“Well, anyway, thanks.” Her face screws up in a way that lets me know she doesn’t want to fucking thank a fucking trafficker for shit.
Conflicted, she busies herself taking in the room, making the light hit her tattoos, beginning at her neck that the ol’ head Rafael did for her, trailing down her collar, before disappearing beneath her clothes. Dragging my gaze away before she can see the sheer hunger I have for just another glimpse of her skin, I finish making the coffee and fix her a plate of Conecuh sausage, eggs, grits and buttermilk biscuits.
“Wow,” she says after saying her blessing then digging into her food.
“Got to make sure you eat.” Pressing my lips in a hard line, I don’t hesitate to remind her of the stunt that had me missing meetings in Birmingham to come back here to deal with her.
“Well, it was for a good reason.” She shrugs in a flippant way.
“Listen —” ready to dead this shit once and for all.
“Primo,” Aponi says, stepping into the kitchen.
I don’t miss the hot blush rising beneath Saban’s dark skin nor the way she twists her body away from Aponi in what I can only assume is her hope she doesn’t notice her wearing my t-shirt. I could remind her that Aponi is the same person who gave her the plan-B and changes her sheets, but I don’t.
“Yeah?” Unperturbed, I ask the woman, who’s just shy of the door.
“Mr. Cruz is here.” It’s always odd when I hear Angel referred to by his professional name rather than his road name, but in our business it’s important not to cross-pollinate our enterprises. Outside of the MC we run a billion-dollar business, and that goes as far as the staff outside of the MC, though most of our employees are el Diablo around these parts.
“Show him in.” I tell Aponi.
“Stay.” I say to Saban when she moves to leave. Angel will see her anyway heading back up the stairs.
Something shifts on her face, but she does as I command, taking a sip of her coffee. I can’t help the smile breaking free asI watch her enjoy her food. I remember some ladies at the local church giving us cooking classes after they found out there were a lot of orphans who came over after losing their parents. My mix of Colombian and soul food cuisine was an instant hit with my ward once I took the lessons.
“Morning.” My gaze strayed from her lips, covering the mug to the behemoth filling the doorway.
“Morning.” We respond in unison.
“Breakfast?” I ask as my way of inquiring why he’s here after he made his family his mission.
“Nah, I came over to give Saban this.” He hands over a manila envelope, planting it in front of Saban.
“Mama-Pete and Easy got wind of The Reckoning — I told them I trusted you to handle it.” He looks from one to the other of us for confirmation, though I’m sure Rocco gave him all the details.
“I did.” My words sound hard, but if he notice he doesn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he looks Saban over until he seems satisfied.
“That’s the deed to the Love property in the city center if you want it. For as long as you want it. It reverts to the Loves when you no longer are occupying the space, and you can never sell it, nor any of your heirs inherit it, but it’s yours as long as you live. Ezekiel-Jane feels like she owes you at least that.” When he finishes with the sucker punch his little curvy cherub served to my solar plexus, he pauses for a moment. Saban’s head is bowed, staring at the unopened manila envelope.
Then I see a splash hit its surface.
Angel lurches back in alarm.
“Merci, tell her, Merci beaucoup.” Saban says brokenly before snatching the paper and running out of the kitchen.
Watching until her retreating form disappears, I swing around to my best friend. “The fuck, man?” I swear, rage making me fist my hands until my knuckles crack.
“Easy is worried.” His answer to interfering with my life.
“Saban’s been worried about Easy and Judah, and I trusted you to handle your shit. You owe me the same fucking respect, hermano.” I force out through clenched teeth. I’ve never felt this close to coming to blows with the man I consider a brother before in my life.
“How long were you planning on keeping her here without telling her the truth of things? One thing I know about that girl is that if she knew the truth, there is no way she’d keep herself that far from you. She wouldn’t even look at me.” Angel shakes his head at me. “Stubborn, prideful motherfucker. Tell her the truth or cut her loose if you’re not going to forgive her. The punishment is done.” He says with cold finality, fully in el presidente mode, “The rest of this mess between you has to be worked out on equal terms.”
“I’ll deal with what’s mine the same way you dealt with yours.” Seething, I snatch up the plate and mug Saban left, not wanting to admit I was minutes from doing exactly that when he decided to step his ass into my house and fuck it up.
“Just make sure you don’t lose her in the process. We already went months without them, and we got through it together, breathing vengeance on all we felt who caused us grief. Keep in mind their hearts were pure, they were afraid and felt they had no choice. It’s time to move forward.” Crossing his arms over his chest, he eyes me with concern
“That’s easy for you to say when your girl gave you a son and you have another on the way.” I smirk when I see his eyes spark with joy. “Congratulations.”
