Chapter Two
Eagle
I grew up in the house next door to Lazaro Mendoza. But after high school, we went in different directions. He inherited his father’s wealth and power in the cartel and I patched out with my MC, receiving full membership honors. And though we’re often on opposing sides now, whenever I walk into his house, we’re like brothers again. No questions asked, no judgment.
I open the front door without knocking and Lazaro’s bodyguard, Diaz, meets me halfway through the living room. We shake hands. “Diaz.”
“Mr. Laramie, how nice to see you again. Can I escort you downstairs?”
I slap his back. “I think I can find my way.” I trudge through the formal dining room, skirt the kitchen, and take the stairs two at a time. As I near the landing, I hear my friend’s unmistakable baritone. I smile. The fool knocked up his girlfriend and now he’s trapped, but doesn’t hold back from bragging about it.
“Fifteen minutes in my backseat earned me a lifetime commitment.” Lazaro is finishing as I appear.
“Fifteen minutes?” I ask. “That’s nothing to be proud of. You’re the quickest fuck she’s ever had, popping in and out every ten minutes.”
“Eagle,” he says, “you’re late.”
We fist bump and he smiles like a drunk fool. The caterer hands me a beer. I claim the empty barstool next to Lazaro, then scan the plush room. There’s a porno playing on the big screen and the sex almost looks like it’s been choreographed with the Metallica song pounding from the speakers. Nearly fifty guys are gathered around two tournament grade pool tables. Serious money is being exchanged already. The room opens into the backyard where there’s an in-ground pool and hot tub. I laugh at the mob beyond the French doors. “How many losers did you invite?”
Lazaro gives me a toothy grin. “Two hundred.”
I shake my head. “And the entertainment?”
He holds his hands out. “Only the best for me.”
That means strippers and anything else I can imagine. He points to the far corner of the room. A raised stage and pole. Holy shit. “You’re sick.”
“Nah,” he says. “If you’re gonna fall—do it with style.”
I nod. The farthest thing from my mind is marriage. I doubt I’ll ever settle down. But I’ve watched four of my brothers get hitched over the last two years. I raise my bottle. “Here’s to keeping your dick in your pants.”
Lazaro shakes his head. “Who said anything about that?”
That’s where I draw the line. Fucking around as a single guy is one thing . . . taking a vow another.
The lights suddenly dim. We rotate on our barstools, and Diaz calls everyone to attention. Time for the strippers. The rush inside sounds like a herd of elephants. Good thing the game room has the capacity of a small bar. I order a Martini with extra olives and scan the mixed crowd. Let’s just say Lazaro doesn’t have discriminating taste. There’s a mixture of gangbangers and businessmen here. I’m the only one wearing MC patches, which suits me just fine.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” Diaz says, attempting to be a professional DJ. “As you know, our gracious host, Mr. Lazaro Mendoza, is getting married tomorrow . . .” The crowd explodes in applause. “In remembrance of his freedom, please enjoy the company of our special guests. Jeanie and Jana—twin sisters from Las Vegas.”
Diaz is a serious throwback from the old days, somewhere between the Rat Pack and Scarface. I’m waiting for him to play Dean Martin. Instead, the music switches from metal to Justin Timberlake. I laugh, nearly spitting out my drink on Lazaro. “Really?” I throw him awhat the fucklook.
“Shut up.” He crosses his arms over his chest and stares at the stage.
The dancers are nearly six feet tall with more plastic parts than a blowup doll. I’m instantly turned off. Not that I’m completely opposed to enhancements—but those tits . . . Lazaro’s brothers appear, then drag him to the stage. They handcuff him to a chair and unbutton his shirt, and then the twins slather him with baby oil. Too much for me. I wander to the back of the room, enjoying the cool breeze blowing in from the Gulf of Mexico. December in Holly Beach is beautiful. There’s a cabana and guest quarters near the pool. I know the entertainment doesn’t end in the game room. I hear catcalls from the guest house and head that way, hoping whatever darlin’ awaits is better than the feature act.
Serafina
I instantly freeze when my ass grazes the barrel of a gun. Of all the moments for Tony to leave me alone. And of all the parties for Ben not to send an extra bouncer. He thinks rich guys are safe. I try not to lose it. I’m surrounded by thugs sporting their colors and tats. I’m dancing for one of the leaders—introduced as Tito.
“Por que te tienes a bailar bonita?”
He wants to know why I quit dancing. I turn around, resting my hands on his shoulders. I lean forward and whisper. “Because your gun poked me in the ass.”
“Mierda.” He laughs. “Your mouth is gonna get you in trouble.”
Okay, is he playing games or completely serious? He’s not the first thug I’ve danced for, but there’s something about him that makes me uncomfortable. I give him a look. “I didn’t do anything.”
“You’re supposed to keep your trap shut, bitch. Dance.” He grabs my ass.
