“Tio.” Ricky follows after greeting his uncle.
“Ricardo.” He kisses his nephew on the cheek before spotting Lurch.
“And there’s my right hand man.Carnicero. ¿Como estas compadre?”
Before Ricky or I can react, Lurch climbs out of the limo. He towers over Vidal, then scoops him up in a crushing hug. I glance around, half expecting someone to think Vidal’s being mauled, but the street is empty. The cameras are gone. Lurch starts crying. The whole thing is awkward as hell. Ricky and I slide back into the limo, saying nothing as the reunion continues outside.
_______
We spend the rest of the day showing Vidal the house he had built while he was locked up. It’s furnished with the highest quality everything—designer furniture and top-tier appliances. A walk-in closet lined wall to wall with tailored suits and polished shoes. A sprawling, lower level garage built to house the cars he’s already purchased, two stories above it forming the main residence. Two master bedrooms sit on opposite wings of the house. There’s a home gym, gun room, library, conservatory, and a cigar room. A kitchen meant for staff, along with a dining room meant to impress. Vidal takes it all in, smiling.
He lights his first cigar, then motions for Ricky and me to join him as Lurch retreats to the smaller house farther down the property, where Vidal’s security team has already been set up.
“Did you get what I asked for?” Vidal brings his cigar to his lips and takes a slow drag.
“She’s agreed,” I confirm, trying to sound less annoyed than I feel.
I wasn’t sure why Vidal had requested Olivia Consuelo as his personal chef, but it was my only option to walk free from him. He promised he wasn’t putting her in danger, and I trusted his word to be enough. It didn’t take much to convince Olivia, seeing as her son, Luca, would be spending the school year in Mexico with Thalia and Silas.
“Good,” Vidal says.
The cherry glows red on his cigar and the smoke curls and drifts toward me. I stand to leave, offering him my hand and sighing with relief when he shakes mine. Finally, I am done with this life.
_______
The club is packed with people, half of them somehowrelated to Calavera Hotels in one way or another. There’s a large table in the center where Thalia, Ariella, and Mireya sit. There’s penis shaped straws, balloons, and piles of empty shot glasses.
By the end of this week, all three of these women will be married. Ariella’s husband—not the one she was supposed to marry, but who stole her straight from the church—sits two tables behind them, staring at his wife. Also at the table, filled with Los Peregrinos del Infierno Motorcycle Club, sits Silas Macias. His eyes narrow on Thalia as she pours another round of shots.
“Do none of you get the point of a bachelorette party?” Ricky asks, his gaze flicking from the table of bikers back to us in the shadowed corner.
Adrian shoots him a sideways look and lifts another glass of mezcal to his lips. I notice the black ring on his left hand—a raised skull set into the band. His eyes catch mine, and I smirk.
“A wedding gift from Tío Patti?” I ask.
“It secures my spot,” he says, defensively.
I don’t push it. He did what he had to do to protect his family. Still, I can’t stop the conflict curling in my chest. Maybe that ring belongs to me. Maybe it doesn’t.
None of it matters the secondshesteps onto the stage. Three women appear, dressed identically in hot pink ski masks, neon pink micro bikinis, fishnet stockings, and platform heels. They move as one, indistinguishable to anyone else. But I spot Alma immediately.
She takes the center position. Her eyes flash to mine before the music hits. She grips the pole and spins into the routine as the other two peel off to work the crowd. Thalia whistles loudly from the VIP table. Ariella and Mireya cheer her on. Adrian keeps his eyes forward. Ricky shifts beside me, tension thickening under the weight of my stare.
Thank fuck this is the last time I’ll ever have to share her with the rest of the world.
Alma’s thighs clamp around the pole, muscles sharply defined under the lights as she pulls herself upward. At the top, Alma hooks one leg and leans back slowly until she’s inverted and spinning upside down around the pole.
The room gasps. For the final beat, Alma releases and glides down the pole, landing in a controlled split. Her chest rises with a deep inhale as the music cuts.
And fuck.
Fuck.
My dick throbs at the sight of her. She’s absolutely beautiful. Heat coils low in my stomach. As soon as the lights go out, I’m gone. I don’t look at anyone as I move toward the back of the club, toward whatever surprise she’s set aside for me tonight. The last few surprises were a testament to how far we’d come, how deeply we’d learned each other’s limits and hungers. Of how she’d stopped holding herself back.
From anal play, impact toys, and restraints to the last time when we used a ball stretcher with a leash. That particular toy had me cumming more than I ever had inside of her. Her confidence was the foreplay. She’s stopped holding back her kinks and fantasies, letting her freak flag fly high with mine. I find the door toEl Purgatorioexactly where she told me to meet her.
Inside, I strip down and take my seat in the electric chair, pulse steady despite the anticipation humming through me. Whatever she has planned tonight won’t change what I already know.
