“She’s not used to stuff like this,” Rocco says grimly. “She’s very sheltered. No different from Lourdes or Saban.” He throwsus pleading looks like he doesn’t know who the fuck we are — we don’t mess with innocents.
Or didn’t —comes the snide little whisper.
“Keep my girl’s name out of your fucking mouth.” Guilt makes me sound more unhinged. I don’t particularly like the look they all share.
“Man, fuck this. If you say we’re done, we are.” I snap. “I got an early meeting with the new team building the new dorm at Shelby University.” Tension wraps around me.
“Yeah.” Angel tosses rags, along with everything else we used to clean, in a burn bag for Padre to discard. “Let’s head up.” No one misses the eagerness, nor do we remark on it. He’s high-strung as fuck right now and liable to kill all our asses for ribbing him.
“Oh, and Rocco.” Our sergeant at arms looks at the devil we all know our el presidente to be. “She’s mine, and I will protect her with my life.”
Damn. We all think it. The intensity of his words aren’t lost on me as I follow him up to his loft above the club.
The moment the steel door opens, I smell the scent of Saban’s favorite hot chocolate, a recipe she remembers her mom would make when she was little in Haiti.
A twinge of emotion hits me thinking of that somber-eyed little girl on the trek here and how brave she was juxtaposed with the woman who lured me into a kiss tonight.
The cavalier way her leg bops as she chats with Angel’s new bride, like it was nothing but a game when this shit is eating me up, has me rumble. “Saban, bring your ass.”
Giving Angel’s little wife a nod, I turn and wait for my charge at the door.
She whispers something to her before turning to me her eyes full of expectation and promise.
I say nothing. Not as we head down, not when we get on our perspective bikes, not when I see her home and then rev my engine hard in disapproval before heading back out knowing I can’t go into that house tonight and not taste her again.
The realization that I’m good and royally fucked settles on me like despair.
Chapter three
QUESTIONS ANSWERED
SABAN
“What design would you like, sweetie?” I ask Emmaline, one of our new mayor— Sebastian Shelby’s twin girls. “Shuri from Black Panther.” She smiles prettily at me.
“Ohhh, I want that too.” Her sister, Esmerelda, pipes up, crowding in beside her to watch me paint the design on her sibling’s arm.
“No, get your own person, copycat.” She rolls her eyes, shaking her head adamantly in the negative.
“I can get what I want.” The other twin crosses her arms over her chest, her little body bristling with obstinacy, her little bow lips tightening with determination as she stares down her sister.
“You’re acting like that is why Summer can’t come back,” Emmaline says with a wrathful whisper.
“Nooo, that was because Daddy kissed her.” The little stage whisper has my brows shooting up at her words.
These kids are telling all their daddy’s business, and though I wouldn’t say anything, the same can’t be said for many of the people milling about. This town is messy as hell.
“I don’t think you guys should talk about your dad like that.” Pressing my lips in a slight smile, I add, “Or at least not around people.”
“Humph,” they say in unison, neither liking what I have to say. All this arguing is a new thing between them. Lourdes and I have babysat for them off and on since their mother passed away soon after they were born nearly six hears ago.
“Hey, I know what’s like to want to keep things the same but different. How about I do that for you guys? I can give you both Shuri, but in different outfits and hairstyles. How does that sound?” The girls’ eyes round, then they look at each other and then squee with excitement.
“Yay.”
“Awesome sauce.” They both chime in at the same time.
I love that I can do the artwork for them without it causing a rift between them.
