrooms. Two of the rooms had black lights. One had a

foosball table. There was no heat or central air, but they had window units and space heaters. Flat-
screen televisions, leather couches, and lots of dark corners.

By eight o’clock Marcos had two rum and Cokes and four different phone numbers in his pocket.

Why the hell was he avoiding this anyway? He conveniently forgot the wide-eyed innocence of Katie
Foster and her blood on his hands. Instead he danced with Mia Fuentes, who was a new face and his
age, when lately the girls had been getting younger and younger at the warehouse. Of course, most of
the guys there were younger than him too.

At twenty-six, he should’ve been dead or in prison.
There weren’t many of their old crew left. It was a better reason to leave than the image of Katie

Foster the night of the accident, but the rum was doing away with his common sense. Mia had nice
curves. Marcos had never liked them too thin, and she had a great ass.

“I’ve heard things about you. They say you’re different.” Mia leaned into him when the music

turned soft and sensual. She pressed her lips against the curve of his neck. “Tell me why.”

Marcos laughed, because he knew what she’d heard.
“My mother raised me with manners.” He looked up at the stars as the two of them danced on the

flat slab of cement behind the warehouse. “Unlike the rest of these pendejos, I respect women. That’s
it.”

Her smile was wide and amused. “You got game.”
“Yeah, sometimes,” he agreed as he returned her smile.
“If you need somewhere to sleep tonight, I could hook you up. I’m staying here now.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Are you?”
“I’ve been helping Angel wash titles for the cars they steal. I got the best room.”
“I heard he’s been getting a lot of luxury cars. I thought he was boosting them for the parts, not

selling them as is.” Marcos couldn’t hide his surprise. “How do you wash the titles?”

“Say you buy a Benz that’s totaled in an accident from Gus’s Junkyard. All you have to do is

steal one that’s the same make and year. You switch the vin numbers on the cars, get the title on the
totaled car changed over to your name, and you got a new, clean car to sell.”

“And you do all that? Get all the paperwork done and make the car legal?” Marcos was

seriously impressed, because that sounded like a very complicated job.

“I spend half my time at the DMV,” she told him confidently.
“No wonder you have the nicest room.” Marcos pulled back, silently thinking about that. He’d

heard of organizations as elaborate as that, but he hadn’t known Los Corredores had moved past

simply stripping the cars for parts. “Does he get good money for them?”

“Yeah, we’re dealing in mainly luxury cars now. We have buyers who ship them overseas.”
“Do the buyers know they’re hot?”
“Yeah, but they don’t give a fuck. Once they’re out of the country, it doesn’t really matter.”
The paperwork aside, it was delicate business working on a car you wanted to sell rather than

strip. Luxury cars were designed to be thief proof. Stealing was one thing, reworking them was
another. Not many could pull that off effectively.

“Who does he have switching the vins?” he asked before he could stop himself.
“Hopefully you.” Angel gripped Marcos’s shoulder as he walked up. “I’m tired of Luis fucking

them up.”

Marcos turned to him in horror. “You’re letting Luis cut into luxury vehicles?”
Angel shrugged. “He’s the only one who knows where to find the vins.”
As a lover of fine cars, Marcos couldn’t help but wince at the idea of Luis hacking into

something shiny and new. He let go of Mia to shake his head at Angel. “ Estás del carajo. He’s the
worst one to do it. He’s too impatient.”

“So come back.” Angel held up a hand as if it were obvious. His eyes were sharp and

calculating, his broad shoulders tense, making it obvious he had been waiting not so patiently for
Marcos to get over his fit of morality and come back around. “You can stay here if you want. I bet
Mia wouldn’t mind sharing her room. She’s my cousin, you know? She just moved here from the
island a few months ago, but she’s smart. Got a college degree and everything. Top shelf. Better than
these putas you’re used to.”

Marcos looked to Mia, whose gaze was as calculating as Angel’s.
“What’s in it for you?” he asked Mia curiously, because he didn’t put it past Angel to sell his

cousin to the first dick who could help him make more money. “You really wanna share a room with a
prick like me for some bodywork?”

“It’s not about the vin numbers. That’s his problem.” Mia’s gaze ran over Marcos slowly. “Like

I said, I heard things. They say you’re good at all kinds of bodywork.”

“Man, you should’ve seen this pendejo when we were younger.” Angel laughed and turned to

Mia. “He had every girl in Miami calling him. His mother changed their phone number five times
when he was in middle school. Probably more than that when we got to high school.”

Marcos was already feeling a little raw, and he didn’t trust Angel. They’d been friends when

they were younger, but something changed after high school. Greed had consumed Angel a little more
than the rest of them. Marcos just had an innate knowing that he would do anything and sell out anyone
for enough cash, and he hadn’t trusted him for a long time because of it.

“Don’t talk about my mother,” Marcos warned him before he could stop himself as the dark,

dangerous side from his youth surfaced without warning. “You know you don’t get to talk about her,
cabrón.”

Angel’s shoulders tightened, and Marcos half expected him to lash out. He welcomed it,

realizing just then that sex or booze wasn’t the outlet he needed. He wanted to fight. To hurt someone
until they bled, because he was so fucking tired of his life without options.

He suddenly didn’t want to do Mia’s bodywork any more than he wanted to do Angel’s. She was

beautiful, but he realized now she was just as cold and calculating as her cousin. He had the

unexpected urge to shower and wash off her touch rather than stand there.

“I heard what happened,” Mia cut in before Angel could say something stupid. “I’m sorry about

your mother.”

“It was a bad night,” Angel confirmed and then took a deep breath as if remembering just then

how bad of a night it was. “I’m sorry. Sore subject. I get it.”

Marcos took a breath too, knowing that the rum and cokes were probably getting to him. “I’ve

had a shitty day. Maybe I’m just looking for a fight.”

“Hey, I got people you can fight.” Angel laughed, the tension slipping away as easily as it

started. He turned his arm, showing Marcos the snake tattoo that matched his as a reminder. “But
we’re brothers. Los Corredores need to stick together, right? Look at Chuito, he’s still my bro even
with all the money and shit, and I’ll be at his next fight. Front row. Us against the world, right?”

Marcos hesitated, not so sure about the loyalty anymore. They were obviously in a lot deeper

than a group of teenagers stealing cars. It had been more than that for a while now. The game became
deadly the night Juan died.

The same night his mother died.
Unconsciously, Marcos rubbed his arm, feeling the snake tattoo like a brand as he agreed on

autopilot, “Right.”

“You want another rum and coke?” Angel asked as he gave him a wide smile.
“I guess.” Marcos nodded, because he knew he wasn’t driving anywhere. Might as well be

drunk for it. He could certainly use it. “Yeah, why not.”

“Mia.” Angel gestured to the backdoor of the warehouse.
For one long moment, Mia gave her cousin a dirty look. Then she glanced back to Marcos, her

gaze hot once more and then turned and left. Marcos watched her go, her hips swaying, the skirt she
was wearing clinging to her in all the right places.

Strangely, an image of Katie Foster came into his mind.
Innocent eyes, pale skin, all those soft, wavy chestnut curls. He wondered what her ass would

look like in a skirt like that. Then he shook his head and blamed the rum. He didn’t deserve a girl like
Katie Foster. Not even close.

“She wants you.” Angel grabbed Marcos’s shoulder, shaking him playfully.
“Huh?” Marcos frowned at him, his mind still on Katie.
“That one.” Angel gestured to his cousin. “She fetches for no man. Not even her papi, but she’s

getting a drink for you.”

This was all sort of strange. It was almost as if Angel was trying to push his cousin on Marcos.

Since money hadn’t worked on luring Marcos back into the deep end of gang life, Angel must have
figured pussy would do the trick. Top-shelf pussy with a brain and an ass.

No one could say Angel wasn’t good at what he did. He was observant. He obviously knew

what Marcos liked, and it wasn’t the brainless nineteen-year-olds hanging out at the warehouse every
night.

Marcos was still contemplating it when his cell rang. He reached into his pocket and pulled out

his phone, seeing Chuito’s face on the screen.

“Sorry, it’s my cousin,” he mumbled to Angel and answered his phone. “¿Hola?”

“I want you to tell me, play by play, what the fuck you said to that gringa Katie Foster the night

you got into that accident.”

That was the last thing Marcos was expecting to hear, to say nothing of the hostility in Chuito’s

voice when the two of them had been as close as brothers since birth.

“Excuse me?” He scowled, thinking he had heard him wrong. When Mia handed him another rum

and coke, he leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Gracias.”

“Where are you?”
“At a party.”
“Where?” The suspicion was deep in Chuito’s voice.
Marcos took a sip of his drink, very aware of Angel and Mia standing next to him. “What’s this

about Katie Foster?”

Chuito was quiet for a long moment, making it obvious he heard what Marcos couldn’t say.
“You’re an idiot.”
Marcus answered Chuito’s accusation by saying, “I lost my job today.”
Chuito was quiet again, before he whispered, “I told you I’d give you money.”
Marcos coughed and cursed in Spanish before he added, “Kiss my ass.”
“You’re drunk.”
“I’m trying to get there,” Marcos confirmed. “And I’m working on something.” He winked at

Mia, even if his stomach lurched when he did it. He wasn’t near drunk enough for this, but he knew
now this was as good as life was going to get. No pretty, sweet girls like Katie and no honest jobs.
He might as well just accept his destiny. “Can you get to the point?”

“Hijo de la gran puta!” Chuito sounded more than little irritated when Mia’s giggle reached his

ears. “This is what got you into all this trouble to begin with. I dunno what you said to that poor chica,
Katie Foster, but she’s been bugging the fuck out of me for your number.”

He raised his eyebrows, wondering for just a moment if destiny was trying to send him a

different message, and held up his glass to Mia. “Un momento.”

Marcos walked over to the junkyard behind the warehouse. He looked at the hollowed-out

bodies of long-dead cars and whispered into the phone, “Tell me.”

“You tell me what party first.” Chuito switched to Spanish, making it obvious he was

somewhere public. Probably the Cellar. He always worked out at night. Life before moving to Garnet
had made him a night owl. Car thieves didn’t do mornings.

“I’m at the warehouse,” Marcos admitted, also speaking Spanish.
“Is Angel there?”
“Yeah, I was talking up his cousin before you decided to ruin my night.”
“You’re going to fuck Angel’s cousin? What the hell?”
“Consider it a fringe benefit. I’m going to end up working here anyway.”
“I thought—”
“You thought wrong,” Marcos cut him off before he could start in with a lecture. “I lost my job

because the heat’s been shaking down Sebastian’s since I started. Fighting and auto body are the only
two things I know in life, and I can’t get an honest job doing either of them. What the fuck do you want
from me? I tried.”

“I want you to try harder.”
“Yeah, you fucking try.” Marcos took another drink of the rum and coke, allowing the burn of it

to fuel his anger. “Angel told me you got him front-row tickets for the fight. You didn’t even get me
front-row tickets, motherfucker.”

“I didn’t give him those tickets.” Chuito sounded disgusted. “He must’ve bought them.”
Marcos winced, knowing that was a sensitive subject. No one wanted to untangle themselves

from Los Corredores more than Chuito. He’d even moved to the bumfuck, backward town of Garnet
trying to get away.

It hadn’t worked out so well.
“Do you want front-row tickets?” Chuito sounded slightly abashed, as if realizing just then he

was in no position to give Marcos shit when he was in deep too. “I didn’t think to ask, but—”

“Just tell me about the gringa.” Marcos took another drink. “Why does she want my number? Did

you tell her I’m broke? If she thinks suing me will get her anything—”

“I thought that’s what she wanted at first,” Chuito started, making it obvious he was as

suspicious as Marcos. “But I don’t think that’s it. She’s been wearing your jacket around town, and
today I heard her tell Jules she’s been putting out messages to you on craigslist.”

“What kind of messages?” Marcos pulled his earphones out of his pocket. “Hold on, let me

check it out.”

He plugged in his earphones, letting him look at his phone and talk to Chuito at the same time. He

typed in craigslist on the search engine and waited for it to pull up.

“What did you two talk about that night?” Chuito asked, clearly trying to fill in the silence.
“I don’t remember,” Marcos lied, because he had relieved every moment of that night a million

times in his head. He was still looking at his phone, now paging through the dozens of categories on
craigslist. “Where do you think she would put the message?”

“Do I know?”
“She didn’t say?”
“No, she just told Jules she’s been posting messages on craigslist, and every weirdo in Miami

has been messaging her. That’s got to mean personals or something, right?”

Marcos went to the personals. He was silent for a long while, and Chuito just let him search. His

eyes got wide as he looked through them. “Have you seen the shit on here?”

“What did you say to her that night? Really. Try and remember.”
Marcos sighed, his gaze still on his phone, but he tried to sum up the conversation for his cousin.

“I said sorry for running into her. She told me it wasn’t my fault. I told her I was probably getting a
DUI. I thought it’d make her feel better knowing I was going to get screwed too, but she told me to
leave. As if that would get me off. I’d already called 911. I was just keeping her company. It’s not
like I was talking her up or anything.”

“Then I don’t get it.”
“What kind of messages do you think she’s posting to me? This can’t be the right place. Is there

another section?” Marcos was having a very hard time wrapping his mind around the idea of a
woman like Katie Foster being interested in him for anything more than maybe paying him to do work
on her car. “It’s got to be money. She knows you’re rich. She probably thinks you’ll pay her off if she
tries to sue.”

“I don’t think its money. I think she’s into you.”
He laughed in disbelief. “I wish.”
“Marc—”
“I’d definitely hit that,” Marcos confirmed without remorse, realizing just then that he was

drunker than he thought for admitting out loud to Chuito something he didn’t even want to admit to
himself.

He’d been trying to live an honest life for the past four months simply for the memory of a

woman he’d spent five minutes with.

“You know she’s a high school teacher.”
Marcos’s smile grew devious. “Where were teachers like that when we were in school?”
Chuito grunted in disgust. “There’s something wrong with you.”
“I like the gringas.” Marcos’s smile grew wider, though it hadn’t been true before Katie had ran

into him. He went back to looking at his phone rather than analyze how one pretty gringa could change
his preference so completely. “I need help with this. Mia!”

“Who’s Mia?”
“Angel’s cousin.”
“You’re going to ask one woman to help you look up an ad another woman is posting to you on

craigslist? What the hell?”

“It’s not like it’s that kind of message.”
There was no way he believed pretty Katie Foster, with those innocent eyes, was even remotely

interested in him—but he was intrigued enough to ask Mia for help with craigslist.

Mia walked up with her eyebrows raised curiously.
“Okay.” Marcos turned to Mia and explained, “This gringa Katie Foster that I got into an

accident with back in January is supposedly posting messages to me on craigslist. Do you know
where to find them?”

Mia took his phone from him and stared at the craigslist postings on the screen. “What kind of

messages?”

Marcos shrugged. “Chuito says she’s been trying to get my number, but he wouldn’t give it to

her. She probably wants money, right?”

“She wouldn’t post something on craigslist if she was looking for money. Maybe she likes you.”
“Yeah, right.” Marcos laughed as Mia started looking through craigslist on his phone. “She’s

from that place, Garnet, where my cousin Chuito trains, and it is one seriously country town. She
probably thinks touching a guy like me will get her hands dirty.”

Mia looked up and grinned. “I wouldn’t mind getting my hands dirty with you.”
“Thanks, chica.” Marcos’s tone was encouraging, but he looked away rather than meet her gaze.
Chuito coughed. “You know I’m still on the phone, right?”
“Yeah, I know.” Marcos pointed to his earphones when Mia looked up. “My cousin.”
“The fighter?”
“Yeah.”
“Nice.” Mia raised her eyebrows as she continued to page through his phone. “I might go with

Angel to see the fight. He bought twelve tickets.”

Chuito cursed, making it obvious he had picked up what Mia said.
“Anything?” Marcos asked, hoping she hadn’t heard Chuito through the earphones.
“I’m looking in Missed Connections. Women love Missed Connections.”
“What is it?”
“My sister reads them. Sometimes they’re romantic.”
Marcos snorted. “You’re probably in the wrong spot.”
“Here it is.” Mia held up the phone.
Marcos was going to ask how she knew the post was for him when she handed the phone back,

allowing him to see for himself why Mia was so certain.

Man with unusual snake tattoo who “ran” into me on New Year’s Eve in Garnet—w4m

The snake on your right forearm is purple and black, with several red ink drops decorating

its coiled body. The tattoo is likely a work in progress as the rest of the ink drop scales were not
filled in.

If this is you, please message me. You were so kind to me that night, and the conversation we

had changed me for the better. Your courageous actions taught me to be a braver woman, and I
would love to have one more chance to talk to you and thank you.

Also, you gave me something of yours. Please describe it, and I will gladly arrange returning

it to you.

He was silent after he finished reading, wishing now he hadn’t let Mia be the one to help him

find it. He could feel her gaze on him, and it left him more than a little uncomfortable. His breath was
hitched somewhere in his chest. He cleared his throat and pushed aside the rush of lust that surged
through him from seeing right there in black-and-white that something about that night had stuck with
Katie as much as it had stayed with him. It felt like a small stroke of luck when he had been dealing
with nothing but negativity for a while now.

He knew instinctively that this connection was dangerous for both of them. Chuito should have

never told him about it, because Marcos was feeling more than a little rash and reckless since losing
his job.

“Why would she mention your Los Corredores tattoo in a public ad? Isn’t that like putting a

target on your back?” Mia asked.

“She mentioned your ink?” Chuito choked. “Read it to me.”
Marcos read it to him, still feeling self-conscious with Mia standing there listening. When he

was done, Chuito cursed and then said, “What the fuck did you say that night?”

“Nothing.” Marcos couldn’t figure it out either, though he was still secretly riding high over it.

He wasn’t going to let Chuito know that. Or Mia, so he just shrugged. “I called 911. I waited for the
cops to get there. I didn’t do anything.”

Mia smiled, though her gaze was still sharp and cunning in a way that made Marcos’s skin crawl

as she asked, “Are you going to write her back?”

“Hell, no.” Marcos snorted, trying to mentally convince himself of it for Katie’s sake if nothing

else. “I shouldn’t even be looking at it, let alone responding to it.”

“It’s not illegal to have a tattoo.”
Mia didn’t seem as concerned, but she also hadn’t spent most of her life being dogged by law

enforcement either. He should be mad at Katie for it, but he wasn’t. She couldn’t know what posting
about the ink meant. She was completely naive to Marcos’s reality, and that was all the more reason
to forget the post and go back to drinking away the pain his life was always inflicting on him.

He wanted to read more, to see if Katie had posted anything else, but he was very aware of

where he was and who was watching him.

“Whatever,” he said, his gaze on Mia as he forced a grin. “You wanna finish that dance?”
Mia’s smile was wide and pleased. “Sure.” She flipped her hair, looking triumphant.
“You’re just gonna ignore it?” Chuito huffed. “And let me keep dealing with your issue? What

the fuck, Marc?”

“I’ll call you later.” Marcos clicked the button on his earphones to end the call and then tilted his

head back toward where others were dancing under the stars. “Come on, chica.”

He let Mia lead the way, waiting until her back was turned to pull his phone out of his pocket

and text Chuito before his cousin got pissed and started calling back.

No worries, bro. I’ll take care of it.

* * * *

Marcos managed to slip out of Mia’s clutches with the excuse that he was far too drunk to give

her the night she deserved. Fortunately for him, Mia was the type of woman who wanted her men at
100 percent when providing “bodywork.”

So Marcos ended up on a couch in the warehouse once the party had wound down. He lay there

in the early morning hours, reading through the other messages Katie had posted in Missed
Connections. There were dozens and dozens of them, and no amount of rum and coke could pull his
eyes shut now that he knew where to find them.

They all had the same tagline, but the messages themselves varied drastically. Some were to the

point and professional, but others were intimate and vulnerable. Marcos reread one in particular over
and over again, feeling himself fall under Katie’s spell even if everything in him knew it was a
mistake.

I’ve thought of you every day since the accident, but tonight I dreamed of you for the first

time. I was so disappointed when I woke up that I decided to write you another note, even if it is
the middle of the night, and you’ll probably never see it anyway. In my dream, we were on the
beach in Miami. We were both happy, and there wasn’t a stroke of bad luck in sight for either of
us. I told you I had never seen the ocean. You laughed, and it was such a nice sound. Now I am
lying here wondering if you laugh a lot in a real life or if your days stretch on like mine do, with
so little to smile about.

Maybe that’s why I can’t give up hoping that one day we’ll talk again. I can’t stop thinking

that maybe two negatives might equal a positive. That together, even something as terrible as a
car accident can be beautiful.

What do you think?
It was a nice theory, if not completely naive. Marcos tried to imagine never seeing the ocean and

couldn’t even fathom not spending at least one day in the sand, listening to the surf and feeling the sun
on his back. Then he found himself fantasizing about taking Katie to Puerto Rico. The beaches on the
island were more intimate than Miami—unscathed by the hordes of tourists.

With the rum still lingering in his system, he wanted to believe her theory. That in the small town

of Garnet there was a pretty gringa with the ability to turn his negative life into a positive one. The
oddest thing about the fantasy was that as he lay there on the couch in an illegal chop shop, what he
wanted most was the chance to show Katie the world. To see her laugh. To watch those wide,
innocent brown eyes light up with amusement and know he was the one to give that to her.

Then he started wondering what that soft gaze would look like hazed in passion. Didn’t two

negative forces have to join together to create the positive? He imagined those pale thighs around his
waist, those soft tits pressing against his chest, and he had to adjust himself in his jeans when his cock
got too hard for comfort. He was willing to bet her nipples were a rosy pink, just like the color of her
cheeks in the cold, and it created a very sexy image in his mind. It seemed a real shame that she was
lonely enough to be posting notes to a thug like him on Missed Connections.

This craigslist shit was leaving him very frustrated.
He could go up and find Mia’s room; instead, he decided to text Chuito.
Coming to Garnet. I’ll take care of the gringa situation when I get there.
What he didn’t say to Chuito was that he wanted one more chance too, but he didn’t dare respond

to Katie’s post, not with the mention of a gang tattoo plastered all over the Internet. Miami PD knew
what a Los Corredores tattoo looked like, but there was nothing stopping him from responding to her
in person.

He needed a distraction from the gang life that always sucked him back in no matter how hard he

fought against it, and, unfortunately for Katie Foster, she’d just provided one.

Chuito texted back almost instantly even though it was past four in the morning.
Bad idea. Call me when you’re sober.
Marcos knew his cousin was probably right, but rather than respond, he went back to rereading

Katie’s posts in Missed Connections until the sun came up.

He was wired and felt alive in a way that was more than a little addictive to an adrenaline

junkie like Marcos. The anger over losing his job had evaporated under the waves of lust reading all
those Missed Connections posts had churned up. He kept waiting for the moment when reality would
sink in, and he’d know it was a bad idea to test out Katie’s theory.

Instead he found himself packed and heading north on I-75 by noon.
He never did text Chuito back.

Chapter Five

Garnet County

Katie was worn out.
The Friday before spring break left the kids distracted and high-strung. They were counting

down the minutes until break and really had no use for history.

As she headed to her car, Katie realized she was every bit as ready for spring break as her

students. One of the small perks of being a teacher, and she planned to celebrate with a long bath, a
glass of wine, and a good book. She had a stack of historical romances waiting to be read, and if she
was lucky, the one she chose would be as good with the sex as it was with the historical accuracy and
make her history-geek heart go pitter-pat.

A girl had to dream a little.
“Katie girl.”
Katie groaned and refused to turn around as she walked to her car. Instead she just held up a

hand, giving a backward wave to her ex-husband.

“Wait up.” Grayson came up behind her, his loafers clicking on the asphalt. “You never told me

what you were up to for the break.”

“That was by design.” Katie arched an eyebrow when he stood in front of her, blocking her path

to her car. “Getting divorced means I don’t have to answer to you anymore.”

Grayson bristled at that. His eyes narrowed, making it obvious the long school day had worn on

him as much as her. “Why do you have to be like that when I’m trying to be nice? I was going to buy
you dinner.”

“Grayson!”
Katie looked toward the edge of the parking lot, seeing Ashley, the cheerleading coach leaning

against the fence to the football field and waving Grayson over. Katie didn’t know why, but it seemed
like lately the perky blonde was always underfoot whenever Grayson was doing his daily groveling.

“Why don’t you go buy her dinner,” Katie suggested, unable to taper the hopeful hitch in her

voice. “She’s always after your attention. She giggles at everything you say in the staff meetings, even
when it’s not funny.”

Rather than respond to the suggestion, Grayson glared over at the football field. “Later, Ashley!”
“My car won’t start!”
“Her car won’t start,” Katie repeated, giving Grayson a wide smile. “Go be a hero.”
Grayson grabbed her arm, obviously not amused with her sarcasm. “I am tired of begging, Katie

girl, and I’m tired of this game you’re playing with our lives.”

Katie tugged at her arm, trying to break it out of his grasp. “Let go of me!”
“You know how it looks to this town when someone gets a divorce. They’re still talking about it.

You need to come home now, and we need to get back to living our lives. Together. People look at
me like a loser since we broke up, and I’m over it.”

“Oh, sweep me off my feet, why don’t you?” Katie laughed bitterly. “I don’t care what people in

this town think.”

“I do.”
“I know.” Katie pulled at her arm again. “It’s one of the reasons why I didn’t want to be married

to you anymore. All you ever cared about was what others thought. The perfect house. The perfectly
obedient wife. Someday the perfect children to torment with this delusion.”

“It’s not a delusion,” Grayson snapped at her as he tilted his head toward the football field.

“We’re better than them. We’re smarter. We make better life choices. Hell, I got more in my money
market account than most of the people in this town could ever dream of. I pay more in taxes than they
probably make in a year. I’m going to retire in another two years just off my investments.”

“Everyone talks about everyone. Not just here, but everywhere. It’s human nature.” Katie gave

up trying to pull her arm free and just gave him a look of pity. “Stop worrying about what they think
and just live your life. This obsession with being better is making you miserable. It was making me
miserable too, until I realized I didn’t have to play along if I didn’t want to.”

“You’re not exactly a ten, Katie.” Grayson laughed cruelly, reminding Katie why she left to

begin with. “No one is going to love you for your mind like I do, not in this town. I’m your best
option, and I don’t understand why you did this to us.”

“I think she’s a ten,” a man called from behind them.
Goose bumps danced over Katie’s skin, and she wasn’t sure why until she craned her neck to

look toward the direction of the low, male voice. Her body must have recognized what her mind
hadn’t caught up with, because walking over to them was Marcos Rivera. He was wearing sunglasses
and a baseball hat, but it was undeniably him. She could see the snake on his arm from there.

He looked larger than life in the late-afternoon sun with those impossibly broad shoulders and

large, bunched biceps covered in tribal tattoos. She couldn’t help but notice that every inch of him
seemed wound tight and ready to jump—like a tiger stalking prey. She blinked, understanding for the
first time all those warnings Jules had been leveling at her in regards to Marcos.

This wasn’t the kind, handsome angel from the crash site.
This Marcos looked deadly.
He took off his sunglasses when he stopped in front of them. His light gaze rested on the steely

grasp Grayson still had on her arm. “This is the part where you let her go.”

“Excuse me?” Grayson huffed in that annoying superior voice of his that had always

embarrassed Katie when he used it in public, usually toward someone parking their car or waiting on
them at a restaurant. “This is my wife and—”

“Ex-wife,” Katie corrected before Grayson could finish. She was still staring at Marcos in

shock, unable to believe he was really standing there in front of her. “What are you doing here?”

Marcos broke the dangerous staring contest he was having with Grayson. He let his gaze run

over her hotly for one long moment, making more goose bumps dance over her arms. A small bit of
the tension eased out of his powerful frame, and the look in his beautiful eyes became warm just like
she remembered. “I got your messages.”

“My messa—” Katie cheeks heated when she realized what he was talking about, and her voice

was a squeak of acknowledgment. “Oh.”

There was a quiet moment between them, one charged enough that Katie was actually breathless

to be in his presence again after so long. Strangely enough, she could feel it off Marcos too. That

electric frisson of need so overwhelming it actually showed on his face and translated into something
tangible enough that even someone as romantically challenged as Katie could sense it. As if
remembering they weren’t alone, Marcos cleared his throat and turned back to Grayson, his eyes
narrowed in warning once more.

“Yeah, I’m gonna have to insist you get your hands off her.” He eyed Grayson’s hold on her arm

pointedly. “Now.”

“I don’t know who you think you are—” Grayson started, but he let go of Katie as requested and

took a protective step back from Marcos.

“He’s a friend,” Katie answered, her cheeks still burning in embarrassment and something much

more carnal. “We met through Jules Wellings.”

It wasn’t a complete lie.
“Oh, fantastic,” Grayson spat, because Jules wasn’t exactly his favorite person after getting

Katie a more than fair settlement in the divorce and severely depleting those money market accounts
he was so proud of. “This is just the sort of person she would introduce you to. She’s married into a
family of criminals and—”

“We have to go now.” Katie was so thrilled to see Marcos, even with the craigslist fiasco, that

she grabbed Marcos’s hand before she could think better of it. His palm was just as rough and
calloused as it had been the night of the accident. She looked up at him with a smile. “Late lunch.
Early dinner?”

“Sure.” Marcos grinned back, before his gaze darted to Grayson once more in warning “Later,

cabrón.”

The dismissal was obvious, and it made it clear that Marcos wasn’t used to men arguing with

him. He almost gave the impression that he was doing Grayson a favor by dismissing him.

“You can’t just—” Grayson sputtered in disbelief, his eyes wide as he gave Katie a look.
“Your girlfriend is waiting,” Katie said sarcastically as she pointed over to Ashley, who was

standing by her car now and not so subtly watching the exchange.

“But you barely know this guy and—”
“We’re taking separate cars,” Katie offered before Grayson made a scene with some ridiculous

excuse to protect her, even if his apprehension around Marcos was palpable and more than a little
thrilling. “Bye, Grayson.”

“I’m texting you later,” Grayson warned as he looked at Marcos with distrust.
Katie shrugged with indifference. “If that makes you feel better.”
“I’m over there.” Marcos pointed to his white truck as he pulled her away before any more

could be said. “Follow you?”

“Sounds great.” Katie didn’t want to let him go, so she decided to walk him to his pickup even if

they had an audience.

Katie couldn’t help but pull up short once they were out of earshot. She looked up at Marcos,

knowing the stunned amazement had to be showing on her face as she asked the one question that had
been on the tip of her tongue since he appeared like a mirage in the teachers’ parking lot. “You didn’t
come all the way here just because of those messages—did you?”

“Yeah, I did. Been driving since yesterday afternoon.” Marcos’s voice was distant for such a

stunning revelation. He wasn’t even looking at Katie. His gaze was on Ashley instead. “That

woman’s his girlfriend?”

Katie couldn’t help but stiffen a little. She knew she wasn’t anywhere near as pretty as Ashley,

but—

“That car’s had a new paint job. That’s not a factory color.” Marcos turned back to her. “What

color was it before? Do you remember?”

“Ashley’s car?” Katie was so confused, but she glanced over to see Grayson open the hood to

the red compact vehicle. “I don’t know. I try to pay as little attention as possible when it comes to
her.”

“Maybe that’s a mistake,” Marcos said in warning as he looked back to Grayson and Ashley.

She would have been insulted if his distrust for both of them wasn’t noticeable. “I have a weird
memory when it comes to cars. That one looks very familiar.”

He turned to her and arched an eyebrow, as if expecting Katie to understand.
“Did you really drive all the way up here because of a few notes on craigslist?” Katie asked,

because she could care less about Ashley or the car she drove. “Chuito told you what I said in Jules’s
office, and you read them and just decided to come up. That can’t be true.”

Something on her face must have had Marcos forgetting Ashley’s car too as he gave her a

thoughtful look and asked, “You’ve never seen the ocean? Really?”

Katie’s cheeks were hot again as she remembered what note that little tidbit was revealed in.

“Never,” she confirmed rather than give in to the shyness.

“Early lunch. Late dinner,” he repeated her words from earlier as his gaze ran over her in

another hot sweep that left her feeling warm and tingly in a way she’d never experienced before.
“We’ll eat and talk.”

Chapter Six

Marcos rubbed at his arm, feeling his Los Corredores tattoo like a brand as he looked at Katie

across the booth in Hal’s Diner.

He knew this was a mistake.
He’d known it since he pulled into the Garnet High School parking lot and spent forty-five

minutes searching for Katie’s long honey-brown curls in the dying afternoon sun. He watched the sea
of high schoolers spill out of the large brick building and studied their young, hopeful faces pensively
because they were so very different from the teenagers he knew. These were kids with a whole
lifetime of opportunity in front of them, and Katie was part of the reason for that.

She made the world a little brighter just by being in it. She helped shape young minds and got

them ready to face the world. What the fuck was Marcos doing with his life? He’d dropped out of
high school after his mother died, and that was the nicest part of that particular story. What he did
after he left school would give most people nightmares for the rest of their lives, and he didn’t even
have the decency to feel bad about it.

For a lot of years, he’d wondered if he had a conscience at all, or just an ingrained code of

conduct that taught him to obey a different set of laws than most people followed.

Now he could thank Katie for finally proving that he did have a conscience. He wasn’t supposed

to be here making her eyes glow like they had since that moment at the school when her asshole of an
ex-husband forced Marcos to step in after he’d already decided Katie didn’t deserve his kind of
trouble. He had just made the decision to leave, head over to Chuito’s for the night, and then go back
to Miami to start stripping the cars in the warehouse and work on forgetting the idea of two negatives
making something positive. There were no pretty, sweet gringas in his future. Women like Katie
weren’t meant for guys like him, yet here they were, because the second he’d seen her ex-husband
grab her, he couldn’t help but go to her. He was still congratulating himself for not killing the uptight
prick.

He wanted to tell her to turn and run the other way. Instead he was glancing at the menu, berating

himself, and willing some sort of strength to keep this friendly rather than give in to the throb in his
cock that hadn’t subsided since they sat down.

“You’re really quiet.” Katie’s cheeks were pink, and she bit her lip nervously before she asked

in a hushed voice, “Are you okay?”

No, he was anything but okay, but he was saved from having to explain when the waitress

walked over, pad in hand.

“Can I get y’all something to drink?”
“Hey, Melody. I can’t believe you came back to work,” Katie said to the waitress. “How old is

that baby now?”

“A little over three months.” The waitress smiled at Katie. “I’m just filling in. I’m so busy with

the shelter. I really don’t have time to work for Hal anymore, but I help out if he needs me.”

“That’s nice of you. I’ll just have water.” Katie glanced to her menu. “Meatloaf still the special

for Friday?”

Melody nodded. “Sure is.”
“I’ll have that.” Katie handed Melody the menu before she looked to Marcos. “What about you?”

“Um.” He frowned at the menu again with his thoughts so scattered it made something as simple

as ordering difficult. “I guess I’ll have the same. Water. Meatloaf. That works.”

“Okay.” The waitress took his menu from him. “Mashed potatoes good for ya?”
“They’re excellent,” Katie assured him, and Marcos nodded in agreement.
He saw the waitress, Melody, give Katie a look and a smile before she left. That had Marcos

looking around the diner, and he noticed the waitress wasn’t the only one who took an interest in the
two of them sitting in the corner booth. He felt self-conscious and could just imagine what they were
saying about him.

He didn’t exactly blend in this town.
How the hell did Chuito deal with it?
“I guess we should’ve gone somewhere else,” Marcos mumbled when they were alone again. He

unrolled his napkin and worked on setting out his silverware as he avoided Katie’s eyes. “They’ll
probably be talking about you now.”

“Probably,” Katie agreed, though her voice was warm and excited in a way he didn’t expect. He

looked up at her to see her smile was wide and pleased. “Girls like me usually don’t go on dates with
fighters. Not that this is officially a date, but—”

“Chica.” He groaned and rubbed a hand over his eyes as the lust and guilt collided violently

enough to have a headache forming. Knowing she was so fucking pleased to be here with him wasn’t
making any of this easier. “I’m the last guy you should want to be on a date with.”

“What does chica mean?”
He lifted his head, giving her a bemused look he couldn’t hide. It occurred to him that, with a

few small exceptions like the past few trips to Garnet, he hadn’t ventured out of his turf. When he was
ten, he’d moved from Puerto Rico to Miami, where Spanish was still the preferred language, at least
in the areas he hung out in. Hell, even the gringos knew what chica meant in Florida.

“It means, uh—” He thought for a moment. “Girl, I guess.”
“You guess?”
He gave her a smile he couldn’t hide, because there was something about her that was so

incredibly endearing as she tucked strands of curls behind her ears and looked at him with open
curiosity.

“It can be an endearment.” He shrugged. “Like baby or something. It’s not rude.”
“Oh.”
Katie’s grin was pleased. She blushed once more, and it had his mind sinking back into that

dangerous territory as he wondered if that pale skin of hers flushed pink like that all over. He
imagined her rosy and sweaty, breathless as he touched and licked her until she came over and over
again.

That had always been his thing.
Watching a hot girl come was his drug of choice. That was the reason his mother had to change

their phone number so many times when he’d been in school. He’d discovered too young the high he
got from getting a girl off. When other guys his age were sinking into drugs or alcohol, he was
sneaking into girls’ bedrooms and going down on them.

He hadn’t had many girlfriends. He wasn’t boyfriend material. He never had been, but he was a

good time, and all the women in his neighborhood knew it. He was “different,” as Mia not so casually

put it.

Jesus, he wanted to taste Katie. To feel her fingers in his hair and her thighs shaking as he sucked

on her clit and then fucked her pussy with his tongue. Just once, so he knew her flavor. So he could
remember what she sounded like. He’d probably be in a prison cell again one of these days again
soon. His father was still in prison in Miami and wouldn’t be seeing daylight for another ten years.
That was a lot of fucking years, and Marcos would need something to sustain him. None of the other
girls had given him that. They’d always just left him looking for something new.

But with Katie, he suspected she’d be different. She was so sweet. So fucking innocent.

Everything about her was soft in a way that drove him crazy. He’d never met a girl like her before,
and sitting across from her knowing he wasn’t supposed to touch her was driving him crazy. He had
to look back to the table to keep himself from eyeing her, because the white blouse she was wearing
was a V-neck that dipped down just slightly, showing off the curve of nice, full tits.

He also couldn’t help but remember the way her very studious khaki pants clung to her ass in the

best way possible. How that prick in the parking lot had gotten to tap an ass like that was completely
beyond Marcos. This woman could get any guy she wanted, but for some reason, she was oblivious to
it.

“You know he’s full of shit, right?” Marcos asked as he went back to straightening his

silverware rather than look at her.

“Who’s full of shit?” Katie sounded mystified, and Marcos didn’t blame her. He knew he’d been

cryptic since he’d gotten there.

“Your ex. That crap about you not being a ten.” He practically growled the words, and he

glanced up at her again, seeing the way those large honey eyes widened in surprise as if she couldn’t
believe he’d have a different opinion. “That’s bullshit. Where I come from, you’d have guys crawling
all over you.”

Katie laughed. “I doubt that.”
“Don’t doubt it.” His gaze slid downward once more, unable to stop himself from indulging in a

quick glance at the curve of her tits. “Never come to Miami. I’ll definitely go to jail.”

“For what?” she asked with amusement.
“Murder, probably. They’d be all over you, and I’d have to kill them. Without finesse.”
He cleared his throat and looked away again, feeling exposed and wondering what it was about

this woman that had left him vulnerable since the moment he ran into her. The whole reason he’d
gotten the job at Sebastian’s to begin with was because of her. He thought it was the guilt of the
accident, but now he realized it might be something entirely different. A part of him had wanted to be
good enough for a woman like this. She’d worried about him that night, even while injured, and it
stayed with him.

He reached across the booth before he could stop himself and grabbed her left hand to pull it

toward him. He could see the scars, still pink against the otherwise pale flesh of her forearm. He
reached over with his other hand and touched the scars thoughtfully.

“This is why you shouldn’t be here with me, chica,” he told her as he ran a thumb over the

largest scar, watching as the fine hairs on her arm stood on end. “You can see right here I’m bad for
you.”

“You gave me something that night, but it wasn’t these scars.” Katie didn’t pull free; instead, she

let him touch her, to feel for himself the damage he’d done to something so beautiful. “I’m stronger

than I was before the accident. You gave me that. You taught me to be like you.”

He grunted in disbelief as he continued to run his fingers over the injuries, wondering about the

pain she went through in recovery and knowing he’d caused it. If only he’d turned the wheel the other
way. They would’ve driven right by each other, and neither of them would bear the scars of that night.
He wouldn’t have spent the past four months fighting to be something the world didn’t want him to be,
and those wounds were likely just as painful as hers.

“I, um—” He brushed the scar on her wrist reverently with his thumb, caressing it instead of just

touching it. “The first memories I have are of working on cars with my dad. I’ve always had a passion
for cars, all cars, but I’ve spent most of my life hacking them up. Cutting into perfectly good vehicles
for the parts until they’re nothing but empty frames.”

“Okay,” Katie said slowly, not sounding nearly as judgmental as she should. “I don’t think I

understand what you’re trying to say.”

“It’s like a curse.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles because he couldn’t

resist. “Hurting the things that are most beautiful to me. It keeps happening to me over and over again.
I don’t know why, but it does. I loved my mother so much, and she died.”

Katie shook her head. “My mother died too. That’s not—”
“She was killed in a drive-by.” Marcos cut her off before she could finish. “The whole front of

the house was full of bullets.”

“That couldn’t be your fault,” Katie whispered, her voice strained with pain, and when he

looked at her, he could see the agony in her gaze. “I’m so sorry.”

“They killed my cousin too. He was only thirteen.” Marcos flinched over the memory,

remembering the screams that night, the way Juan had died in Chuito’s arms. The wide, set gaze of his
mother staring at the ceiling in shock. He shook his head. “Those bullets were supposed to be for me.
They killed Juan and my mother instead.”

Tears rolled down Katie’s cheeks, as if she felt the pain as deeply as he did. “Marcos—”
“I couldn’t respond to your messages because the tattoo”—he lifted up his arm, showing it to her

and musing to himself that he was branded even more horrifically than she was—“it’s a gang tattoo.
The heat’s probably watching. We’re a known gang in Miami, and they’ve been coming down hard on
us for the past few years. I’m sure they sent a subpoena to craigslist.”

“You’re not still in the gang?” She gasped. “Are you?”
“You don’t get out of a gang,” he corrected her. “Until they bury you.”
She was silent, her eyes wide. He thought she might get up and leave, and really, that would be

best. It’d be so much easier that way, and it’d save him from doing what he knew he had to do if he
was going to obey his newfound conscience.

Except Katie didn’t say anything. She just sat there, like a deer in the headlights, making him feel

like a Mack truck, and he hated it.

“I want to be the guy who shows you the ocean. I do,” he admitted, because why the hell not. He

was spilling his guts at this diner anyway, and he really hoped no one could hear him, because he
hadn’t said this shit out loud to anyone. Ever. “But I’m not, chica. I’m sorry. For both of us.”

It felt sort of like cutting off his own arm, and he didn’t even know why. He barely knew this

chick. She was hot, sure, smoking actually, but he didn’t really have a hard time picking up beautiful
women. So why this one, with her wide, deer-in-the-headlight gaze and absolutely zero understanding

of his life and his reality?

That seemed about as unfair as everything else.
When she finally broke her silence, her voice was a squeak of misery that he understood all too

well. “Then why come all the way up here?”

He jerked, not expecting that. “I told you, the heat’s probably—”
“You could’ve given the message to your cousin.” Her voice grew stronger, more reasonable,

making him envision her standing at the front of the class teaching. “How long of a drive is it?”

He shrugged. “I dunno, fourteen hours without stopping, but—”
“Did you stop?”
“No, but—”
“You drove fourteen hours without stopping to sit here and tell me it’s impossible?” Katie

arched a dubious eyebrow at him.

“Yes.” Even to Marcos’s ears, it sounded like bullshit.
“Liar.” She called him on it. “What if two negatives—”
“One negative.” He gestured to himself and then looked at her. “Just one, and what happens

when you mix a positive and a negative, Katie?” He hoped she knew the answer, because his ass
dropped out of high school, and he wasn’t real sure. He was tempted to Google it on his phone. A
part of him was hoping for a different answer than the one he suspected was correct. “What does it
equal? Tell me.”

“A n-negative,” she whispered miserably. “A negative and positive equal a negative.”
He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He took out the last of his cash and

tossed it on the table. “I have to go now.”

“It’s just a stupid math analogy,” Katie said, her voice shaking as her eyes welled up like they

had the night of the accident. “I hate math. I don’t even know why we’re using it. Let’s use history
instead and—”

He stood up and gave her a long look. “I drove fourteen hours to tell you that you’re beautiful,

chica. That’s it.”

She surged forward, grabbing his hand before he could walk off. “I don’t want you to go. I still

have your jacket and—”

“Keep the jacket.” He let her hold on, because a part of him wanted her to win. “You know all

those things going around in your mind. The stuff you know gangs do, but you’re telling yourself I’m
different. That I never did those things. You’re wrong. I’ve done them.”

Katie shook her head in disbelief. “I don’t care if you’ve stolen a few cars.”
“We’re not talking about cars.”
“Drugs?”
“No,” he said and then shrugged. “Well, yeah, but no. Ask me what you really want to know.”
She swallowed hard, as if considering, and then looked him in the eye and actually did it. She

asked, “What happened to the men who killed your mother?”

“They’re dead now.” He couldn’t even taper the pride he felt when he said it. “And I don’t feel

bad about it. Not even a little.”

Katie released him, her hand dropping back to her side.

She let him go.
“I’m sorry you lost your mother,” she whispered and then looked away rather than meet his eyes.

“And your cousin.”

“I’m sorry too.” He sighed, meaning it, because that horrible night had stolen something else

from him. Something he wouldn’t have been able to fathom back then— wanting a pretty gringa from
Garnet County to look at him as a positive instead of negative. “You have no idea how much.”

He turned to leave before she had to say anything else.

Chapter Seven

Katie ended up in the bath, as she had originally planned. Glass of wine in hand, she was

reading, but it wasn’t a romance novel. She lay there with her phone, using the information she had to
form a clear picture of the life Marcos had described.

One that didn’t match her vision of the man from the accident at all.
He thought she was sheltered and naive.
As she read, she realized he was probably right.
It wasn’t that hard to find the information. By typing in the description of the tattoo, Miami, and,

on a whim, the fact that they were Puerto Rican, the name Los Corredores popped up almost instantly.
They even had their own Wikipedia page, filled with all sorts of nasty facts like:

A particularly territorial and dangerous Miami gang. They are one of the largest and

deadliest gangs in south Dade County. Known members of Los Corredores have been arrested for
a wide range of criminal activities, including narcotics trafficking, shootings, homicides, assaults,
and auto theft.

There was even a picture of a tattoo like the one on Marcos’s arm.
And Chuito’s.
How stupid was she to think that it was some sort of cousin-bonding thing. She had imagined that

they had gotten them together.

Perhaps they had.
This picture on the Internet had only two ink drops filled in red on the back of the snake’s back,

which she realized now weren’t supposed to be ink drops. They are blood. The Internet was filled
with grim facts that made Los Corredores look like a very scary gang indeed.

She had a hard time equating the information with the Marcos she knew, with those beautiful,

soulful light eyes that had set her on fire as he looked at her across that booth today. She just couldn’t
believe the picture these articles were painting of him. She couldn’t even put Chuito in that role, and
she and Chuito weren’t exactly the best of friends.

It made her realize, as a history teacher, how very different the reality was from the facts on

paper, but she couldn’t stop reading, searching through the different resources, though most were
police related.

One article was a study on Los Corredores’s success as an exclusively Puerto Rican gang, when

Miami had a much larger Cuban population. Most of Los Corredores’s rivalry was with Cuban gangs.
According to the article, they’d managed to establish a strong foothold over the past decade in Dade
County through swift, deadly action whenever their territory was threatened.

Katie wondered if by threatened, the article meant shooting up a house with women and

children in it. None of these articles and posts had the whole stories in them. Not even close.

She was certain of it.
And she was regretting letting Marcos go so easily, which she knew made her absolutely insane.

He’d all but admitted to murder, but going after his mother’s murderers was sort of like self-defense,
wasn’t it?

Katie wanted it to be. Desperately. She needed another excuse to see him and touch the magic

that she felt in his presence before he left.

She closed her eyes and dropped her phone to the mat by the tub and sucked in a shaky breath,

because there was no amount of denial that was going to let her believe the lie for long.

The murders he’d confessed to weren’t self-defense at all.
They were revenge.
Which led her to wonder why, of all the people in the world, did Marcos admit it to her. She got

the impression he didn’t trust easily. If he was anything like his cousin Chuito, he likely didn’t trust at
all, but he had just spilled his guts out to her at Hal’s Diner today like they were the oldest of
confidants.

Which meant she wasn’t the only one who felt this connection. With her eyes still closed, she

remembered the way Marcos had looked at her, like she was the most beautiful, tantalizing woman in
the world. It was so bizarre for Katie, who never considered herself anything more than plain at best.

She’d gone through high school with her nose in a book.
Grayson was the first man she had ever kissed, and that wasn’t until her junior year of high

school. He’d always made it very clear that her mind was what appealed to him, and sex with him
had been like everything else in their relationship. Neat, scheduled, and to the point. Tuesday and
Saturday nights were usually slotted for evening intimacy, well spaced during the week and usually
finished before the local news at ten.

For some reason, Katie didn’t think sex with Marcos would be on a towel spread out under her

to protect the Egyptian cotton sheets, quick and efficient to ensure they heard the full weather report
before bed.

For just a moment, she allowed herself the luxury of fantasizing about something other than

ordinary and boring. As sad as it was, for years even her fantasies had been bland because she had no
point of reference to extend them. The romance novels, even the really steamy ones, were so far
outside her reality, she could never put herself in the spot of those beautiful heroines, with their
gravity-defying tits and tiny waists.

Now, for just a moment, fueled by those hot looks from Marcos before he had left, she was able

to believe that one man in this world actually thought she was valuable for something beyond her
mind. As she sat there, she realized that though she knew Marcos was probably as dangerous for
Katie’s nice, neat little world as he claimed, she also knew she was utterly sick of nice and neat.

She wanted something a little edgier. A little risky. She wanted tattoos instead of a briefcase.

She wanted someone to like her tits instead of her degree.

She got out of the tub and craned her head to look in the mirror as she stood there dripping. She

found what she expected—an ass that had always been a little too big and hips that could afford to
lose a few pounds too. Her tits were nice, even she knew that, but they still had those little white lines
on the side, and they were too full to ever defy gravity.

Even with the flaws, for the first time in her life, she believed a man could think she was

beautiful just as she was. She saw it today in the diner. She felt it in his touch, and maybe she’d
known it all along. Maybe there was such a thing as soul mates. Her brother worked at the only car
dealership in Garnet County, and he always said there was an ass for every seat.

Well, maybe there was an ass for every man too.
And she got the distinct impression the man her particular brand of ass was made for might not

be the safest bet, but he just might have the biggest payout for Katie even if no one else in the world
understood it but her and Marcos.

He was dangerous. She knew that now for a fact. He’d flat-out admitted it, but she knew he

wouldn’t hurt her, had absolute confidence in it after he’d faced down a DUI rather than leave her
alone. That was no small sacrifice, especially considering his past. If he could take that sort of risk
for her, then she could do the same for him.

Six months ago, she wouldn’t have believed she would be confident enough to seek out sex from

any man, let alone a handsome, MMA fighter who could have any girl he wanted, but the accident
changed her. Marcos changed me. She liked who she was because of him too much to let him go
without a fight.

She picked her phone up off the floor and logged into craigslist.
Still buck naked, she went ahead and posted one more message.

* * * *

Marcos sat at the small table in Chuito’s kitchen, looking at the water bottle in his hand and

trying to ignore the feeling of loss that sat heavy in the center of his chest. “I’ll just head back in the
morning.”

“Hey, man, you don’t have to take off so fast.” Chuito turned from washing up the dishes they’d

used for dinner. “You’re here now. Stay for a week. You’re off probation, and it’s not like you got a
job to go back to.”

Marcos wanted to stay.
Chuito was the only cousin he had left, but he shook his head in denial. He couldn’t tell him that

if he stayed, he’d give in to the temptation of Katie Foster and do something even Marcos would have
the good graces to feel bad about. He wasn’t going to give Katie another reason to hurt. He’d done
that enough already, but instead of explaining all that, he just said, “Nah, I already texted Angel after I
left that diner today. He’s got lots of shit to keep me busy.”

“Marc—”
Marcos lifted his head and glared at his cousin, almost daring him to try for a lecture. They both

knew Marcos got dealt the shitty hand. He’d been in prison the night Clay Powers had scouted out the
underground MMA scene in Miami and decided Chuito had potential to be a professional. It could
have just as easily been Marcos, but instead he’d taken the fall for all Los Corredores, including
Chuito, who’d stolen most of the cars Marcos ended up serving time for.

“Don’t let Angel talk you into living there. The more you’re obligated to him, the harder it is for

you to get out, and he knows that,” Chuito said after a few tense moments. “And the heat does most of
their raids at night. If you’re sleeping there, then—”

“I’m keeping my place,” Marcos assured him. “He’s not going to own me.”
Chuito put a glass into the strainer by the sink and sighed. “You know I have money I can give

you.”

“No, send it to Tía Sofia. She needs it more than me.”
“My mother does all right,” Chuito promised him. “I just bought her another car. I have it to

spare, Marc, and I’d rather you take it than—”

“The car was pretty badass. Lexus LS430. Very nice. I forgot to tell you how much I liked it.”

Marcos gave his cousin a genuine smile because he was happy for him. “You should see your mother

in it. It’s nice seeing her happy. She’s proud of you.”

“I appreciate you spending so much time with her,” Chuito whispered, sounding torn and

miserable. “I wish she’d moved here, but—”

Marcos laughed. “Yeah, right.”
Chuito turned off the sink. “I keep hoping that maybe—”
“We don’t even know how you live here. Tía Sofia. Forget about it. She’d hate it here.”
“This place is all right.” Chuito walked into the living room, pulling his shirt off as he went, and

Marcos got up and followed him. “It grows on you after a few years.”

“You stick out, bro. Big-time.” Marcos flopped down on his cousin’s bed and looked at the

ceiling. “I’m surprised there aren’t more car alarms and video surveillance. You’d think they’d all
have them installed when your Boricua ass showed up.”

“Speak Spanish,” Chuito said in Spanish and then touched the wall next to his bed. “The walls

are paper-thin. Jules had the apartments made after she bought the place, but it wasn’t designed that
way. She can hear everything.”

Marcos looked at the wall, thinking of the pretty redhead, Alaine, who lived next door to Chuito.

He knew his cousin had a thing for her. It was the only possible reason Chuito was still living over
Jules Wellings’s office rather than getting a bigger place. He was a UFC champion, for fuck’s sake,
but he lived like the same struggling amateur he’d been when he moved to Garnet five years ago.

“She hears everything?” Marcos asked in Spanish, raising his eyebrows as he grinned at his

cousin. “Makes it hard to bring women over.”

“I don’t bring women over.” Chuito tossed his shirt into the hamper and then rubbed at the back

of his neck. “I’m going to take a shower. Unless you want to go work out at the Cellar.”

“Fuck the Cellar,” Marcos said bitterly. “I can work out at home.”
“Maybe if you stayed, showed them what you could do, start training with me and Tino, they’d

reconsider giving you the fighting spot. You know Tino is Jules’s brother-in-law. They do listen to
him and—”

“No.” Marcos closed his eyes and rolled on his side on Chuito’s bed, trying to block the image

of Katie’s wide-eyed look of horror when she realized Marcos had actually killed some of the
assholes responsible for Juan’s and his mother’s deaths. “I need to get the fuck out of this town.”

“What happened at Hal’s today?” Chuito asked in concern.
“I gave her a reality check.”
“Probably for the best,” Chuito said rather than argue. He looked at the wall as if sensing Alaine

on the other side. “Girls like them—”

“Yeah,” Marcos agreed before he could finish, and asked something that had been nagging at him

for the past few years. “Are you fucking her?”

“Her?” Chuito gestured to the wall in surprise. When Marcos gave him a look, Chuito snorted.

“Her dad’s the preacher at that big Baptist church on the edge of the town. Fucking Alaine is not an
option. Trust me. I shouldn’t even talk to her.”

“But you do? Talk to her, I mean.”
“Yeah.” Chuito shrugged and sat on the bed, still looking at the wall, the longing palpable. “It’s

strange. She doesn’t see the bad side of anything, even when it’s looking her in the face. She’s like,

too good, you know? Sometimes, being around her, I start to forget the bullshit.”

“She makes you forget where you came from, you mean?”
Marcos wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing, but he was starting to understand.

Sitting with Katie today, it made him want to believe in the possibility of a different life. An
impossible one.

Chuito turned back to him, considering it for a second before he nodded. “Yeah, pretty much.

Then I find out Angel’s bringing half of Los Corredores to the next fight. Talk about a fucking reality
check. I don’t need the Cellar anymore. I got gyms all over Miami offering to sponsor me. My mother
won’t move here. You know we’re never on the same page. She has you, but to be away for so long
after she already lost Aunt Camila and Juan—” Chuito’s voice cracked on his brother’s name, and he
shook his head. “I know I need to move my camp back home, but I just—”

“Stay here,” Marcos told him with certainty. “Your mother wants you to stay here. I do too. One

of us needs to get out and stay out. Our family fucking deserves that much, and you know if you come
back—”

“I know.” Chuito looked at the wall again. “It’s just… It was easier when Alaine was nineteen

and so totally fucking naive she didn’t even understand what the danger was when it came to this”—
Chuito gestured back and forth between himself and the wall—“but it’s not so easy now. It’s been
really fucking difficult for a while. I’m starting to think moving back home is worth it. I can’t keep
doing this.”

“What’s not so easy?”
Chuito’s look was haunted when he turned back to him. Then he got up and walked to the door

rather than answer. “I’m taking a shower.”

* * * *

For once, Marcos was in bed before midnight.
He lay on the couch in Chuito’s living room, trying to let sleep claim him. He’d had almost no

rest since leaving Miami, and he should be dead to the world. Instead he was staring at the ceiling,
listening to the rain outside, and trying to will away the storm of thoughts that were plaguing him.
Some of it was typical, like the conflicting emotions being around Chuito always caused. He’d
missed his cousin. They’d once been closer than brothers, best friends, but they had been through too
much together. All his darkest memories had Chuito in them. They had the same blood on their hands
and the same stains on their souls. He, more than anyone, understood why Chuito stayed in this
backward, redneck town. To hide from it all. To pretend, if even for a moment, that all that terrible
shit hadn’t happened.

Marcos wanted to hide too.
Preferably in the soft spot between Katie Foster’s lush tits.
When he thought about it, Marcos realized he had never been with a gringa before, and he found

himself fantasizing about her, imagining a soft, pink pussy. He guessed that she would smell sweet,
like the scent of strawberry bodywash he caught off her today. She would probably taste even
sweeter. His mouth actually watered, and he had to reach down and adjust himself as he got fully hard
thinking about it.

Against his better judgment, he pulled out his phone and went to craigslist, looking for Katie’s

old messages and hoping Chuito was actually asleep for the night. His cousin seemed worn out too, as

if he fought the same demons whenever Marcos visited.

With luck, Chuito was passed out, because those messages were better than porn at getting

Marcos off, and he was having a very hard time letting go of the dream after driving all this way just
to touch her. Sleep wasn’t exactly forthcoming. He might have to help things along.

He was just planning to read all the old messages he’d read a dozen times before, except they

weren’t all old. There was one that was new, glaring at him from the top of the list before he even had
a chance to search.

Man with unusual snake tattoo who “ran” into me on New Year’s Eve in Garnet—w4m

I’m tired of playing it safe. The slow lane has left me with nothing but regrets, and I know it’s

been even harder for you as you speed through life on the other side. Maybe it was never about
positive or negatives. Maybe it’s about meeting somewhere in the middle instead.

I want us to collide once more, this time on our terms, and I believe you want that too.
I’ll leave the light on.

Marcos stared at the post as his pulse thundered in his ears, and his cock strained against the

waistband of his underwear to the point of pain. He couldn’t even form a coherent thought past the
single offer of leaving the light on. The need throbbed through his entire body, making all his muscles
tight in a raw sexual desperation he had never experienced before. Usually, he simply took what was
offered, and there had been plenty.

He’d never come across forbidden fruit like Katie Foster before.
Never denied himself.
And it was made all the more difficult knowing she was willing if he could just get over that

pesky little voice of a conscience that had chosen a really bad time to make an appearance in his life.

He looked at the time on his phone.
11:48 p.m.
And then he went back, read the message again, and noted that she’d posted it over three hours

earlier. He was just wondering how late the light was actually going to stay on when a shout broke the
darkened silence in the apartment. It was so full of fury and violence that Marcos sat up instinctively,
reaching for the gun he usually slept with under his pillow.

This time it was still in the truck.
“That’s for Juan, you worthless piece of shit! I hope you rot in hell, you motherfucker!”
Marcos looked to the open door to Chuito’s bedroom, feeling a shudder of something cold and

unpleasant roll down his spine when he realized it was more than a dream Chuito was acting out.

It was a memory.

* * * *

The guy had been dead for at least ten minutes, but that didn’t stop Chuito from kicking in the

head of the prone and lifeless body of a rival gang member. One of six who’d fired the bullets into the
house where Marcos and his mother had lived with Aunt Sofia, Chuito, and Juan. Maybe the dead

asshole now sprawled out on the ground was the one who’d fired the bullet that killed Marcos’s
mother. Or his cousin Juan, so smart and full of optimism, very different from Chuito and Marcos at
that age. They’d already been cutting school and stealing cars by thirteen, but Juan got straight A’s
instead. They all thought he would be the one to go to college. He wanted to be a physician, and
Marcos had joked that it would be very convenient to have one in the family. A doctor wouldn’t call
the cops on them for every damn injury. Now Juan was dead, and this fucker could have been the one
to do it. That was the only thought Marcos had as he watched Chuito stomp on his face until it was no
longer recognizable as human.

Marcos wasn’t even affected by the gore. He just stood there, keeping an eye on the end of the

alley, with his finger on the trigger of his GLOCK. His gaze was completely dispassionate every time
he glanced back to see teeth and blood spattered over the pavement.

“Oye, Diego!”
Marcos stiffened, stepping past the edge of the alley to look down the road to the club. He

recognized the other members of Diego’s gang, now searching for their missing brother. There were
four of them. Usually that would be bad odds, but Marcos was fearless, and he knew Chuito was too.

What was the worst that could happen? Death? What did it matter? Neither of them wanted to

live with the guilt of knowing those bullets that had killed Juan and Marcos’s mother were meant for
them instead.

“I recognize one,” Marcos told Chuito.
Just like he had recognized the guy Chuito beat to death in this alley, because Marcos had dashed

out of the house that night as the bullets riddled the house. GLOCK in hand, he’d gone after the two
cars on foot, running until he couldn’t see them anymore as they sped off in the distance. Marcos
always had a weird memory when it came to cars. All the little details stayed with him. The faces in
the windows. The license plates. Maybe it was just everything about that night in particular that was
burned into his brain. Whatever the reason, it had made it very easy to hunt down the fuckers who’d
destroyed his family.

Too easy.
“Guy in the red shirt.” Marcos made eye contact with his cousin, who had stepped away from the

body. Seeing that Chuito was going to concede the next one to him, Marcos tucked his gun into the
back of his jeans, because they’d decided to kill each of those fuckers responsible with their bare
hands. “You can take out the others, but leave him for me.”

* * * *

Marcos was jerked out of the memory when the front door to the apartment opened. Again his

hand acted almost of its own accord, reaching for a gun that wasn’t there. A blessing, he realized, as
he caught sight of the long strawberry-blonde hair of Chuito’s neighbor.

Alaine.
She walked in like she owned the place, wearing only a thin white nightgown that was

conservative but sheer in the dim light. It left little to the imagination, but this wasn’t Marcos’s kind
of girl. Alaine lacked the real curves of a woman, but Chuito had always been strange like that. He’d
liked the skinny ones back home too, no ass, but he never cared.

Maybe that was why he fit in so well here in gringo land.
“Toma tu tiempo , Marc.” Chuito’s voice from the bedroom was colder now, more dangerous

and calculating. “Haz que el cabrón sufra.”

Marcos flushed, and he looked to the gringa, who hadn’t noticed him. She walked to the

bedroom fearlessly, and Marcos realized now why she wasn’t running the other way. She couldn’t
understand Chuito. He’d been speaking Spanish the whole time. She didn’t hear him, with harsh,
unfeeling determination, tell Marcos to make sure to drag out the pain of death rather than just kill the
guy.

“Chica,” he called out, because he wouldn’t want to go into that room when Chuito was having

those sort of nightmares. “Hey.”

Alaine didn’t hear him. She just slipped past Chuito’s bedroom door and closed it behind her

like she was in a dream too. As if she had done it a thousand times before and didn’t bother to notice
the tattooed ex-con sprawled out on Chuito’s couch in his underwear because he wasn’t part of the
routine.

He looked to the closed door cautiously, his body tense. He was half expecting to have to go in

there and save her from Chuito, who Marcos knew from experience could lash out when he was
having a nightmare. He’d shared a room with him for most of their childhood and gotten nailed more
than once, because the drive-by wasn’t the only terrible shit that had happened to cause nightmares.

After a few breathless minutes, Marcos started to hear whispers. He couldn’t make out the actual

words, but he could hear the tone. Soft, endearing, Chuito’s low voice mingling with Alaine’s gentle
one.

What the fuck?
Marcos knew his cousin wouldn’t lie. They’d depended on each other too much over the years to

lie. Honesty was ingrained and bone-deep. If Chuito said he wasn’t fucking Alaine, then it was true,
but what was happening here? A hot preacher’s daughter slipping into his room every night in see-
through nightgowns, and Chuito wasn’t doing her.

Had he really been fighting this same battle between conscience and cock over that skinny gringa

who just walked into his room like she belonged there? For five years?

No wonder he was talking about moving back to Miami.
That sounded like hell to Marcos, but then he’d never been quite as disciplined as Chuito when

it came to things like that. If there was a beautiful woman leaving the light on, chances were, Marcos
was going to take her up on it.

Especially one he wanted with every fiber of his being.
Just once.
A single taste to make it easier when he ended up back at the warehouse in the next few days. To

last him when he ended up in prison eventually.

Or dead.
He didn’t want regrets, but he didn’t want to hurt Katie for a taste of the other side either. He

was searching for a compromise. This conscience thing was new. He hadn’t tested the boundaries yet.
He wasn’t even sure where it was supposed to lead. He had been proud of himself for walking out of
the diner today, even if he was hard and miserable and filled with the never ending what-ifs because
he’d never had a connection like that before. He got the impression he might never again. It felt rare.
Like something few got the chance to touch, but he’d left Katie sitting there because he’d realized the
risk to her wasn’t worth it.

Now he was questioning all those good intentions.
Marcos had never done well with rules. If something tried to harness him, he almost immediately

started pulling at the leash, fighting and snarling like a pit bull who’d been damaged by life.

He looked at his phone, noting the time and remembering he still had the police report from the

accident in his glove compartment.

With her home address on it.
His mind was screaming at him, reminding Marcos of every sin he’d ever committed and

comparing it to Katie’s nice, orderly life spent molding the minds of eager young people, helping
them reach their highest potential.

Kids like Juan had been.
Marcos needed to keep his Boricua ass on that couch. Even if it meant Katie’s life was never

anything more than safe and boring. Lord knew, boring was better than the alternative. The fast lane
was cruel to everyone eventually.

Marcos, more than anyone, knew it.
But he got up and pulled on his jeans anyway.

Chapter Eight

Katie couldn’t get into the romance novel. She was high-strung and antsy. Lightning crashed

outside, and she jumped as the storm raged and the rain tapped against the windows. She should curl
up and go to sleep, but she couldn’t relax. She’d checked craigslist on her phone at least a hundred
times tonight, even knowing Marcos would never reply that way.

He had driven from Florida to avoid it the first time.
And it was very hard not to be flattered over that fact.
Katie wasn’t one of those women like Ashley who got lots of male attention. She’d always been

kind of invisible to them. Not bullied. Just completely unnoticed. Not fat, but certainly not thin.
Brown eyes. Brown hair. Unbelievably pale, even at the height of summer. She didn’t have a big
personality or an overly sweet nature. She didn’t cook very well, nor did she have a high-powered
job.

Her feminine market value was low.
She didn’t scream good wife material any more than she screamed sex goddess. It was probably

the reason she’d jumped on Grayson the second he showed interest in her wits, if nothing else.

It was also the reason things soured so quickly, because Katie wasn’t a doormat either. She

wasn’t able to just put up with the bullshit to keep a man. Since her divorce, she’d grown used to the
idea of spending her days teaching and coming home alone, knowing she’d eventually retire to her
little house like spinsters did from days gone past.

She spent a lot of time wishing she were more creative. Women like that were supposed to knit,

weren’t they? That wasn’t happening, so she considered buying a cat instead. She was too practical
not to try to plan for a simple but lonely future.

Until Marcos had showed up and disabused her of all those notions.
She checked her phone again like a lovesick fool, knowing it was probably sad to do so. Nothing

from Marcos, just a bunch of texts from Grayson. Each one was more desperate and annoying than the
last. It seemed he was stepping up his game since the little incident in the parking lot.

This was starting to become a real issue. She wished he would date Ashley and just leave her

alone. She was so tired of him.

Katie was still pondering it when her doorbell rang.
She was so distracted, she didn’t bother to remember that it was past one in the morning. In fact,

she forgot everything that had kept her strung tight and anxious all evening.

She was thinking it was Grayson. It was the first day of spring break after all. That could

motivate him to stay up past eleven, and his texts were borderline stalkerish.

She grabbed her robe off the hook on the bedroom door and tied it on to cover her nakedness,

because she had crawled into bed earlier in nothing but a pair of pink lace panties. The boldness it
took to post that invitation on Missed Connections left her feeling frisky, and sleeping naked was one
of the small benefits of living alone.

And that was when it hit her all at once.
The Missed Connections post.
The pink panties, uninspiring when she thought of Grayson being on the opposite side of the

door, felt totally different when she considered the other possibility.

She looked past the window in the front room, her heartbeat now throbbing in her ears, her legs

shaky, a pulse of something hot and undeniable between her thighs. Through the rain, it was hard to
see the vehicle in the driveway.

“Who is it?” she called, her voice caught between a rasp of hope and fear.
She wasn’t even sure what she wanted the answer to be. Grayson was annoying but safe. She

could snap at him and send him on his way like she had the thousand other times he’d shown up at her
door.

As for the other possibility…
“You know who it is, chica.”
Katie sucked in a startled breath, that combination of fear and lust slamming directly into her

solar plexus.

Ohmigod. Ohmigod. Ohmigod.
He showed up.
What seemed like a great idea two glasses of wine into her bath, was a lot more terrifying when

the possibility was looking her in the eye, and she was wearing nothing but pink panties and a shaggy
blue robe she’d had since high school.

Her eyes were wide as she stared at the door.
“You don’t have to open it,” he said on the other side, his voice resigned rather than angry, as if

he could sense all her fears in the silence. “It’s probably better if you don’t.”

That wasn’t very comforting.
“Shit, that sounds all off.” Marcos groaned, as if reading her mind. “I’m not saying I expect

something. I’m not that guy. It’s just you’re…you, and I’m me and— Coño, I shouldn’t have come. I
just—”

Katie jerked the door open, because there was something about the low rasp of pain in his voice

that spoke to her. The fear of the moment had caused temporary amnesia of why she had posted all
those Missed Connections posts to begin with. She wasn’t sure what it was exactly in him that could
somehow mirror all her own insecurities, but it resonated in her so strongly she couldn’t not open the
door.

Marcos stood there, protected from the storm under the shelter of the awning over her porch. His

short dark hair was wet but standing up in inky spikes as if he’d run his hands through it repeatedly.
The tight plain blue shirt he wore clung to his powerful chest and muscular arms like a second skin.
The light from the house reflected in his pale eyes, making the emotion swirling in them stark and
undeniable as his gaze ran over her standing there in nothing but the robe. The low dip in it must have
made it obvious there wasn’t much beneath it.

“Ay Dios mio,” Marcos choked, his voice low in a way that made all the fine hair on Katie’s

arms stand on end. He shook his head, as if doubting his claims that he didn’t need anything from her.
“You shouldn’t have opened the door, cariño.”

Katie should ask him in, but she was still frozen in a pulsing, stunned state of lustful shock. As

much as she enjoyed just being around him, a part of her couldn’t believe this was actually happening.
To her of all people. She was supposed to date men like Grayson, not ones like Marcos, who bled
raw sex appeal so potent she could almost taste it on her tongue. Everything about him was hard and

unforgiving as he filled her doorway, those inked-up biceps now dripping wet and begging to be
touched.

“W-what does cariño mean?” she asked rather than do the logical thing like invite him inside,

because the way he had said it in that low, husky voice made it feel almost like a caress. She pulled
her robe closed unconsciously, because his gaze kept dipping to the V of it. “You make me wish I’d
taken Spanish in college instead of—” Katie’s rambling was cut off when he lifted his light gaze back
to her face, that unbridled intensity still swirling in it to the point that she had to suck in a breath
because she actually felt a little faint. To say this was a situation she wasn’t accustomed to was a vast
understatement. She pushed the door open wider in invitation. “I-I’m sorry. I’m being rude. Would
you like to come in? You’re all wet. I can get you a towel or—”

She stopped when he grabbed her hand on the door and pulled her forward. Her nerves were

such, she would have tripped, but Marcos caught her and wrapped his other arm around her back to
keep Katie on her feet.

He smelled really good, like soap and man and rain, all things raw and natural. She closed her

eyes, needing a few seconds to feel everything about this moment. Her emotions, her thoughts, her
heartbeat, and the sharp, hard breaths she found herself taking. Everything was going wild, as if her
world had just exploded in a prism of colors after a lifetime of nothing but black and white.

“One night.” Marcos sounded breathless too. As if he was experiencing that same coiling burn in

the pit of his stomach that Katie was. “Then you kick my ass out of your house and promise to never
post another message on craigslist.” He ran his fingers up her arm, tracing the scars the accident had
left her with. “Try to forget I ever happened.”

She blinked at that, the frown marring her forehead before she even grasped the full meaning of

his words. When she did, she shook her head in denial. “No.” She couldn’t promise that. Just
couldn’t. She wasn’t going to give this feeling up for anything. She wasn’t going back to black-and-
white again. “No way.”

“Promise, Katie,” Marcos urged, sounding hard in a way that made it obvious he wasn’t used to

people arguing with him. “Do it, and I’ll—” His voice cracked as his gaze slipped back down to the
curve of her breasts. Some of the fierceness left, replaced with a smooth, compelling tenor that melted
like honey off his tongue. “I’ll make it good. Very good.”

That slight accent she’d noticed a few times before became more pronounced now, but all the

more compelling because of it. Katie actually shivered in response. She almost agreed, but she was
stronger now than she’d been before the accident. She shook her head instead. “Please don’t ask me
to do that.”

“I have to.” His thumb swept over the scars on her arm again, as if reminding himself. “Let me

do the right thing. It’s not just about you. It’s about me too. I need to know I can make the right
choices. That I’m not all bad.”

“I know you’re not bad at all,” she said with such conviction tears welled in her eyes. “Bad

things just happened to you and—”

“I was doing a lot of illegal shit before my mother died.” He cut her off with grim certainty. “A

lot.”

Maybe, but that was in the past, and right now all she could say about it was, “I think you’re

wonderful, Marcos.”

Katie knew it sounded adolescent and left her vulnerable in a way a full-grown woman with a

divorce under her belt shouldn’t be capable of. Another man might mock her for it, but it affected
Marcos very differently. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, and seemed to waver.

She thought, for just a moment, he would turn around and leave.
Then he cursed in Spanish and cupped her face in both hands, his palms rough against her cheeks

as he looked down at her, his gaze now molten with something hot and so tangible Katie could almost
taste it. She licked her lips in response, and he groaned, just a small sound of agony that escaped him
as he studied her mouth.

“Promise.” His voice was raspy, almost shaking as he took another harsh breath. “Please,

Katie.”

Her heartbeat was thundering in her ears now. Her panties were positively soaked from the wild

undercurrent of desire that chose that moment to swell up and drown her. It almost felt like torture,
some primitive form of manipulation that had her wanting to agree to anything, absolutely anything,
Marcos wanted.

She licked her lips again, looked into those beautiful eyes that had haunted her dreams for

months, and took another deep breath before she whispered, “N-no.”

“Why are you so fucking stubborn?” he snapped, and if he were a different man, she would’ve

flinched from the stern sound of it. “Do you know what I’ll do to you if you say yes? I will have you
sweating and moaning all night. I swear, just—”

“No,” she said again, this time stronger as she stood there steadfast, her face still between his

rough hands. “I need more than one night. I’ve never been with anyone but Grayson. Never even
kissed anyone but him. I’ve never had a man look at me like you do. I probably won’t again after you
leave and”—she tried to fight his hold to shake her head—“no.”

His breathing was noticeably uneven now, his muscular chest rising and falling in the way a

frantic wild animal might do. He opened his mouth, looking like he might say something, and then, just
when she thought she might die from the waiting, he said, “Fuck it,” and used his hold on her face to
pull her closer, tilt her head back a little farther, and leaned down until his warm breath was fanning
across her lips. Still he stopped there and pleaded, “Say it.”

She stood on her toes, clearing the space between them, finally bringing them together and

whispered against the soft, smooth feel of his lips, “No.”

He smiled. Just a trace of it, but she knew it was there because she felt it. Just like she felt the

strong, unrelenting thump of his heart because her hand had ended up against his chest. She curled her
fingers into the wet fabric of his shirt, and then closed her eyes, still trying to remember every single
nuance about this moment.

He forced Katie tightly against his hard body. Chest to chest, he licked lightly at the seam of her

lips, and the chaotic stream of thoughts rattling around inside Katie’s mind shattered to the moment.
She parted to him, her entire being now focused on a single, silent prayer.

God, please.
Rather than fight it, Marcos pushed his tongue past her parted lips with a languid sweep and a

low groan that reverberated through Katie clear down to her soul.

Sweet Jesus, she had no idea a kiss could feel like that. Warm, slow, indulgent. The pleasure

was almost jarring, like the first shock of sticky sweet caramel on her tongue, tasting so good her
mind couldn’t quite comprehend it, but she still opened for more, completely a glutton for the
forbidden decadence. Little pulses of desire shimmered through her entire body, and she could

actually feel her clit pulsing.

Somehow they ended up in the house, with Marcos’s hands in her long hair and his mouth on

hers. Katie felt her back hit the wall, and she arched into him instinctively, silently begging for more,
and something about the action changed everything. The kiss went from slow and languid to rough and
desperate between one heartbeat and the next.

When his tongue thrust past her lips this time, it was harder somehow, more primitive. He

tightened his fingers in her hair, holding her there as he nipped at her bottom lip. She opened wider,
taking everything he wanted to give her. They were moaning and panting into each other’s mouths
whenever they parted for air. The quiver of need between them was so violent, it became a physical
manifestation, and both their hands shook.

When Marcos pushed his hips against her, she could feel the hard outline of his cock through his

wet jeans. She fisted his shirt, stretched out the neckline as she gasped, and her pussy clenched from
the rush of knowing he was aching too.

“Oh, I need—” She tossed her head against the wood paneling in the entryway. He responded by

leaning down and sucking on the soft spot at the curve of her neck, making her jerk when the pleasure
of it found a direct line to her pussy. She couldn’t even begin to verbalize her desperation, but she
tried. “Please, Marcos. I—”

She choked when he pulled at the tie to her robe. Katie had a brief moment where something

other than blinding desire filtered into her consciences. She was too pale. Her tits were too big, too
full; they weren’t tight and high like those girls in the spring break videos. They filmed those wild
shows in Florida, where Marcos lived. All the girls in Miami were surely supermodel perfect, and
her hips were too wide and—

Marcos groaned, and Katie squeezed her eyes shut tighter, feeling the heat of embarrassment

burn from her face down to her neck and chest.

“Fuck, you blush all over.” He ran his thumb down the valley between her breasts, his fingers

grazing the edge of her right one. “That’s sexy as shit. Your skin’s just so fucking smooth. Like,
flawless. No tan lines, and look how you get all flushed just from making out.” He cupped her left
breast with his other hand and grunted, his stomach muscles clenching noticeably. “I have a thing
about girls blushing.”

“Y-you do?” She wanted to turn her head and hide her embarrassment, but it was captivating to

watch the way Marcos stared down at her body, exposed now that her robe hung loose on her
shoulders. It felt a bit like seeing a car accident—a part of her wanted to look away, but she couldn’t.
“Why?”

“Hard to fake a blush. When girls get hot, they start getting all breathless and rosy and coño—

You’re fucking perfect.” He couldn’t seem to look away from her tits. He rubbed a thumb over her
nipple, circling it reverently, making her moan and arch into him again. Screw embarrassment, her
eyes closed because that felt wonderful. “I wonder what you’ll look like after you come.”

“W-what?” she squeaked as his thumb continued to trace little circles over her nipple that was

tight from the pleasure of it.

Marcos wrapped his arms around her back, forcing her to arch into him and holding her on her

feet at the same time as he leaned down, sucking her nipple into his mouth.

Good God!
She had no idea anything could feel that good. She got weak-kneed, her body giving out and

wanting to slide down to the ground, but Marcos was so damn strong. He held her up. She could feel
his biceps clench under her fingers, because she was clinging to him like a lifeline.

Yet, even with all that strength, he seemed to be fighting the same battle for leverage. The two of

them slid to their knees on the wood floor. The door was still open, rain was misting in on them, but
she didn’t care, because all of a sudden all that hard, powerful strength was over her, crushing her to
the ground. He moved his lips back up to her neck, and her body would’ve mourned the loss, but she
was already in sensory overload. Everything felt good.

They were both breathless, and when he reached up, tugging her hair, exposing the curve of her

neck, she just arched into the tight hold, giving herself over to it like an addict as he sucked and licked
the line of her throat up to the tender spot behind her ear.

“I’m gonna eat you out until you scream, chica.”
Huh?
The meaning of his promise was lost until he slipped his free hand under the lining up her

panties, touching her intimately, and her face flamed because she was so very wet, swollen, and
aching.

“Coño.” He groaned, pushing a finger into her without invitation or warning. She gasped and

jerked from the white-hot rush of pleasure as he breathed into her ear. “Oh, yeah, baby. I’m gonna
taste that.”

Oh.
It hit her like a ton of bricks what he meant, and that was just, no.
No way.
She wasn’t supposed to do that with a guy on the first date. She’d been married for almost a year

before she and Grayson had experimented with it, and then both decided it wasn’t on their menu.
Good girls didn’t do things like that, and she knew she was supposed to shove him off her and tell
Marcos about the rules, because the concept seemed lost on him.

But she wasn’t stopping him.
She wasn’t explaining anything. Instead she was lying there shaking and needy as he moved

down once more. Sucking on her nipples again. Licking at the small white lines on the edge of her
breasts as if he actually liked them. Lower against her stomach, and this was all so much more
intimate than anything she had done with Grayson. Ever.

But she wasn’t stopping Marcos.
Not even a little.
She was helping him pull off those pretty pink panties. She wasn’t even worrying too much about

her not so toned stomach or being completely exposed to a man she barely knew but felt this crazy
connection with.

“Waxed.” He gave her a heart-stopping smile as he hovered over the most intimate part of her.

His eyes glowed like blue fire in the dim lighting of the entryway. “Nice, chica. Very nice.”

Something caught in her chest, because the way he was looking at her was so genuine. “Do you

mean that?”

Marcos leaned up to tug at the back of his shirt. He pulled it off in one fluid motion and then

tossed it aside. Katie studied him, now bare-chested, showing off more tattoos. A cross over his left
pectoral muscle caught her eye, resting right above his heart. She saw the words written above and

below it. Names. His mother. Juan. A date was written down the middle. She understood it was the
date they died.

She leaned up, touching the brand on his tanned skin. He cupped her hand over his heart rather

than push it away as he asked, “What’d you say before?”

“I forgot,” she whispered.
Because she had.
She forgot about everything but this beautiful, damaged man, marked by life, hovering over her.
Needing her.
What the hell were vanity or rules next to that?
She lay down, giving herself to him. To whatever made him ache as deeply as she ached right

now. “Do what turns you on.”

He sucked in a sharp breath, eyeing her in surprise. “Yeah?”
“Oh yeah.” She nodded. “If you need to forget, I want to help.”
Marcos didn’t hesitate. He leaned down and sucked on one taut nipple again, making her moan

and arch her back. She threaded her fingers into his wet hair, holding him to her as he moved lower.
His bare skin felt amazing against hers. So incredibly intimate in a way sex with Grayson had never
been.

She watched the emotions play over his handsome face as he licked and teased her. A fresh

sheen of sweat coated her body, making the slide of skin against skin slick when he was still wet from
the rain. Her legs were parted to support his hard, muscular form over her, and when he ran his hand
down her thigh and hooked his rough palm under her right knee, she let him open her wider.

Like a man born to recklessly take what pleasures life offered him, Marcos ran a thumb down

her folds, forcing her to open for him. There wasn’t an ounce of hesitance or insecurity in him, not
with this, not stripped bare and staring at her like he wanted to remember all this as badly as she did.
Then he bent his head over her, and she watched, mesmerized by the sheer boldness in him as he
sucked on her clit as if he owned it.

The pleasure was blinding. She couldn’t help but close her eyes against it. Her fingers tightened

in his hair of their own accord, and for just a moment, she was worried it was too much. Then he
pushed one finger into her, doubling the surge of bliss, and she couldn’t fight it anyway.

She didn’t want to.
She cried out his name when his touch curved upward, hitting something inside her that made the

feel of his tongue against her clit that much more potent. Grayson had never done it like that, forcing
her to feel everything at once. It was overwhelming, but she let herself sink into the rapture of it
simply because she had no idea how to stop herself.

“God!” Her legs were shaking as the coil of pleasure tightened too fast to control. She knew it

was too soon, but she couldn’t stop it now. Katie pitched beneath Marcos, pulling his hair and
opening wide to the onslaught when the ecstasy slammed into her embarrassingly fast. “I’m sorry. I’m
sorry. I’m sorry.”

The apologies burst out of her as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her. Katie’s entire

body quivered from it. Her pussy clenched to the hard, fast rhythm of release, and he rubbed against
that soft spot over and over in response to the unspoken plea.

She squeezed her eyes shut tighter when she felt herself coming again and tried to ride out the

second climax as quietly as possible. She bit her lip, choking on her cries, but she knew her body was
betraying her completely. Marcos could feel how strong it was, inside and out.

It hadn’t even fully waned before she became far too sensitive for his mouth, and she tugged at

his hair. He surprised her by pulling away, but he was still stroking her with his fingers. Somewhere
along the way, he had worked a second one in, and it felt amazing.

Marcos was over her now, watching her as fucked her with his fingers. It dragged out her second

release for what felt like forever, making her bite her lip harder.

He stopped touching her only to reach up and free her bottom lip. She didn’t know what shocked

her more, the fact that his fingers left the tang of her sex there or that he leaned down and licked it
away a second later.

“No hiding.” He breathed against her lips. “I like hearing it.”
She blinked, stunned by how much something so uncouth appealed to her. “O-okay.”
Katie’s body was still raw and tingling from two powerful orgasms, but she fought the

embarrassment. When he reached down and pushed a finger back into her again, she didn’t stop
herself from gasping at the onslaught.

“How come so tight, chica?” Marcos stroked her again to prove his point, making her clench

around him.

“It’s, um, been a while.” She squeezed her eyes shut tighter as she admitted, “Been divorced a-

almost two years.”

“Is that it?” Marcos sounded amused. His accent was pronounced now, and it only served to fuel

the flame raging inside Katie, especially when he reached down and grabbed her right hand, pushed it
against the crotch of his jeans, forcing her to feel the long, thick outline of his cock. “Or maybe that
pendejo just didn’t fill you out like you deserve?”

“Oh.” She cupped him on instinct, watching the way his eyes grew heavy-lidded from her touch.

She had to concede, it felt much bigger than she was used to. “M-maybe not.”

With a boldness and curiosity she’d never had before tonight she pulled at the button to his jeans

and then tugged down the zipper. Marcos flattened both hands against the wood floor, supporting all
his upper body weight, and then dropped his head to watch her free him.

“Ay Dios mio.” He groaned when Katie pushed his black boxer briefs down and stroked the

length of him.

“What does that mean?” Katie asked as a distraction, because she couldn’t believe how thick he

was, so much so her fingertips didn’t touch at the base, and she was stuck halfway between being
nervous and so turned on she couldn’t look away from the sight of her hand around him.

She stroked him from root to tip, and then rubbed her thumb over the head of his cock,

wondering what it would feel like pushing inside her.

“Oh my God.”
She blinked up at him. “W-what?”
“Th-that’s what it means.” He grunted and then arched into the embrace of her hand. “Ay Dios

mio. Oh my God—fuck.”

Marcos reached down, struggling to find his pocket when his jeans were pushed low on his

thighs. Gold-foiled packets spilled out on the floor, and he grabbed one, putting it between his teeth,
but he seemed reluctant for her to release him.

“How many of those things did you bring?” Katie didn’t know why, but she giggled. He gave her

a devious smile around the condom packet in response, and she laughed harder before voicing her
concerns out loud. “I don’t think it’ll fit.”

He held the end of the gold foil, ripping into the condom package with his teeth before he spit out

the top of it, and said, “It’ll fit.”

She was still laughing and not nearly as nervous as she should be. “Sex with you is educational

for a lot of reasons, not the least of which is the Spanish lesson.”

“Do not repeat any Spanish you learn from me in the next twenty minutes.”
She raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Twenty minutes?”
“I jerked off in the car.” He didn’t look embarrassed by the confession. “And I always last

longer the second time.”

She released him to cup a hand to her mouth, unable to believe he just admitted to that. “You

did?”

“Yeah, I would’ve blown the second you came against my lips if I hadn’t.” He rolled the

condom on himself, still completely unself-conscious. “I know my limits. You push every single one
of them.”

She watched the way his hand moved down the thick, tanned length of his cock, feeling

breathless again and deciding only Marcos could make putting on a condom sexy like this.

Katie wrapped her legs around him, because she needed him in her, even if it was going to be a

tight fit. She hooked her feet in his underwear that were pushed down over the smooth, tight line of his
ass. Together they divested him of the rest of his clothes, and then there was just them, skin to skin.
Words and humor were gone as quickly as they’d showed up, replaced with a surge of emotion she
wasn’t expecting. She caressed his face when he lowered himself over her. He was heavy, the wood
was harsh against her back, but she didn’t give a damn about any of it. The fire in those light eyes
nearly consumed her as Marcos studied her.

“Katie—” His voice was choked. “I—”
She placed her fingers over his lips before he could finish. She could sense some sort of

confession in his voice, and it was too much. She couldn’t hear it. Not if he was planning on leaving
in the morning. It was crazy and insane and made about as much sense as any of the rest of it did, but
she knew what he was going to say, and she cut him off at the pass.

“Just make me yours,” she pleaded, because she needed it desperately. “That’s what I need right

now, Marcos.”

He groaned in defeat and buried his face in the curve of her neck. His lips felt like heaven,

making a fresh sheen of pleasure dance over her skin. She turned her head, giving him better access as
she traced the muscles of his back and let him work one hand between their naked bodies.

She could feel his cock, hard and ready against her stomach, but he touched her instead. The

seduction felt slow, but she knew it was likely as fast as the first time as he teased her and stretched
her and made her so wet and needy she no longer cared how big he was.

Katie was shifting and moaning under him, pushing herself up against his hand. If he didn’t do

this soon, she was going to come again, and that was simply unacceptable. Usually, she only found a
peak like that by herself. Three times under Marcos before he’d even made love to her was too much
by anyone’s standards.

She gasped when he rubbed his thumb against her clit, and begged, “Please.”
He stopped touching her and pushed his other hand into her hair, tugging it pointedly and looking

down at her again. “I like to watch. I wanna see your face when I take you.”

She closed her eyes, feeling exposed and all the more turned on because of it. “O-okay.”
He shifted over, and Katie helped, arching up when she felt him against her opening, pushing

forward in a slow, indulgent claiming. When the broad tip of his cock breeched her, her mouth fell
open because it was so much bigger than anything she’d experienced before. It didn’t feel like it
should fit, but it did, just as he’d promised. Goose bumps spread over her skin, the pleasure was
deeper than before, more potent, and she dug her nails into his shoulders when it started to
overwhelm her.

She tried to bite her bottom lip again, but he growled, “No, let me hear it. Let me hear all of it.”

He took her the rest of the way in one hard thrust that made her cry out from the surge of ecstasy.
“That’s it, chica. Lemme hear you get off on me fucking you like the sexy bitch you are.”

She gasped at his harsh words, because they made her feel as sexy as Marcos claimed she was,

and that had never happened before. He buried his face against her neck again, and then bit hard
enough to leave a mark.

The next time he spoke, it was in Spanish, but the words were just as harsh and jagged,

breathless and defiantly sexual in a way that was easy to understand, even if she couldn’t translate it.

Then he pulled out and took her again before she could catch her breath. Jesus, the friction was

incredible. She really was filled out, and it felt beyond good. She found herself clinging to him as he
took her hard, over and over again, making the pleasure build and build until she was dragging her
nails down his back and coming before either of them expected it.

He rode out the storm with her, thrusting harder, extending the wild rush of ecstasy so long she

was winded and sweaty when it started to wane.

Marcos was still moving, and she realized he hadn’t climaxed with her. His voice was ragged as

he made those low, masculine grunts of pleasure against the curve of her neck with every thrust. When
he did speak, it was still in Spanish, whispered against her ear like the confessions of a dying man.

She could feel the tension in him, in the muscles flexing under her fingers and the way everything

about him seemed coiled tight, like a snake about to strike.

That seemed unfair, and she ran her hands up to his hair. She fisted it and lifted his head to claim

his lips in a wild, openmouthed kiss. He pushed his tongue past her lips as he started moving faster,
harder. Somehow, one of her knees had become hooked under his arm, leaving her completely open to
the thrust of his hips against hers.

They were sweaty and sticky, and he really was a heavy man, but none of it mattered as she

pulled back and said, “Go ahead. I—” He kissed her again and then slipped a hand between their
straining bodies, finding her clit, making her aware of how wet she was, forcing her to feel what a
messy, sticky business sex with Marcos was, and she loved it. So much so she moaned into their next
kiss and just let him have his way with her, even if what he was asking for was impossible. “God, no.
I can’t.”

But she could; she felt it building again.
She might not be able to walk tomorrow, but she was going to come again as he touched her and

fucked her and made her feel like a woman in a way she never thought possible. God, at that moment,
she would have given this man her soul if she could.

“Hazlo de Nuevo. Deja escucharte.” Marcos punctuated the foreign pleading by tugging on her

hair again and finally growled something against her ear that she understood, “Now, Katie!”

She screamed when another orgasm ripped through her body, and this time she took Marcos

down with her. He gripped her ass, holding her tightly against him as he fucked her harder, broken
phrases bursting out of him. She didn’t need to speak Spanish to know they were vulgar, but she liked
him just like this, wild and feral for her.

When it was over, Katie started to notice little things, like the feel of his sweaty skin against hers

and the rain misting in past the open door cooling their fevered bodies. His weight over her was
almost too much, but she was so relaxed she could barely think to complain. Instead she hugged him
tighter, with her arms and legs, just completely wrapping herself around him, desperate to hold him
close for as long as possible.

As crazy as it was, in that one peaceful moment, with his heavy breath stirring the fine hairs at

the nape of her neck, she truly understood what a powerful man she had in her arms. He’d survived
more than most would, and he walked through this life with a constant veil of ferocity because of it.
She knew without asking that few saw anything else but the hard, bitter shell he had built around
himself out of necessity and the fact that he was willing to show her his kind side made it all the more
intoxicating.

“Thank you,” she whispered into the shuddering stillness.
He placed a kiss at the soft spot beneath her ear and then caressed her hair, brushing it back from

where it was sticking to her neck. Then he pushed up and looked down at her, his gaze tender and
contemplative.

“You okay?” he asked.
She nodded, and then bit her lip, before she gave him a shy smile. “That was impressive, but I

can’t believe you admitted to doing that.” She could feel the blush burning her cheeks as she gestured
down between them when he gave her a look of confusion. “Before. In your car. That’s scandalous.”

“You mean the jerking off?” He frowned. “Really?”
“Yeah.” Her smile was wide and pleased as she said it, because she enjoyed every minute of

being with him. “I just never heard someone talk like you do. I didn’t know a man could be so crass
and still so…s-sexy. It’s a unique combination.” She shrugged and looked away. “I like it. A lot.”

He paused, and she could sense a tension coming off him, making her wish she hadn’t said

anything. He cupped her cheek, his palm rough against her sensitive skin as he swept a thumb over her
bottom lip pensively. Even with the fresh surge of embarrassment, she shuddered from the simple
caress.

“Mierda.” He groaned and then leaned down and pressed his forehead against hers. “I’m sorry,

cariño.”

“Why?” She ran her fingers over the ridges of his back muscles because she couldn’t help

herself, and she found herself wondering what sort of inked decorations covered the warm skin under
her fingers. “I feel amazing. This is probably the best I’ve felt—ever.”

“This is the best it’s ever been for you?” Marcos sounded anguished. “Right here on the floor?”
“Yeah.” She hugged him tighter, wanting to ease whatever was upsetting him. “And before, with

your mouth and your fingers. I’ve never—” She shook her head, still reeling. “I didn’t know
something could feel that incredible.”

“No.” He pulled away, still glaring down at her. “Don’t be nice to me. I fucked you on the floor,

Katie. I’m the pendejo.” He rubbed a hand over his face and corrected himself, “A-asshole.”

“I don’t think you’re an asshole,” she said in a rush, hating that he wasn’t getting it. “You don’t

understand. Grayson would’ve never done it on the floor. We had to lay a towel down just to do it on
the bed.” She ran a hand over his cheek. “I love this. I promise. I know it sounds insane, but the floor
is the best place in the world as far as I’m concerned. I don’t even care that the door is still open. I
love that it’s open. I love that I stop thinking when I’m with you.” She touched his lips that were
swollen from their kisses. “Do you understand?”

He was quiet for a long time, as if contemplating her rushed confession. Then he grabbed her

hand and kissed the inside of her wrist and asked, “You wanna break in the rest of the house?”

“Yes.” She couldn’t hide her excitement even if she wanted to. “I would love to.”
She leaned up and kissed him again, feeling his smile against her lips, and she knew why he was

grinning like that.

He understood perfectly.

Chapter Nine

There were sirens wailing far in the distance, making Marcos’s heart drop on instinct. The cars

were long gone, and he tossed his gun into the garbage can at the house closest to him.

Then he started running back home, barefoot and bare-chested. He hadn’t realized how far he’d

chased the cars until he had to make the trek back. A part of him didn’t want to go back. He didn’t
want to find out what he’d left behind when he ran out of the house into a barrage of bullets. Those
motherfuckers had been shooting at his house! Where his family lived! His gun had been on his
dresser. He simply grabbed it and ran out the door and into the gunfire without thinking about anything
but killing them.

He should have never made it two blocks over without even a scratch.
The door was still open the way he left it. The windows were shattered. He stepped over bullets

that littered the driveway, but he didn’t really see any of it. There were people out of their homes, but
the house still looked ominous and unattended to, making it obvious they were all too terrified to help,
and he knew why. The anger and fury was almost pulsing off the walls, and the rage had a sound to it.
Chuito’s sobbing, harsh and broken with a pleading that sounded foreign to Marcos’s ears.

Chuito begged for nothing—until now.
Marcos ran up the steps and found Chuito on the floor in the living room. He’d expected him to

be the one shot, and for a moment, Marcos wasn’t sure he wasn’t.

“Help me fix him,” Chuito was begging in Spanish as he held Juan cradled in his arms. There

was so much blood. It was spread out in a wide, crimson pool around the two of them. The phone
Chuito was holding to his ear was coated in it. His hand was shaking. “It won’t stop. Help me make it
stop. Help me save him.”

Marcos’s heart felt like it had just dropped into his stomach.
It wasn’t Chuito dying.
It was Juan.
Chuito looked up at him, tears streaming down his face. “I’m sorry, Marc.”
He was sorry. Juan was lying there dying, and Chuito was apologizing to him— Why?
Then Marcos saw her lying across the couch. Saw the blood soaking her dress. He saw the

wide, set look in her dark eyes, and he knew. He knew why Chuito wasn’t doing anything to save the
aunt who had been a second mother to him since the day he was born. It wasn’t callousness or
preference for Juan to be the one to live.

Marcos’s mother was already dead.
He’d seen enough death in his seventeen years to know there was nothing in the world that could

save her.

It was a weird survival mechanism that allowed him to abandon his dead mother like Chuito had

and rush up to his cousins instead. Juan couldn’t die. He just couldn’t. There wasn’t a God in the
universe that would leave the two of them completely unscathed and allow not just his mother but
Juan to die too. He couldn’t look at his Aunt Sofia when she got home from work and tell her that her
youngest son was gone. He yanked the phone out of Chuito’s hand, falling down in the blood and
feeling it soak up into his jeans as he shouted, “Tell me what to do!”

“Help is coming,” the 911 operator responded in Spanish, making Marcos realized he was

speaking it too. “He just needs to keep applying pressure and—”

Chuito screamed, and then lifted his head to look at Marcos. “He stopped breathing! He’s not

breathing!”

* * * *

Marcos jerked awake. His body was coated in a cold sweat, and he was gasping for air, still

trapped in the hellish place where every memory was so real and bone-deep it felt like it had just
happened rather than something that went down eight years ago. He looked at his arm, staring at the
seven blood drops inked into the body of the snake of his Los Corredores tattoo, just to reassure
himself he’d gotten revenge.

But it wasn’t helping. The dream had been too real this time.
He put a hand over his eyes when he noticed the burn. He blinked to fight it as he sat there in a

bed that had a soft, feather-down blanket that could only belong to a woman. He dropped his hand,
staring at the pale pink paisley design, feeling seventeen again.

Coño, how many girls’ bedrooms did he hide in after that night? If he wasn’t fighting, he was

fucking to escape the demons. Yet, even as he fought to clear his head he knew this wasn’t just any
girl’s bedroom.

He looked to Katie, who was still sleeping deeply. Eyelashes like half moons on her pale skin.

Her long curly hair spread out around her. He reached out and picked up a strand of it, finding it as
silky in his fingers as it had been the night before.

She looked so peaceful, and he wondered what it was like to sleep like that. The barest hint of a

smile tugged at her lips, and he imagined she was having nice dreams. For some reason, that made
him feel better. He caressed her cheek, and she let out a little moan, reminding him of the way she’d
sounded the night before. His cock jerked, which was nothing short of miracle when he was still
fighting the nightmares of his past.

She turned on her side, snuggling into her pink pillow, in her pink sheets, looking so beautiful his

chest hurt from it. He wanted to slip beneath the blanket and do things to her that made that pale skin
of hers as rosy as everything else in the room, but he held back. They’d done it several times too
many before they finally gave in to exhaustion. Against the kitchen table. On the couch. In the shower.
Everywhere except the bed. The only thing they’d done in the bedroom was sleep, and he wanted to
break it in, but he knew she was likely sore. Hell, he was sore, and it hadn’t been two years since
he’d done it.

Marcos tugged the blanket down just enough to see the slope of her bare tits. He admired them

for a long moment, but then the urge to touch got a little too much, and he rolled out of bed and went
on a search for his clothes instead.

They were on the floor by the door where he’d pulled them off in a mad rush last night. He

picked his up, finding them still wet from the rain, well on their way to smelling musty. His
underwear was clean enough, but the rest needed to be washed. He picked up hers too, before he
headed toward the washer. There were other clothes in the laundry room, so he sorted through them,
finding more darks, and did a full load of laundry because he could hear his mother’s voice from the
past.

“Ay, chico, water costs money.”

Hopefully Katie wasn’t one of those women who was weird about guys touching their dirty

clothes. He doubted it. She was pretty easygoing. He leaned back against the washer after he was
done and looked to his phone that he’d pulled out of his jeans, finding a text message from Chuito.

3:12 a.m.
Where the fuck are you?
Marcos wondered if that was how long the gringa was in his room before Chuito got wise and

figured out Marcos had bolted.

He thought of saying something smart about taking off after Chuito’s church girlfriend nearly

blinded him with her virginal, see-through nightgown, but that was a little too juvenile, and it gave the
impression that Marcos was jealous of him, which he wasn’t. Certainly not of the skinny gringa when
he had a real woman wrapped up in pink sheets, still rosy from fucking him. And who gave a shit if
Chuito had two championship belts and several million bucks in the bank and no fucking criminal
record? He didn’t care that his cousin had actually made himself into a man who deserved a woman
like Katie.

Okay, maybe Marcos was a little jealous of the last part, but that wasn’t Chuito’s fault. What did

it matter if Chuito was playing whatever the hell kind of game he was playing with his neighbor?

He finally settled on texting him the truth.
At Katie’s.
’Cause Marcos didn’t play games.
Chuito texted him back right away, even though it was early for both of them.
WTF, Marc! I thought you were going home.
Marcos snorted.
Love you too, pendejo.
His phone rang a second later, but he sent it to voice mail. Chuito sent another text rather than

leave a message.

Did you fuck her?
He grinned as he replied.
No, I took a leaf out of your book. We just talked all night.
His phone rang again, and again he sent it to voice mail. The next text wasn’t friendly at all.
Fuck. You.
Marcos decided sarcastic and juvenile sounded like fun after all.
Why don’t you ask the skinny gringa to help you out with the anger-management issues? She

seemed willing last night.

He scowled when he saw Chuito’s response.
Because I think before I do dumb shit.
Maybe it was the dream, but Marcos started to read more into the texts. Chuito had always been

more levelheaded than him, more prone to think before leaping. Marcos had run out of the house that
night into a barrage of bullets, hoping to kill the motherfuckers trying to hurt his family. Chuito had the
foresight to stay behind and try to protect everyone in the house.

It hadn’t worked out for either of them.
The regret of it all was starting to wear on him. Maybe that was the difference between them.

Marcos just didn’t have anything else. He needed Katie, and he wanted to convey that to his cousin,
who had obviously succeeded in forgetting where he came from. Marcos couldn’t even fault him for
it. He was jealous, but he sure as hell didn’t blame him as he typed.

That’s right, muchacho. We both know it’ll be me taking the next bullet. Might as well enjoy

the ride.

He looked up to see Katie standing in the kitchen, wearing a nightshirt she’d obviously slipped

on when she got out of bed. She frowned when his phone started ringing in his hand. “Are you going
to answer it?”

Marcos looked at the screen, seeing it was Chuito, and shook his head. “No, it’s just—” He

turned off the ringer and went to put it in his pocket before he realized he was standing there in his
underwear. “It’s nothing. Old bullshit.” He slipped it into the waistband of his boxer briefs as he gave
her his full attention. “Did you sleep good, chica?”

She nodded, giving him a sleepy smile, looking properly disheveled with her hair flowing wild

and curly over her shoulders. “Very well. Thank you.”

“I did a load of your clothes.” He pointed back to the washer. “Mine were wet, and I went ahead

and found some of your darks and—”

“You did my laundry.”
“Is that okay?”
“I’ve never met a man who knows how to do laundry.” She laughed. “I have to go to my father’s

house twice a week to do his. Grayson’s been taking his to the dry cleaners since we got divorced,
and I’m pretty sure my brother got married just to have Lily do his.”

He pulled back. “How hard is laundry?”
She shrugged as she tucked a strand of curly hair behind her ear. “Do you have any other hidden

talents?”

“I wouldn’t call washing a few clothes a hidden talent.”
“I would, especially in Garnet.” Katie looked at him, her gaze running over him hotly, making

the back of his neck warm and his cock swell. “But the laundry wasn’t the hidden talent I was talking
about.”

“You are so easy to please, chica.” He reached out and grabbed her hips to pull her to him.

“What’re we gonna do about that?”

She shrugged, a blush staining her cheeks. “I don’t know. Got any ideas?”
Marcos was pretty sure he’d made a commitment to himself to hightail it out of her place once

the sun came up and head back to Miami with the taste of her still on his lips. That was the
responsible thing to do; instead, he said, “How about I make you breakfast, and we’ll discuss it in
bed?”

* * * *

The breakfast plates sat on the nightstand. Both of them were empty because Marcos could make

eggs and bacon like nobody’s business. He cooked and did laundry. Katie was pretty sure that made
him the perfect man, especially given the nice sight he made first thing in the morning, with his inky
hair standing up in spikes and those light eyes looking up at her like he wanted a repeat of last night.

Marcos could be an underwear model, Katie mused as she sat straddled over him, drinking her

coffee and admiring all those muscles and tattoos.

“Be careful,” he warned, his hands on her hips as he eyed her coffee. “It’ll ruin your afternoon if

you drop that.”

She coughed and laughed, spilling some.
“Carajo.” He reached up to take her coffee from her and set it on the nightstand next to the other

dishes. “You can’t be trusted with this.”

Katie laughed harder and leaned down to lick the coffee off his stomach by dragging her tongue

over the deep ridges of his abdominal muscles. He grunted in response and tangled his hand in her
hair.

“I like your mouth on me.” He groaned, holding her hair away from her face as he watched.

“Eres bella.”

She lifted her head, staring into those beautiful eyes, and then tugged on the waistband to his

underwear because his cock was pushing against the top of it, just begging to be set free. She took him
in her mouth, wanting to taste because she could sense the restlessness in him.

He told her a few times last night that he needed to be gone in the morning. Yet, here he was,

making her breakfast and then letting Katie have her way with him. She got the distinct impression he
didn’t want to leave any more than she wanted to let him. She also got the impression Marcos wasn’t
harnessed easily, and she understood. Grayson had tried for many years to keep her in check and
where she belonged. It hadn’t worked out.

Maybe they were more alike than she realized.
There was a side of her that really enjoyed the rebellious streak Marcos brought out of her. She

realized now that’s what had changed after the accident. That’s where the boldness came from. The
rebellion Marcos had unknowingly brought out of her on New Years.

She would never force him to stay here. She wouldn’t even beg and plead and try to manipulate

him like other women might, but she certainly wasn’t going to kick him out like he tried to make her
promise last night.

If he wanted to stay, she was more than fine with that.
“Ay Dios mio.” He groaned and arched his back when she took him deeper in her mouth while

wrapping her hand around the base of his cock, stroking it.

Okay, now that was extremely sexy.
He was just so strong. So daring. So damn tempting.
Having Marcos under her, with his hand in her hair and his cock in her mouth, left her more than

a little wet despite being very sore this morning. Who cared? He’d probably leave at the end of the
day, because she wasn’t delusional enough to think he’d stay in a place like Garnet.

So she’d be sore and let her body remember him for as long as possible.
It was as if the two of them had been living in a fantasy for the past twelve hours. The outside

world stopped existing, and it was as if time stood still, holding them in an alternate universe where
she wasn’t too boring for him, and he wasn’t too dangerous for her.

For the moment, they were perfect together.
So she went down on him with a determination to make it as good for him now as it had been for

her last night. Even when he started swearing in Spanish and using his hold on her hair to pull her off
him, she held strong, sucking harder, stroking him faster. She grabbed his ass with her free hand,

because it was a beautiful male ass—firm and round and made to hold on to.

He really should be an underwear model.
She wanted to taste him, and he finally gave up trying to fight her. Instead he held her close when

his body jerked, and his cock pulsed in her hand. She savored the tangy male flavor of his cum against
her tongue in a way she never had before. She liked the way he cursed in Spanish as he came, and
then his words got softer, more affectionate when the tide started to recede. Now he stroked her hair
rather than clutching it like a lifeline.

He fell lax under her when it was over. “You’re stubborn, cariño.”
Katie flipped her hair back. She crawled over Marcos and straddled him once more. She

reached for her coffee and took a sip. She noticed he didn’t have a complaint this time. He seemed a
little too relaxed to bother as she admitted, “I am very stubborn. Ask anyone. It’s usually their chief
complaint about me.”

“I like it.” He tugged a long strand of her hair. “A lot.”
“That’s why you’re perfect.” She grinned, enjoying how completely unselfconscious she was

around him. It was such a rare commodity in her life. For some reason, she didn’t question for one
minute that he liked her just as she was, wide hips, big ass, and all. She felt the same about him as she
eyed his body under hers. She reached out and touched one of the stars on his shoulder. There was a
matching one on the other shoulder. “What do these mean?”

He winced. “If you knew, you wouldn’t think I’m perfect.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Try me.”
“They mean I’m a thief,” he said simply, as if daring her to judge him.
“Of what?” She took another sip of her coffee as she studied the strange stars that decorated each

of his shoulders.

“Of anything left unattended long enough for me to take advantage of.” He laced a hand behind

his head, still studying her thoughtfully. “Cars. Houses. Pretty, innocent gringas with talented mouths.”

She laughed. “I’m not that innocent.”
“That’s what you think.”
“Mmm,” she hummed rather than argue, and took another sip of her coffee that was extra creamy

and sweet, making it the color of Marcos’s tan skin. She studied him again, and ran her hand over the
tattooed cross on his chest with the names of his mother and cousin above and below it. Then she
touched the inked black tribal tattoos on his right biceps. It covered so much skin, and the left side
matched. “What about these?”

He looked amused with her exploration of him. “They mean nothing.”
“Then why get them?”
“I dunno, ’cause I was young and vain and had a lot of disposable income.”
“From stealing things.”
“Yup.”
“Where’s your disposable income now?”
He laughed. “On my arms.”
“So you must not be stealing things anymore,” she said, because she suspected as much.
“Not right now, no.” He took her coffee from her and leaned up, stealing a sip before he put it

back on the nightstand. “Soon, maybe.”

“Once a thief—” she mused.
“Always a thief,” he finished for her as he laced his other hand behind his head. “You’d be

smart to remember it, chica.”

“Why did you get the tattoos?” she asked as she touched his right arm again. She didn’t believe

for one minute he did them just for vanity. Every marking on his body had a meaning. It was like an
illustration to the history of his life, and she found it fascinating. “The truth.”

He looked away from her. His body stiffened all of a sudden, and she got the impression she

might have pushed too far before he admitted in a low, raspy voice, “Because they hurt.”

“Huh?”
“I just wanted something to hurt me. To make me forget. To make it sting so bad I couldn’t think

about anything but the needle digging into my skin.”

“Did it work?”
“No.” He looked back to her, the pain glimmering in his light eyes. “If it did, I would have a lot

more.”

She lay down over him and let her head rest on his shoulder over one of the stars that marked

him as a thief. He stroked her hair, and together they shared a quiet moment where she didn’t judge
him, and he let her be still and ache for him.

“It’s spring break, you know?” she whispered after several long minutes.
“I didn’t know,” he admitted softly. “It’s been a long time since I partied for spring break.”
“You want to party here for the week?” she asked, trying desperately to keep the hope out of her

voice. “If I promise not to stop you when you do leave?”

That seemed like a fair compromise. She wasn’t begging him to stay, but she was offering. Still,

he was silent after the offer, stroking her hair as if mulling it over.

“Didn’t your papi ever teach you not to invite a thief into your house?”
“He may have,” she admitted as she smiled against his warm skin. “But we’ve already

established that I’m stubborn. I make my own rules.”

“You kick me out in a week.” He tugged her hair, forcing her to look up at him. “I’m serious,

chica. Promise me.”

She hesitated, because kicking him out was very different from not complaining if he walked out

the door on his own accord. The denial was on the tip of her tongue when his eyes narrowed.

“It’s the only way I’ll agree,” he told her warningly. “If you don’t promise, I’ll pull my clothes

out of the dryer right now and go home.”

“And if I do promise?” she asked curiously.
“I’ll go get my things from my cousin’s place,” he started, before a small smile tugged at the

corner of his lips. “And then spend a week making sure you’re not as easy to please for the next
muchacho who shows up.”

“Okay,” she whispered, deciding a week to figure everything out was better than nothing. “I

promise.”

Chapter Ten

There were other cars in the driveway when he finally made it back to Chuito’s place at dusk.

Marcos thought the extra company might be a good thing, judging by the quality of texts he’d been
getting from his cousin. They got nastier as the day wore on, and Marcos ignored him.

He parked in back where Chuito usually did, seeing a sweet Mercedes GL next to his cousin’s

car. He got out and looked in the window, finding that the door was unlocked. What an idiot. And this
SUV was fully loaded.

He wondered how Chuito resisted stealing it. He might be rich now, but just like Katie had

observed earlier, once a thief, always a thief. Old habits died hard, and the cousin Marcos
remembered would’ve had this car jacked and out of the parking lot in twenty seconds on sheer
principle.

If someone left this kind of car unlocked, they deserved to get jacked.
People with money never appreciated their shit.
At least he could give his cousin credit for that if nothing else. He wasn’t pretentious about

anything. He still drove a Nissan, for fuck’s sake.

He eyed the two car seats in back and decided to cut them some slack for being absentminded

about locking the car. Marcos hadn’t stolen a car since he was fifteen. Once they got heavy into Los
Corredores, he became too valuable in the shop, but even when they were young, Chuito and Marcos
used to avoid cars with baby seats. Probably because they were raised by two single mothers. One
time, right after his father went to prison, his mother’s car got towed, and Marcos would never forget
her crying as she sat on the curb with him, Juan, and Chuito, and groceries melting while she called
her sister.

What kind of asshole towed the car of a woman shopping for food to feed children? Even car

thieves didn’t do that shit.

He sneaked in through the back, heading up the staircase like he was breaking in because he did

not want to see that bitch Jules Wellings. Marcos added her to the long list of things he didn’t
understand about his cousin’s life here. She was a part-time cop, and Chuito called her his friend.
Whatever.

He heard people downstairs talking. Damn, that office was always busy. It was almost five, and

it was still hopping. How many legal issues could be happening in a town like this? People didn’t
even secure their cars here.

Chuito’s door was locked, and Marcos went old-school and used the mini tool kit on his

keychain to pick the lock rather than knock. He had the split-second thought of seeing something he
didn’t want to see if his cousin finally made his move with his neighbor, but after this many years, he
figured he was safe and pushed the door open.

He saw a flash of movement and was able to throw up his arm to protect his face. He got nailed

in the side instead, a hard kidney hit that knocked the air out of him and put every defensive
mechanism he had on red alert. He lashed out on instinct, kicking the intruder in the cojones and then
nailing him with every ounce of anger he had, catching him in the side of the head.

“They don’t teach you that in the cage!” Marcos shouted, ’cause he knew it was his cousin that

had blindsided him. “I still live on the streets, muchacho!”

Chuito reached down and grabbed Marcos’s leg, pulling his feet out from under him and making

Marcos hit the floor so hard it stole his breath a second time. His head smacked against the door
frame, and it temporarily dazed him enough to have the UFC light-heavyweight champion of the world
choking the shit out of him in some sort of fucked-up jujitsu move that he couldn’t break out of.

“You ever talk about taking a bullet again, and I’ll shoot you myself,” Chuito growled into his

ear in Spanish. “I can still take you. Got me, cabrón?”

“I know enough Spanish to say that’s cold.” A voice came from the kitchen, sounding bored as if

watching family members kicking the shit out each other was an everyday occurrence. “Of course, my
brother killed my father just ’cause I couldn’t get to him first. So who the fuck am I to talk?”

Still struggling to breathe, Marcos lifted his head and looked to the kitchen, seeing a muscular,

dark-haired guy sprawled out in one of the chairs by the table. He held an energy drink in his hand as
he arched a bored eyebrow at both of them.

“Who is this pendejo?” he growled as he fought to break free.
“That’s Tino. Didn’t you see his car out there?” Chuito released him and rolled onto the carpet

to cup his balls. “You low-hitting fucker!”

“The GL is his?” Marcos was wheezing too as he took in Tino again, sitting there like he owned

the world. “I should’ve stolen it and had Angel wash the title.”

“Fucking steal it.” Tino didn’t sound concerned. “I got LoJack, bitch.”
“You think I can’t disable LoJack?”
“I’m sure you can, but can you do it before I find you and make you eat my Beretta?”
“Si,” Marcos said with a laugh of disbelief. “No problema.”
“He probably could,” Chuito grudgingly admitted. “Yeah, definitely.” He lifted his head and

looked to Marcos. “But don’t steal the car,” he warned in Spanish as if sensing Marcos would do it
just to fuck with him. “His people make Los Corredores look like pussies.”

That was a seriously fucked-up insult that his cousin just made about his own gang, and Marcos

stiffened on instinct. He didn’t love being associated with Los Corredores these days, but it was
ingrained in him to defend them.

He was about to say something, when Tino lifted up his shirt, showing off the tattoo over the

ridges of his stomach muscles.

Omertà.
Marcos dealt with the mafia enough in passing to know what that meant. Their presence in

Miami was powerful, intimidating, and more than a little annoying to the rest of them, but he was
saved from having to do something like apologize when Jules Wellings came upstairs.

“What the hell—” She paused at the open door, looking down at the two of them still lying on the

floor. She just shook her head. “I have clients downstairs. You’re shaking the whole house.”

“At least they aren’t shooting each other. That’d really piss your clients off.”
Jules turned around and glared at Tino.
“I’m just saying it’s a good way to handle a family dispute,” Tino said reasonably. “In my

experience, violence solves most problems.”

“Really, Tino? You know that ain’t funny.” Jules put her hand on her hip. “I thought you two

were going to train. I’ve got the twins downstairs because you had to train tonight, when you knew I

worked late, and Romeo has classes. This is my busy season.”

“I’ve had them every night this week. My babysitting services are free.”
“Your rent is free,” she countered.
Tino threw up his hands. “Do you want rent?”
Jules waved him off dismissively and turned to leave. “If you guys have to solve family disputes,

use the Cellar to do it.”

“She lets him watch her kids?” Marcos asked Chuito in Spanish.
“They’re his nephews. He’s Jules’s brother-in-law,” Chuito reminded him.
“I already said I understand most of the shit you’re saying,” Tino interrupted them.
“¿Hablas español?” Marcos asked as he got to his feet.
“No, io parlo Italiano.”
“Oh.” Marcos shrugged. “Well, I don’t fucking understand Italian.”
“I’m from New York, man. You Puerto Rican motherfuckers are on every corner in my old

neighborhood. I grew up understanding Spanish.”

“His brother speaks it. Fluently,” Chuito said it like a warning. “Without an accent. Like he was

Boricua. It’s weird as shit.”

“Jules’s husband?”
“No, the other one.” Again it sounded like a caution. “He still lives in New York. He’s Angel on

steroids.”

Oh.
He got the message. Somehow Chuito had managed to find some hardcore motherfuckers to hang

with in Hicksville, USA. He should be surprised, but he wasn’t. Like Marcos, trouble usually found
Chuito if he wanted it to or not. It didn’t matter where he was, and no amount of levelheadedness
could fix it. Some muchachos were just born to live hard.

“So what are you two fighting about?” Tino asked curiously, as if they were there to entertain

him.

“Nada,” they said in unison.
“Okay, this has been real.” Tino stood up and tossed his empty drink in the garbage can by the

corner. “I’m gonna go hang with the twins.” He hit Chuito’s shoulder as he walked by him. “Before I
get old.”

Chuito waved him off. “Five minutes.”
After Tino was out of earshot, Marcos turned to his cousin. “I can’t handle your life, bro. It’s too

complicated for me. How is she from a cop family?” He pointed downstairs to Jules. “And that
pendejo is mafia. How’s that all work?”

“Yeah, it is pretty complicated.” Chuito nodded, looking back down the stairs. “But Tino, he’s

all right. He’s the best friend I got here.”

Marcos gave him a look of disbelief. He didn’t trust the Italians any more than he trusted cops.

“What about the gringa?”

“That’s a different thing.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” Marcos laughed. “What the fuck? You blindsided me.”

“You sent me a text about getting shot and then ignored me all day.” Chuito gave him a harsh

look.

“I was busy.”
“That is fucked up,” Chuito growled, his dark eyes still narrowed. “You and my mother are all

the family I have left. You think I don’t wake up at night sweating over you still being in deep, and
you won’t let me help you. It’s like you want to fucking die. We’re like brothers, Marc. I don’t
understand why you’ll take from Angel instead of me.”

Marcos paused, for one moment putting himself in Chuito’s shoes. He could understand his

frustration. If the roles were reversed, he’d do anything to get Chuito out. He’d drain his entire bank
account without thinking about it, but that didn’t change the streak of unbending pride Marcos had
been born with. He just couldn’t take his cousin’s money. It wasn’t in him.

“I work for the money I get from Angel,” Marcos reminded him.
“Asshole, you strip cars for him!” Chuito yelled in Spanish. “You got off easy the first time

because you were young, but you got a record now. The next time you get caught, you’re going down
for as long as your father.” He hit Marcos’s elbow. “How many lines do you want on that thing?”

Marcos rubbed at the cobweb tattoo on his elbow that signified how many years he’d served in

prison. “It wouldn’t be that long.”

“Bullshit! It takes one raid.” Chuito held his finger up in front of Marcos’s face. “Just one.

That’s it. And I know how loaded the warehouse is. The cars will be the least of your problems. That
place has got enough drugs in it to keep half of Miami blitzed!”

Marcos snorted. “It does keep half of Miami blitzed.”
“That’s funny to you?” Chuito ran a hand through his hair and yelled despite the clients

downstairs. “What the fuck, Marc!”

“I can’t do anything else.” Marcos spoke very slowly as the fury rolled through him. “No one

will hire me. I’ve tried.”

“Move here.”
“With your Italian mafia brothers? No thanks!” Marcos laughed bitterly. “Who the fuck are you

to be judging me? All I do is strip cars. What the fuck are you doing for that mobster motherfucker?”

“He’s my friend.”
“Bullshit!” Marcos threw Chuito’s words back at him. “I know that’s a fucking lie.”
“No, it isn’t.” Chuito shook his head in denial, doing a very good job of looking innocent. “I

swear, he’s just my training partner.”

Marcos grabbed Chuito’s arm, pointing to the two red ink drops on either side of the snake’s

head of his Los Corredores tattoo. They were small, discreet, something most people wouldn’t notice,
but Marcos wasn’t most people.

“Those weren’t there before you left Miami. Hell, they weren’t there two years ago.” He glared

at his cousin and then lowered his voice so no one could hear him. “Who did you kill for him?”

Chuito looked away rather than answer. There was a tick in his jaw, but he left his arm in

Marcos’s grasp rather than wrench it away, which was telling.

He was proud of them.
But rather than admit it, Chuito just shrugged, still holding on to the lie he had obviously been

telling himself since he moved to Garnet. “Those were nothing.”

“Really? Murder is nothing.” Marcos looked at Chuito’s arm that was so much more decorated

than Marcos’s would ever be. The entire body of his Los Corredores tattoo was covered in ink drops.
“I thought at first it was because you were out of room. That’s not it, is it? You put those outside
because they had nothing to do with Los Corredores, but you still couldn’t resist getting the ink.”

“They were personal.” Chuito looked completely unremorseful, which was the scariest part of

the whole thing. “I wanted them there.”

“Did you do it for him?” Marcos pointed downstairs.
Chuito looked away again.
“Yeah, some amigo. Found out what you’re best at, didn’t he?” Marcos said in English as he

shoved his arm away. “I’m staying at Katie’s.”

“Marc.” Chuito followed Marcos when he walked into the living room and started gathering his

shit. “You don’t understand. They helped me. I would be dead or in prison right now if it wasn’t for
them.” He pointed downstairs. “I owed them. I’d do it again if I had to.”

“I know.” Marcos turned back to him, feeling his heart ache for a cousin who had everything and

still couldn’t stop finding reasons to hurt the world just because it hurt him first. “I know you’d do it
again. That’s why you made sure you remembered them. That’s the most fucked-up part about it.”

“It was only two.”
“Only two?” Marcos switched back to Spanish, hoping to God that Tino motherfucker wasn’t

listening. “And you have the balls to give me shit about stripping cars. I haven’t done it once since I
got out of prison, and I certainly wouldn’t do it for some mobster who will probably try to shoot you
in the back the first chance he gets.”

“That’s not true. Tino’s a brother. I know it. Besides, I didn’t do it for him. I did it because—”
“I don’t care why you did it!” Marcos turned back to him and hit Chuito’s chest. “There’s

something wrong with you. Losing Juan fucked you up. You don’t feel anything. It doesn’t even enter
your mind to be sorry about it.”

“Are you sorry?” Chuito asked, as if just considering guilt for killing the assholes who’d

murdered Juan and Marcos’s mother was a personal affront. “Would you take it back?”

“Do you hear yourself?” Marcos countered. “What sort of delusion are you living under that you

can sit here over Jules Wellings’s office and pretend that you’re not that same gangbanger who took
out anyone who was even remotely associated with Juan dying. You didn’t just kill them. You did it
badly. I did too. That shit still haunts my dreams, and I know it haunts yours too.”

“It’s not like we did it for nothing. Every drop on here was for something.” He pointed to his

arm furiously. “It mattered that we did what we did. We owed it to Juan and Aunt Camila, and I will
not let you insult their memory by saying it didn’t. These two mattered too. Just like the others. No
one is allowed to hurt my family, no one, and I better not find out that you’re starting to question it.
When someone attacks my family, it’s war. You don’t feel bad in war, Marc. You know that. Tell me
you still fucking know it!”

Chuito’s dark eyes blazed with a fury that was raw and terrifying. Their fight had cracked the

invisible shell he put around himself since he’d moved to Garnet—the wall that told the world he was
nothing more than a famous UFC fighter trying to look tough. The gang tattoos were just a myth, part of
his persona. Like some rapper trying to be hard but not actually doing the time. Few knew just how

real those marks on his body were. This was the cousin Marcos remembered from the streets. Chuito
had always been so much more dangerous than Marcos could ever be. There was something in the
calculated way he did things. Chuito didn’t just kill for revenge. He plotted it out first.

“Don’t worry, I don’t feel bad about it, but a part of me is starting to think I should,” Marcos

admitted as he turned to leave, knowing the drive-by fucked him up just as badly as Chuito. He felt
guilty for abandoning him to the gringa, because he hadn’t seen his cousin this unleashed since they
were teenagers. “Do your neighbor a favor tonight. Don’t sleep. Dreams don’t lie.”

* * * *

Katie made dinner while Marcos was gone.
Nothing fancy, burgers with fries that she threw in the oven, because everyone liked that. Marcos

was gracious and seemed to appreciate her cooking, but he was quiet and withdrawn in a way he
hadn’t been before he left.

“Are you okay?” Katie asked as she sat next to Marcos on the sofa in the living room watching a

travel show. He wore only jeans and was certainly more compelling than the television with all those
muscles and tattoos on display, but she couldn’t help but voice her concern. “You know, if you’re not
comfortable staying here—”

“No, that’s not it. I like being with you.” He reached over and squeezed her knee reassuringly. “I

got into a fight with my cousin today.”

“Oh.” She picked up a fry and took a bite as she thought about that. “It wasn’t because of me,

was it?”

“No.” He shook his head and set his plate on the table. “It wasn’t about you at all.”
“Is Chuito mad you’re staying here?”
“He’s probably glad I’m staying here.” Marcos stretched out on the couch, resting his head on

her thigh. He reached up, helping himself to one of her fries before she set her plate down. “It’s other
stuff. Being around him is not so easy anymore.”

Katie stroked his hair, enjoying the way it felt against her fingers. “Why?”
“I think I remind him of what he’s trying to forget. Here, he’s the Slayer. Famous fighter. With

me, he’s…something different.” Marcos took another bite of his fry, appearing deep in thought as he
rubbed his chest, his hand resting over the cross above his heart. “I dunno, maybe that’s not it at all. I
mean, coño, he’s obviously that person around that Tino pendejo, and he sees him every day.”

“You don’t like Tino Moretti?”
He jerked and looked up at her with a glare. “Do you know him?”
“Yeah, he’s Jules’s brother-in-law.” She shrugged when she saw how tense it made him. “We’re

not friends or anything, but—”

“I don’t want you talking to him.” He tugged on a strand of her hair to make his point. “You stay

away from him, you hear me, chica?”

“Bossy.” She arched an eyebrow, because that sort of controlling tactic reminded her of

Grayson. “I don’t like people telling me who to talk to, Marcos.”

“No.” He sat up and turned to her, his light eyes blazing. “You listen to me about this. Stay far

away from him.”

She frowned, more than a little unnerved. “Why?”

He reached out and cupped her face. His rough thumb ran over her bottom lip. “Because I asked

you to. If you trust me, you’ll do this for me.”

“Tino Moretti couldn’t pick me out of a crowd,” Katie assured him. “It’s fine. We’ve only

spoken a few times.”

“A few times too many.” He was still caressing her lip, his emotions so clear to read, anger

mixed with compassion. It was a strange combination, but it was there as he leaned in and kissed her.
“And make sure after I leave he’s not the next muchacho to show up.”

She laughed. “I doubt I’m Tino Moretti’s type.”
“You’re every man’s type.” He kissed her again, just a tease of their lips meeting that had Katie

running her hand up his bare arm, tracing the muscles that bunched under her fingers. He kept his lips
a breath away from hers. “Promise me.”

“I’ve given you enough promises today.” She smiled, thinking two could play this game. If he

could tease, she could too. “Are you jealous? He is a horrible flirt.”

“He thinks people are supposed to jump when he speaks,” Marcos whispered with bitterness.

“Stay away from guys like that. There’s usually a reason for that kind of attitude. They’ve earned it.
The hard way.”

“You have that kind of attitude,” she reminded him. “Did you earn it? The hard way?”
“Yes, chica, I did.” He kissed her again, another brush of his lips against hers as he spoke

against her mouth. “You should’ve stayed away from me too.”

He pushed his hand into her hair and then fisted it. He tugged her head back with all the attitude

he claimed to have earned the hard way. He studied her, the concern in his gaze being replaced by
something much more carnal. “Now open for me.”

She parted her lips, and he took what he wanted. His tongue slipped into her mouth, making a

wave of white-hot pleasure wash over her. It was a kiss meant to be obeyed, meant to break her and
leave her wanting more.

It worked.
She would have agreed to stop talking to anyone at that moment as he fell back against the couch,

pulling her with him until she was straddled over him. She held on to his bare shoulders for support
as he kissed her like a man possessed. All she could think about was him. He stole every other
thought in her head—like a thief—shamelessly and without remorse.

Chapter Eleven

Katie didn’t stay up late.
Marcos did.
It was one of the first major issues they discovered in their compatibility, but Katie fought sleep

as she lay curled into Marcos in bed, her head resting in the crook of his arm. She was trying to read,
but the romance novel wasn’t as interesting when she had the real thing next to her. She tried to focus
and keep from yawning, but it wasn’t working.

“Sleep, chica.” Marcos was looking at his phone, using his thumb to flip through whatever he

was doing. “You don’t have to stay up for me. I know how to entertain myself.”

She laughed, thinking of what he admitted to doing in the car the night before. “I know you do.”
“Yeah, that’s not happening tonight.” He laughed with her, his eyes still on his phone. “You wear

me out.”

Katie folded the page on her book and tossed it aside, curling into him instead. She looked at his

phone, seeing that he was on Facebook. “You have a lot of friends.”

“Most of ’em aren’t friends.” Marcos didn’t seem to be shy about her watching.

“Acquaintances.”

Katie studied the pictures and posts he paged through, most of which were from Miami, though

there were several from Puerto Rico. A few from California. She spotted one in Nevada and four in
New York. Over half of them were written in Spanish. Even the ones that were in English were
cryptic, using slang she didn’t understand. There were lots of pictures of strong, tattooed men flashing
strange hand signs. They all looked like they were partying and having fun. Other pictures were of
babies. Or backyard barbecues with the Florida sun shining down.

“You hate it here, don’t you?” she asked curiously as she looked into his world, finding it miles

apart from hers. “In Garnet, I mean. You hate this town.”

“I like you.” He squeezed her arm with his free hand. “I like my cousin when he’s not being a

hijo de la gran puta. The rest of this town can fuck itself.”

“You would never move here, would you?”
“No,” he said without hesitating. “I couldn’t live here.”
“What if you got a fighting spot at the Cellar?”
“I can’t get a fighting spot at the Cellar.”
“But what if you did?” Katie pressed.
“I can’t, Katie. I have a record. They don’t want me.”
“That seems unfair,” Katie pressed, because it irritated her. Jules’s husband had a record, and

he’d done just fine. “Romeo Wellings has a record. He was a fighter.”

“Well, he’s screwing the boss. Maybe if I went down on Jules Wellings, she’d change her

mind.”

“Do you want to go down on Jules Wellings?”
“Ay Dios mio, no. I hate that bitch. I wouldn’t do it for all the green in the world.”
“Romeo was a fighter before he was screwing the boss,” Katie mused, because it all seemed so

unfair. “The record didn’t hurt him.”

“Not with mafia ties, no.” Marcos seemed to agree about the unfairness. “His brother probably

bought him that UFC contract.”

“I’m sure Romeo isn’t involved in the mafia.”
“You keep believing that.”
“The mafia nearly killed Jules and Romeo. Why would he want to be associated with them?”
“There’s different mafia just like there’s different gangs. Gangsters shot at my house, remember?

That doesn’t change the fact that I’m still one.”

“You really think of yourself as a gangster?” The word felt strange on her tongue.
“Sí.”
Yes. Just one word, without hesitation.
That was very curious, considering all the pain it had brought him, and she couldn’t help but say,

“I don’t understand.”

“I know, cariño.” He tossed his phone on the nightstand and then rolled into Katie. He wrapped

his other arm around her, holding her tight as he pressed a kiss to the soft spot on the curve of her
neck. “You’re not supposed to understand.”

She threaded her fingers with his, and then studied their hands molded together. His tanned,

work-roughened palm against her smooth, pale one. There was nothing in the world that should allow
them to be there, companionable and peaceful in her bed.

“I don’t want you to go,” she admitted softly.
Marcos was silent rather than respond, and Katie was trying very hard not to let her feelings get

hurt. She had no business getting as attached to him as she was. Everything in her wanted to try to find
some way to hold him here, away from his other life, but she knew Marcos wasn’t a man to be
controlled like that.

Her phone beeped on the other nightstand, and she reached out to grab it. She looked at the

screen, seeing it was another message from Grayson.

Why are you ignoring me? I’m concerned for you, Katie girl. Tell me you’re okay, or I’m

coming over there.

Katie didn’t doubt his threat and was thinking of a response when Marcos ripped her phone out

of her hand.

“What are you doing?”
He rolled onto his side when she tried to grab it back, using his shoulder to block her. She

crawled over him, trying to reach for the phone when she saw him typing, but she didn’t actually get
the phone until he let her have it.

She fell onto her back and read the message Marcos had typed.
Fuck off.
She winced. “I would never type anything like that, Marcos.”
“You should type something like that. He thinks he still owns you.” He took her phone from her

and flipped off the ringer before tossing it on the nightstand. “You want me to fix that problem before
I leave? I’ll do it. Gladly.”

She eyed her phone, unsure how she felt about Marcos talking for her. “How come you’re so

bossy?”

“You know you like it, chica.” Marcos sounded completely unapologetic as he buried his face

against her neck. “Do you still want him? You miss sex on a towel with that little prick?”

“No,” she said without hesitation as she sat there wrapped up in Marcos’s arms and glaring at

her phone. “But I can handle my own issues.”

“Obviously not.”
She just yawned in defeat rather than argue, knowing she wasn’t going to change him. She didn’t

really want to, even though she thought she had enough of controlling men to last her a lifetime. She
supposed the difference was, Marcos was controlling, but he always seemed to have good intentions.
Grayson was completely self-serving.

He tugged on a strand of her hair and whispered in her ear, “Sleep.”
And damn if she didn’t listen to him.

* * * *

Katie had a real quiet way of sleeping. Peaceful. No snoring. No nightmares. Just soft little puffs

of breath that hit Marcos’s arm while he held her and looked at his phone, trying to will away the
storm of adrenaline the fight with Chuito had caused.

If he was going to be here a whole week, he was going to have to work out. There wasn’t enough

sex in the world to shake off this much furious energy.

Maybe they should just take Jules Wellings’s suggestion and beat the shit out of each other in the

cage at the Cellar. Marcos still fought in the underground circuit at home under the name Viper. He
wasn’t a UFC champion, but it had also been a very long time since Chuito had fought underground.
The rules weren’t there to protect you in the matches Marcos fought in, as he’d proved today when
Chuito tried to make the drop on him.

Of course, Marcos still had his ass handed to him.
As if he didn’t have enough problems, Angel had been texting him. A lot of Los Corredores had

been trying to get ahold of him. Everyone wanted to know where he was, considering he’d showed up
at the warehouse and then disappeared off the face of the earth. He’d been ignoring them until the last
text popped up as he held a sleeping Katie.

Stopped by your tía’s today. She said you’re visiting Chuito. Why didn’t you just tell us, bro?
Marcos stiffened, reading the text again as his pulse pounded in his ears. Angel went to his Aunt

Sofia’s house. He read that as a thinly veiled threat, and it made him more than a little apprehensive.

He should have never agreed to a week with Katie.
Hell, he shouldn’t have left Miami to begin with.
He got the impression that he was being sent a message. He grew up with Angel. It was hard to

imagine Angel actually taking out a hit on Marcos’s aunt, but he also didn’t trust him anymore. The
possibility was there, and Marcos was a very long drive away. He was tempted to call Chuito despite
the fight, because his pull in Los Corredores had always been much stronger than Marcos’s, who
never had any inclination to be a leader. His cousin, on the other hand, had been running Los
Corredores before he took off to Garnet and turned the job over to Angel. Most of the OGs, original
gangsters, still had loyalty to Chuito first, especially now that he was killing it in the UFC.

His cousin was practically a god to Los Corredores, and Marcos was starting to suspect Angel

hated that. That was why he was always buying out tickets to the fights, putting himself in Chuito’s
face and reminding him that he still had power over him. Making it seem as if Chuito was somehow in
that cage for his entertainment.

Marcos was starting to feel like a pawn too—another way for Angel to remind Chuito he was in

charge now. He could put up with a lot of shit, but being a pawn against his cousin wasn’t one of
them. He’d take himself out before he let that happen.

He slipped his arm out from under Katie, watching as she rolled toward him, as if unconsciously

seeking him out when he pulled away. He waited until she settled on her back, and studied her for a
second before he let himself out of the bedroom. He found his jeans by the couch and pulled them on.

He needed to get outside. To see the stars and clear his head. He grabbed Katie’s keys off the

table and put on his shoes. He walked out the door shirtless, and the cold night air smacked him in the
face.

“¡Me cago en ná!” he cursed as he locked her front door. “Spring break, my ass.”
He had parked his truck in the garage, because he didn’t want Katie’s neighbors to see it in her

driveway. The garage was off from the main house and had a back door that Katie left open.

Of course she did.
He rolled his eyes as he got into the cab of his truck and grabbed his jacket that he’d tossed back

there. He slipped it on and then walked down the street. There weren’t many houses on the block, but
he decided to keep his voice low when he called Angel. People here would probably call the cops on
his ass just for walking and talking on the phone.

Angel answered on the second ring. “¿Hola?”
“Who told you it was okay to go to my aunt’s house?” Marcos growled in Spanish.
“Hey, bro, take it easy. Paranoid much? Sofia was happy to see me. It’d been too long. I need to

visit her more often.”

Marcos stopped walking. He hadn’t been wrong.
It was a threat.
“You don’t get to say her name,” Marcos warned him.
“Always so confrontational, Marc.” Angel sighed. “It’s getting old.”
He should have called Chuito, because his cousin was much better at this kind of bullshit.

Marcos couldn’t play the game. He wasn’t able to move the chess pieces on the board like Chuito.
All Marcos was inclined to do was shoot first and ask questions later.

“What’s the deal, Angel?” Marcos asked when he accepted Angel was really doing this. “Why

are you fucking with me?”

“I thought we had a deal. I have work here for you.”
Marcos took a deep breath, forcing down the fury rolling under the surface. “I had things to do

here first. I was just wrapping them up.”

“The gringa? Katie whatever.”
The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, because he heard another veiled threat, and he

couldn’t hold back his fury this time. “You don’t get to say her name either.”

Angel laughed, sounding more than a little amused at Marcos’s expense. “Mia told me about her.

She said that’s where you went. She’s not too happy with you.”

“I don’t give a shit what your cousin thinks about it.”
“Always after the pussy, right, Marc?” Angel laughed again. “You never change. Whatever. Fuck

the gringa if you have to. Be back next week.”

“Stay away from my aunt. I swear to God, Angel, if you talk to her again—”
“We’re brothers,” Angel reminded him, his voice suddenly harsh. “Best not to forget that. I’m

being nice because we go way back, and I know how you are. You’re the only one I’d be this
understanding with.”

“I don’t come back next week, then what?”
“You should come back,” Angel said rather than answer the real question. “Your brothers miss

you.”

“I’m an OG. I’ve bled for Los Corredores more than anyone,” Marcos reminded him. “I did my

time. I don’t have to work for you anymore. I’ve done it by choice since I got out.”

“Come back,” Angel repeated rather than argue. “No worries. I’ll make sure you’re taken care

of. I’m fair, Marc. It’ll be good business for both of us. What? You think you can make it somewhere
else? You bring the heat down on any place you try to work. Stop fighting it. It’s either that, or go
crawling to Chuito instead. We both know that’s not your style.”

Marcos was breathing heavily. He wished he was in the same room with Angel so he could slam

his fist into his face and tell him what he really thought about the situation. This wasn’t about needing
money any more. Angel thought he owned Marcos. That wasn’t going to work at all.

No one owned him.
He managed to make it through a lot of years in Los Corredores without being controlled. He

would strip cars if he needed the cash. Hell, he would even take the fall rather than sell them out, but
everyone knew Marcos didn’t follow the rules like the others. Try to control him, and Marcos was
going to fight back with everything in him.

Rules had never been his friend.
And Angel knew that.
“I’ll be back next week.” Marcos’s voice was ice-cold even to his own ears.
“Good.” Angel sounded pleased, as if he didn’t hear the threat. Maybe the power really had

blinded him. It was Marcos and Chuito and their thirst for vengeance that earned Los Corredores the
rep Angel had been riding off of all this time, but he must have forgotten as he said, “I’m glad we’re
finally on the same page. Say hi to your chica for me.”

He hung up before Marcos could respond.
“¡Coño!” Marcos screamed at his phone, and then walked over and kicked a boulder in Katie’s

neighbor’s yard. The pain radiated up his foot, and he shouted, “¡Hijo de la gran puta!¡Chúpame el
bicho!”

He threw his phone into the grass and then really let loose with a stream of colorful words. The

only comfort was Katie’s neighbors wouldn’t understand him, but then he saw a front light come on.
He went to search for his phone and found it resting in the wet grass.

Angry or not, now he had to call his cousin.
He stared at his phone, seeing that he’d cracked the screen. It just pissed him off more, and he

pocketed it, deciding he needed a little more time to cool off before he talked to Chuito.

He limped back to Katie’s, still fuming.
This was probably karma for giving Chuito shit about the extra ink.
If he were in Miami right now, he’d be adding ink to his own arm.
He was going to kill Angel.
With his bare hands.
Who did he think he was?
Chuito let him take over.
Marcos hadn’t realized until right then how much he’d enjoyed elite status in Los Corredores,

but what the fuck? He’d lost his soul earning Los Corredores’s hard rep. He deserved a little elite
status for that shit.

He stopped when he rounded the corner to Katie’s, seeing a shadow by her front door. Then it

opened, shining light into the darkness as a man walked right into her house like he owned the place.

This was what he got for being in Garnet and letting his guard down at every turn. His gun was

still in his truck.

He ran so fast the guy was barely into the living room before Marcos got to him. Marcos

grabbed the intruder from behind. He fisted his hair in one hand and pushed him down. Not knowing
if he had a gun or not, Marcos slammed his face into the coffee table with enough force to hear bones
crunching.

The scream that burst out of him would have embarrassed Marcos’s Aunt Sofia. Really, this guy

screamed like a girl as he crumbled onto the carpet, clutching his nose.

Marcos had never heard a guy wail like that before, and he just knelt over him, breathing hard,

staring down as the smaller man tried to scramble away from him. It was hard under the blood, but
now that he saw his slim frame, Marcos recognized him.

It was Katie’s ex-husband.
Marcos rubbed a hand over his face and groaned. “Coño.”
He couldn’t really hit him again. It felt like hitting a woman. What did she ever see in this guy?
“What—” Katie came running into the living room. She was still putting her arms into the

sleeves of her robe but stopped and screamed when she saw her ex bleeding all over the living room.
“Oh my God, Grayson!”

She ran to him, and that really irritated Marcos.
Grayson was still crying, like actually crying, as he held his phone to his ear with one hand and

held his nose with the other. “I’m walling the wops!”

“You broke in!” Marcos shouted at him before he turned to Katie, who had run into the kitchen.

“He broke in, Katie. I locked the door when I left and—”

Grayson stopped his conversation with the cops to yell. “He’s stawing here?”
“That’s right, motherfucker.” He gave Grayson a hard look. “Now she knows how a real man’s

supposed to do it.”

“Marcos, don’t.” Katie brought back a roll of paper towels and fell down on her knees next to

Grayson. “Just be quiet while I deal with this.”

“He’s crying like a woman,” Marcos pointed out. “Come on.”
“He’s bleeding all over the place.” Katie’s voice quivered as if she was on the verge of a

nervous breakdown. “He’s not like you.”

“Are you sure he has cojones?”
Grayson narrowed his eyes up at him, though he still held the phone to his ear like a lifeline.

“What does dat mean?”

“It means balls, chica.”
“Marcos!” Katie shouted. “Stop!”
“Fine.” Marcos threw up his hands and turned away. “Have fun with your girlfriend.”
He went into the bedroom and grabbed his things. He tossed half his clothes on the bed. Then he

ripped off his jacket and pulled on a shirt since he was going to have to be dealing with the cops.

He might as well get it over with now, so he called his cousin because he didn’t dare go out

there. He should’ve hit that Grayson motherfucker a second time just to shut him up.

“What?” Chuito answered on the second ring, making it obvious he was still pissed.
“Don’t give me any attitude,” he yelled in Spanish. “I just got done dealing with Angel’s bullshit.

He went out to your mother’s to threaten me, and now Katie’s ex-husband is bleeding in the living
room. How can you take this town? He cries like a woman.”

“What?” Chuito barked back. “Angel went to my mother’s?”
“Send her to Puerto Rico.” Marcos rubbed his hand over his face. “Get her out of Miami.

Tomorrow.”

“Okay.” Chuito was obviously still trying to get his bearings. “Did you say Katie’s ex-husband

is bleeding?”

“He broke in!” Marcos shouted at him in Spanish. “What was I supposed to do? Now he’s

calling the cops and—”

“Coño, Marcos!” Chuito yelled over the sound of a door being slammed. “I’m coming over

there.”

“No. Fuck you. I don’t need your help!” Marcos growled, but the phone went dead.
He could hear the sirens, and he broke out in a cold sweat against his will. He leaned back

against the wall and took a deep breath, cursing himself again for coming back to this town.

He really hated the cops.
He was hoping to God they didn’t search his truck, because he didn’t have a permit for his gun,

and that was the last thing he needed. With his record, he could serve real jail time for an arrest like
that.

For just a moment, he thought of jumping in his truck and ditching this town, but he knew it’d just

come back on his cousin.

And Katie.
He flinched when he heard the police come in.
Grayson shouted. “He’s win there!”
The door burst open, and he stiffened when the entire door frame was filled with the biggest,

meanest redneck cop Marcos had ever had the misfortune of knowing. Sheriff Wyatt Conner was
worse than his sister, and that was saying something, because Marcos really hated Jules Wellings.

“Let me see your hands!” the sheriff shouted, his gun leveled at Marcos’s chest.
Marcos held up his hands and said as calmly as possible, “He broke in.”

“On the ground. Now. I’m sure you know what to do.”
“Really?” Marcos asked in disbelief as he got to his knees with his hands behind his head.

“Motherfucker broke in.”

Instead of listening to him, the sheriff forced him onto his stomach and handcuffed him. He put

his gun away and said, “Boy, you’ve been in my town two times, and two times I’ve had to show up.”

“Yup,” Marcos said rather than argue.
He was still sweating over the gun. He didn’t need this asshole searching his truck, or he’d have

a real reason to arrest Marcos.

“He walled me a woman,” Grayson was shouting from the living room. “He’s wangerous!”
“I did call him a woman,” Marcos assured the sheriff.
“Boy—”
“I’m not your boy,” Marcos growled when the sheriff forced him to his feet. “I just happen to be

the only motherfucker within five miles who doesn’t have a white ass.”

“Hey,” someone shouted from the living room.
Marcos looked over when the sheriff led him out and saw a very large black cop talking to

Katie. The cop was glaring at Marcos as if he took personal offense, but all Marcos could do was
sigh and shake his head.

He really did have the shittiest luck.
Katie jumped to her feet. “You can’t arrest him!”
“Katie, let me do my job,” the sheriff said in a stern voice.
“Marcos is staying with me.”
The sheriff was still leading him out toward the front door, but Katie followed after them.

“Grayson did break in. This is my house. I own it. He doesn’t have a key. Marcos probably didn’t
recognize him. I was just telling Adam that it’s all a big misunderstanding.”

The sheriff stopped walking. His hold on Marcos’s shoulder forced him to stop too.
“Now you believe it, when she says something.” Marcos snorted. “So tell me, Sheriff, is it just

Latinos you have an issue with?”

“You can’t arrest him.” Katie’s voice was still quivering in panic. She actually grabbed

Marcos’s arm as if that would somehow save him. “You can’t. He didn’t do anything wrong. He
didn’t recognize Grayson. I know he didn’t.”

“Are you staying here, Rivera?”
“Sí.” Marcos answered in Spanish on purpose.
“Did you recognize him when you attacked him?”
“No, I don’t hit girls.”
“Your mouth is ’bout to get you in a whole heap of trouble.”
“Vete pa’l carajo.”
“Please un-handcuff him,” Katie pleaded. “Doesn’t he have a right to defend my property if he’s

staying here?”

“Grayson said the attacker came at him from outside.”
“Is taking a walk illegal in Garnet?” Marcos asked.

Katie still sounded frantic as she said, “Grayson must’ve used the key under the mat and—”
“You have a key to your house under the mat?” Marcos looked at her like she was crazy.

“Chica, he could’ve done anything to you. Why would you do something like that?”

“He wouldn’t do anything violent.”
“Why’d he break in at one in the morning, then?”
“Okay.” The sheriff sighed behind them. “I take it y’all are involved.”
“Yeah.” Marcos turned his head to glare at the sheriff. “Someone in this town likes Latinos.”
“Look, boy—”
“I told you I’m not your boy.”
“Jesus, let me just put you in the car until I can sort this out.”
“What?” Katie shouted. “No! You can’t put him in back there like a criminal.”
“Let the ambulance get Grayson out of here first.” The sheriff forced Marcos to step around her.

“Having the two of them in the same room is obviously a mistake.”

“Are you gonna arrest her ex?” Marcos asked. “What if I wasn’t here? Isn’t it your job to protect

people like Katie?”

“If he broke in, you bet your ass I’m gonna arrest him. Did he have permission to enter your

house, Katie?”

“No, he did not,” Katie answered without hesitating.
Sure enough, the sheriff talked to his deputy on his mic, and Marcos understood enough about

what he was saying to know Grayson was about to be in a whole world of shit.

That made Marcos feel almost upbeat, and he let the sheriff lead him to his sheriff SUV without

complaint. He sat there, obediently, with his hands cuffed behind his back. “Can you make sure I get a
good view of you hauling him off to jail?”

“He’s going to the hospital first. You broke his nose, Rivera.”
“So?” Marcos snorted as he looked up at the sheriff, who was co-owner of the Cellar and a

former UFC fighter. “You’ve had your nose broken, I’m sure. Did you cry like that?”

The barest hint of a smile tugged at the sheriff’s lips. “No.”
“Look, I didn’t know it was him. I honestly didn’t. I wouldn’t have used as much force if I did,”

Marcos assured him. “I saw someone breaking in. I thought he was trying to hurt Katie. I just acted.”

“Where were you when you saw him breaking in?”
“I took a walk to make a phone call because I didn’t want to wake up Katie. I came back and

saw a man opening the door. I thought someone was trying to hurt her, so I stopped him before he
could. I didn’t even hit him a second time.”

Wyatt stepped back and looked from Katie, who hovered nervously near the car, to Marcos, who

sat in the backseat. “Trouble seems to follow you two.”

Katie’s huffed. “I realize that.”
The sheriff left Marcos in the car and walked inside. When he came back, he took the time to

take a real statement from them, but Marcos noticed he didn’t take the cuffs off him.

The ambulance showed up.
So did Chuito.

“Wyatt!” Chuito yelled as he got out of his car. “Come on, man. That’s my cousin.”
“I’m not arresting him. We’re just letting everyone cool off. He was irate when I got here,”

Wyatt said as he went back to writing. “We don’t need you making things worse.”

“Her neighbors are looking at him,” Chuito argued as he pointed across the street. “Is her ex-

husband handcuffed?”

“Yes, he is.” Wyatt gave a Chuito a look. “I’m gonna have to ask you to back up, Mr. Garcia.

You aren’t part of this investigation.”

Chuito rolled his eyes and took two steps back. “Happy?”
The sheriff just gave Chuito another hard look but went back to writing. He took a statement from

Katie too, who didn’t pull any punches. She backed Marcos up completely, and she didn’t seem too
concerned about Grayson being arrested.

Which made him feel a little better after the living room incident.
“Has he been harassing you a lot, Katie?”
“Yes,” Marcos answered for her. “I saw him grabbing her in the school parking lot.”
The sheriff’s eyebrows rose. “Grabbing her?”
“Like he was trying to hurt her,” Marcos told him.
“He’s just never gotten over the divorce.” Katie shrugged. “I don’t think he’d hurt me, but—”
“But?” The sheriff pressed.
“I don’t know.” Katie sighed. “He calls me all the time. He bothers me at school, and he’s made

it very clear he doesn’t appreciate me divorcing him.”

“And tonight he broke into your house?” the sheriff went on. “That’s harassment, Katie. Did my

sister know about all this? I know she helped you with the divorce.”

“Well, not the breaking-in part.”
“But the rest of it?” Wyatt went on. “And she didn’t tell you to talk to me? I find that hard to

believe.”

“She might have suggested it, but—”
“Are you gonna take the handcuffs off him?” Chuito pointed to Marcos. “He was protecting his

girl, Wyatt. I know you get that.”

“Okay.” The sheriff cut off Chuito with a stern look before he turned back to Marcos. “Are you

calm now?”

“I was calm then,” Marcos argued as the sheriff glared at him. “I was.”
The sheriff let him go, and Marcos rubbed his wrists self-consciously as he took a step back

from the SUV. It was cold out, but his back was still sticky from the nervous sweat that didn’t want to
stop despite his short sleeve shirt.

Ending up on his face with handcuffs being slapped on his wrists caused an extreme case of

post-traumatic stress. Irate. Hell, if the sheriff only knew what was going on in his mind. He had
wanted to fight it with everything in him.

They brought Grayson out on the gurney, but he was handcuffed to the bars and crying. “This

isn’t bair, Sheriff! Don’t do dis!” He pointed at Katie as they wheeled him past. “You did dis to me!”

The deputy escorting Grayson nudged his shoulder. “Quiet.”
Then he really started sobbing, and Marcos almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.
“He is a woman,” Chuito said in Spanish, sounding disgusted. “No wonder she was driving me

crazy for your number.”

Marcos laughed. “Right?”
“Okay, y’all can go back in the house.” Wyatt gestured to the house. “I’ll be in touch.”
“I can’t wait,” Marcos said drily, but was stopped from saying any more when Chuito kicked the

back of his leg hard enough to make him trip.

“Thanks, Wyatt,” Chuito called out instead.
“Hey, can y’all make sure this is the last time I have to come out and deal with some catastrophe

revolving around you two?”

“It’s the last time,” Katie promised.
Marcos was almost to the door, when something about the sheriff’s comment hit him, and he

turned on his heel. Chuito tried to grab his shirt, but Marcos broke out of his hold and ran up to the
sheriff so fast he jerked. Marcos didn’t miss his hand on his gun, but he didn’t let that stop him.

“Hey, Sheriff, since you’re so quick to judge, I noticed you never found the gringa who tried to

kill Katie.” Marcos couldn’t keep the scorn out of his voice. “It took me twenty minutes in this town
to find her. Great police work there. Did you even look?”

“Excuse me?”
“The accident. With Katie and me, I know who caused it.”
The sheriff looked uncertainly to Katie and then turned back to him. “Okay, let’s hear it.”
“It’s that girl, the one her ex is dating.” Marcos turned back to Katie. “What’s her name?”
“Do you mean Ashley Moore?” Katie looked shocked. “Marcos, I don’t know that he’s actually

seeing her and—”

“No, it’s her. She drives a red ’09 Toyota Corolla, but it’s not a factory red. It’s a new paint job;

I can tell. And I told you that night, it was a ’09 Toyota Corolla. Look back on your notes, you’ll see.
It was her car. I’d bet all the green in Chuito’s bank accounts on it.”

“Marcos knows cars,” Chuito told the sheriff. “If he says it was that car, it probably was.”
“I guarantee you it used to be blue.” Marcos pointed at the sheriff. “That puta caused the

accident. She was trying to run Katie off the road. She was probably jealous. She must like girls.”

The sheriff ran a hand over his face and sighed. “Okay, this is getting more complicated. Let me

just follow y’all back inside and take another statement.”

It was obvious he really wanted to be done with them.
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me this when you saw it a few days ago?” Wyatt asked a short

while later as he sat at Katie’s table, writing again.

“No offense.” Marcos took a sip out of the water bottle Katie handed him, when what he really

wanted was a rum and coke. “You’re not my favorite person, Sheriff.”

Wyatt arched an eyebrow at him. “So what were you gonna do with the information?”
“Tell Katie. Let her talk to you about it.”
“But you haven’t told Katie your suspicions until now.”
Marcos grinned. “We’ve been busy.”

“Okay, Rivera, whatever.” The sheriff rubbed his face again. “I don’t know how you and Chuito

grew up in the same house. Y’all are really nothing alike. You got a mouth on you that would make a
saint swear. Chuito’s got more self-control than anyone I know.”

Marcos laughed out loud. He couldn’t help it.
Wyatt looked up curiously.
Chuito kicked him.
Marcos just gave the rest of the statement rather than argue.

Chapter Twelve

Then the three of them sat there shell-shocked after the sheriff left. The only rum Katie had was

coconut flavored, but Marcos decided to make an exception. He drank it straight on ice. Katie mixed
hers with orange juice.

Chuito drank water as he sat in the chair across from the couch, looking at the two of them.

“Wyatt’s right, you know? You two are a catastrophe.”

“Fuck you, Chu,” Marcos said as he glared at his cousin before he turned to Katie. “So much for

your two negatives theory.”

“I’m sorry,” Katie whispered, sounding miserable.
Marcos knew the night had been stressful for her, and he couldn’t help but reach over and

squeeze her knee. “It’s okay, chica.”

Chuito wasn’t quite so forgiving as he narrowed his eyes at Katie. “You’re bad for my cousin.”
“Please shut up, Chuito,” Katie snapped at him. “I think it’s obvious your cousin can take care of

himself. Let him make his own bad choices.”

“Feisty.” Marcos laughed, and leaned over, draping his free arm around Katie. He kissed her

and whispered against her lips, “I like it.”

Chuito stood, giving them a disgusted look as he spoke to Katie. “Look, I realize he may have

some skills you appreciate, but do you think this thing between you two will last? You think he’s
gonna move here, Katie? You think you can fix him? Make him blend? You can’t. Trust me on this.
I’ve been trying it for years. Marcos doesn’t know how to follow the rules. Even when it would save
his ass, he can’t do it. Trying to get him to fit into your world would be like trying to teach you
Spanish. Impossible.” Chuito pointed at her. “You’re a high school teacher, for Christ’s sake. You
are one big rule.”

“Don’t call her big,” Marcos snapped at him. “Lush. Sexy.” He liked the sound of that and

amended his cousin’s statement. “She’s one sexy rule I wouldn’t mind following.”

“I could learn Spanish,” Katie added defensively. “For example, right now I think you’re being

an enormous pendejo when we’ve already had a very trying night.”

Marcos laughed again. “That was Spanish.”
“Ay Dios mio.” Chuito turned from them and ran both hands over his face and through his hair.

“Great plan, learn Spanish from Marcos. Let’s see how well that works out for you in public. That
was one of the nicest words in his vocabulary, chica.”

“You are being a pendejo,” Marcos couldn’t help but point out. “Big-time.”
Chuito glared at him. “Can I talk to you in the kitchen?”
“No, you can’t.” Marcos drained the last of his drink, deciding there wasn’t near enough alcohol

in this coconut mierda. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Now, Marc.” Chuito’s dark gaze glowed with fury. “We have other shit to discuss.”
“Chúpame el bicho,” he said to his cousin before he turned to Katie. “You want me to translate?

I don’t mind repeating it.”

“Don’t say yes.” Marcos eyes were still narrowed as he said to Marcos in Spanish, “It’s

actually a serious situation. Can I please speak to you?”

Marcos huffed in frustration. “Fine.”
“I’ll take a shower,” Katie said when he squeezed her hand and stood. “Meet you in bed?”
“Sounds good.” Marcos followed Chuito, but then turned around and watched Katie walk off.

“She has the nicest ass,” he told his cousin in Spanish. “And she’s waxed. Did I tell you that? How
sexy is that?”

“What did that mean?” Katie called from the bedroom.
“Nada,” Chuito answered for him and jerked Marcos’s arm so hard he nearly face-planted on the

tile in the kitchen. “Come on, man, you better hope she doesn’t learn Spanish.”

“I bet I could teach her.” Marcos poured himself more coconut rum. “She’s smart.”
“What is it about this chica?”
“I like her. A lot.” Marcos took another long drink, wincing over the sweetness of it. He went to

look in the fridge, considering orange juice to mix with it like Katie had done. “I hate this shit. Is
there a real liquor store in this town?”

“Just tell me about Angel.”
Fuck the orange juice. He just drank it straight again, because he didn’t want to think about the

Angel situation.

“You get your mother out of the house. I’ll deal with the rest when I go back.”
“Why? What’s going to happen?”
“That would be my problem.” Marcos raised his eyebrows. “We stopped being a team a long

time ago.”

Chuito leaned back against the counter, his body tense as he eyed Marcos critically. “You’re

planning on doing something stupid.”

“My issue.” Marcos gestured to himself, because he wasn’t going to let Angel win at using him

as a pawn against his cousin. “I told you what you need to know. Now get out. Let me enjoy Katie
while I can.”

“I can’t just get out, Marc,” Chuito snapped at him. “I can’t drop it.”
“Yes, Chu, you can.” Marcos drank again. “I’m not giving you another option.”
Chuito ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up in dark spikes. “There’s no way that chica

is going to put up with you for a week. I can barely stand you, and you’re practically my brother.”

“Okay, you keep telling yourself that. Me and Katie, we actually get along really well.” Marcos

looked at his glass, eyeing the melting ice cubes. “My mother would have liked her.”

“Marcos—”
He glanced up, seeing his cousin standing there with the stricken look on his face. Aunt Sofia

talked about the dead a lot. Marcos and Chuito never did, but for just a moment, he considered a
different life, one where he could have taken Katie home to his mother. “She would have liked her a
lot. I know it. She’d be proud of me for finding a girl like that. A teacher. She helps kids turn out like
Juan was supposed to turn out.”

Chuito put a hand over his eyes and took a deep breath. “Please just tell me how I can help you.”
“You can’t. Sorry.” Marcos sighed. “Sometimes I miss the good ol’ days. Us against the world.

It made it easier, somehow.”

“It’s still us against the world.” Chuito dropped his hand and gave him a hard look. “I’d smoke

Angel tomorrow for you. Easy. I’d smoke just about anyone for you, Marc. You tell me the problem,
and I’ll take care of it.”

“I know.” He walked up and patted his chest. “That’s why you got to go.”
“Why are you doing this?” Chuito sounded as lost as Marcos felt. “Why won’t you let me help

you?”

“Because you think we owed it to my mother and Juan to get even,” Marcos started, hating that

his voice cracked. “And I believed you. For a long time I thought that was true. Now I’m not so sure.
I’m starting think I owe it to Juan to make sure his older brother doesn’t lose any more of his soul to
this bullshit.”

“So, what? You give up yours instead?” Chuito shook his head, his gaze suddenly hard. “No. I’m

not going to let that happen.”

“Don’t worry. I’m not giving up any more of my soul. Not for you,” Marcos assured him. “And

I’m certainly not doing it for Angel.”

“Do you think he’s going to try to take you out?” Chuito asked, his voice anguished. “Is that what

you’re trying to say to me?”

“I don’t know what Angel is going to do.” Marcos shrugged and then took another drink. “Go

home, Chu. Go take advantage of a pretty chica crawling in your bed every night.”

“Life isn’t just about fucking a pretty chica, Marcos.”
“Yes, it is.” Marcos gave him a smile as he thought about Katie. “And if you did it with the right

one, you’d know that. I know why you won’t screw your neighbor, and it’s not because her father’s a
preacher.”

“Why, then?” Chuito laughed manically. “You tell me why, genius?”
“Because you’re afraid she’ll stop giving you a reason to be so angry, and you can’t handle that.

Anger is the only thing that’s kept you going for the past eight years. I’m so tired of it.”

“Fine, you know what, go do something stupid and reckless and give Angel a reason to smoke

you.” Chuito pushed away from the counter and walked past him. “This chica has made you more
crazy than usual, as if that was possible, but I don’t care anymore!”

“Good!” Marcos yelled as he followed his cousin out of the kitchen. “I hope you mean it!”
“I do! You know what I’m tired of? I’m tired of trying to help someone too fucking stubborn to

help himself!”

“Fuck your neighbor. Please. You need it. Desperately.”
Chuito slammed the front door rather than respond. Marcos looked out the window, watching his

cousin storm to his car. He locked the front door when he saw the headlights go on.

Then he downed the rest of his drink, thinking if Chuito really did have more self-control than

any other muchacho that asshole Wyatt Conner knew, he sure didn’t want to meet his other friends.

His cousin was an atomic bomb waiting to go off, and Marcos seemed to be the only one who

knew it.

* * * *

Marcos found Katie in the shower, with the hot steam billowing up around her, making her seem

almost dreamlike. He could see the way her hair clung to her bare back, like chestnut waterfalls
against her pale skin. The deep curve in her waist. The flare of her hips. Her ass was nice and round,

and it made him just want to grab it every time she walked by.

Coño, she was beautiful.
He kicked off his shoes and grabbed the collar to his shirt at the same time.
“You coming in?”
“Yeah, I need a shower worse than you do.” He tossed his shirt aside and then tugged at the

button to his jeans. “Is there enough hot water?”

“There’s plenty.”
Katie stepped back when he opened the door, letting him have the spray. Something about that

didn’t sit well with Marcos. She was too nice, and it bothered him. He wasn’t used to a woman like
her, so completely trusting it didn’t enter her mind that her ex was here to hurt her.

What would have happened if Marcos wasn’t there?
For the first time, he really allowed himself to think about it. He was used to women like his

Aunt Sofia, who’d stab someone with a kitchen knife without thinking if they broke in. Who was
Marcos kidding? His Aunt Sofia would shoot the dumbass who tried to break into her house.

But Katie, he wasn’t so sure.
“You don’t give me the water,” he said as he stood behind her, turning her toward the spray,

letting it roll down the curve of her breasts. “You’re supposed to say, ‘Chico, if you want the water,
you stand behind me.’”

“Why would I do that?” Katie turned her head and frowned at him. “You just said you needed

it.”

“It doesn’t matter what I need.” He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her tight against

him, allowing her to feel his cock that had hardened the moment he saw her naked. “You’re a woman.
You got what I want. Use it against me every chance you can get.”

“I’m not doing that.”
“Yes, you are. I’m gonna make you.” He draped his other arm over her front, sliding it between

the valley of her breasts as he held her possessively. “You scared me tonight.”

“You didn’t look scared.”
He reached up and grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him. He stared at her eyes—soft

honey-colored eyes, trusting eyes. They were framed with long eyelashes that made her too kind for
his sanity.

“I was scared,” he assured her as he ran a thumb over her lip. “I don’t want you talking to your

ex anymore. Promise.”

“I work with him,” she reminded him.
“I don’t care.” He kissed her, and she parted her lips to let him slip his tongue past them. When

he pulled away she leaned in, silently begging for more, but he resisted and said, “Get him fired.”

“I can’t do that.”
“Sí, you can. He tried to attack you. Make sure he’s fired for it.”
“I’m not going to ruin his life,” Katie argued. “I don’t think he would attack me. I honestly don’t.

He was probably just mad I was ignoring him and—”

“Get him fired,” Marcos reiterated a third time. “Promise me.”
“I already told you I promised enough.” She arched an eyebrow at him. “Wash my back?”

That idea distracted him enough to grab the soap off the dish in front of her. He used the shower

spray to make his hands nice and soapy before he rubbed the bar down between her breasts. It felt so
good to touch her, to see his tanned hands against her pale stomach. They didn’t match, but he liked
the contrast better.

He used his other hand to trace the line of her pussy, making her toss her head back against his

shoulder. “Why do you wax, chica?”

“I’ve been doing it for years. I did it once on a dare in college. Grayson hated it. Told me he

never wanted me to do it again. As you can tell, I don’t like being told what to do.”

“You’re stubborn,” he agreed as he dropped the soap, deciding he could wash her back after he

was done with her. He crossed his arm over the front of her again, letting it rest between her breasts
and wrap around her waist, holding her up as he used his other hand to get her off. “I think the wax is
sexy.”

“Really?” She was breathless, but her voice was playful. “You’ve said it a few times, but I

wasn’t sure.”

“Very sexy,” he assured her.
He fell back against the wall with her, because he was turned on and crashing from almost

getting arrested. The coconut rum was choosing now to hit him because he didn’t drink that much
these days. Certainly not like he had when he was younger.

He was getting soft in his old age.
But it didn’t really matter, because he had a very wet, very lush gringa in his arms, looking like a

goddess with the water hitting her and her head tossed back against his shoulder.

He slid his knee between her legs, forcing her to widen her stance as he alternated between

pushing his fingers into her crazy tight, unbelievably slick pussy, and then using the slickness to rub
her clit. He was teasing her, but he was sort of hoping she would tell him off for it.

Instead Katie wrapped both her hands behind his neck, giving him free rein over her body, and it

was turning him on like crazy. He should be tapped out, but when she started arching into his hand, it
made the slide of his cock against her bare back wet and erotic, and he realized he was teasing
himself too.

He focused all his effort on her clit, and Katie started moaning, her chest heaving because she

was always responsive. Scarily so. If a real man found her, instead of that chica Grayson, he could
really take advantage of her.

A woman like Katie was made to fuck.
She craved it as much as he did, and that left her wide open to getting hurt, but that didn’t stop

Marcos from taking advantage of it, because he was born a thug, and he couldn’t help himself.

He groaned when she came with soft, panting gasps of pleasure that made all the fine hairs on the

back of his neck stand on end. She was still shaking, her pull on his neck heavier as her legs started to
give out, but Marcos just tightened his hold on her and then pushed not one but two fingers inside her
just to feel her clench around them.

“I love to feel you around me.” He arched his hips and pushed his cock tighter against the curve

of her back. “You feel so fucking good.”

Katie pushed his hands off her and turned around. She stood on her toes and cupped his face to

kiss him. He pulled her hair and kissed her back, taking her mouth the way his cock wanted to take her

body. He liked the feel of her tits against his chest and her ass in his hand.

“Tell me not to pull your hair anymore,” he panted against her lips.
“No,” she argued and then leaned in for another kiss, but he resisted rather than give it to her.

She used her hold on his face to force him back to her and breathed into his mouth. “I like when you
pull my hair.”

He groaned and kissed her and pulled her hair and licked the water off her neck and bit her

earlobe until he was so fucking desperate he could barely see straight.

“I left the condoms in my jeans.” He moaned as he grabbed her ass with both hands and arched

his hips against her, enjoying the feel of her smooth, wet skin against his cock. “Fuck.”

Katie reached out and pushed at the shower door. Then she broke out of his arms and bent down,

getting the floor wet as she reached in the pocket of his jeans. He eyed her ass and the line of her
pussy as she tossed his cell phone and wallet onto the tile.

“You cracked your phone.”
“Whatever,” he mumbled as he stared at the way she looked on her hands and knees.
Katie found the two condoms that were in the back pocket and got to her feet. She tried to rip

them apart, but Marcos yanked them out of her hand and pulled the door closed before she could.

“Like this, chica.” He turned her around and pushed her hands against the wall. He used his foot

to nudge her legs apart as he admired the line of her back and all that hair, usually so wavy, now
flowing in rivers down over her wet skin almost to those little dimples above her ass. “Coño, eres
bella.”

“What does that mean?”
“It means you’re beautiful, cariño.”
He leaned into her because he couldn’t help himself. He just wanted to be near her, to be skin to

skin and know that for this exact moment, no one could hurt her.

“I should’ve killed him.” Marcos decided as he tossed the one condom aside and then used his

teeth to tear open the second. “Then that’d be one less problem for you.”

“You don’t mean that.”
“Yes, I do,” he promised as he fought with the condom that never wanted to play well in the

shower.

He kissed her neck when he was done and cupped her tits because they looked so good in his

hands. Then he touched her again, stretching her for his cock, but he didn’t have the patience to wait
more than a few minutes before he was holding her hips and pushing into her.

All that tight wet heat wrapped around him, dragging him down to a dark place as the pleasure

hazed his common sense, and he pulled her hair again when he was buried to the hilt.

“He ever touches you. Hurts you. Looks at your wrong. Even breathes in your direction,” Marcos

growled into her ear, using the hold on her hair to prove his point. “I’ll fucking take him out, chica.”

She pushed her hips back rather than respond, and he couldn’t help but fuck her. Hard. He bit his

lip rather than come, using the pain as a distraction when she cried out and gave in to the pleasure.

Then he touched her again, forcing her to get off a third time.
It was the least he could do after taking all the aggression out on Katie’s lush body. When he did

finally come, he bit her neck more harshly than he meant to and pulled her hair harder than he should.

Katie just climaxed with him rather than complain.

* * * *

Later, when they lay in bed, Katie snuggled into him with her head on his shoulder and asked,

“What happened to your phone?”

“I happened to my phone,” Marcos said as he typed a group message to all the OGs that were

loyal to him and Chuito, telling them to watch their backs because he suspected this little stand Angel
was making could come back in all their faces. “I threw it earlier.”

“Why?”
“’Cause I’m a mean, angry thug who throws things when I get mad.”
“We could go to the mall in Mercy and get it fixed.”
“No, I’d rather stay here with you,” he said as he finished his message and sent it. “There are

malls in Miami. I’ll fix it when I get back.”

“What are you saying to all of them?” Katie asked.
“I’m telling them I’m laying low.”
“That’s a lot of words to say you’re laying low.” Katie yawned. The first pink of morning was

starting to shine in through the bedroom curtains, but still she watched his phone as his friends started
responding. “How can so many of them already be awake?”

“They’re not waking up. They’re going to bed.”
“Oh my God.” Katie yawned again. “That’s crazy. What do they do all night? They can’t all be

thieves. There’s not enough stuff in Miami.”

Marcos laughed. “Most of ’em have real jobs now. They just stay up because they picked up bad

habits when they were younger.”

“I see Chuito’s name in there.” She pointed to Luis’s comment in the thread. “What does that

say?”

“It says, ‘Why not tell Chuito? He’s the original OG.’”
“What does that mean?”
“It means he’s the original original gangster.” Marcos laughed and typed back. “Luis, dumbass,

you should’ve stayed in school.”

“Are most of them dropouts?”
“Yup.”
“I think that’s sad.” Katie yawned again. “Must be hard to get a job.”
“Yeah, well, that’s not the only reason why it’s hard for most of ’em to keep a job.”
“What’s the other reason?”
“Most of us have records. If it wasn’t for the original OG, they’d probably still be chopping

cars. He makes up for the cheap-ass minimum wage most of them make so they can feed their kids.”

“You mean Chuito?”
“Yeah.”
“He gives them money?”
“Yup.”
“Does he give you money?”

“No.”
“Why not?”
“’Cause I won’t let him.” He tossed his phone aside and rolled into her. He kissed the top of her

head and said, “Enough questions.”

“Have you really stolen a car before?” Katie asked rather than listen. “Like broken into it and

taken it from someone else.”

“I have really stolen many cars before.”
“Could you steal my car?”
“Your midrange car with no theft prevention devices that you keep unlocked in the garage that is

also unlocked?” Marcos snorted in disbelief. “Yes, I could steal it.”

Katie seemed to ponder that for a while. “Huh?”
“Yeah, more real when you start thinking about it, huh, chica?”
“Has Chuito stolen a car?”
“No, he got to be the original OG by being a nice guy.” Marcos kissed the top of her head again.

“I said go to sleep.”

Katie got quiet, and Marcos thought she had started to drift off to sleep, but then she whispered

into the darkness, “I still don’t want you to go. Do you think that makes me guilty by association?”

“No.” He sighed. “I think that makes you too sweet to keep. I’m leaving in a week. You

promised.”

“And what does a promise mean to you? A thief.”
“To an OG, a promise means everything. You don’t break a promise once you make it. Got it?”
She sighed and tightened her arms around him. “Yeah, I got it.”

Chapter Thirteen

The thing about a week, when you’re living in the moment, was that it ended up lasting forever

and going way too fast at the same time. Katie felt like she’d lived a lifetime with Marcos in her little
house, holed up with enough food to keep them alive, and enough privacy to make love in every
corner.

Her father and brother showed up the day after the break-in. They were grateful to Marcos for

protecting Katie, and then dragged her outside and told her she was batshit crazy for letting him stay
in her house.

So she largely ignored her phone, and Marcos largely ignored his because he was having issues

too. They talked to the sheriff once when he showed up, because he found out Ashley’s car had once
been blue just like Marcos claimed.

The sheriff went to question Ashley.
Katie didn’t care.
She didn’t care about Grayson’s legal issues either.
All she really cared about was that it was Saturday, and tomorrow was the last day of spring

break. She knew she’d promised to let him go, and she knew that promise was something that actually
held real value to Marcos when so little in this world did, but that didn’t stop her from being
desperate for something, anything, that would keep him here.

So she sat on the floor by the couch, folding laundry and thinking of ways to talk Marcos into

staying, but no argument seemed fair. Why should he stay in a town he obviously hated? And with
good cause. Everyone he dealt with here, even his own cousin, was rude to him at the very least, and
tried to arrest him at worst.

“I think I’m sick of this town,” Katie mused to herself. “I’m starting to hate it here.”
Marcos leaned over from where he was stretched out on the couch and wrapped an arm around

her chest. “Why do you hate it?”

“I dunno.” Katie did know; she hated it for pushing Marcos away, but rather than admit that, she

just put a folded towel up on the coffee table Marcos had used to break her ex-husband’s nose. She
searched for another reason because she didn’t want to fight with him and finally settled on, “I’ve
never fit in here, to be honest.”

“You don’t talk like them.” Marcos placed a kiss against her neck before he said, “How come

you don’t have a hee-haw accent like the rest of these pendejos?”

“Grayson and I went to college out of state. Maybe if I’d stayed close like Jules, I’d still be

Garnet born and bred.”

“I like how you talk, chica.” Marcos took a long drink of his rum and coke that he’d started

downing before the sun set as if he was feeling the clock as much as she was. He kissed her neck
again and said, “I feel smart just sitting next to you.”

“You’re crazy. You speak two languages fluently. That makes you smarter than I’ll ever be.”
“Whatever. You teach school. I couldn’t do that. Even if I was smart like you, I couldn’t do it.

Teenagers are such motherfuckers. I deal with them all the time, and they annoy the shit out of me.
Thinking they’re tough ’cause of the ink on their arm. I’m gonna go back and apologize to all my old

teachers when I get home.”

“You should ask them why they didn’t make sure you graduated instead.” Katie set another towel

on the table.

“Ay Dios mio, I was such a thug in high school.” Marcos gave a pained chuckle. “I’m sure they

couldn’t wait to get rid of me. I was a bad apple rotting out all the other apples just by being there.”

Katie reached up and caressed his hair when he buried his face in the curve of her neck. “I’m

sure that’s not true.”

“No, it’s true,” Marcos assured her. “If I had to teach a prick like me in high school, I’d beat his

ass on principle.”

Katie laughed. “Teaching probably shouldn’t be in your future.”
“There’s not much of anything in my future.” Marcos took another drink. “Dirt or prison bars.”
She turned around and glared at him. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing.” He drained the rest of his rum and set it on the table. “Forget the laundry. I’ll fold it

later. Come sit on me.”

Katie abandoned the chore and crawled onto the couch. She straddled Marcos, looking down at

him in nothing but a worn pair of jeans. She put her hands on the stars on his shoulders that told the
world he was a thief and asked, “Why are you drinking tonight?”

“’Cause I’m gonna miss you, chica.” He used both his hands to push her hair away from her face

and then cupped her cheeks as he tugged her down. He kissed her, his tongue pushing past her parted
lips to brush against hers, and she moaned into his mouth at the feel of it. He tasted like rum, warm
and spicy, making her drunk on him almost instantly. When they did part, he was as breathless as her
as he asked, “You wanna fuck?”

“Yeah,” she agreed as she cupped his face and ran her thumb over his bottom lip like he usually

did to her. “That sounds nice.”

“I don’t have any condoms here. We left them in the kitchen.”
“I’m on the pill. Let’s just do it without them this time.”
“Coño, no, are you crazy, chica! You don’t fuck thugs without condoms.” He rolled out from

under her and ran a hand through his hair as he stood. “Promise me you’re not gonna trust people like
you do once I leave.”

She sat up and frowned at him. “Why?”
“Because someone could hurt you,” he growled in exasperation. “This world is mean.”
“I’ve been okay so far.”
“No, you haven’t. Have you missed all the shit going on? Your ex broke in. His girlfriend tried

to kill you. That’s fucked up.”

“I don’t believe Ashley tried to cause that accident. I know you do, but I don’t. Even if it was her

car, I don’t think she did it on purpose,” she whispered and then looked up at him. “Besides, that
accident is the reason we’re here now. I can’t regret that, Marcos.”

“You didn’t win anything when I ran into you.” He pointed to himself. “I’m not a good person,

Katie.”

“Yes, you are.” She reached out to him, and he knocked her hand away and walked to the

kitchen, but she didn’t let that stop her from fighting him on this. “I did win something.” Her voice

cracked as she admitted, “This week has been the most amazing week of my life.”

“Don’t.” He walked back into the living room with the condoms in his hand. “You promised!”
She couldn’t help it, tears rolled down her cheeks without her permission as she burst out, “I

don’t want you to go.”

“I got to go, chica. I can’t stay here.” He fell down on his knees in front of her and wrapped an

arm around her waist. He buried his face in her neck and whispered, “You know I can’t stay here.”

“I know!” God, why was she crying now? It wasn’t even Sunday, and she was going to ruin their

last day together. “Make me stop crying. Help me.”

“Hold these.”
He pushed the string of gold-foiled condoms into her hand and then wrapped his arms around her

again. She clung to him, both her arms tight around his neck as he picked her up, because he was big
and strong, and she discovered early on he could do things like that.

She twined her legs around his waist, and when he fell onto the bed with her, she kept them like

that, clinging to him like a lifeline. He threaded one hand in her hair, fisting it and tugging her head
back. Then he kissed her, pushing his tongue into her mouth again as he forced her to feel all of him
against her.

She tossed the condoms on the bed to touch him, but he pulled back and grabbed them. He put

them back in her hand. “I told you to hold ’em.”

She wiped at her face. “Why?”
“Because they’re your reminder.” His eyes glowed in the semidarkness of the room, and they

were shiny in a way she had never seen before, but his voice was still hard as he said, “You don’t
trust thugs.”

“I do, though,” she whispered as she wiped at her face again. “I trust you more than anyone I’ve

ever trusted in my life.”

“No, you don’t!”
“Yes, I do.” She threw the condoms as hard as she could to make her point. “You can’t tell me

who to trust!”

“Ay, chica!” he yelled as he rolled over and hung over the bed to grab them. He ripped one off

and then reached down, tugging on her dress. He pulled it over Katie’s head with very little help from
her and tossed it aside. Then he put the condom in the low dip in the front of her bra so that it was
trapped between her breasts. When she went to pull it out, he grabbed her hands before she could. “If
you’re gonna be stubborn and won’t hold it, I’ll make you hold it.”

She tried to pull her hands free as she argued, “But you said you like me being stubborn.”
“I know.” He glanced down at her tits, eyeing the condom trapped between them. “I like it a lot.”
He bent down and tried to kiss her, but she turned head away rather than let him. “You’re being

bossy.”

He shifted his hold, capturing both her wrists with one hand. She tried to pull free, but he still

had her trapped as he used his other hand to grab her face and turned her back to him. “You like me
being bossy.”

“No, I d—”
He kissed her before she could finish. She fought not to open to him, even if his weight over her

always felt so good and his lips were always so soft and so easy to obey.

Still she held strong.
He forced her legs apart and all she could feel was the hard, warm length of his body against

hers. His jeans chaffing the inside of her thighs. The outline of his hard cock pressing against her
pussy as he thrust against her, as if he was already fucking her. It felt so good she couldn’t help but
moan into his mouth, and he swept his tongue in triumphantly. She let herself be defeated, because
tomorrow was Sunday, and she needed this. It was more important than pride or his stupid rules.

When he pulled back and looked down at her, she whispered in defeat, “I’ll hold it.”
“Okay,” he said as he freed her hands and let her tangle her fingers into his dark hair.
She tugged him down and captured his lips with hers. She was the one who kissed him, and he

let her do it rather than gloat, because he was a good guy, even if he didn’t know it.

Then he wrapped his arms around her and rolled them over, so that he was sprawled out on the

bed under her. Her hair fell like a veil around him, hiding them as she kissed him. He grasped her ass
with both hands and held on, forcing her tighter against him.

“You want it?” he breathed into her mouth.
“Yes,” she said and then kissed him again because she couldn’t help herself.
He allowed Katie to have her way with him, letting her tongue slip into his mouth over and over

again as he slid his hands up and unclasped her bra like a man who had a lot of practice. Then he
tugged on a strand of her hair and said, “Sit up.”

She flipped her hair back and did as told, sitting over him, allowing him to pull the condom out

of her bra. When he grabbed her hand and put it in her open palm, she closed her fingers around it
rather than argue.

He pulled her bra off and tossed it aside. For one long moment, he just leaned back on one arm

and admired her over him and, she let him, because something about the way he looked at her always
made her feel beautiful and sexy in a way she never thought possible.

His gaze on her breasts was hot and needy. “I’m gonna miss ’em. You have the nicest set of tits

I’ve ever seen.”

Katie laughed. “They’ll miss you too.”
“Yeah?” he asked as he finally looked back up to her face and smiled. “You think so?”
She nodded. “I know so.”
He reached up and fisted his hand in her hair. He tugged her head back, forcing her to put a hand

on his thigh for balance. She gasped when he wrapped his other arm around her, supporting her as he
leaned down and sucked on one of her nipples.

She arched and rubbed herself against him as he sucked and teased. When he tried to pull away,

she tangled her fingers in his hair just like he was doing to her, holding him to her.

She watched him do it, trying to remember exactly what he looked like. The way her pale fingers

looked in his inky hair. The way his eyes glowed when he did pull away, only to lick his lips and
suck on the other one.

Then he drew his tongue up her chest, to the line of her throat, forcing her head back again to

finally suck on her neck. Katie knew he was marking her, but she didn’t care. She wanted him to mark
her, so much so she forced him away only to bring him back to the other side. He must have
understood, because he sucked just as hard the second time.

Then he pulled back, his eyes still glowing as he reached around her, finding the condom

clutched in her other hand being crushed as she dug her nails into his jean-covered thigh. He held it up
and said, “Hold it.”

“I was holding it,” she reminded him.
He eyed her mouth and arched an eyebrow pointedly.
She huffed and leaned forward to grab it with her teeth, but made sure to give him a look that

said she wasn’t pleased.

He didn’t seem to care as he looked down between them, where his hard, jean-covered cock

was pressed against her lace-covered pussy. “Take it out.”

She reached between them to pull at the button of his jeans, and then lowered the zipper. He fell

back, putting his weight on both his forearms, and arched his hips, letting her push his jeans and
underwear down far enough to free his cock.

“Put it on me.”
She grabbed the edge of the condom and used her teeth to rip it open the way Marcos usually

did. She made sure to spit the top of the wrapper at his face, but he just laughed at her protest.

“You’re not the first chica to spit on me.”
She rolled her eyes. “That’s nice, Marcos.”
“I’m a thug,” he said without remorse. “I keep telling you that.”
“I don’t care if I’m not the first one to spit on you.” Katie narrowed her eyes at him and then

went one step further by licking her palm, doing it long and slow while he watched. “I just wish I was
the last.”

“Ay Dios mio.” His head fell back when she used her spit-slicked hand to stroke him. “Put it

on.”

“No, I’m the one holding it. I get to decide when I put it on.”
He arched into her hand, uncaring about her protest. “Coño, you’re sexy.”
“Really?”
“Fuck, yes.” He sat up and wrapped one hand around the base of her neck, tugging her forward

so fast she gasped. He bit at her bottom lip. “Open for me.”

She did, letting him kiss her hard and sloppy, with their teeth clashing and their tongues brushing.

She was so caught up in it, she hardly noticed when he yanked the open condom packet out of her
other hand. He bit her lip one more time before he fell onto his back and went ahead and pulled the
condom out.

“I won,” she pointed out as he rolled the condom on.
“No, you didn’t.” He wrapped a hand around the back of her neck again and then pulled her tight

against him. He flipped their positions so fast she gasped when she found herself flat on her back,
with Marcos hovering over her. “We both lose, chica.”

She heard the pain in his voice then, the sheer agony that this was happening to them. That life

would give them something like this and then yank it away after only a week.

She cupped a hand to her mouth when the tears cropped up out of the blue, but he yanked it away

before she gave in to the tears. “No crying. I want you to stop letting the world hurt you. That means
you don’t let thugs make you cry.”

She wanted to tell him she couldn’t help it, but he kissed her before she could. He just pushed

her panties aside rather than pull them off her, and then he was sliding in, stretching her and filling
her, and it fell so good she couldn’t help but jerk her head back and moan.

He grabbed both her hands, pinning Katie beneath him as he slid all the way in. He was still

then, with just the sound of their ragged breathing filling the air. She didn’t want to do it, but she
opened her eyes, letting tears roll down her cheeks as she looked up to see him staring down at her as
if he was afraid she’d evaporate right out from under him.

“I love you.” His voice cracked as he said it. “You know that, right?”
She nodded. “I know.”
He leaned down and buried his face in her neck. “Eres bella.”
“Thank you,” she choked out, because she knew that one. He’d been saying it for a week.

“You’re beautiful too.”

Then she held him and let him fuck her until she was gasping in pleasure despite the tears. When

she came, he did too. Usually he held out to force a second one out of her. She wouldn’t have been
able to do it, and he probably wouldn’t either.

They both needed their pleasure. Right now. Before it went away.
When it was over, he let her curl up to him, with her head resting against his shoulder and her

arms wrapped around him. It felt so good to be in this spot, the place where she’d slept every night
this week. She just couldn’t let him go. He didn’t even get up to take care of the condom; he just lay
with her instead.

She tilted her head and pressed her face against his shoulder to hide.
“You wanna cry, chica?”
She nodded and squeaked, “Yes.”
“Then you cry.” He sighed as he caressed her arm. “I can’t make you hard, so you be soft for

both of us, okay?”

“O-okay,” she rasped, and then the sorrow shook her whole frame when she started sobbing.
And it didn’t stop.
For twenty-four hours they fucked and Katie cried and Marcos let her, but he still left. The only

saving grace was, he didn’t make her kick him out. Like he’d never been there, he slipped out of her
house sometime after midnight on Sunday.

He warned her he was a thief. He’d done it a hundred times. He said he would steal anything left

unattended long enough for him to take. Only nothing was out of place in her house. Nothing was
missing.

The only thing he’d taken was her heart.
She wished he would’ve stolen her car instead.

Chapter Fourteen

Marcos stared at his cousin’s door and then eyed his key chain, debating if he should break in or

knock. Considering it was past three in the morning, he decided to pick the lock.

He opened the door, hoping he wasn’t going to see his cousin’s chica. Instead he spied his

cousin sitting alone at the kitchen table with a bottle of Patrón in front of him.

Chuito just swirled the liquid in his glass and eyed Marcos rather than say anything. He tossed

the drink back, grimacing over it after he swallowed it all.

“How drunk are you?” Marcos asked him.
“Not drunk enough,” Chuito said as he poured himself another drink. “Close the door. Quietly.

She’s sleeping.”

Marcos knew he was talking about his neighbor, and he took care with the door when he closed

it. Then he walked into the kitchen, seeing that Chuito looked worse for the wear, with circles under
his eyes as if he hadn’t been sleeping much over the past week.

“I’m sorry, Chu.”
Chuito shrugged. “So am I. Sit.” He gestured to the other chair. “You want a drink?”
“No, I got to drive back.”
Chuito nodded as if he expected it. “You were right, you know?” he said in Spanish. “About

Alaine.”

“Yeah, I know.”
Marcos sat, and then winced as he watched him take another shot. Never let it be said Chuito

half-assed anything. When his cousin decided to get drunk, he really went all out.

Chuito filled up his glass again.
“Ay, Chu.” Marcos groaned when he downed it. “You’re gonna get sick.”
“I don’t get sick. Ballers don’t get sick.”
Marcos arched an eyebrow because he knew that was a lie.
“You’re a fucking baller now? Yeah, right. I’ve seen the car you drive.”
“It’s a good car,” Chuito argued. “There’s nothing wrong with my vehicle.”
“You keep telling yourself that, baller.”
Chuito chuckled. “I miss you, Marc.”
“I miss you too.” Marcos leaned his arm against the table and rested his forehead in his hand.

“You want to help me?”

Chuito just looked at him expectantly.
“Watch her for me.” He covered his eyes and took a shuddering breath. “Don’t let any of the

pendejos here hurt her.”

“You gonna cry, chica?” Chuito asked him harshly. “Over the gringa?”
“Probably.”
“Cries over the gringa, but doesn’t cry for himself. Unbelievable.”
Marcos dropped his hand and looked at him. “Are you gonna do it?”

“No.” Chuito poured himself another drink. “No, I’m not. She made you soft. Why the fuck

would I look out for a puta who did something that’s gonna put you six feet under?”

Marcos smacked the glass out of his hand after he drank it. “Tell me you’ll watch her.”
Chuito just laughed as he reached over and picked it up. He lifted his head and looked at

Marcos. “No. You want her watched, you do it yourself.”

“You know what, I’m just gonna acknowledge that you’re completely shitfaced right now, and if

you weren’t, you might not be this much of a heartless thug.”

“Don’t count on it. I’m capable of being a pretty hardcore thug when properly motivated…

without being shitfaced.”

“Yeah, I know.” Marcos raised his eyebrows. “I got the nightmares to prove it.”
“Do you blame me for your nightmares?”
“No, I blame you for not watching over my chica when I asked you to!” Marcos shot back. “You

keep saying you want me to ask you for help. I’m asking. I love her, you know?”

“Ay Dios mio.” Chuito poured himself another drink. “Just fucking cry about it already.”
Marcos shook his head. “No.”
Chuito pushed the glass toward Marcos. “Drink it. It’ll help.”
“I’m driving, motherfucker.”
“No, you’re not. You can’t go back to Miami like this. Stay here tonight. Leave tomorrow. Your

chica won’t know.”

“What if I try to go back to her?” Marcos eyed the cup, fairly certain with enough of that in him,

he would go wandering back to Katie. “Who’s gonna stop me?”

“I’ll stop you.” Chuito sounded confident about it too.
“You’re gonna be dating a toilet in another hour.”
“Catch up, then. We’ll share.”
Marcos rolled his eyes and then picked up the glass. He tried to choke it down without coughing,

but fuck if he didn’t hate this shit. “Coño, it tastes like mierda. Why can’t you drink rum? Always the
tequila. Why?”

“It does the job faster.”
“Do you ever do anything just to do it?” Marcos asked when Chuito refilled the glass for him.

“Just because it tastes good? Or feels good? I mean, if you’re gonna get shitfaced, you should enjoy
it.”

“This is not for enjoyment. If it was for enjoyment, I’d be doing something else. You know that.”
“What’s it for, then?”
“So you can cry over your chica and get it all out of your system before you go back to Miami

and deal with Angel. You already got problems. You don’t need to add being soft to the list.”

Marcos downed it and cursed a second time. He slid the glass back to Chuito. “How do you

know it’ll work?”

“I’ve tested it for you.” Chuito filled the glass to the top and then drank half of it. “Many times.”
“Why, you love her? Your neighbor?”
“No, only chicas fall in love.”

Marcos emptied the rest of the glass and dared him, “Call me chica again.”
“What? You gonna do something about it? I can still take you.” Chuito laughed. “Chica.”
Marcos lashed out, jumping across the table to swing at his cousin, but the seriously fucked-up

thing about it was, Chuito caught his wrist, his gaze hard all of a sudden. “You underestimate me. Just
like you underestimate Angel.”

“Maldita sea la madre que te parió,” Marcos cursed as he yanked his wrist free and sat down.

He looked at the half-empty bottle in disbelief. “How much of this mierda do you drink on a regular
basis?”

“I stop when I have a fight coming up,” Chuito said, suddenly defensive. “Sometimes I go for

months without drinking it.”

“And the other times?”
“It makes it easier. Keeps me from seeing Juan when I close my eyes. And your mother. I didn’t

even try to save her, Marc.”

“She was already dead,” Marcos reminded him. “You couldn’t—”
“I miss her. Sometimes I think I loved her more than my own mother.”
“Shut up.”
“No, my mother, she’s wild. You know that. She does what feels good. Not what feels

responsible. Always lives in the moment. Your mother at least tried to keep us in line.”

“It’s a bit rich to be talking about my Tía Sofia not being responsible when you’re downing a

bottle of Patrón.”

Chuito sighed, looking so very tired all of a sudden. “She wouldn’t go to Puerto Rico.”
“¡Me cago en ná!” Marcos shouted at him. “You were supposed to make her!”
“Shh.” Chuito held a finger to his lips and then pointed in the direction of his neighbor. “She’s

sleeping.”

Marcos lowered his voice. “Why didn’t you make her go?”
“Because, like you, she’s stubborn and doesn’t want help,” Chuito growled at him. “I can’t make

her do anything. Dealing with both of you is like trying to harness two hurricanes.”

“It’s the eyes,” Marcos admitted as he took another drink. He couldn’t down this stuff like

Chuito, but enough of it was in his system to let him pretend it was rum. “They make us sexy.”

“They make you crazy. She’s got some chico she thinks she’s in love with. She’ll be done with

him in a week.”

“Why are you always downing on your mother? The eyes make the chicos want her just like they

make the chicas want me. Maybe if you had them, you’d understand.”

“They get you in trouble. Do you know him?”
“Fernán, yeah? He’s okay. For a Cuban.”
“Coño.” Chuito dropped his head to his folded arms on the table. “A Cuban. That’s worse than

your gringa.”

“Do you really have the cojones to give us shit about that? You have your own gringa problems.”
“I don’t have a gringa. Alaine’s got a boyfriend,” Chuito said into his arms. “Some gringo named

Edward. She’ll probably marry him.”

“Does Edward know she’s slipping into your room every night?”

“It’s not every night.” His voice was suddenly anguished. “God, I hate that pendejo. I know he

doesn’t appreciate her.”

Marcos took another sip of his drink as he eyed his cousin. “Who’s crying now, chica?”
Chuito just lifted his hand and flipped him off rather than respond.
“Go down on her. She’ll forget about Edward.” Marcos emptied the glass because he clearly

needed to catch up. “Have you fooled around with her?”

“No.”
“I’m starting to think you need some tips in this department.” Marcos mused and then poured

himself another drink. “Next time she comes in your room, no more talking. You don’t ask, you just do
it. Spread her legs and put your face in her pussy. She’ll like it. They all like it.”

Chuito lifted his head and looked at him. “How did you get that teacher to like you so much?

You’re the last guy she should want.”

“I just told you.”
“You’re just…you?” Chuito gestured to Marcos. “And she likes it?”
“Yeah, she likes it a lot.” Marcos looked down at his glass that he had refilled at some point. He

downed it in one shot and then grimaced and pushed the cup to his cousin. He dropped his head to his
arms like Chuito had, and his voice cracked as he said, “I feel like such a pendejo. I just left while
she was sleeping. I didn’t even say good-bye. I couldn’t.”

“Then stay.”
“In this town? Where everyone thinks I’m a criminal? No.”
“You are a criminal. You just said she liked it.”
“Look at your arm, motherfucker. I’m not the only gangster in this room.” He lifted his head and

looked at his cousin. “Promise you’ll watch her. I need to know the world isn’t going to hurt her
anymore. I can’t deal with the Angel situation until I know you’re watching her. It’s the only way I’ll
be okay.”

“Why?”
“Because you get things done. You’re not a fuckup like me. You always get shit done.” Marcos

dropped his face back to his arms as his head swam and the room started to feel like it was spinning.
“Always.”

“Not always.” Chuito sighed. “Not when it counts.”
Marcos didn’t know if Chuito was talking about his neighbor or all the other bullshit going on. In

truth, he didn’t care. He knew one way or the other, this problem with Angel was going to make it
impossible to see Katie again. Angel would keep using Marcos’s aunt against him until he had to go
back. Not just his aunt, but his friends. A lot of the OGs were more loyal to Chuito than Angel, and
Marcos didn’t put it past Angel to smoke all of them to make his point. Marcos had to make a stand
against him. He wasn’t going to be a pawn against his cousin. He couldn’t be, not even for Katie, but
he had to know she was going to be safe.

“Please watch her.”
“Fine.” Chuito huffed in defeat. “I’ll watch her.”

Chapter Fifteen

Katie called in sick on Monday. Then she did it again on Tuesday when she realized everyone

thought it was because of the situation with Grayson. But she had an obligation to her students and
finally put her big-girl panties on and went to work on Wednesday.

Being at school wasn’t easy, and it wasn’t helped by Grayson and Ashley being there. Everyone

was talking, even the students, and it wasn’t just about the break-in. Katie didn’t know if Ashley and
Grayson had done damage control and spread rumors about her and Marcos, or if it was just the
natural curiosity of this town that had the relationship spreading like wildfire.

There was talk everywhere about Marcos staying at her house, and the things some people said

about him weren’t nice. It didn’t embarrass her. It just made her angry that he could be so unfairly
judged.

Especially considering everyone in this town loved Chuito, but then, Chuito had two title belts

and was currently their only reigning UFC World Champion. That apparently made him acceptable.

It wasn’t a lie anymore. She was really starting to hate this town.
She had a horrible headache by the time she got to the parking lot. She hadn’t had much sleep,

and she was still fighting tears half the time. She didn’t even care that everyone was saying terrible
things about her.

She just wanted Marcos back, which was crazy. He was a legitimate thief now. He’d stolen

things she truly valued. Her heart. Her dignity. Her sanity. She was mad at him for leaving, and more
so, she was mad at him for making her miss him.

She decided to skip the wine and drink the rest of his rum tonight, the only thing he had left

behind. She had nothing to remember him by. Not even a phone number. All she had were the scars on
her arm.

She pulled up short, holding on to her briefcase tighter when she saw Chuito leaning against her

car, his muscular arms folded over his chest as he stood there as if he had nothing else to do.

“What are you doing here?”
“You didn’t lock your car,” Chuito said rather than answer her question. “This is a high school

parking lot.”

“So?”
“A lot of car thieves are teenagers.”
“Whatever.” She stepped around Chuito to open her door, but he blocked her. “Can I help you?”
“You’re not looking so hot. You have circles under your eyes.”
“Thank you, Chuito, for pointing that out,” she said drily. “I wasn’t having a bad enough day.”
“Why are you having a bad day?”
“You know why.”
“’Cause they’re talking about you hitting it with a Latino gangbanger. You embarrassed, chica?”
“I hate you,” she announced more to herself than anyone as she tried to properly evaluate her

feelings about Marcos’s cousin. “Yes, definitely. I hate you.”

Chuito laughed and then tilted his head and looked across the parking lot. “Are they giving you a

bad time?”

“Who?”
“You know who.”
She frowned, remembering several very clear threats by Marcos to maim and kill Grayson if he

bothered her. “What is this about?”

“Nothing.” Chuito shook his head. “Just hanging out.”
“In the high school parking lot?”
“Sure.”
“People get arrested for things like that.”
“If I’m gonna get arrested, it won’t be for that.”
“I don’t want to hear about it.” She reached around Chuito, ignoring his imposing frame as she

opened her door and tugged, forcing it to hit his back. “I’m tired of being the confessional for thieves
and gangsters. Are you going to move?”

“You want me to buy you an early dinner?”
“No, are you hitting on me?”
Chuito laughed and rubbed a hand over his forehead. “I got enough fucking problems. I don’t

need to add hitting on my cousin’s chica to the list.”

“I’m not his chica.”
“Whatever you say.” Chuito shrugged. “Dinner?”
“You’re not moving until I say yes, are you?”
“No, probably not.”
“Fine. Meet you at Hal’s.”
“I walked here. We’ll take your car.” Chuito opened the door for her. “Gimme your keys.”
Katie gaped when he actually helped himself to the driver’s seat of her car.
“We need to sit down and start to really analyze the hypermachoism that is running rampant in

your family,” she told him with concern.

“Fine, be difficult.”
Chuito pulled out his keychain that was heavy and had all the same tools Marcos’s did. He used

a small screwdriver and, with very little effort, popped off the silver top to her ignition.

“You’re breaking my car,” she said in horror.
“I’ll fix it.” Chuito used a different tool on his key chain. He stuck it in the now exposed section

of the car’s ignition and looked ahead as he fiddled with it, as if searching for something by feel, and
within a few seconds, the car purred to life as if he was simply using a key. He gestured to her.
“Come on. Vámanos.”

“My God,” she whispered, because she was sort of impressed, though she knew she shouldn’t

be. “Can Marcos do it that fast?”

“Oh, please. I’m so much better at this than him.” Chuito gestured to the passenger seat. “In.

Now. I’m hungry.”

Katie walked around to the passenger side and opened it. She looked out to the parking lot to see

if anyone noticed that Chuito was essentially stealing her car.

No one did.

She put her briefcase down and then crawled in and buckled her seat belt, but the car wasn’t

moving. She turned, seeing that Chuito was staring at her like she was insane.

“What?” she asked defensively.
“That’s it? You just get in the car with a guy who jacked it?”
“You said you were buying dinner.”
“Coño, no wonder he’s paranoid. You just said you hated me.” Chuito looked behind him to

back up. “You are crazy, chica. Maybe you should end up with my cousin. He’s crazy too.”

Katie sighed and rested her elbow on the window. She put her head in her hand as she looked at

the scenery. “Is he okay? I got the impression he’s in trouble at home.”

“Your guess is as good as mine.” Chuito sounded as stressed as she felt. “But, if it makes you

feel better, Marcos is perpetually in trouble.”

“And you’re not?”
“I try not to be.”
She thought about that for a while, because that was a very different answer than one she would

get from Marcos. Finally, she asked, “When was the last time you stole a car?”

“About three minutes ago.”
“Before that?”
“I dunno.” Chuito rubbed a hand over his forehead. “Five, six years ago? Give or take.”
“But you don’t need to steal cars anymore?” She knew he was a very popular fighter; after

winning his second UFC title, he was arguably as popular as Clay. “You’re rich from the fighting.”

“I do all right.”
“How come you don’t drive a Ferrari like Romeo Wellings?” Katie asked, remembering that

Marcos said Chuito gave money to all his old friends. “Or live somewhere besides over Jules’s
office? Clay and Melody Powers just bought that big house on Westerly. You could probably afford
one too.”

“What is the deal with the questions?” Chuito barked at her. “No more questions.”
Katie grinned in spite of everything. “OGs don’t like questions.”
“No, they don’t,” Chuito agreed as he turned and gave her a smile. “What do you know about

OGs?”

Katie arched an eyebrow at him.
“You’re interesting, Katie. I’ll give you that. Very interesting. Not too many gringas show up and

let some Latino steal their car and just go along for the ride.”

“And that’s exactly what it feels like.” Katie sighed and rested her forehead back in her hand as

she looked out the window again. “Does he do this to every girl he hooks up with for the week?
Leave her heartbroken and ask you to show up and sweep up the pieces? I know that’s why you’re
here.”

“You think Marcos stays with women for a week at a time?”
“Doesn’t he?”
“No, he doesn’t. A night, maybe, a week, no,” Chuito assured her as he parked at Hal’s. “And

you’re the first one he’s asked me to sweep up the pieces for. I guess that means he’s growing up. I
suppose that’s something.”

He messed with the tool sticking out of her ignition, and it turned off. She was still amazed,

because not only did it take incredible speed and efficacy to steal a car…it also took incredible wit.

“Did you graduate from high school?” she asked curiously.
“Are you kidding?” Chuito snorted and turned to her. “I got expelled when I was sixteen.”
“I feel like the system is failing in Miami.”
“Chica, the system is failing everywhere. Miami is not unique. Why do you think I volunteer at

the Cellar as much as I do? Kids drop out in Garnet too.”

“Not the same,” she argued, because she was a high school teacher. She knew their drop-out rate

was very low. All the teachers worked hard to help out their troubled youth, and, as Chuito observed,
the Cellar helped too. She shrugged, trying not to dwell on things she couldn’t fix. “Are you going to
put the top part of the ignition back?”

“No, it’s broken. I’ll have to replace the ignition. I’ll stop on the way home and get you a new

one. I’ll install it.”

“Why would you break my car if it’s going to cost time and money to repair?” Katie asked in

disbelief. “That makes no sense.”

Chuito held up his key chain and looked at it for a long moment. “It’s been a long time since I

carried a key chain like this. It’s been in the drawer for years. I just wanted to see if I could still use
it.”

“Is that a skill you forget?” Katie asked, because he didn’t seem to be struggling from lack of

practice.

“No, it’s the mentality. Here, it’s easy to forget that part. I’ve been away from home for a long

time.” Chuito looked haunted as he stared ahead, as if taking in his surroundings just to remind
himself where he was. “I should’ve thrown it away years ago, but I didn’t.”

“Why not?”
He turned to her, his gaze calculating before he finally admitted, “I think I knew I might have to

go back to it eventually.”

“Stealing cars?” She laughed. “You can’t be hurting that bad for cash. I don’t care how much you

give away to your friends.”

“No, the rest of it. Stealing cars was always the easy part.” He stood and put his keys in his

pocket. “I needed to see if I could do the easy stuff to make sure I wouldn’t fuck up the big stuff.”

“What’s the big stuff?” Katie sat there staring at him. Chuito might not have been her favorite

person before now, but he was her closest connection to Marcos, and she found she didn’t mind his
company for that reason if nothing else. “Are you okay?”

“No, I’m not.” He sighed as he leaned against the door frame to her car, resting his head on his

arm. “Coño. I wish you could’ve made him stay here.”

“I tried.” She couldn’t help the tears that stung her eyes. “I didn’t want him to go either.”
“I know.” He lifted his head and ran a hand through his hair. “It’s not your fault. It’s not even his

fault. It’s my fault. Marcos is a lover. I’m the fighter. I just dragged him down with me, and then I left
him there to deal with the shit I got us into.”

Katie wanted to say something, but the words were trapped in her throat. Their realities were so

much more complex and dangerous than anything she could have imagined before Marcos had crashed
into her life.

A lot of it was very unfair, but they didn’t seem to look at it like that.
“Dinner.” Chuito closed the door and walked toward the diner.
Chuito was one of those men who expected people to follow when he spoke, and she got the

impression that, like Marcos, he had earned that attitude the hard way.

Marcos said he got to be the original OG by being a nice guy, and maybe that was half-true. He

helped out all of his friends. She imagined those other gangsters weren’t any different than Marcos,
made hard by life, with thick shells that kept them from expressing even the most basic of
vulnerabilities.

Men like that didn’t give their loyalty to just anyone. They certainly wouldn’t accept help from

someone easily.

They respected Chuito for a reason.

Chapter Sixteen

Miami

It was one of those great days in Miami, not too hot, not too cold. There was a breeze, but the

sun was shining. Spring in Florida was always the nicest time of the year in Marcos’s opinion, after
the cold, before the violent storms and unbearable heat of summer.

It was a good season to die.
Nothing worse than burying someone in the rain. His aunt had a thing about funerals and rain.

She thought it was bad luck, as if there was a good day to bury someone. Still, it upset her terribly.
They had all been to too many rainy funerals for their sanity, but his mother and Juan had died in the
spring, and the sun had been shining when they buried them. The wind had been in their hair. It was
nice. Peaceful.

Marcos lay on the grass next to his mother’s grave, staring up at the tree branches. It was a good

spot. Chuito had bought out all the plots in this section a few years ago when he started to make real
money fighting. Four to the left of Marcos’s mother. Five to the right of Juan. All that were left in the
row.

His Uncle Ramon was three rows over. Everyone else was buried in Puerto Rico. This was the

closest they could get his mother and Juan to family. Burying them had been a huge expense. The other
Los Corredores had helped, because they stuck together for things like that.

They used to be Marcos’s family too. A lot of them still were.
When Chuito bought the extra plots, Marcos asked him why so many. There weren’t that many of

them left to bury. Chuito said he was planning ahead, like he always did, and in his mind they would
be married and have children before they died.

Marcos had laughed in his face.
What sort of lie was he living in that little country town that let him believe they were going to

end their days old and married with kids? Back then he thought the funeral director had just seen a
famous fighter with a lot of money and screwed him.

Now Marcos understood a little more. He sorta liked the dream of being old and married with

grandkids running around. He wondered what sort of kids he and Katie could make together. He
smiled, thinking of little girls with their mother’s kind heart.

It was a nice dream, but still just a dream.
And he still thought the funeral director screwed his cousin.
At least on his side.
Maybe Chuito would marry his neighbor and have a bunch of country kids with funny accents.
Marcos pulled his sunglasses off from where they rested on the brim of his hat and put them on

his face, deciding he wanted to be buried in shades like a baller. Maybe his Miami Heat hat too.
None of this suit business. He hated that people always ended up looking cleaned up and saintly in
death. Plus, the faces of the dead weren’t nice to look at. Somehow, the pain was still there no matter
how much some mortician tried to fix it. Marcos had seen it on every friend he’d buried. He’d seen it
on his mother and Juan too.

He needed to write this stuff down, because he sure as shit didn’t want people standing over him

seeing the look he had on his face when he died. Shades and a hat were a necessity.

Jesus, he was depressing the fuck out of himself.
He’d take the bullet. So what?
He would be remembered as hot and sexy and young instead of old and gray. There were worse

fates. He tried to tell himself that, but he pulled his hat and glasses off and set them on the grass
behind him, before he rolled on his side and propped his head in his hand.

“I met a girl,” he confessed to his mother in Spanish. “She’s smart. A teacher. She’s a gringa, but

I think you’d like her.”

He sat there for a long time talking to his mother, telling her about Katie. About Chuito. About

the Cuban, Fernán, Aunt Sofia was seeing. He basically caught her up on all the gossip because it had
been too long since he’d been there, but his mother’s and Juan’s graves were well kept.

Aunt Sofia had obviously been out here recently.
His mother had probably already heard all about Fernán.
He touched her grave when he was done and then walked around the back of the two headstones,

so lonely there in the row, and sat next to Juan. He wrapped an arm around the cold gray marble and
closed his eyes, trying for one moment to imagine his cousin’s slim shoulders, still wiry with
adolescence.

“Don’t worry,” he promised him. “I got this. I catch Chu’s back, you catch mine. That’s the deal.

Put in a good word for me. As long as you make sure I end up in the right place, I can do this.”

He closed his eyes, because that marble felt nothing like the warm, enthusiastic energy that had

always surrounded Juan. He was starting to feel a little insane to be asking a stone for a favor, but
then the sun hit Marcos’s face just right. It glowed bright red behind his eyelids, and the breeze
ruffled his hair like it had the day they’d buried both of them, making him believe, for just one crazy
moment that wherever they were, his mother and Juan were just fine.

It couldn’t be such a bad thing, getting out of this hard world that hurt more than it soothed.

Marcos had a fuckload of sins on his soul, but maybe if he did the right thing, Juan could get him in.

“And watch over my chica for me,” he added as the leaves above him rustled. “Take care of it

until I get there.”

He bumped his knuckles against the headstone and got up. He picked up his hat and glasses, and

walked away without looking back. He was stronger now. It helped in a way the tequila hadn’t.

There was no traffic when he drove to the warehouse, which was a fucking miracle. He felt Juan

with him the whole way, and when he turned off his truck, he left his gun in the glove compartment.

Chuito would call him soft for it.
But Chuito wasn’t trying to get in good with God on the slim hope he’d be hanging out with Juan

and his mother instead of all the thugs he’d killed avenging them.

Marcos used to like the smell of the warehouse. The stench of burned metal mixing with stale

beer and bud. This time when it slapped him in the face, Marcos thought of Katie, of what she would
think of the sparks flying and the billow of marijuana from the couches in the corners.

The laughing teenagers too young to be smoking, let alone packing heat.
Angel really was a bastard for recruiting them. They seemed so young to Marcos now. They

didn’t have records or a reason to fight. What if one of their houses was the next one to be targeted?

What if one of them had a Juan at home like Marcos and Chuito had?

They all surely had mothers who didn’t want them there.
Marcos couldn’t change the system. He was too ingrained and bitter to even begin to attempt

that, but he could make a stand. The sparks stopped flying when he put his glasses up on the brim of
his hat and walked over to Angel sitting on a couch in the corner.

“Marc,” Luis called, and there was fear in his voice because he’d been in on Marcos’s chat with

the OGs. He knew Marcos wasn’t pleased with Angel. “Don’t be stupid!”

Marcos had told them he was laying low, and they all had understood.
He hadn’t mentioned he was coming back to end this.
If he had, one of them would have told Chuito.
They really were blindly loyal to him.
Marcos ignored his friend. He ignored the way half the warehouse stopped working and the

other half remained blissfully ignorant to the invisible line that had just been drawn in the room. Old
gangsters who had seen too much and remembered a time when this gang had been about more than
blood and cash, versus the young and naive who still thought Angel was their key to glory.

These people used to be his family.
Half of them still were, and it was for them more than himself that Marcos yanked Angel off the

couch where he was sitting, smoking bud with some stupid teenager too young to grow a beard let
alone wear ink on his arm.

“¡Ay carajo!” Angel shouted and shoved at his chest. “What the fuck?”
The kid next to him shot up, but Marcos just reached out and shoved him back down to the couch.

“Sixteen and blitzed, you think you can take me, cabrón? For him? Are you really stupid enough to try
it? Let him fight his own battles for once.”

“Marc—” Angel touched his shoulder, but Marcos knocked his hand off. His dark eyes

narrowed, but he kept his voice even as he said, “Come on, let’s talk in my office.”

Marcos got in Angel’s face and said simply, “I’m out.”
“There is no out.” Angel laughed in disbelief and then showed his cards, blatantly, in front of

everyone. “Especially for you.”

Yeah, this had all been a game. Some ego trip because the power had gone to Angel’s head.

Fuck that. This just proved he’d never really known Marcos. He’d never been his friend. Not really.
Either that, or the dumbass had just forgotten what Marcos was capable of when pushed against the
wall.

“Yes, there is,” Marcos assured him. “This is it. I’m out, motherfucker.”
Angel’s eyes narrowed, and then he leaned into him and switched to Spanish as he whispered in

his ear, “Don’t do this. I don’t want to do what you know I’ll have to do if you’re serious about this.”

“Do it.” Marcos held up his hands as he switched to Spanish too. He looked to the kid on the

couch and then turned back to Angel. “Show him what happens if he decides he’s tired of it one day.”
The warehouse was dead silent now. Marcos turned around, seeing Luis, Miguel, and Neto standing
behind him. Their eyes were wide, but they were there. They had his back even if he didn’t want them
to. He turned to Angel and said simply, “Show them all.”

For one brief moment, Angel seemed to pause as if weighing his options. The odds were clearly

in his favor. There were many more young people in this room. They had already buried so many of
their old crew.

Angel grabbed his .38 from the back of his pants, faster than Marcos expected, considering how

bloodshot his eyes were. It wasn’t the first gun Marcos had shoved under his chin, and, like the other
times, he couldn’t help but wince at the thought of taking a bullet like that.

So much for being buried like a baller.
“You want me to do it?” Angel growled. “Is this what you want, you stupid asshole? You want

to take a bullet because you’re too fucking prideful to help out your family?”

“Yup.” Marcos didn’t even close his eyes. “Go for it. I dare you.”
“Don’t do it.” Luis’s voice shook. “Angel, you know you can’t do it. Chuito—” Angel clicked

the safety when he said it, and Luis cursed. “¡Coño! Angel, no!”

“Fuck that!” Marcos argued. “Let him do it! Smoke me, motherfucker! You think you’re so bad,

do it!” He grabbed Angel’s hand and slipped his thumb over Angel’s finger on the trigger. “Do it, or I
will. I’ll eat my own bullet before I let you use me against my cousin. If this is the only way out, let’s
do it together. Let’s show these kids how you treat your family.”

“You are fucking crazy, Marcos!” Angel shouted at him. “You’re crazy!”
“Chuito will rip you apart,” Neto warned, his voice much more even than Luis’s. “And we never

swore loyalty to you, Angel. Not really. We swore it to Chu first.”

“You pull that trigger, and you’re gonna start a war,” Miguel assured him. “We’re not the only

OGs who are loyal to Marcos. You think you can take all of us? There’s a lot of gangsters who’ll
come out of retirement for this.”

Angel was breathing heavily, much more so than Marcos as the two of them stood there, their

hands on a single gun that could end all the pain this world had inflicted on Marcos.

“Move your hand,” Angel whispered and then leaned in closer and said low enough for only

Marcos to hear, “Do you really want me to take out all of them?”

Actually, Marcos hadn’t expected quite this level of commitment from his friends. He wasn’t

sure what would happen after Angel pulled the trigger, but he didn’t want to risk having company at
the graveyard.

He moved his hand, and Angel lowered his gun. He flipped the safety back and slipped the .38

back into his jeans. “Get out of my warehouse, Marcos.”

Marcos studied him for a long moment. His eyes were narrowed in challenge, and there was a

tic in his jaw that told him this wasn’t over. Rather than back down, Marcos just glared and said,
“Fine, but you better know I might not be this fucking spiritual the next time you pull a gun on me. I got
a lot more ink on my arm than you. Remember that.”

“Get the fuck out!” Angel pointed to the door. “Now!”
Luis and Miguel physically grabbed Marcos and pulled him away before he could say anything

else. “Just shut up!” Miguel growled in his ear. “Before you kill all of us.”

Once they were outside and out of earshot, Luis cursed, “¡Me cago en ná! What have you done?”
Neto kicked Marcos. “You scared the shit out of us.”
Marcos shoved him back, forcing him into the dirt. “Don’t fucking touch me!”
“He’s gonna try to smoke you! Now he has to!” Neto shouted as he looked up at Marcos from his

spot on the ground. “Mierda.” He buried his face in his hands and whispered, “I got kids, Marc. What
the fuck? You almost got us all killed.”

“I never asked you to do that!” Marcos yelled at him. “I never asked any of you to do that!”
“You think we can just stand there and watch Angel kill you?” Miguel asked. “Would you stand

there? We know you’d be the first one in his face if he tried that with one of us.”

“I don’t have kids! What the hell can that motherfucker take from me?” Marcos gestured to

himself. “Get out of this warehouse. The loyalty isn’t worth it anymore! There’s a whole world out
there that never has to deal with any of this shit! Why do you think Chuito stays gone? You think he’s
so fucking smart, then follow his example. He helped the others. He’ll help you too. Go home. Stay
home. Take care of your kids. Angel’s coming after me. Not you. This is all some stupid game he’s
playing with my cousin. He’s trying to own me to get back at him, but I’m not playing anymore!”

“Are you going to Sofia’s?” Neto asked, his voice shaking as if the nerves finally caught up with

him. “We can all hang out there and—”

“No, this is my issue.” Marcos shook his head. “I’m not bringing the war to that street. He wants

to take me out, let him come find me.”

“You’re laying low?” Luis asked, sounding relieved.
“Sure, if that’s what you want to believe,” Marcos said as he walked back to his truck and left

his friends standing there shaking. “Don’t go back in. Leave now.”

“Angel is right, you know,” Miguel shouted after him. “You’re fucking crazy!”
“We’re telling Chu!” Luis added.
Marcos slammed the door to his truck rather than respond.
He peeled out of the parking lot and drove about three miles before his hands started shaking. He

pulled into a grocery store parking lot and sat there for a long time, trying to catch his breath.

Then he grabbed his phone and looked at it, knowing he had to text his cousin before his friends

did, but there was someone else he wanted to text first, because he didn’t doubt Angel would try to
take him out.

Chapter Seventeen

Garnet County

Chuito sat in the corner booth at Hal’s, trying to figure out this woman who had managed to get

Marcos to love her when the others hadn’t. Marcos had always been wild. Like Chuito’s mother,
there was something in the eyes, so like the ocean, soft and beautiful on good days, dangerous and
unpredictable on the bad ones.

It was a recessive gene in their family. It would pop up from time to time. His Aunt Camila told

him once that when his grandmother saw Marcos’s light eyes the day after he was born, she had
warned his aunt that she was in for it.

His grandmother would know. She’d had the misfortune of raising Hurricane Sofia. Hell, Chuito

could barely deal with his mother, and she had mellowed with age. There was a reason why Marcos
had always gotten along with Chuito’s mother better than he did.

The two of them understood each other.
They didn’t like things that pinned them down.
For a lot of years, Chuito thought Marcos was completely untamable. Like his mother, his cousin

would simply spend his days jumping from one bed to the other, one adventure to the next, living in
the moment, never worrying about the end and leaving a path of broken hearts in his wake.

But somehow, this one had gotten to him. Maybe it would’ve lasted if he stayed. Maybe it

wouldn’t. Katie had still gotten to him, and that made her very unique.

Chuito had to admit, he knew a lot of people in this town, pretty much all of them after five years

of living here, and he hadn’t met one like Katie. There was this strange, open curiosity to her. A
boldness that likely appealed to Marcos. She also had a natural acceptance of things most people
didn’t understand.

It was easy to let the walls down in front of her. Chuito found himself doing it too, which wasn’t

like him. He had admitted things to Katie that he had told very few people in this town.

Maybe he just trusted her because Marcos did.
It was built into his genetics. If Marcos said she was okay, Chuito believed it. He and Marcos

had been a team since birth; only four months apart they’d come into this world to have each other’s
backs, and one arm didn’t question the other when they were both part of the same body.

Chuito tried to break away. He really did, but it didn’t work out, and like he told Katie, that

wasn’t Marcos’s fault. It was just how it was. If one of them was in trouble, they both were.

Chuito knew his cousin. He could see the signs. Trouble was brewing. Hurricane Marcos was

about to sweep ashore and do something that pulled apart the fragile web of lies Chuito had weaved
for himself. The ones that told him there was even a remote chance of settling down with someone
like Alaine.

But they’d been just that…lies.
Katie was the only gringa in this town who would let him jack her car and sit there eating grilled

chicken completely unfazed by it. Alaine knew a lot about him, more than she should, but she firmly
believed it was in the past. Chuito had made sure she believed it because a part of him had believed

it too.

“How come you left Miami?”
Chuito looked up from his dinner and studied Katie, with her eyes still swollen and puffy from

crying over his cousin. He shrugged and gave her the vanilla version of the story. “It was a weird
time in my life. Marcos was in prison. My mother was driving me crazy. I thought it’d only be for a
year or so. I’d get away, learn a few tricks from Clay, and then come back when Marc got paroled.”

“Then why did you stay?” Katie asked, and there was an accusation there, as if she was seeing

too much and was challenging him for abandoning his family.

“I got the UFC contract. Marc and my mother told me they wanted me to stay.” Chuito took a bite

of his steak and then said, “I believed them. I think they did want me to do well, and once I started
making money, I could help them. Legitimately. I have friends here now. They’re my family too. It’s
hard being in two places, especially when the places are so different.”

“I can imagine,” Katie said, and then her phone chimed with a text on the table next to her.
She picked it up and looked at it. Her face physically paled over whatever she was reading.
“Who is it?” he asked in concern, thinking it was her ex-husband.
“It’s Marcos,” she whispered as she slid her finger across the screen. “I didn’t know he was in

my phone. He must have programmed his number in.”

She was deathly silently for a long time, and then tears welled up in her eyes and rolled down

her cheeks. It was such an intimate moment to witness, the way those golden-brown orbs made her
look so broken and vulnerable.

What the hell had his cousin said to her?
Chuito would have asked if his phone hadn’t chimed next. He picked it up, seeing a text from

Marcos.

4:25 p.m.
No fucking suit. In my shades and Miami Heat hat. Like a baller.
Chuito’s heart dropped, because he spoke Marcos well enough to read between the lines. He’d

done it. Something rash and irreversible. How stupid had Chuito been to hope some of Katie’s
responsibility had rubbed off on his cousin during their time together?

Alaine made Chuito want to be a better person. Even if there was no real hope for them, just

being around her made him see a higher potential for himself.

He thought Katie had done the same for Marcos, but obviously not.
He texted back.
WTF did you do????
His phone chimed back almost instantly.
The right thing for once. I got out.
Chuito stared at his phone, realizing that maybe Katie had rubbed off on Marcos, but it was the

translation of doing the right thing that had differed between Chuito and his cousin.

His phone rang, and, seeing it was Luis, he barked in Spanish, “What the hell is going on?”
And Luis told him.
Chuito listened to the coded, toned-down version of the events that took place, because even

Luis knew telling the full story over the phone was a mistake, but he got the gist of what had

happened.

When Chuito decided to get out, he did it by removing himself from the situation.
When Marcos got out, he did it like a hurricane, rash and as crazy as ever.
But no one could accuse Marcos of not having cojones.
Only he would do it like that.
What the hell could Angel do with this shit? He had obviously never understood the broad scope

of Marcos’s rebellion like Chuito had. Maybe if he had, he wouldn’t have tried to push him.

Motherfucker understood it now.
Marcos had made a move that put Angel in a situation that would force him to either kill Marcos

to make a point and cause a war in doing so, or stand down and look weak.

The smart move would be to let Marcos go. It was what Chuito would do in the situation.

Marcos didn’t want to be there anymore. He was useless anyway. Let him go and do whatever the
fuck he wanted.

The problem was, Chuito didn’t consider Angel a particularly smart leader. Greedy, yes.

Dangerous, most certainly. He’d been the only one from their old crew who wanted the job when
Chuito lost interest.

He’d honestly thought Los Corredores would fall apart under Angel’s leadership.
He’d underestimated Angel in that respect.
That was Chuito’s mistake.
Now he was going to pay for it.
“What’s happened?” Katie asked when he hung up. Her voice was quivering; her eyes were still

wide and watery. Her cheeks tearstained. “He won’t respond to me. I-I wrote him back, but—”

“What’d he say?”
Katie pushed her phone to him, showing him the text from Marcos.
I love you, chica. Eres bella. Don’t ever forget that.
The text left Chuito feeling like an uncomfortable intruder in their lives. That was something

Katie and Marcos obviously had in common. They were just wide open about these things.

Marcos had found the only woman with a smaller filter than him.
And she was a history teacher.
Who fucking knew?
“I feel like he’s trying to say good-bye.” Katie choked on a sob and put a hand to her mouth as

she looked at Chuito. “What if—”

He saw her responses underneath.
I love you too.
Come back.
Chuito shook his head at that. “He’s not going to come back, Katie. That’ll be like running.

Marcos doesn’t know how to run away from anything. He’ll stay in Miami on principle.”

“Then what do we do?” She looked around the diner, because people were starting to stare. If

his barking phone call in Spanish didn’t put a red flag over their heads, Katie’s crying certainly did.
She lowered her voice and whispered, “How do we help him?”

Chuito grabbed both their phones and then slid out of the booth.
He sat next to Katie, who moved over to give him room. Then he put his arm around her,

completely careless of everyone looking at them. He kept his voice down as he said, “Hey, come on.
He’s gonna be okay, chica.”

She wiped at her eyes again as she blinked at Chuito. “How can you be sure?”
“Because I am.” He rubbed her arm like a brother would and looked her dead in the eye. “I

promise.”

“Promises are important,” Katie reminded him. “Marcos told me they’re everything to an OG.

Don’t make it, unless—”

“I promise, he’ll be old and lame when he dies,” Chuito assured her as a strange calm came over

him. “He’s not going in the ground a baller. You’ll have time to make things right.”

“How do you know?”
Because Chuito just did.
No one messed with their family and came out unscathed.
Angel had forced Marcos to make the first move, and it wasn’t a half-bad one, but that meant

Chuito had to get back in the game and finish it, even if that meant losing Alaine in the process. He
couldn’t even mourn it too much. There was a reason he hadn’t touched her. He’d known he’d have to
go back eventually, and now was as good a time as any.

Maybe he could give Marcos a happy ending instead.
Chuito might have underestimated Angel, but Angel had also sorely underestimated the level of

fury that could be unleashed when Marcos and Chuito worked together to end something.

“This motherfucker who’s messing with Marcos, he’s threatened the wrong family.” He laughed

bitterly when he thought about how true it was. “He’s got no chance. Zero.”

“I love him too.” She picked up her phone and looked at it again. “But I never told him in

person. I should have. Maybe he would’ve stayed.”

“You know, Katie, I was wrong about one thing.” He took the phone and pointed to the Spanish

section of Marcos’s text to her. “What does that say?”

“It says—” She choked as she looked at it, but she wiped her eyes rather than crumble and

whispered, “I-it says, um, ‘You’re beautiful.’”

“He can’t live in this town. I wasn’t lying about that. He would be miserable here.” Chuito

smiled in spite of everything. “But you are smart. You could learn Spanish if you wanted to. It’s not
impossible.”

* * * *

Chuito dropped Katie off and promised to return her car to her repaired before the next morning.

On his way back from her house, he made a call he was hoping he would never have to make.

The next day, Katie had a new ignition, and Chuito had a meeting scheduled with Nova Moretti

for that same evening.

Never let it be said the mafia wasn’t efficient.
Or maybe it was just the Morettis who got shit done.
The apartment above the garage of Romeo and Jules Wellings’s house was about as pimped out

as a bachelor pad could be. Everything was state of the art, from the kitchen to the surround-sound

television. Chuito was always struck by how neat it was. Chuito wasn’t a slob, but his best friend
was neat to the point of a disorder.

Someone could eat off the floor at Tino’s place.
Yet, it was comfortable and inviting. Chuito hung out there a lot. It was almost a second home,

which was why it was so hard to fight the string of nervousness tugging at the pit of his stomach as he
walked up the stairs. Chuito and Tino lived in the same world, trapped between two homes and two
ideals. They understood each other, but Chuito had never known quite what to make of his brother.

Nova wasn’t trapped between anything. He was 100 percent gangster, and when Nova Moretti

was ballin’, the rest of them felt like posers for trying it.

He’d seen the Rolls Royce Wraith parked in the driveway.
There was only one guy who would drive a car like that.
He knocked on the screen to the back door instead of just walking in like he would under

different circumstances. Tino opened it after a moment, and rather than greet him like he usually did,
Tino grabbed his hand and pulled him close, wrapping his other arm around him. He kissed Chuito’s
cheek and whispered, “It’ll work out. I promise.”

This was all a little too Goodfellas for Chuito, but he played along rather than stiffen. He was

hyperaware of Nova standing behind his brother. It was always easy to see the resemblance in them,
the same broad, muscular builds, the same short, dark hair and dark eyes, but there was something
harder in Nova’s face. Tino was definitely the prettier of the two brothers, because there was simply
no give in Nova. This was a man who rarely, if ever, let down his guard, and at twenty-six, it
showed.

When Chuito pulled away from Tino, he shook Nova’s hand. “Thanks for coming so fast. I didn’t

know you had to drive. I appreciate it.”

“I needed to see everyone anyway. I like things that kill two birds with one stone.” Nova

shrugged and gestured to the table. “Toma asiento. Ponté cómodo.”

Chuito sat and tried to make himself comfortable like Nova suggested, but he couldn’t tell if

Nova spoke Spanish to put him at ease or leave him more on edge.

“You hungry?” Tino asked as he walked to the fridge. “We haven’t had dinner yet, but I can find

something.”

“No.” Chuito shook his head. “I’m good.”
Nova sat across from Chuito, studying him thoughtfully. “So spill it, Garcia. What’s the favor?

I’m dying to hear this.”

Chuito frowned. “I didn’t say it was a favor.”
“I said it was a favor.” Tino put a water bottle in front of his brother with more force than

necessary. “We owe him.”

Nova gave his brother a hard look before he turned back to Chuito and said in Spanish, “I don’t

like owing favors. I would have made different arrangements for the other thing if I thought it was
going to come back and bite me in the ass a year later.”

“You don’t owe me anything. I told you that at the time. I wanted to help with that,” Chuito

assured him in Spanish. “This is not a favor; it’s a business arrangement.”

Nova picked up his water bottle and unscrewed the cap slowly, methodically, and then said in

English, “A business arrangement means I gotta benefit off the end results.”

“You will.”
Tino sat down next to Chuito, as if there had been an invisible line drawn across the table, and

he was making it very clear whose side he was on. He handed Chuito a bottle of water and then
glared at his brother.

Being in the middle of a family squabble wasn’t Chuito’s ideal, especially when the family was

the Morettis, but he’d learned a long time ago not to show weakness. This was his last option save
going back to Miami and tearing into them with his bare hands and likely ending up in prison for the
effort. He was nervous, but he made damned sure Nova didn’t know it.

“There’s someone in Miami I need to put the squeeze on,” Chuito went on, using their

terminology on purpose. “But I can’t be the one to do it.”

“Why?”
“Because he’s not just part of Los Corredores, he’s running it.”
Nova took a long drink of water as he considered that. When he was done, he set the bottle

down. “You’ll understand when I tell you that doesn’t give me very much confidence about going into
business with you. My people don’t respect guys who fuck over their organization. We usually bury
pricks like that.”

“He wants to take out my cousin.” Chuito held up his hands. “You fuck with my family, it’s war.

He made the first move, not me. Angel knows where I stand on that.”

“How do you know he wants to take out your cousin?”
“Marcos wants out and wasn’t exactly subtle about making his case. He’ll make an example of

him.”

“You don’t know that.”
“I don’t, but I believe it’s a strong possibility. Angel and I have a history. I let him run Los

Corredores. It could have been mine. I moved here instead, but I still have a certain level of authority.
I have good contacts on the inside that tell me he wants to smoke Marcos. Even if it pisses me off. He
doesn’t want any split allegiances, and Marcos’s stand is starting to cause a rift. Most of the OGs are
inclined to side with him out of loyalty to me.”

“You’re a threat?”
“Yes.”
“And your cousin is a liability?”
Chuito shook his head. “He went to prison rather than sell out Los Corredores. He wouldn’t go

to the heat. It’s not in him, but he does want out. He’s willing to turn his back on them. Angel doesn’t
like to be ignored. It’s an insult.”

“And why should your cousin get out when the rest of us haven’t?” Nova laughed bitterly. “What

makes him so fucking special?”

“What makes Tino special? I know you want him here, and I know there’s a good reason for

that.” Chuito held up a hand to Tino next to him. “He’s your brother. You want him out. Marcos is like
my brother. We were raised together. We grew up under the same roof and went through the same
shit. If he wants to live his life without Los Corredores holding him down, I want to give him that.”

“And you’re gonna sell your soul to me to get that?”
“Yes,” Chuito agreed without hesitation. “I will.”

“And what do you have to offer me for putting the squeeze on your Los Corredores brother

Angel?”

“Angel’s got an interesting car-theft ring running in Miami. He’s learned how to wash the titles

rather than just chop the cars for parts. He ships them overseas with clean titles, and I’m sure it’s
been very profitable for him. If someone could get their hands into the docks where the cars go out
from, they would have the leverage to make his life very easy…or very difficult.”

“The workers look the other way, he ships more cars. Makes more money.” Nova sat back in his

chair as he considered that. “But he must have someone looking the other way already. We control
some of the unions there, but not all of them. We’re not the only family in Miami. How do you know
he’s not in bed with another organization? I’m not going to war to get your cousin out.”

“He’s not that connected. He slips a few workers some green, they look the other way. That’s the

extent of his arrangement.”

“So it’s a start-up.” Nova spun his cap on the table, looking at it as he thought. “We go in,

control the docks. He owes us a cut for ensuring his business prospers. How much money does he
make now?”

“I don’t know.”
“Not very inspiring.” Nova shook his head. “Reorganizing unions takes cash and energy, Garcia.

Not to mention the effort it’ll take to have your friend Angel see things my way. What makes you think
it’ll be worth my while for the cut of a few hot cars a month?”

“It’s a lot more than a few cars. They’re all luxury vehicles. He still chops the cheap ones,

which again could be a source of profit for you once you make an arrangement with him. They deal
too. Though he’ll likely deny the drugs. It’s up to you once you get in to figure out how much of his
business you can get a cut of, and I’m willing to invest my own money to help you.”

“How much?”
“I’ll pay for whatever you need to get in and start making it profitable for your organization.”
Nova tilted his head as if considering it. “You provide the starting capital. I provide the

connections. We split the profits seventy/thirty my favor.”

“Why do you get seventy percent?” Tino barked at him.
“Because start-up capital is easy. Connections are much more difficult to get, and he wants me to

manage the business.” Nova gave his brother a hard look. “My time is valuable, Valentino. That’s a
deal I’d only make to a friend of yours. I have better things to do than muscle in on one gang in Miami.
The old man is going to shit a brick when he finds out I’m using waking hours doing this. The cut has
to be big enough to make it worth our while.”

“I’m willing to agree to seventy/thirty.”
“And in the negotiations with your friend Angel, I get your cousin out.”
Chuito nodded. “That’s the deal.”
“And now you control Angel,” Nova added. “But you’re indebted to us.”
“Yes.”
“This is more than just getting your cousin out. This is revenge. You want Angel by the balls,”

Nova said knowingly. “What’d he ever do to you?”

“He fucked with my family.”

“Right, never a good idea.” A smile quirked at the corner of Nova’s mouth. “I see why my

brother likes you, but how do I know you’re not going to turn on my organization?”

“I don’t have very many people I consider family. I consider Tino family. I consider Jules and

Wyatt family too. Romeo. Tabitha. The kids. All of them.” Chuito quirked an eyebrow at him. “I think
I’ve already proven my loyalty as far as that is concerned.”

“You have,” Nova agreed, still eyeing him critically. “I have to look into the situation. Like I

said, we’re not the only family in Miami.”

“You’re just the most powerful one there.”
“Mmm,” Nova agreed as he thought it over more. “We may have a deal, Garcia, but that makes

you my associate. Do you understand what that means?”

“Yes, I think I do.” Chuito nodded. “My loyalty is to you first. Always.”
“I don’t like loose ends.” Nova gave him a harsh look. “The people I bring into my inner circle,

the ones I go into business with, I need to know I can trust them. Do you know what omertà means?”

“I do.”
“Are you sure? You bailed on your first organization.”
“Are you planning on fucking over my family?” Chuito countered.
“No.” Nova laughed, looking amused all of a sudden. “I think we’ve already established that’s

bad for anyone’s health.”

“You have no idea, Moretti.” Chuito couldn’t taper the sharp edge to his voice. “Angel’s getting

off easy. I didn’t take care of that other situation so you’d owe me a favor. I did it because I wanted
to. That’s the truth.”

“Lucky for you, I’m a man who can appreciate that level of family loyalty.” Nova stood up and

walked around the table. He held out his hand, and Chuito stood and took it. He let Nova pull him into
a hug, their hands still firmly clasped. Nova kissed his cheek and whispered in Spanish, “The war
ever comes to Garnet, you have their backs. All of them. You go to the mattresses with them. That’s
the deal.”

“Always,” Chuito assured him in Spanish. “I didn’t need to be an associate for that. They’re

family. I owe them my life. You knew that a long time ago.”

Nova pulled back and used his hold on Chuito’s arm to turn it outward, displaying his Los

Corredores tattoo. “You need new ink.”

Chuito let out a relieved laugh when the tension in the room evaporated. “I’m always up for new

ink, Moretti.”

“Call me Nova. We’ve known each other a long time. You did me a favor by taking care of the

other thing. Especially California. I do owe you. We’ll put the squeeze on Angel. I’ll fly out as soon
as I can. I understand it’s urgent. I’ll make a call in the meantime. I have some muscle that can watch
your cousin’s place. Your mother’s too. They’ll be discreet. Your family will be safe until we get it
taken care of.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it. I’m heading back too. We can go together. First class. My treat. We can

work out the financials when we get there, and I may have the cut of something else to offer you. I just
need to iron out the details first.”

“I like this guy.” Nova grasped Chuito’s shoulder and turned to Tino. “He takes care of

business.”

Tino threw up his hands. “I have good fucking taste.”
“Okay, dinner.” Nova walked around and kissed the top of Tino’s head. “He’s your brother.

He’s my brother. You can stop fucking glaring at me.” His voice dropped as he said in Italian,
“Dovevo essere sicuro.”

“I know. It’s all good.” Tino reached up and patted Nova’s cheek affectionately. “Missed you,

fratello.”

Nova held up his hand as he walked out. “I’ll tell Romeo you’re staying, Chuito. Family stays

for dinner.”

Chuito watched him go, waiting until his footsteps drifted far enough down the stairs; then he

turned to Tino and took a breath. “Coño.”

“Told you!” Tino grinned as he held up his hands again. “Easy.”
Chuito had suffered through four broken ribs, a concussion, and enough bruises to keep him laid

up for two weeks when he got jumped into Los Corredores.

For some reason, facing down Nova Moretti was harder, but he just nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, easy.”

Chapter Eighteen

Miami

Marcos just went on with his life.
He wasn’t going to hide from the grim reaper. If he showed up, Marcos would deal with it,

though, like he’d promised Angel, as the days wore on, he was starting to feel a little less spiritual
about the whole thing.

So now bars were starting to look like a bigger possibility than dirt. At least he knew what to

expect in prison. Marcos was strapped every time he left the house.

He couldn’t get a legit job, and he wasn’t working for Angel anymore.
So that left only one thing.
Fighting.
It actually worked out okay. If anything, it helped relieve the constant tension that waiting for a

bullet in the back caused.

His phone had been blowing up for three days. Everyone was nervous. Most of the OGs had left

the warehouse, except for Luis, who, like Marcos, had very little to lose. No kids. No chica. No
mother.

He had volunteered himself to be the ear the ground.
Marcos had nixed it.
But Luis was a dumbass and wasn’t listening. As if Angel didn’t know that was the reason he

was there. It made Marcos very nervous, but he couldn’t change his friend’s mind.

He sat waiting for his next fight and reading Katie’s old Missed Connections posts, wondering

what would have happened if he’d never seen them. Would he have been so desperate to get out then?
Or would he have played a different game?

He’d had a lot to think about over the past several days, and he knew this was all about trying to

be a man worthy of her. To somehow cleanse his soul and deserve her love that she kept texting to
him about.

In texts he wasn’t returning.
It was ripping his heart out.
But really, how far had he come since leaving Los Corredores? He was in another hollowed-out

building, this one an abandoned bread factory, crammed with men drinking and laughing. It was hot,
stifling, filled with smoke and the scent of sweat. They didn’t have a cage here, only a recycled
boxing ring.

They didn’t have rules here either.
They didn’t pay their fighters, but it was packed tonight.
Fuck the Cellar in Garnet, he had his own fight club. An underground one, crowded with people

who were gambling like crazy, but what did it matter?

“Okay, I got a thousand bucks down.” Neto sat next to Marcos, talking loud over the other fight

going on in the main part of the building. “You better not lose, cabrón, ’cause I can’t afford to lose

that much green.”

“I’m not gonna lose.” Marcos didn’t look up from his phone as he read Katie’s post about the

beach, wishing for some way to make that happen for her.

“You’re not paying attention.”
“Am I fighting right now?”
“If you lose, do you have the grand to cover me?”
“I’m not gonna lose,” Marcos reiterated.
“And we’ll split the take if you win?”
“I split it with Miguel on Tuesday. What makes you think I wouldn’t split it with you tonight?”

Marcos asked sharply. “If I say I’m gonna split it, I’ll split it.”

“You’re in a bad mood.”
Marcos finally looked up at him. “Don’t you think that’s a good thing? You got a thousand bucks

riding on me being in a bad mood.”

The other fight ended, and Marcos got up from his spot in the corner. He pulled his shirt over his

head and tossed it to Miguel. He handed him his phone too and then rolled back his shoulders. He left
his keys and wallet in his pocket. He didn’t plan on this taking long.

“That’s it? No Vaseline?”
Marcos held up his hands. “What do I need Vaseline for?”
“What if you get hit?” Neto asked with a snort of disbelief. “You’ll mess up that pretty face of

yours. Then what’ll the chicas have to say about it?”

“I’m not gonna get hit.”
“Mierda.” Neto groaned and dropped his head. “One day the crazy is gonna catch up with you. It

has to.”

Marcos might have practiced on Neto for doubting him, but then the guy on the mic was saying

his name and the crowd was shouting, and he supposed he ought to go up there and make sure Neto’s
kids didn’t starve.

“El Vibora,” the emcee yelled in Spanish, and then added in English, “The Viper!”
“One hundred and eighty-five pounds and—”
“Fuck him.” Marcos gestured to the emcee in the ring around the corner and turned back to Neto

as he ignored the rest of his introduction. “I’m one eighty-nine!”

Neto winced. “I lied.”
“What?” Marcos shouted at him over the screams of the crowd. “Why?”
“He was gonna put you with a bigger fighter. Light-heavy weight.”
“I am a light-heavy weight!”
“It’s four pounds!”
“Four pounds of muscle!”
“Chuito fights light-heavyweight and—”
Neto’s voice was drowned out when the emcee’s voice got too loud to talk over. “First cousin to

the one, the only, UFC Light Heavy-Weight Champion. The Slayer!”

Marcos turned back to Neto when the emcee repeated it in Spanish. “¡Maldita sea la madre que

te parió! You told him Chu was my cousin! You better hope I get knocked out!”

“I thought it’d make the other fighter nervous!”
Marcos pulled his gun from the back of his pants and shoved it at Neto’s chest. “Hold that so I

can shoot you later!”

“¡Ay carajo!” Neto growled as he grabbed the gun. “You don’t just shove a gun at me!”
“You think I’m strapped without the safety on?”
“Probably!” Neto yelled. “It wouldn’t be any more insane than anything else you’ve done this

week!”

Marcos just threw up his hands and stepped around the corner. The crowd was loud and insane,

and people kept touching him, which made Marcos nervous and antsy. This place was much worse
than where he’d fought in Hialeah on Tuesday.

At least they had a fucking scale in Hialeah.
He crawled into the ring and glared at the emcee, who was likely the promoter too. This was

what he got for letting Neto find the fight. He’d been too caught up with other things to pay attention
much. He just figured showing up and winning was his job.

The emcee dropped his mic and whispered to Marcos in Spanish, “Where are your gloves?”
“Gloves are required, but a scale isn’t?” Marcos snorted.
The emcee shrugged and looked to the other fighter. “No gloves?”
Marcos turned to him, seeing that he wasn’t one eighty-five either. He was at least ten pounds

heavier. That made him feel a little bit better. This fighter’s friends were probably running the same
scam Marcos’s were.

The fighter looked to the crowd behind him and then pulled off his gloves and started

unwrapping his knuckles.

“NO HAY GUANTES!” The emcee’s voice boomed. “NO GLOVES!”
The crowd really went insane over that.
Bloodthirsty bastards.
When the emcee stepped out of the ring, the other fighter met Marcos in the center. He growled,

“The Slayer’s cousin? What bullshit!”

They bumped fists, but Marcos didn’t bounce back like the other fighter did, he jumped forward

instead, following him as he lashed out, catching him in the corner of the eye with a right hook hard
enough to make the pain in his knuckles blinding.

The other fighter stumbled and fell, and Marcos finally bounced back, staring at him for one

moment, seeing if he was going to get up. At the same time, the energy in the crowd seemed to change.
If Marcos wasn’t hyperaware of the Angel situation, he wouldn’t have looked, but he did.

He turned around, glancing to where the wave of people seemed to be going away from the ring

instead of toward it. There, in the middle of the crowd, was Chuito. Looking a little bigger than the
rest of these pendejos, with sunglasses on at midnight, and a black UFC hat pulled low over his eyes.

Motherfucker really did think he was a baller.
Actually, Marcos had to admit, he did look like one, especially with a whole crowd of people

around him, wanting to touch him, like he was a rock star or something.

This was exactly why Marcos watched Chuito’s fights on television.

Something about Marcos’s world felt upside down when he saw Chuito as anything other than

the cousin who’d shared a bedroom with him growing up. This was too far away from Marcos.
Something he couldn’t even fathom.

It wasn’t that he was jealous.
It was that seeing how different Chuito’s life was now made him realize how far apart they’d

drifted.

Then from one moment to the next, Marcos’s world really was upside down when someone

grabbed his foot, and he was suddenly flat on his back in a ring that wasn’t the most padded he’d ever
fought in.

He sucked in a startled breath, but before his lungs could recognize it, he got hit. Hard. The pain

above his left eye was crazy. Marcos had gone down on cement in street fights, and it didn’t hurt like
that.

It mixed the sensors in his brain.
All of a sudden this wasn’t about the payout and feeding Neto’s kids. In Marcos’s mind, this

fucker was trying to kill him, and he acted appropriately. When he tried to hit him a second time,
Marcos jerked his head to the side on the mat and then punched blindly, because he honestly couldn’t
see anything out of his left eye.

For the second time that month, he heard the crunch of bones break, and, knowing he’d broken

this guy’s nose, Marcos used the fighter’s shock to reverse their positions.

Somewhere in the distance, Marcos could swear he heard Chuito shout, “¡Coño!”
But that just added to the realism of the threat. Usually when someone was trying to kill Marcos,

Chuito was there cursing about it. He punched the fighter again.

And again.
And again.
And again.
Someone was hitting the mat, shouting, “You won! You fucking won! Get the fuck off him!

MARC!”

Marcos looked up, seeing that Chuito had forced his way to the ring and was crawling under the

ropes. He grabbed Marcos’s arm, pulling hard and making him crawl off the fighter, who was
groaning and moving, but he was bleeding like crazy.

“Is he gonna die?” Marcos whispered, because he remembered, somewhere in the back of his

mind, promising not to do that again.

“No, I think he’s okay.” Chuito reached into his back pocket and pulled out a money clip. He got

down on his knees next to the fighter. “Hey, muchacho. You all right?” The fighter nodded and rolled
over, trying to get up, but it was obvious his equilibrium was off. Chuito put the money on the mat.
“Take a cab to the hospital, okay? I’ll pay the bill.”

“Tell them it was a street fight,” the emcee added. “It’s a bad area. They won’t question it.”
Chuito scowled up at the emcee and then got to his feet. The emcee didn’t seem to care about the

death glare. He shouted into the microphone. “Winner! El Vibora!”

“I cannot believe I used to do this shit!” Chuito turned to Marcos and shouted, “Don’t touch

anything! Hands at your sides! Did you touch your face?”

Marcos dropped his hands to his sides when he realized why Chuito was so shaken. He shook

his head in answer, but that was a mistake. He took a step forward when the room started to swim.

“We’re out!” Chuito pushed at the center of Marcos’s back, the only part of him that didn’t have

some strange fighter’s blood all over him. He leaned into him and said in his ear, “You pass out,
chica, and I’ll kill you myself.”

“Hey, are you guys coming back?” the emcee asked hopefully. “I can promote next week and—”
Chuito swung around and gave the emcee a look that would freeze the Atlantic Ocean. The guy

took three steps back. Obviously satisfied, Chuito shoved at Marcos again.

The crowd was going insane. Marcos saw the flash of cash exchanging hands, but everyone

parted for them. The bright lights of hundreds of phones still filming was glaring, but no one touched
them. The emcee wasn’t the only one who didn’t want to piss off Chuito.

The fresh air felt better; it helped to wake Marcos up a little more. Chuito was cursing worse

than Marcos usually did as the two of them walked around the building until they found a hose resting
in the grass.

Chuito followed it until he found where it turned on. “Take off your shorts.”
Marcos did it rather than argue, and stood there in his boxer briefs as Chuito sprayed him down.

If the fresh air didn’t wake him up, the cold water certainly did.

“¡Me cago en ná!” he shouted, because Chuito wasn’t being very forgiving with that hose. “It’s

cold, motherfucker!”

“Good!” Chuito growled in Spanish as he avoided Marcos’s face with the hose, but the rest of

him was drenched. “You sure you didn’t touch your face?”

“I’m sure.”
“Okay, let me see your hands.”
Chuito dropped the hose and pulled his phone out of his back pocket. He turned on the flashlight

and shined it down on Marcos’s knuckles, the light glaring in the near darkness as it flashed on
Marcos’s hands. He squinted to see, because he was still half-blinded, though his left eye didn’t feel
swollen. He blinked, realizing it was the blood fucking with his vision.

He instinctively reached up to feel his eyebrow, but Chuito smacked his hand down before he

could. He grabbed Marcos’s other hand, still studying with his flashlight. He flipped it palm up, the
crease in his forehead intense.

“You sure you didn’t touch your face?”
“I am sure.” This repetitiveness was starting to get annoying. “You’re not my mother.”
“Don’t even, Marc!” Chuito growled as he straightened up and grabbed Marcos’s face. Then the

pendejo shined the light right in his goddamn eye.

“¡Coño!” Marcos brought up his hand again, but Chuito knocked it down once more as he studied

the injury. Marcos squinted, closing his bad eye to better see the look on Chuito’s face. It wasn’t very
comforting. “How bad?”

Chuito winced. “I hope your chica likes scars. Right through the eyebrow. You need stitches.”
“Ay Dios mio.” Marcos groaned. “Are you sure?”
“What the fuck do you think I do for a living? Yes, Marc, I’m sure. Why do you think it’s

bleeding like that? No gloves? No fucking Vaseline. It’s going to scar.”

“Maybe the stitches will hide it.”
“In your eyebrow? No.” Chuito pulled back and gave him a look of disbelief. “Are you worried

about a scar? Really? That is the least of your problems. You don’t know that fighter! You don’t know
if he’s clean.”

“I’m sure he’s clean.”
“Just like you’re sure he’s a hundred and eighty-five pounds?”
“My hands are fine.” Marcos held up his hands as evidence. “I didn’t touch my face.” Chuito

gave him another harsh look. “I didn’t. I’m not new. I know this shit. I’m not soft. You’re soft. Now
you’re a fancy fighter who doesn’t know how to protect himself on the street. A little blood and you
freak. I’m fine.”

“Where’s your truck? Hopefully we’ll end up in the same hospital as the motherfucker you

almost killed. I’ll figure it out when we get there.”

“You want me to go the hospital naked?”
“Yup.”
“No, I’m not going to the hospital.” If it was still going to scar, Marcos didn’t see why he should

bother. “They’ll ask questions.”

Chuito sighed and looked heavenward, staring at the moon as if searching for patience. “You’re

sure you didn’t touch your face?”

“I am sure, motherfucker.”
Chuito pulled out his phone and flashed it at Marcos, running the light up and down his body.
“What’d you want? A date?”
“No cuts anywhere?”
“No.” Marcos gestured to his naked body in nothing but his underwear. “Still sexy as ever.”
“Except for the eyebrow.”
“Mierda.” Marcos groaned as he turned to walk back around to find his truck in the packed

parking lot. “We need to find Neto. He’s got my phone.”

Marcos heard Chuito grab his shorts, the rattle of keys giving it away.
“Forget your phone.”
“Fuck you. He’s got my gun too. I need my gun.”
“Forget the gun.”
Marcos turned back to him in disbelief. “You really are soft. Angel’ll kill both of us.”
Chuito lifted his shirt, showing off the gun tucked into front of his jeans. Marcos just stared at it,

because he knew it’d been a very long time since Chuito had walked around strapped.

“You carry a Beretta?”
“What’s wrong with a Beretta?”
“That’s a very Italian weapon.” Marcos lifted his gaze to Chuito’s face and studied him. His

cousin was really back in Miami, and this time it wasn’t just to visit. He was packing. The icy cold
shock of realization made the world swim. “Ay Dios mio,” he whispered, and when Chuito looked
away, Marcos felt actual tears sting his eyes. “What did you do?”

Chuito shook his head. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Oh my God,” he repeated in English. He went to put a hand to his eyes and then stopped at the

last minute. He lowered his head instead and choked out, “Did you smoke him? There’s kids in that
warehouse.”

“No. I didn’t smoke anyone.”
“Chu—”
“I didn’t. Angel’s alive and well. I promise.”
Marcos forced air back into his lungs, hating that he was still half-blind and the world was wavy

and he was starting to notice little things. Like the fact that he hadn’t been eating much since he’d left
Katie, and he had been living on pure adrenaline for a week.

The facts weren’t adding up in his hazed mind. If Chuito was back and strapped, someone,

somewhere was supposed to be dead. Garnet didn’t change him that much. Once Chuito took over a
problem, motherfuckers started dying.

“I promised Juan,” he whispered.
“Juan’s dead,” Chuito snapped in the cold, harsh voice from Marcos’s youth.
He flinched at the sound of it. He was going to stand there in the parking lot of an underground

fight club and actually cry. Really cry.

Like Katie cried.
Like that chica Grayson cried.
“Come on.” Chuito wrapped his arm around Marcos’s waist, obviously deciding he wasn’t toxic

anymore. “I’ll drive.”

Marcos let him, because if he was going to cry, he sort of wanted to do it at home. He sat in the

passenger seat of his truck, with his head tilted back, the blood from his eyebrow still running down
his face and onto his chest.

He was mostly naked.
Very wet.
And cold.
Chuito stopped at a twenty-four-hour drugstore. Marcos looked out the window fighting the tears

as he waited. He didn’t know what Chuito did, but it was something he knew would undo five years
of Garnet programming.

He missed him, but Marcos liked his cousin happy and in Garnet. Playing whatever game he

played with his neighbor and being everything Marcos wasn’t. Successful. Rich. Famous.

Even if it meant they weren’t a team anymore.
He’d always wanted it for Chuito.
Always.
He should’ve pulled the trigger at the warehouse.
Chuito came back with two bags of supplies and threw it between them. When he started the

truck, Marcos turned to him and asked, “What if Angel had smoked me?”

Chuito put the car into gear and said, “I’d be in jail. I wouldn’t even have finesse about that shit.

I’d have killed him in broad daylight.”

People said that kind of thing all the time, but with his cousin, Marcos more than anyone

understood how true it was.

“I’m not worth it, Chu.” Marcos whispered. “Why?”
“’Cause I love you, dumbass.” Chuito snorted in disbelief. “I like this world better with you in

it.”

Chapter Nineteen

The world was swimming because Marcos had his first concussion. At least that was what

Doctor Chuito claimed. Marcos wouldn’t know. He’d never had one before.

When he told his cousin that, Chuito sounded surprised as he sat on the closed toilet seat in the

bathroom, waiting for Marcos to finish showering because he didn’t trust him not to face-plant on the
shower tile.

“Really?” Chuito asked for the second time, as if it were completely unbelievable.
“Yeah, if you hadn’t shown up, I wouldn’t have one now. You distracted me.” Marcos put his

face under the shower spray and then cursed when the water hit his cut. “¡Ay carajo!”

“Wow, I’ve lost track of how many I’ve had,” Chuito mused thoughtfully. “Tino gave me one last

month.”

“Remind me to never fight Tino, then.”
“Jesus, with all the fighting you’ve done? All the underground shit? All the street fights? All the

times you hit pavement? You’ve never had a concussion?” Chuito sounded like he was talking to hear
himself speak as he mumbled in Spanish. “You are the luckiest bastard I’ve ever met in my life. The
reason you do all this crazy shit is because you know you’re lucky. Why the hell didn’t any of those
bullets get you that night? I have asked myself that question a thousand times. Why didn’t I lose you
too?”

Marcos pulled back, feeling something strange and cold roll down his back. The water was hot,

but the memories, the ideas, were icy and horrible.

“She was dead before you were out the door. She was watching you.” Chuito’s voice was

haunted. “She has to watch over you, Marc. I mean, shit, you got into a car accident and met the love
of your life. That can only happen to you.”

Marcos didn’t like that idea. He didn’t like the thought that his mother had somehow saved him

and let Juan die. She had loved Juan and Chuito like they were her own; she would’ve never chosen
one of them above the other.

“Shut up,” Marcos choked. “Just shut up, Chu.”
“You should get back together with Katie,” Chuito surprised him by saying. “If your mother

saved you, if she’s been saving you, you should do what Juan was supposed to do. You should make
the world better.”

“You could make the world better,” Marcos reminded him.
“No, I can’t.” Chuito sounded like he believed it too. “You’re the lover. I’m just the fighter.”
“Chu—”
“No, I’m right about this,” Chuito argued. “I got you out, Marc. Do something with it. Please.”
“What did you do?”
“It doesn’t matter what I did. You’re out. Angel’s not your problem anymore. You can hang with

the same pendejos, and no one is going to give you shit about it. You could walk into the warehouse
tomorrow, and Angel wouldn’t do anything but kiss your ass. In fact, I should have you do it while
I’m still here just to watch.”

Marcos heard the same dark sound in Chuito’s voice that he had in the parking lot, that horrible

turn that told him he was somehow seeking revenge.

He turned off the water and then pushed back the curtain. He grabbed the towel off the rack

without bothering to dry himself. He wrapped it around himself, and then he reached over and
grabbed the back of Chuito’s shirt, fisting it tightly.

“¡Coño!” Chuito knocked at his hand, but Marcos wasn’t letting go. “Are you blitzed?”
“WHERE IS IT?” Marcos screamed loud enough to wake the neighbors. He pulled at Chuito’s

shirt, hearing the fabric rip. “TAKE IT OFF!”

Chuito had no choice but to let Marcos pull his shirt over his head. Then he stood and held out

his hands, showing off his bare chest that had all the same tattoos it always did. The stars on his
shoulders. The cross over his heart. The black English lettering over his stomach that marked him as
the Slayer. A name he’d had for years before he started fighting professionally. A title he’d earned
much more brutally than any of his fans could imagine.

Marcos turned him, looking at his back, seeing it was all the same ink.
“Are you done?” Chuito asked in annoyance.
“No.” He looked to Chuito’s jeans. “Take them off.”
“Okay.” Chuito kicked off his shoes. He set his gun on the counter and unbuttoned his jeans. He

stepped out of them and then threw them at Marcos hard enough to almost knock him off his feet when
he was still fighting this concussion. “Happy?”

Marcos studied him, looking at his legs, knowing it had to be there somewhere, but it was all the

same. He tilted his head, seeing something peeking above the edge of his boxer briefs on his hip.

Chuito cursed when Marcos pushed down the side of his underwear, finding it running over his

hip, straight up and down toward his thigh, in one of the few places that would be hidden when he
wore fighter shorts.

Omertà
“It’s new.”
“Yes, it is,” Chuito agreed and then shoved Marcos back. “So I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t

fuck it up. It’s still healing.”

“Who gave you the Beretta?” Marcos whispered in horror. “I know you flew here. Who gave it

to you when you got off the plane?”

“Don’t worry about it.”
“I’m worried about it!” Marcos yelled at him. “You sold yourself to them!”
“I didn’t sell myself,” Chuito argued. “I made a business arrangement.”
“With the mafia?” Marcos could hardly wrap his mind around that. “And you call me crazy?

They’re the mafia! They’re not us, Chu. They are nothing like us. The Italians fuck up politicians and
shit. It’s not pride. It’s money and power to them. They will bury anyone. No one is safe from them.”

“That’s right,” Chuito said as he leaned down and grabbed his jeans. “Guess who else no one is

safe from? You think getting in bed with the mafia is going to change anything about me?” He started
pulling his jeans on and then lifted his head and glared at Marcos. “He pulled a gun on you. He was
going to smoke you!”

“I’m not dead!”
“Lucky for him.” Chuito’s dark eyes glowed with fury. “Now I just get to fuck with him until I

get tired of it.”

“What’s your chica gonna think when she sees that ink?” Marcos gestured to his side.
“You think Alaine knows what this ink means?” Chuito laughed. “Are you kidding, Marc? She’s

not Katie, okay? I could never bring her here. She is a girl who’s supposed to marry someone like
Edward. I wasn’t ever supposed to get someone like that.”

Marcos reached out. “Chu—”
Chuito knocked his hand away. “I was the one who let them die! It was me who joined Los

Corredores. It was me who dragged you into it! They were after me! You know they were after me!
You were too busy looking for the next chica at seventeen! You were never a threat to anyone! I was!
No one is watching out for me because they’re my sins! I cannot keep hiding in Garnet pretending that
they weren’t! I cannot keep letting you pay for my shit, Marc!”

Marcos choked, because he couldn’t honestly argue that. He couldn’t even insult Chuito by

trying. Marcos wasn’t a bad gangster, but he wasn’t a particularly good one either. He didn’t have
anything required to be good at it. He wasn’t as smart as Chuito. He wasn’t as cunning. He didn’t
thrive off respect or money or revenge. The only thing Marcos had ever really cared about was
finding the next bed to crawl into.

Now there was only one bed he wanted, but the rules still applied. Just because the many had

been narrowed down to one didn’t mean he didn’t still want to be wrapped up in Katie all the time.

There was a knock at the door, and Marcos looked out the bathroom.
“Coño.” Chuito buttoned his jeans and pushed past him.
Marcos grabbed the Beretta and followed him. He unclicked the safety when Chuito opened the

door like he was still in Garnet.

“No, it’s fine,” Chuito said in English as he reached out and clasped the hand of a man Marcos

couldn’t see in the darkness. “Just fighting with my cousin.”

“You Puerto Ricans. Always fighting. That’s all you know how to do.”
Chuito’s shoulders stiffened because he always had so much fucking Boricua pride. It was the

reason he’d joined Los Corredores in the first place.

“Aren’t you here because I needed you here?” Chuito barked, his voice hard. “Doesn’t that

essentially mean you’re working for me?”

“Yeah, but—”
“Don’t insult my people. I don’t like it. It pisses me off.”
“Hey, I’m sorry.”
“Yeah.” Chuito shut the door and turned back to Marcos with a shake of his head. “Fucking

Italians. I have no idea how I ended up with one as a best friend.”

“Good thing you’re not in bed with them,” Marcos deadpanned as he lowered the gun. He might

have worried about their earlier argument being overheard, but they had been using Spanish. “Why
are they outside my house?”

“Nova asked them to watch it for me. They’re watching my mother’s too.”
“Nova?”
“Tino’s brother.”
“Angel on steroids?”

Chuito nodded. “Yeah.”
“Great.” His eyebrow started bleeding again, and he wiped at it and stared at his bloody fingers.

He had a massive headache, and he really just needed to lie down and crash for at least twenty-four
hours. It had been a long week. “I’m going to bed.”

“Let me fix your eyebrow first.”
“Whatever.”
Marcos walked to his bedroom and set the Beretta on his dresser. Then he fell into the bed and

just lay there looking up at the halos around the light in the ceiling fan.

When Chuito came in, he had the bags from the drugstore with him. He dumped them out on the

bed. “This place is a shithole, Marc. You have no furniture except for this bed on the ground. Why do
you live like this?”

“’Cause I’m broke.”
Chuito pulled out a bottle of alcohol and unrolled several paper towels. “Move in with my

mother. I bought the house because of the apartment out back. You’re supposed to be living in it.”

“And have Angel shoot me there?”
“Angel is not going to shoot you. The Italians are just there until I get everything ironed out. I

already said you’re out. You can live anywhere you want.”

“What exactly does ironed out mean?” Marcos asked as he looked at the ceiling. “Like I told

your friend, I don’t speak Italian.”

“Does it matter?” Chuito held up the alcohol bottle. “Close your eyes. This may sting.”
Marcos closed his eyes just as the sear of pain stretched from his eyebrow, clear up into his

forehead, making the headache he had about a thousand times worse.

“¡Coño! ¡Vete pa’l carajo! That hurts, you motherfucker!” He punched blindly at Chuito’s side,

wanting him to share his pain. “¡Maldita sea la madre que te parió! Ow!”

Chuito laughed. “I am very scared at the idea of you teaching Katie Spanish.”
“Please stop talking about her.” Marcos groaned and touched the skin above his eyebrow. “It’s

like you’re trying to punish me. I’m already miserable.”

“I don’t want you to be miserable, Marc.” Chuito held some gauze to the cut tightly, pressing

down hard enough to make Marcos curse again. “I was sort of hoping for the opposite. You really
should make the world better. Find a way.”

“Right, I’ll just find a way.” Marcos held up his hands. “I’ve got all the skills necessary to make

the world a better place.”

Chuito laughed again. “I have honestly missed you. Very much.”
“Are you gonna cry, chica?”
“Yup, I’m gonna cry.”
Chuito pushed down harder on the cut.
“¡Me cago en ná!” Marcos shoved at his hand, and then pushed at his chest for good measure. “I

want a real doctor!”

“Too bad. You didn’t want to go to the hospital.” Chuito grabbed Marcos’s hand and put it on

the gauze. “Push hard.”

“Yeah, I’ll push hard, cabrón.”

Marcos pushed down hard, hurting himself, as he stared at the ceiling with his good eye and

thought about what had happened. The ink was on Chuito’s body. That was permanent. Inflexible.
He’d made a deal with the devil.

Marcos knew he couldn’t change it.
“Am I really out?” he whispered.
“You’re really out,” Chuito assured him. “Don’t tell anyone about the Italians. Don’t tell them

I’m involved with what’s going down at the warehouse. I don’t want anyone to know right now. No
one. Not even my mother.”

“Are you kidding? I’m not telling anyone my cousin is sleeping with the Italians. Especially your

mother. I’ll barely be able to look at myself in the mirror after this. I’m certainly not going to look at
Tía Sofia and have her know I made you whore yourself out to the mafia.”

“Marc, you didn’t do it. I did.” Chuito sighed as he laid a pair of medical scissors on Marcos’s

chest as if he were an operating table. “Didn’t you hear what I said before? I did it. I made the
mistakes. You’ve just been paying for them.”

“I got the ink on my arm, Chu,” Marcos argued. “You didn’t make me do it. No one makes me do

anything. They probably shot at that house because they thought they’d get two for the price of one.
We’ll share the sins. All of them.”

“Fine.”
“Fine,” Marcos agreed.
Chuito unrolled a piece of white medical tape and then cut a small piece off. “Let me see your

eyebrow again.”

Marcos lifted his hand, showing off the cut. “Can you fix it?”
“Yeah.” Chuito nodded as he stared down at it. “I can fix it.”
“You get shit done,” Marcos choked out as he looked up at his cousin and realized just how far

Chuito would go to fix something for him. The tears welled up in his eyes, and he closed them to fight
it, but it was too late. “Coño.”

“No, it’s okay.” Chuito grabbed his hand when Marcos tried to cover his face. “You can cry.

Real people cry. Only gangsters have to be hard.”

It was a good thing tonight was the first night Marcos wasn’t a gangster anymore. It was amazing

Chuito was able to tape the damn cut at all, but he didn’t rush it. He stopped if Marcos needed him to
stop, and then he’d start again when he could be still long enough to deal with it. Chuito was patient
and did the best possible job he could to make sure Marcos didn’t have too visible of a scar.

And he didn’t cry once the entire time.
He let Marcos cry for him.

Chapter Twenty

Miami
July, 2014

Miami was interesting, because each street was different. They all had their own personalities.

The houses too. Different colors. Different sizes. One road would be full of mansions, and then a few
blocks over there would be run-down areas.

The divide was bizarre to Katie.
It was one of the richest cities in the United States. It was also one of the poorest. One fourth of

all its residents lived below the poverty line. Katie knew that because she’d researched it, but seeing
it was different.

Some areas had billboards all in English.
Others had billboards all in Spanish.
Some had a mix of both.
Katie knew that part because she had spent at least three hours lost in Miami. There were one-

way streets everywhere. It was easy to get turned around, and her phone wasn’t being very helpful.

Finally she was forced to call for directions. She pulled off the side of the road and picked up

her phone. She dialed the number, waiting for it to ring.

“¿Hola?”
“I’m lost.” She sighed.
“Again?” Chuito asked in disbelief. “You were lost before your interview too.”
“I’m sorry.” She threw up a hand in frustration. “I cannot be the only person who gets lost in

Miami, and have you noticed everyone honks here? What are they all so angry about?”

“Ay Dios mio. Just tell me where you are. You cannot be that far. The high school is less than

five miles away,” Chuito said as Katie looked behind her, staring at the street signs. She told him
where she was, and he cursed. “Are your doors locked?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes.”
“I have no idea how you got that far.” Chuito sounded exasperated. “Just have my mother drive

with you for a few days. Maybe it’ll keep her away from the Cuban. Put it on speaker. I’ll stay on the
phone with you until you get there.”

Katie put Chuito on speaker and pulled out. After she turned the way Chuito told her, she asked,

“Why do you always complain about your mother’s boyfriend? Is it because he’s Cuban?”

“No, it’s because he’s dating my mother.”
“But you said you haven’t met him.”
“If he’s dating Sofia, I guarantee you, there’s something wrong with him.”
“I think you have mommy issues,” Katie announced as she stopped at a light. Someone was

honking. “Did you hear that? What are they honking at?”

“Coño, this is a huge mistake.”
“I survived college out of Garnet. I can do this,” Katie announced more to herself than anyone

and then reiterated the statement in Spanish. “Yo puedo hacer esto.”

“If you say so, chica.”
With Chuito as navigator, Katie found her way pretty easily. She wasn’t really sure how he

could do that by phone thousands of miles away, but he could, and she was infinitely grateful for it.

When she pulled down the street, she was surprised by it. “Oh, this is nice.”
“You think I’d let my mother live in a shithole?” Chuito sounded insulted. “You have to turn

right on Ocean View. Third house on the right.”

Katie just shook her head as she turned. “You definitely have mommy issues. Bizarre ones.”
“You meet my mother, and then we’ll talk.”
“Am I going to like her?” Katie asked not for the first time. “I am sort of moving in with her.”
“I guess we’ll find out.” Chuito laughed. “This whole thing feels like a scientific experiment. It

could either go really good, or really, really bad.”

Katie noticed there were men outside their houses playing basketball. Which was insane; it was

unbelievably hot out even at four in the afternoon. None of them had their shirts on, and they all had
those strong, powerful builds like Marcos and Chuito. She pulled into the driveway of the biggest
house she’d seen in the neighborhood and then looked behind her to the guys in the driveway across
the street.

There was just something she recognized about them. More than their builds and coloring, it was

in the way they held themselves. Hard. Intimidating.

“Your friends all live here,” she whispered and then asked louder, “How many houses do you

own on this street?”

“Four.”
Katie nodded as she turned off the car and sat with Chuito in spirit, like she’d sat with him at

Hal’s almost every night for the past three months. “Thank you for helping me, Chuito.”

“Yeah, we’ll see how thankful you are when school starts. Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Yes.” She nodded as she looked around her. It was a nice street. The house was big, pink, and

beautiful. Katie loved the color pink. It was a good sign, and she repeated in Spanish again, “Yo
puedo hacer esto.”

“You’ll have help.” Chuito sounded confident about it.
Katie took a deep breath and covered her face with her hand. “I don’t think so.”
“I do.” Chuito almost sounded amused by her emotional crisis. “He’ll be happy to see you.”
“He hasn’t said a word to me in three months. Now I’m moving in with his aunt. You don’t think

that’ll be a little pushy?”

“He’s Boricua. He likes pushy.”
“This isn’t about him. It’s about me. I want to do this. I would want to do this without him. It

doesn’t matter if he’s not interested anymore. Yo puedo hacer esto.”

“You can do it,” Chuito agreed. “I wouldn’t have moved you in with my mother if you couldn’t

handle it. Trust me, that takes a certain strength of will.”

Katie turned around and looked behind her, seeing that all the men in the driveway across the

street had stopped playing basketball. There were kids in the grass. They had been playing chase, but
even the little ones were curious.

“Your friends are looking at me.”
“I’m sure.” Chuito laughed. “Practice your Spanish. Tell them not to look too hard. It’ll be bad

for their health.”

She would have said something sharp and sarcastic if the front door to the big pink house hadn’t

opened. A woman walked out, wearing white shorts that looked very pressed and perfect against her
tanned skin. She had on a bright blue top that clung to her in all the right places, though it wasn’t
demeaning.

She actually looked like one of the most put-together, elegant women Katie had ever met in her

life. Like a runway model or a movie star. Oddly enough, she sort of reminded Katie of Jules
Wellings. With that crisp, perfect air to her. The way her dark hair fell past her shoulders in perfect
waves. She was one of those women who probably woke up looking gorgeous.

“Do you have a sister?” Katie asked as the woman walked toward the car.
“No.” Chuito sounded annoyed.
“I’m at the wrong house.”
“No, you’re not. That’s Sofia.”
“How old was she when she had you?” Katie asked quickly.
“Sixteen.”
“Oh my God,” she said and then smiled when Sofia actually opened the door. “¡Hola!”
“Hi.” Sofia gave her a wide smile, making her eyes glow. They were the same light shade as

Marcos’s were and every bit as stunning on her. “Why are you sitting in the car, chica?”

“I’m, uh—” Katie was completely thrown off as she turned to the passenger seat, half expecting

Chuito to be sitting beside her. “I got lost. Chuito gave me directions. We were just finishing up. He’s
on speaker.”

“Hi, chico.” Sofia’s voice was warm and loving. “She’s so pretty. You didn’t tell me. And she’s

got big—”

“Ay Dios mio, Ma!” Chuito shouted. “No, you promised.”
“What? She likes to hear that. All women like to hear that,” Sofia argued with an invisible

Chuito. “If you’d listen to me about these things, then you’d have a woman and give me nietos.” Sofia
turned to Katie. “He’s rich and handsome. I should have nietos by now, right?”

“I have to go, Katie,” Chuito said rather than answer her. “Good luck.”
The phone clicked off.
Sofia stood back and threw up her hands. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him. Anyway, come.

Let’s go in.” Sofia stepped back and opened the door. “Are you tired? Such a long drive. Too bad you
couldn’t fly.”

“Well, I needed my car.” Katie stepped out and brushed at her skirt, feeling very plain next to

Chuito’s mother. “It’s nice to meet you, Sofia. Thank you so much for letting me rent the apartment.”

“Rent?” Sofia gasped. “Is he making you pay? No.” She waved her hand as if she had answered

her own question. Then she wrapped her arms around Katie like they were the oldest of friends and
kissed her cheek. “It’s nice to meet you too.” She pulled back and wiped at the lipstick she left on
Katie’s cheek. “Don’t call me Sofia. Tía is better.”

“Tía,” Katie repeated and then looked ahead, thinking. “Aunt?”

“Sí, muy bien. They said you were smart.” Sofia opened the back door.
“They said?”
“Ay, this is all you have?” Sofia asked rather than explain. “To move here?”
“I have more in the trunk. I don’t need much.”
“Dios mío, if I had to move, it’d take ten moving trucks.” Sofia turned and yelled across the

street, “Don’t just stand there. Come help!”

“I can carry it,” Katie argued.
“What, why?” Sofia looked horrified. “They’re just standing there staring.”
Sofia turned back and yelled in Spanish, and Katie only caught half of what she was saying. She

was still a little too rattled to make her brain work properly.

“Why would a snake bite them?” Katie asked curiously.
“If they keep staring at your tetas a snake will bite them.” Sofia looked pointedly at the two men

walking across the street when she spoke, obviously making sure they heard her before she gestured
to the car. “Move it into the apartment in the back.”

“¿Qué?” One of the men gaped at Sofia. “In back, but—”
“No arguing.” Sofia hit his bare chest to make her point. “Luis.” She gestured to the other man.

“And Neto.” She turned back to Katie and smiled. “This is Katie. She’s moving into the place out
back. She’s a teacher. And Chuito’s friend. We’re supposed to be on good behavior.”

They both exchanged confused glances.
Katie decided to break the ice by sticking out her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Luis.”
Luis shook her hand as he tilted his head and studied her uncertainly. “Nice to meet you too.”
She shook Neto’s hand next, noticing that both men had a snake tattoo on their arms. “Thank you,

Neto, for helping.”

“In the place out back?” Neto repeated. “That’s where we’re taking this stuff?”
“Sí,” Sofia announced before Katie could. “Chica, give them your keys. They’ll put the car in the

garage when they’re done.”

“Oh, okay.” Katie leaned into her car and grabbed her phone off the front seat. She put it in her

purse.

“Ay, Luis, I already told you!”
Katie turned around to see Sofia hit the back of Luis’s head.
“He needs to find his own woman. Desperately.” Sofia rolled her eyes at Katie and then

gestured to Luis. “Give them to him. Make him useful.”

Katie handed Luis the keys. “Thank you.”
Luis nodded. “Sure.”
“Be careful with her stuff,” Sofia warned. “Don’t be tossing it around.”
“Where are we gonna put it all?”
“Figure it out.” Sofia linked her arm through Katie’s and forced her to walk back to the house.

“It’ll be nice to have a woman around. So many muchachos around here. This place is drowning in
them.”

“I see,” Katie agreed, as she turned around and watched Luis and Neto start unloading the car.

She’d never seen a woman handle a whole pack of men like that. Well, she knew one woman who
could. “You remind me of my friend Jules Wellings.”

Sofia grinned as she opened the front door. “Chu says the same thing. I need to meet her. She

sounds interesting.”

“You’d probably hate each other,” Katie mumbled as she walked in.
“Chu says that too.” Sofia held up her hands, gesturing to the inside of her house. “Mi casa es tu

casa.”

“It’s beautiful,” Katie whispered as she looked around at this house that was probably worth a

million dollars in Miami, where the cost of living was so expensive. It had high vaulted ceilings and
beautiful furniture. It was warm, light, and airy. There were pictures on all the walls. Colorful masks.
Paintings of island scenery that were breathtaking. Nothing was plain or unnoticeable. Every corner
was bursting with life. “It suits you perfectly.”

“Chu bought it for me,” Sofia said proudly.
“He must love you very much,” Katie whispered as she thought about the tiny apartment above

Jules Wellings’s office where Chuito lived.

“He does.” Sofia didn’t sound totally confident. “But he has reasons to be unhappy.”
“I know.” Katie looked to the main wall in the living room, seeing all the pictures over the

couch. The young faces of Chuito, Marcos, and a smaller boy, built so differently from them, slimmer,
and more angular when the two teenagers in the pictures were already thick with muscles and hard
with guarded gazes. “I’m sorry about your son and sister.”

“If I’m sad about it, they’ll keep blaming themselves,” Sofia whispered as she looked at the

pictures over the couch. “So we’re not sad in this house. We’re happy. For Juan and Camila I make
sure everyone is happy here. They don’t want Chu and Marc to blame themselves. I know they don’t.”

Katie felt the tears roll down her face as she looked at a picture of Marcos with a woman who

looked so much like Sofia, perhaps a little less vibrant, but with warm brown eyes that glowed as
they looked up at Marcos, whose arm was draped over her shoulders.

Katie turned to Sofia, finding that she was a watery blur, and said again, “I’m sorry.”
“No crying.” Sofia reached up and wiped at the tears on Katie’s cheeks. “In this house, the

women don’t cry.”

“Why?” Katie choked as she tried to hold back the huge sense of loss.
“’Cause we’re stronger than them,” Sofia whispered. “We let them be sad. We’re happy

instead.”

“That is stronger,” Katie agreed.
It was so much easier to be sad. Katie couldn’t even fathom the strength it took to be happy in the

face of what Sofia had lost just to make sure her son and nephew didn’t blame themselves.

“When we need to cry, we cry alone, Katie. Women should always cry alone.” Sofia sounded

like she believed it. “Then we get up and make sure the world knows it can’t hurt us.”

“I’m afraid I’ve cried in front of a man before.” Katie let out a choked laugh as she remembered

how hard she’d cried when she knew Marcos was leaving. “Many times.”

“We’ll work on it.” Sofia reached up and squeezed her cheeks affectionately. “And don’t worry,

chica. You’re not gonna have any reason to cry in this house. This is a happy house.”

“It is,” Katie agreed, because it really was. “Thank you so much for letting me stay here.”
“I didn’t do it for you. I didn’t do it for Chu either,” Sofia said cryptically as if she needed it

stated that she made her own rules. She laced her arm through Katie’s again. “Are you hungry? You
must be hungry. We’ll make dinner, and you can tell me about your interview. Did it go good?”

“It did.” Katie couldn’t help but be excited about it. “They officially gave me the job.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Marcos turned off his truck in the driveway and reached over to grab the groceries he had to

pick up even though he was exhausted. His aunt had texted him fourteen times making sure he didn’t
forget anything.

Which was pushy, even for her.
He was swamped at work. The last thing in the world he wanted to do was buy Aunt Sofia more

groceries when she could barely fit the food she had in the cabinets. Chuito said her tendency to
stockpile food came from being poor for so long. She was worried the money would run out, and
they’d starve again.

Marcos just thought it was a tremendous pain in his ass.
He had more than he should be able to carry, but he managed it and kicked his door shut with

more force than necessary.

“Make sure no one steals my truck!” he shouted to Luis and Neto across the street. “I got to set

this mierda down. I’ll be back out in a second.” They didn’t respond, and Marcos turned to them,
seeing that the two of them had stopped playing ball and were just standing there, staring at them.
“What?”

“You didn’t tell us you had a chica.” Luis sounded really pissed off about it too. “Is she your

chica? ’Cause Sofia said she’s Chuito’s friend, but—”

“I don’t—” One of the bags slipped on his arm, and he cursed. “¡Carajo! Hold on! I’ll be back.”
He walked up to the door, and fought with his keys and the bags, cursing the whole time. He

kicked the door open with his foot and walked in.

“Tía!” he shouted in Spanish. “Come get the fucking groceries that are going to spoil before you

eat them!”

“Ay, bendito. So rude!” she called from the kitchen. “Bring them in here. I’m busy.”
“¿Qué?” he growled, because something sounded off in her voice. “Why are you speaking

English?” he asked and then switched back to Spanish just in case. “Is someone here? What happened
to Fernán? If I had to buy this shit for a date with a gringo, I’m going to—”

“Oh my God, bring the damn groceries in here,” she called back in Spanish. “There’s no

gringo.”

He walked to the kitchen. “My truck’s unlocked.”
“Luis and Neto will watch it.”
“They said—”
Marcos stopped when he stepped into the kitchen. He dropped his arm in shock, and two bags

slipped past his right hand and crashed to the floor.

“My eggs!” Aunt Sofia shouted as she turned from the stove.
Marcos just stood there, still holding the rest of the groceries as he stared at Katie, who was

sitting at the kitchen table, sorting through a bag of dried black beans like she belonged there all
along.

“What are you doing here?” he choked.
“I’m, uh—” Katie gestured to the bag of black beans and the silver pot next to her. “I’m sorting

black beans. Apparently they package them with stray rocks in them.” Katie held up her hand as
evidence, displaying a little pile of stones. “They’re really rocks. In packaged food. It’s the strangest
thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Marcos couldn’t speak. He could barely breathe.
Aunt Sofia came over and picked up the bags he’d dropped. Then she flipped back her hair and

gave him a smile. “This is Katie.” She turned to Katie. “This is my nephew Marcos.”

“We’ve met,” Katie said as she stared at him.
“He’s usually more charming.” Aunt Sofia put the bags on the island in the center of the kitchen.

“But he is handsome. That’s something, right?”

“What is this?” Marcos asked when he finally found his voice.
“No gringo for me. Maybe a gringa for you,” his aunt said in Spanish as she started unpacking

her groceries. “It was my idea.”

“You just decide my love life for me?” Marcos asked her in disbelief.
“Sí,” Aunt Sofia announced as she walked to the fridge. “I was tired of listening to you whine

about her. You didn’t make your move. I made it for you.”

“You whined about me?” Katie asked softly.
“Yeah, I’ve missed you,” he said as he turned back to Katie before he frowned. “Wait, you

understood that?”

“She’s learning Spanish. Que linda.” His aunt turned back to him and went on in Spanish, “She’s

pretty. I see why you were whining. Just your type. Nice ass. Big tetas. Luis was eyeing them, chico.
You might want to talk to him about that.”

“Coño, please tell me you didn’t understand any of that,” Marcos said to Katie.
“I understood enough,” Katie looked to Sofia. “What did she say he was eyeing? I don’t think

Chuito taught me that. She said that before, but I was distracted. Does that mean—”

“We need to go. We have to talk.” Marcos set the groceries on the counter and then grabbed his

keys from his pocket. “Lock the truck, Tía.”

Aunt Sofia pulled back. “What am I?”
“You are in so much trouble right now!” Marcos growled at her as he pushed the keys at her.

“Lock the truck!”

“I don’t get in trouble,” Sofia announced.
“You were born in trouble,” Marcos assured her as he walked over to Katie. “Come on.

Vámanos. We’ll go out back.”

Katie got up, looking uncertain. Marcos wrapped an arm around her waist, because that wide

vulnerable look in her eyes hurt him, but he couldn’t talk to her. Not in front of his aunt. He needed
her alone to figure this out.

He opened the back door and walked into the backyard.
“Oh, it’s nice,” Katie whispered as they walked up to the gazebo house in the back. “It’s bigger

than I imagined.”

Marcos was still trying to find his voice. Katie wasn’t fighting shock like he was. She’d known

she was coming to visit. Why was she coming to visit? She had stopped texting him two months ago
when he never responded to her.

He opened the door to the gazebo house and paused when they walked in. “What is this?”
Katie turned around too, standing in the middle of all the boxes. “Does someone already live

here?”

He gave her a look. “I live here.”
“But I’m renting it,” Katie argued.
“You’re renting it?” he repeated and then pulled back to look around again, seeing all of Katie’s

things tossed around his room. “What is going on?”

“I decided to teach here in Miami.” Katie stood up taller and gave him a look. “It has nothing to

do with you. I just felt that my skills would be put to better use here. Chuito offered to let me rent at
his mother’s place since we’ve become friends.”

“You’re moving here?”
“Yes.” Katie nodded, looking him dead in the eye. “Things were uncomfortable at my old job

with the all legal issues over Grayson and Ashley. So I quit. I needed a change, and I think Miami
needs good teachers more than Garnet does.”

“What high school are you teaching at?” he asked, still trying to process everything.
When Katie told him, he gaped in disbelief.
“Are you crazy, chica? That’s my old high school!”
“I know.” Katie folded her arms over her chest. “That’s why I chose it.”
“Chuito told you to teach there? I am going to kick his ass,” Marcos growled. “He’s supposed to

be protecting you!”

Katie shrugged again. “I don’t need a man to protect me. I’m perfectly capable of protecting

myself.”

Marcos looked around the room again, seeing all of Katie’s stuff. “Did you really move here?”
Katie arched an eyebrow. “No, I always travel with this much luggage.”
Marcos couldn’t help it, he grinned. “I did miss you.”
“Thanks.” She nodded and looked at the ground for a second. “I’ll find another place to stay. I’m

not certain what your aunt was thinking, but—”

“She was probably thinking I should make things right with the chica I’ve been telling her about

for three months. I have truly missed you, very much, and I’m sorry, Katie. Things were complicated
and—”

“It’s okay. I don’t mind finding another place,” she said quickly, as if she wasn’t really hearing

him. “This move was never about you. It really was about me.”

“No.” He ran a hand over his face and through his hair. “I’m sorry about the other stuff. About

everything. You should not forgive me, but—” He tilted his head and looked at her, standing there in
a skirt that clung to her hips and a V-neck shirt that showed off her tits so nicely. “Fuck it.”

He reached out and pulled Katie to him before she could complain. He held on tightly, just

feeling her in his arms again. The way her body felt against his, the way everything about them
seemed to fit together perfect. Fuck, it felt so good. Even if she wasn’t hugging him back, it felt good.
He leaned down to smell her hair, and she even smelled the same.

The door opened, and he lifted his head and growled at his aunt, “Get out, Tía!”
“Just ignore me.” She walked in with two plates. “You two eat in here.” She set the plates on the

counter and then gave Marcos a pointed look and said in Spanish, “Tell her you love her. She’ll hug
you back.”

“Please get out.”
She held her hands up and walked to the door, but then she seemed to think better of it and turned

back. “Chica, I know he’s a pain in the ass. I helped raise him, trust me, I know, but he loves you. He
hasn’t even looked at another woman in months, and if you knew Marcos—”

“GET OUT!”
“I’m helping you!”
“You helped enough!” Marcos kept one arm around Katie when she buried her face in his

shoulder, and then he gestured to the moving boxes. “We’re gonna talk about this, Tía.”

“And I am so concerned about that,” she said dismissively as she walked out the door.
Katie was shaking, and for one moment, he thought she was crying, but then he pulled back and

saw that her shoulders were shaking in silent mirth. “Oh my God, Marcos, your aunt is crazy.”

“I know.” He shook his head and let out a pained chuckle. “I’m sorry. Chuito should’ve warned

you.”

“He did, but—” Katie gestured to the boxes around the room. “What are we going to do? I have

nowhere to live. I really did think I was going to stay here. I hoped to see you again, but—”

“We’ll figure it out.” He tucked a strand of her hair behind one ear as he studied her face. “You

look good, Katie. Really good.”

“Thanks, you look good too,” she whispered as she looked up at him. She touched the scar in his

eyebrow. “That’s new.”

“Yeah.” He rubbed at it, trying not to think of all the things it represented. “I was in a bad place

after I left you.”

“But not now?”
“Um, no, I’m doing okay now.” He looked back to the plates. “You want dinner?”
“I’m starving,” she said with another laugh. “I got so lost today, I didn’t even eat after my

interview. Why does everyone honk here?”

“Because these pendejos don’t know how to drive,” he said with a snort of disbelief.
“You are one of those honkers.” Katie hit his chest. “You do that, don’t you? It’s obnoxious.”
“I am obnoxious,” he promised her. “If you haven’t figured that out yet, you will.”
“Will I?”
“You’re living in my house. Yes, you’ll probably notice.”
Katie looked stricken as she glanced around at the boxes again. “Marcos—”
“Dinner.” Marcos turned and grabbed the plates off the dresser. “I don’t have a table. I usually

eat with Tía Sofia, but we can sit on the bed.”

She tilted her head, giving him a calculating look. “Are you trying to get me to bed?”
“Yes, Katie, I am,” he said with a smile. “And since I’m a pendejo, and I know you know it, I’ll

have to bribe you with food.”

She seemed to hesitate for only a moment before she reached out and took the plate from him and

said, “Okay.”

No one could say Katie wasn’t fearless.
It was one of the things Marcos liked most about her.

Chapter Twenty-Two

“The chicken was amazing, but I am very scared of these.” Katie poked at the slices of cooked

yellowish fruit on her plate. “What are they?”

“Plátanos. They’re good.” Marcos reached over with his fork and stabbed at one on her plate.

He took a bite out of it and said, “They taste sorta like bananas.”

“Cooked bananas. For dinner,” Katie mumbled as she pushed at another one. “Okay.”
“Try it.”
Katie cut it in half and then stabbed it with her fork. She brought it up to her mouth and licked it,

gauging the taste of it. Then she glanced up, finding that Marcos had stopped eating and was just
watching her. “What?”

“Nothing.” He shrugged. “I just like the way you look when you lick things.”
Katie laughed and felt her cheeks heat. Instead of responding, she took a small bite and

considered it for a moment. “It’s pretty good.”

“Yeah, it is,” Marcos agreed, his voice husky.
“Stop,” she warned, eating the rest of the mysterious banana instead of looking at him. “I don’t

know where I stand with you.”

“Where do you want to stand with me?” he countered as he pushed at his beans and rice and then

glanced up at her hesitantly.

“You left me, Marcos,” she reminded him.
“I did.” He looked at his plate again. His handsome face was stricken, and he reached up and

rubbed at his eyebrow, where the scar now gave him a much more dangerous appearance. “I didn’t
want to, though.”

“Then why did you?”
He shook his head. “Katie, I was in such a bad place. I came this close to being six feet under or

in prison. I still don’t know how I got out of it. I mean, I do know, but it’s still complicated. I didn’t
think I deserved you. I’m still not certain if I do or not.”

“But you’re more certain?” she asked curiously.
He seemed to think about that for a moment before he finally nodded. “I’m much more certain.”
“What changed?”
“Well, I’m not a gangster anymore.” He gave her an unsure smile. “Maybe you won’t like me

now?”

“What?” Katie laughed. “Why would that change anything? I’m happy about that. Chuito told me.

I knew that part, but I’m happy to hear it from you. Why would you think I wouldn’t like you for that?”

“Not so dangerous.” He shrugged, giving her another smile. “Chicas like dangerous.”
“You still look pretty dangerous to me.” Katie reached over and touched his eyebrow again.

“That helps. Did it hurt?”

“Ay Dios mio, chica. Yes.” He groaned as if remembering it. “I had Chuito for a doctor. Trust

me, if you ever have a choice between my cousin or a hospital, pick the hospital.”

Katie laughed again, struck with how easy it was to be around Marcos, as if the past three

months of loneliness didn’t happen. She had missed him and worried about him every single day,
though Chuito assured her Marcos was fine and just getting his life together. The sadness had been all
the more difficult because the stress over Grayson and Ashley had made school more than a little
uncomfortable.

Grayson had gotten charged with trespassing, a misdemeanor. It hadn’t affected his job. Katie

could have filed a restraining order, but she didn’t. Chuito had been underfoot a lot, and he worked
better than a piece of paper at keeping Grayson away.

Ashley was dealing with the more serious charges of reckless driving and leaving the scene of

the accident. She had confessed everything to Sheriff Connor once he started questioning her. Marcos
had been right. It was her car. The teachers hadn’t known how to deal with that sort of situation, let
alone two of them. Most were kind to Katie, but some hadn’t been, and it had just been an awkward
end of the year—especially when Grayson and Ashley started dating.

At least Grayson had lost interest in Katie.
She had been a little too busy nursing her broken heart to think on it too much. Honing her

Spanish had been a good distraction, though she had learned quickly that dinner with Chuito every
night helped more than hours of studying by herself. She picked up enough of it to feel confident when
she made the life-altering decision to move to Miami. Her family thought she was crazy and had
argued with her until the day she left, but she simply couldn’t get past what she’d heard from Marcos
and Chuito. How certain they were that they’d never had a chance of graduating.

They’d never even thought to try.
She considered all those other teenagers out there, angry at the world, certain that the only

chance they had at succeeding was by stealing cars, robbing houses, and selling drugs.

If she could help one Marcos or Chuito, it would be worth it.
“Tell me what you’ve been doing,” Katie said as she took another bite of the rice and beans

mixed together on the plate. “Chuito said he bought a car place here.”

“It’s an auto body shop,” Marcos said, and then stole another plátano off her plate. He’d clearly

been famished too. “It was actually the place I got fired from before. I think Chu did that shit to be
vindictive. We changed the name. We called it Juan’s Auto Body. It’s stupid, but we had this thing—”

“No, it’s not stupid,” Katie said quickly. “I think it’s nice.”
“So, I run it for him, and I’ve started letting some of the kids from the warehouse help me. I pay

them. Even though they are horrible at it and half the time it gives me more work rather than save me
from it.” Marcos rolled his eyes. “They’re getting better. Slowly.”

“You’re teaching them,” Katie whispered.
“Not teaching.”
“You’re helping them learn a skill they wouldn’t otherwise learn,” Katie said slowly. “A skill

they use to make honest money. That’s teaching, Marcos.”

“Well, they’re pendejos. All of them,” Marcos assured her. “I want to beat their asses most of

the time, but at least they aren’t dealing, right?”

“Right,” Katie agreed as she smiled at him. “I’m proud of you.”
“Don’t be proud of me. I mean, I’m fairly certain the reason I haven’t gotten one inspection is

because someone I know has the heat in their pocket. That’s still—”

“Who gives a shit?” Katie argued.

“And twenty percent of all the income goes to a source you really don’t want to know about and

—”

“You’re teaching them. You’re helping them. That’s what matters to me.” She reached across the

bed and grabbed his hand. “I think it’s what matters to you too.”

“Well, I certainly don’t give a fuck if someone’s paying the police to stay off my ass. I’d give

them forty percent for that shit.” Marcos looked at his plate once more. “I’m not perfect, Katie. I will
never be like those guys in Garnet, but—”

“I know you’re not like them.” Katie squeezed his hand again. “That’s sorta the reason I moved

here. I was tired of Garnet.”

He arched an eyebrow at her. “You like dangerous?”
“Is that a statement or a question?”
“It’s a question.” Marcos’s gaze slid down the dip in her T-shirt. “Was Luis really eyeing your

tetas? If he was, you’ll probably find out how dangerous I can still be when I kick his ass.”

“I’m assuming that’s the word for breasts. Is it a polite word?”
Marcos shook his head. “Not really.”
“Your aunt said it.”
“My aunt is rarely polite.”
“You two are the only ones I have to rely on to learn Spanish,” Katie said with a laugh.
“I am so sorry about that.” Marcos laughed with her. “You didn’t answer my other question.”
“The dangerous question?”
“Yeah.” Marcos nodded as he lowered his gaze to her tits again. “That one.”
“Well, yes, I’d say I’m inclined toward the dangerous,” she said loftily. “But seeing as you’re a

teacher now, and I swore off teachers after Grayson—”

“¡Me cago en ná!” Marcos shouted at her. “You did not just compare me to that woman!”
“You know, Marcos, this business about using women as an insult”—Katie used her best

teacher’s voice—“I don’t appreciate it. According to your aunt, women are stronger than men, and
I’m inclined to believe her.”

“Prove it then, chica.” Marcos held out his hands in challenge. “Prove you’re stronger than me.”
Katie didn’t know why she did it, but she leaned past both the plates and cupped his face with

both hands. She brought his lips to hers, and Marcos let her. She kissed him once, just the soft brush
of his lips against hers. He tasted sweet like the plátanos, familiar and exotic at the same time.

Then he reached up, fisting her hair in his hand as he bit at her bottom lip. His tongue swept into

her mouth when she gasped, and there was nothing sweet about any of it now.

It was hard.
Sexual.
Dangerous.
The rush of desire was almost dizzying. She thought she remembered this part, the way

everything stopped existing when she was with Marcos, but her memory hadn’t done it justice.

Then he pulled away, his breath harsh against her lips, his hand still tangled in her hair.
“I do love you, Katie. I need you in my house. In my bed. I want you to stay,” he surprised her by

saying. “Say yes.”

Katie was breathing heavily too as she looked at his face, studying his light eyes that were liquid

with need. “Say yes to what?”

“All of it.” He rubbed a thumb over her bottom lip, making her shudder against her will. “Say

you’ll take me back. Say you love me too.”

“I wouldn’t have moved here if I wasn’t willing to take you back,” Katie whispered softly. “Sí.”

She touched his eyebrow again, deciding that she could handle a little dangerous. “Yes, Marcos, to
all of it. I love you too.”

He sucked in a startled breath, as if he hadn’t really expected it. “Really?”
“Really.” She nodded, giving him a shy smile.
“I still feel like shit for not texting you back.” He glanced away again. “I wanted to. I guess I just

felt like you were better off without me. I probably don’t deserve your love. I want it, but I don’t
deserve it.”

“You can make it up to me right now if it’s bothering you so much,” she said as she tilted her

head, admiring him, because he really did look amazing, with those thick, tattooed biceps stretching
the sleeves of his shirt. “Now is always a good place to start on the future.”

“You want it?” he asked, grinning.
“Yes.” She nodded again, but then added playfully, “But I sort of want you to admit that I’m

stronger first.”

“You’re stronger than me, chica. I mean that,” he assured her. “Much stronger.”
“Okay, then.” Katie couldn’t help the pleased smile that tugged at her lips. “Come prove to me

how much you missed it.”

Marcos picked up both the plates and set them on the nightstand, and then he grabbed the back of

his shirt, tugging it off in one fluid motion. He tossed it aside and leaned into her, fisting her hair once
more and licking at the curve of her neck as if he couldn’t resist it.

She fell back against the bed and arched her back at the feel of his weight over her again. He

pulled her shirt down, exposing the curve of her tits, and then licked at them with the same ravenous
hunger.

“I don’t have condoms,” he whispered against the valley between her breasts and then licked at

the other one as if he couldn’t get enough her. “Like my Tía said, I haven’t exactly been a chica
magnet since I left, but we can fool around. I can get you off.” He pushed one hand under her skirt and
rubbed a thumb over the line of her pussy through the fabric of her panties. “Does that work?”

“Marcos—” She was going to argue with him, but then he slipped a hand into her panties and

touched her. “Oh God!”

“Así mojada.” He groaned as one finger slid between her folds and then pushed in. “So wet,” he

repeated in English. “You missed me too, cariño. Didn’t you?”

“God, yes,” she panted and then tugged on his hair, because he was still licking and kissing all

the exposed skin he could find. “Forget the condoms.”

He lifted his head and frowned at her. “What?”
“You said you weren’t a thug anymore,” she argued.
“I—” He paused as if unsure what to do with that. “I’m still a thug, Katie. That shit lasts a

lifetime. I can’t get out of it completely.”

“Do we need condoms?” she asked him curiously.
“Well, no, I’ve been tested since I got into the fight that caused this.” He gestured to his

eyebrow. “And Chuito made sure the other guy was tested at the hospital. He was clean, but—”

“You put someone in the hospital?”
“It was an accident. He ended up okay.”
Katie knew she shouldn’t get a thrill off it, but she did, and she couldn’t help but smile.

“Dangerous.”

“Sometimes,” he agreed as he tilted his head and eyed her tits.
“I’m on the pill. Forget the condoms,” she said firmly. “Make me yours.”
He sucked in another sharp breath and lifted his head, staring at her as his muscular chest rose

and fell harshly. Katie decided she didn’t want him to think about it too much. Apparently three
months was a bit too long for Marcos, because she could almost taste the need when she threaded her
hands in his hair and forced his lips back to hers. He fell over her and kissed her back, pushing his
tongue in and owning her mouth.

Katie’s clothes ended up on the ground really fast, and then she was naked on Marcos’s bed,

spread out and desperate as he took his time relearning her body. Sucking on her nipples. Nipping at
her hipbone. Caressing her bare thighs. Cupping her ass as he moved down and kissed the top of her
pussy, softly, reverently, as if he really did crave being right where he was at that moment. “Eres
bella.”

“Gracias.” She smiled as she caressed his hair and looked down at him, thinking he was

beautiful too, and she told him, “Tu eres bello también.”

“Que linda. So cute,” he said with a grin. “I like the way you say it.”
She groaned. “It sounds bad. Chuito says it sounds bad.”
“No.” He shook his head as his smile widened. “I like accents. They’re sexy.”
“I like accents too,” she assured him.
“I don’t have an accent,” he argued with a frown. “Do I?”
“Un poco.” She squeezed her fingers together, showing him that it was small, but still

noticeable. “When you’re mad…or turned on.”

“Like now.”
She nodded and caressed his hair again as she agreed, “Like right now.”
“I missed you, chica.” He groaned and leaned down to press his face against the line of her

pussy. Then he spread her with his fingers and whispered against the tender flesh, “So much.”

Katie moaned and tossed her head back when he sucked on her clit. The pleasure washed over

her like a wave, taking away months of stress and tension. She dug her heels into the center of his
back, wrapping herself around him as she just gave in to all of it. The feel of his tongue against her.
The stretch of his fingers when he slipped them inside her. The way the ecstasy coiled in the pit of her
stomach, making her moan and gasp and bite her lip in fear of his aunt hearing them.

“No.” He pulled away long enough to look up at her. “The house is too far. Let me hear. I need

it.”

Marcos dropped his head back down before she could respond.

“God!” she shouted when he sucked on her clit again.
Then she just let herself go, allowing him to hear what his mouth did to her body. She used her

hold on his hair to press him closer to her when she came so hard her legs shook and her pussy
clenched around his fingers over and over again.

It happened quickly, but she wasn’t surprised by it.
Lots of things in the fast lane hit hard and quick. Bad things, as well as good things, like falling

in love with the last person in the world one would ever expect to need so desperately a move across
the country was worth just the chance of capturing it. The only way to survive it all was to grasp the
good things when they showed up and wring them dry for as long as life would allow it.

Marcos reached down and unbuttoned his jeans, when Katie’s hold on his hair eased, and she

dropped her legs back to the bed in satiated exhaustion. He licked at her tits again, as if he couldn’t
get enough of them, as he pushed his jeans and underwear past his ass, freeing his cock so that she felt
it, hard and warm between her thighs when he surged up and kissed her.

She kissed him back, licking at his lips, tasting herself on him.
She wrapped her legs around Marcos once more, and he understood the invitation. He took Katie

hard, making her gasp out loud at the feel of his thick cock stretching her, this time with nothing
between them.

“Coño.” He groaned, and Katie felt him shudder in her arms. “Ay Dios mio, chica. This feels—”
“Yeah,” she agreed as she arched her back, taking him as deeply as she could. “Have you ever

—”

“Never.” He sounded breathless with it. “We are never using condoms again. Holy shit.”
“You better be faithful, then.”
“Always.” Marcos caressed her face and ran a thumb over her bottom lip until she blinked up at

him. His eyes were heavy-lidded with pleasure as he stared down at her and said, “I promise.”

“Okay.”
She ran her hands up the warm, rippling muscles of his back and threaded her fingers in his hair.

She pulled him down, letting him hide in the curve of her neck as he lay there, as if needing to just
feel her around him.

She didn’t question it, though she knew others might not understand.
But Katie knew to an OG, a promise was everything.

* * * *

Marcos lay on his side, caressing Katie’s long hair that was spread out on his pillow as she

slept. Her features looked serene, peaceful; that little smile was tugging at her lips like he
remembered.

He could tell her dreams were nice.
Only this time, he was wondering if maybe she might share them with him, if somehow she could

teach him how to sleep peacefully as easily as he could teach her Spanish.

He wasn’t sure.
But he did wonder if maybe she had been right, that two negatives really did make a positive,

because he liked the way she looked in his bed. He liked that he had her close and didn’t have to
worry about all those pendejos in Garnet hurting her anymore.

There were pendejos here, lots of them, but at least Marcos knew he could handle a few Miami

pendejos. He’d been doing it this long. Why not for something that mattered?

Hopefully Marcos’s mother really was watching over him. If she was, she would surely watch

Katie too, because he honestly didn’t believe he would survive losing her again. As long as they did
something with it, maybe it would last until Marcos could go into the ground old and gray with nietos
that had Katie’s kind eyes.

Chuito could be the baller.
He was always so much better at it anyway.
Thinking of his cousin, Marcos rolled over and leaned down to grab his jeans off the floor. He

pulled them on and then fished for his phone that was still in his pocket.

He let himself out and breathed in the hot, humid air. He looked at the screen of his phone,

seeing a text from Chuito from a few hours earlier.

11:30 p.m.
Nothing to say to me???
He smiled and called him rather than text back.
Chuito answered on the second ring. “¿Hola?”
“What do you think I’m going to say to you?” he asked in Spanish.
“I have no idea.” Chuito snorted, sounding amused. “With you, it’s anyone’s guess.”
Marcos was quiet as he considered that. He hadn’t thanked his cousin for getting him out. He

couldn’t, not when he knew what he’d done to make it happen. He hadn’t thanked him for the auto
body shop either, because, Lord knew, he worked his ass off for it, and Chuito was still getting a cut.

And giving another cut to Nova Moretti.
Though Marcos did fix a crazy number of cars driven by Italians with attitudes. It seemed having

an auto body guy who didn’t question shit was just what the mafia needed. Bullet holes didn’t even
faze him.

He had more business than he knew what to do with.
“Okay, now I’m scared,” Chuito said when Marcos didn’t speak.
“Ballers get scared?”
“All the fucking time.”
Marcos nodded and swallowed against the lump in his throat.
“Thank you,” Marcos whispered as he turned back at the door, knowing Katie was on the other

side. “That’s what I have to say to you.”

“It was your Tía Sofia’s idea,” Chuito said dismissively. “When she heard Katie wanted to

move there, she—”

“I said gracias, motherfucker,” Marcos barked in English, because he knew Chuito didn’t know

how to accept the gratitude any more than he did. “Say, ‘de nada.’”

Chuito was a quiet for a long time before he said, “De nada.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.” Chuito was silent for another few heartbeats before he asked, “Were you surprised?”
“Dios mio, yes.” Marcos laughed when the tension dispelled. “I dropped your mother’s eggs.”

“Never a good idea.” Chuito laughed with him. “How’s Katie handling my mother?”
“Fine,” Marcos assured him. “I think they’ll be fine. We’ll all be fine.”
“Three of the craziest people I know in one house. I am very scared about it.”
“Speaking of that,” Marcos said as he turned back to look at the door again. “I keep thinking

about her going to school, teaching class with a name like Katie Foster. They’ll run all over her. I had
this crazy idea—”

Chuito groaned. “Any sentence you start with that is sure to give me a headache.”

Epilogue

Miami
First Day of School

Katie stood at the front of the class as she watched the students file in, slow at first, but then

more concentrated. She had a superstition that if her homeroom class was good, then it was a sign of
what to expect for the rest of the year.

She saw more than one of them stop at the door when they got to her class and look at their

schedules again, but they didn’t say anything as they found their seats. The ones in the middle filled up
first, leaving the back row empty and the ones closest to her desk vacant as well.

Kids were kids no matter who they were. It was hard to be in the first row. It was hard to be in

the back too. Coasting down the middle was what most people did in life. Two girls sat in the first
row in the corner. They talked to each other, but they had their notebooks out.

Katie was quiet on purpose, taking these first few moments to study them. Then, just as the

second bell rang, four boys came to the door; the first one stopped and looked at his schedule, making
the others run into the back of him.

He turned around and shoved his friend. Katie saw the flash of ink on his arm. She saw the way

they were forced to hold themselves, supermacho, always guarded.

Angry.
“Is there a problem?” Katie asked as she eyed them. “I believe that was the bell we all just

heard.”

The first boy glanced at his schedule again and then snorted in disbelief. “Vete pa’l carajo.”
He said it casually, expecting her not to understand. His friends all laughed as they walked past

him, lifting their eyebrows as they eyed her. Over half the class also stared, wide-eyed, waiting to see
what she would do.

“Oh, fantastic.” She smiled broadly, because she really was pleased. “And here I thought I was

going to have to clean the classroom after school all by myself. You three can help him since you
think it’s so funny. Detention for all four of you.”

“¿Que?” he snapped at her. “But—”
“Yes, Mister—” She paused, looking at him, waiting for his name.
“Perez,” he said with a defiant air.
“Yes, Mr. Perez, I know what that means.” She gestured to the seats in the front. “Please sit. We

saved these for you.”

His friends shoved him as they sat down, but he just stood there silently in challenge. “No way.

That’s not fair.”

“This is not a democracy. This is my classroom, and there are rules,” Katie assured him.

“Number one is no swearing. We’re polite to each other in here. Now sit down.”

He turned around, looking to his friends, who had chosen to spread out, one sitting by the girls,

the other two sitting closest to the door. Then he narrowed his eyes and turned around and sat directly
in the middle.

Right in front of her desk.
He stretched out in the seat like he owned it, and all the while his dark eyes were narrowed at

her threateningly. She walked back to her desk and smiled at the rest of the class.

“Good morning, I’m—”
The door burst open, and she was expecting another angry teenager. Instead she got a much

bigger, much bolder version. With his shades resting on the brim of his Miami Heat hat, he wore
jeans and a short-sleeve T-shirt that showed off all the ink on his arms.

“What are you doing here?” she hissed at Marcos.
“You forgot this, cariño.” He held up a small cooler bag. “Tía Sofia packed it for you. We

didn’t want you to starve.”

“I could’ve eaten at the cafeteria,” she said as Marcos walked in like the room belonged to him.
He set the lunch down on her desk, but he wasn’t looking at her. Instead he eyed the guy sitting in

the front. Then his gaze darted to his friends spread out on the ends of the first row.

He did it fast, so much so Marcos probably thought she wouldn’t notice the flash of a gang sign

with his hands. It was different from the ones he used with his friends. Katie didn’t recognize it, but
she wasn’t going to acknowledge it either.

Certainly not in front of the class.
“Gracias.” She pushed at his shoulder and then turned to the class. “Excuse me for one moment.”
She all but shoved Marcos out the door and then closed it behind her as she whispered, “What

did that mean?”

“It meant he better not fuck with you.” Marcos reached out and smacked her ass as he gave her a

smile. “Have a good day, chica.”

She turned around, making sure no one was in the hallway. Then she shoved his shoulder. “Get

out of here.”

“I was thinking I could close up early and take you to the beach before dinner.” Marcos put his

sunglasses back on. “Call me at lunch.”

Katie couldn’t help but smile, though she knew she shouldn’t be encouraging him. Then she went

back into the classroom. She looked at the students, trying to gauge if they’d noticed anything, but they
didn’t seem to. They all looked normal and restless like teenagers were apt to do on the first day back
to school.

“I’m sorry about that.” She walked to the chalkboard and grabbed a piece of chalk. “As you saw

on your schedules, my name is”—she wrote as she spoke—“Mrs. Rivera, and this is eleventh grade
World History. When I call your name, you can tell me what you like to be referred to as, and I’ll do
my very best to remember.”

Katie picked up the roll sheet. She looked at the boy in the middle, and then found his name on

the list. “Since we’ve already been introduced, Mr. Perez, is it Jesus, or do you prefer something
else? Chuito or—”

“Chu. It’s just Chu,” he mumbled as he looked to the door. Then he met his friends’ gazes

uncertainly and finally huffed in frustration. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Rivera…about before.”

He seemed to choke on the apology, but something in the silent communication with his friends

must have forced it out of him.

“Apology accepted,” she said with another smile. “As long as you don’t make a habit of it, I

think we’ll get along fine.”

~ * ~

Marcos Rivera’s Boricua Guide to Spanish and Street Slang

Spanish, Boricua style

Así mojada — So wet. (Note for the muchachos, if they aren’t así mojada you’re doing it

wrong.)

Ay Dios mio—Oh my God.
Bendito—Blessed. A Puerto Rican catchall term of affection, especially favored by women

feeling maternal, but not always. Will often be used when they feel sorry for someone. Can be
shortened to “dito” too.

Boricuas—The sexiest motherfuckers on the face of this planet. Not that it needs to be stated

after that, but Boricua is another term for Puerto Rican.

Cabrón— Sorta lost in translation, but asshole is close enough. Usually an insult, but is

sometimes used affectionately between my friends, because really, calling each other cabrón is about
as affectionate as two thugs ever plan to be with each other. It’s not like we’re the fucking Italians,
okay? It technically means your chica is cheating on you. In other words, a huge insult. Naturally, we
use it to fuck with each other.

Carajo—Crap. Shit. Hell. Actual translation is sorta lost, but you get the point.
Cariño—An endearment. Honey. Sweetheart. Darling. Not something you toss around lightly.

You better be really into the chica you’re calling cariño.

Chica—Girl. I’m a big fan of the chicas.
Chico—Boy. Almost always pendejos.
Chúpame el bicho—Suck my dick. Like in English this is not always literal. I’m usually cussing

someone out when I say this. If I actually want a chica to suck my dick, I’ll ask nicely. I’m a thug, but
my mother still raised me to respect women.

Cojones—Balls.
Coño—Damn. Shit. Fuck. We love this phrase. It technically translates to “cunt” but isn’t used

like that. Depending on how you say it depicts the level of frustration you’re trying to express.

De nada—It’s nothing. Is used to say, “You’re welcome.”
Dios mio—My God.
El Vibora—The Viper. A sexy, badass motherfucker. Part-time underground fighter and full-time

thug. The primary concern when fighting El Vibora isn’t winning…it’s not dying.

Eres bella—You’re beautiful.
Estás del carajo—You’re fucked up.
Gracias—Thank you. (Some of these seem fucking obvious, but after going to Garnet, I’m

inclined to include them. Those pendejos don’t know a lick of Spanish.)

Gringa—White girl. Didn’t used to be my thing, but Katie changed my mind. (Highly

recommended)

Gringo—White guy. Probably a pendejo.
Gringos—White people.

Hazlo de Nuevo. Deja escucharte—Do it again. Let’s hear it. (Note for the muchachos, if you’re

not making sure your chica is getting off more than once, and you’re not able to hear it when she does,
then you’re doing it wrong. Very wrong.)

Hijos de puta— Son of a bitch. Literally translates into son of a whore. (Important note, if you

live in a house with your cousins, and you call one of them this while your tía is around, she will take
it out of your ass. I have tested this for you. Many times. Not a recommended insult if said bitch is
within a five-mile radius.)

Hijo de la gran puta— Same as hijos de puta but on a much larger scale.
Hola—Hello.
Los Corredores—I Googled it, because Katie said something, and I was fucking curious. This is

one of the descriptions I found online: Extremely dangerous Latino gang based out of Miami, with
roots that trace back to Puerto Rico. Famous UFC fighter, Jesus “The Slayer” Garcia is a rumored
former member of this gang. His PR people claim his tattoos are nothing more than a sign of respect
to his Puerto Rican ancestry that coincidently bear a striking resemblance to Los Corredores
markings. His tattoos are noticeably different than incarcerated gang members who have been
photographed. They are completed works of ancestral art, not a scoreboard for crimes committed.
(Note from the Slayer’s cousin, can you believe this shit? Who buys this? I haven’t met any other
Boricuas with a completed work of Los Corredores art on their forearm, but if I did, I would
probably be really fucking nice to him. Just saying. Even my ink isn’t completed and if you knew the
shit I’ve done to earn my ink, a completed work of art would scare the ever loving fuck out of you.)

Maldita sea la madre que te parió—Damn the motherfucking bitch who gave birth to you.

(Note, as mentioned above with other mother-based insults, do not say this to your cousin if your tía
can hear you! You thought hijo de la gran puta was bad. Just wait.)

Mami—Mommy (This term can be used several different ways besides the obvious. I’m not

inclined to call my girl mami, namely because the woman I used to call mami isn’t here anymore, but
others do it. Also, parents will call their children mami and papi. Hard to explain in English, because
English is a very cut and dry language, but we just do it. Get over it. It’s always an endearment,
regardless of how it’s used. Also, see papi.)

Me cago en ná—Damn. Shit. Screw everything. It expresses frustration or anger. Used

rampantly among Puerto Ricans. Milder than other vulgar phrases and popular because of it.

Mi casa es tu casa—My home is your home.
Mierda—Shit.
Muchacho—Man, usually a ballsy one who tends to strut. Likely an enormous pendejo.
Muy bien—Very good.
Nieta—Granddaughter, will likely be sweet and need protection from someone else’s nieto

when she gets older. (Recommended)

Nieto—Grandson, will probably be a pendejo who will grow up and try to take advantage of

someone else’s nieta. (Not recommended)

Nietos—Grandchildren (If you can live long enough to pull this off, go for it.)
Papá—Father.
Papi—Daddy. Though Puerto Rican women will use it the way gringas sometimes use daddy. If

a pretty Latina yells, “Ay, papi, so good!” during sex, don’t freak. It’s a compliment. You’re doing it

right.

Patrón—Expensive Mexican booze that will fuck you up. My cousin loves this shit. Whatever.
Pendejo—Dumbass. Asshole.
Plátanos—Popular Caribbean fruit that’s in the banana family and is often cooked in a pan until

golden brown. It’s usually a side dish with dinner more often than not.

Puta—Whore. It’s not nice. We have all used it at one time or another. What can I say? We have

twice as many words to put down men if that makes you feel better.

Qué—What? We say this a lot. Usually while we’re looking at you like you’re dumb.
Que linda—So cute. It’s affectionate. My mother used to say this a lot when we were younger.
Sí—Yes.
Tetas—Titties. I’m a big fan of the tetas. Katie has a great set of tetas. Big ones. Don’t hate.

Player’s got game.

Tía—Aunt. If you’re talking to her directly, you’ll usually just call her Tía, but if you’re talking

about her to someone else you’ll use her name afterward.

Toma asiento. Ponté cómodo—Sit. Make yourself comfortable.
Tu eres bello también—You’re beautiful too.
Un momento—One moment.
Un poco—A little.
Vámonos—Let’s go.
Vete pa’l carajo—Go to hell. Fuck off.
Yo puedo hacer esto—I can do this.

Street Slang

305—Area code for the Miami/Dade County turf. Used to refer to Miami.
Baller—A badass motherfucker. Usually with cash, connections, and style. Best not to fuck with

a genuine baller. They’re like thugs on steroids. My cousin, Chu, thinks he’s a baller. Truth—He is.

Ballin—What Ballers do.
Berettas—Weapons favored by the Italians due to the fact they are manufactured in Italy. The

Italians are vain motherfuckers who like to represent any way they can.

Blitzed—High. Fucked up. Usually on something illegal. Not really into it, but I was guilty of

smoking bud when I was younger. Harder drugs like blow (cocaine) were never my thing, though I
know others who were big fans of the snow. They fucking paid for that shit too, but you’d have to
read other books for that story.

Blunts—Empty cigars filled with marijuana. They will fuck you up.
Boost—To steal a car, stealth like and under the cover of night.
Bottles—Booze. I recommend rum. Most Boricuas would. My cousin Chu will tell you Patrón.

Not a fan of the tequila. Do I look Mexican?

Bud—Marijuana.

Chop shop—Where boosted cars go to die.
Going down—I have mixed feelings about this term. On the one hand, it’s a reference to going

down on a chica, and it’s a much better past time than getting blitzed. It’s also slang for getting
arrested and going to prison. Having done both, I highly recommend sticking with the chicas and
avoiding prison.

Going to the mattresses—An Italian term used when a mafia war is about to go down. They

literally buy mattresses and force their soldiers to sleep on them in a safe house for weeks or months
so they’ll always be on call to protect the family. If an Italian asks you to go to the mattresses, say no,
unless you feel like dying for some mafia motherfuckers.

Green—Money.
Heat—The cops. Always pendejos. Haven’t met one yet I like. Avoid unless you feel like going

down in the non-sexy sense of the term.

Ink—Tattoos, usually with meaning. Ink is powerful. It’s forever. That means something to my

people.

OG—Original gangster. A term of respect given to gangsters who have lived long enough and

bled for their gang to the point that they are no longer required to do grunt work. Sad, but most
gangsters are OGs by their early twenties. (Note for young thugs. Very few gangsters get to be OGs
and if you do manage it, that means you buried most of your friends and/or you went down long
enough to grow old behind bars. It’s almost always a depressing combination of both mixed with
losing your soul just to survive gang life. Being an OG is not as baller as you’d think.)

Omertà—An Italian term for the code of silence in their organization. Breaking the oath is bad

for your health. They’ll kill your ass in a New York minute for that shit. It used to be that only Italians
could take the oath, but nowadays they are inclined to use others to do their dirty work and let them go
down for the effort. Non-Italians can’t be made, but they can sure work for the motherfuckers.
Boricuas are a prime target, as we’re naturally badass and fearless. My advice, stay the fuck away
from the Italians.

Jacked—Stealing a car, though it can refer to doing it at gunpoint (Not a fan, where’s the fucking

skill in that?) it’s also used as a general term for a stolen car.

Laying low—Hiding out. From the heat. From another crew. Basically staying hidden so

whoever is after your ass can’t find you. Not a fan of laying low. Hiding is for chicas without
conjones.

Smoked—Killed.
Strapped—Carrying a gun, usually to avoid being smoked. (See above)
Thugs—Hard, mean, criminals, most often gangsters because thugs tend to find each other at a

young age and organize with a unified goal of them against the world. Avoid. They’re always and
without question pendejos, myself included.

Loose Id Titles by Kele Moon

Packing Heat

Starfish and Coffee

The Queen’s Consort

* * * *

The BATTERED HEARTS Series

Defying the Odds

Star-Crossed

Crossing the Line

* * * *

The UNTAMED HEARTS Series

The Viper

Kele Moon

A freckle-faced redhead born and raised in Hawaii, Kele Moon has always been a bit of a sore

thumb and has come to enjoy the novelty of it. She thrives on pushing the envelope and finding ways
to make the impossible work in her storytelling. With a mad passion for romance, she adores the art
of falling in love. The only rule she believes in is that, in love, there are no rules and true love knows
no bounds.

So obsessed is she with the beauty of romance and the novelty of creating it, she’s lost in her

own wonder world most of the time. Thankfully she married her own dark, handsome, brooding hero
who has infinite patience for her airy ways, and attempts to keep her grounded. When she leaves her
keys in the refrigerator or her cell phone in the oven, he’s usually there to save her from herself. The
two of them now reside in Florida with their three beautiful children, who make their lives both fun
and challenging in equal parts—they wouldn’t have it any other way.

Document Outline

Table of Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Epilogue
Marcos Rivera’s Boricua Guide to Spanish and Street Slang
Loose Id Titles by Kele Moon
Kele Moon

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