Page 12 of High

Thiago

Manny was quiet on the boat trip along the coast and the car ride back to Del Mar, one of the richest neighborhoods in San Diego. He curled up against the back door of the SUV and fell asleep at some point, because when we arrived at the house, he was snoring softly. Rafael turned from his spot in the front seat and raised his eyebrows at me, but I shrugged and stepped out, walking around to Manny’s side. I was careful not to let him fall when I opened his door, holding his head while I got his seat belt unbuckled.

The sun peaked over the horizon, sending rays of early light across the rolling waves of the ocean. I’d bought a home for myself since the last time Manny visited us and I’d made sure to get as close to the water as I could. I knew how much he loved the ocean. After Papá died, Mamá moved from their house farther inland, in order to escape the memories and not be alone in the rambling space; however, most of the time she stayed at my house. I was glad she hadn’t sold our childhood home because if Manny ever wanted to go back to see the place he’d always thought of as his own, we could visit.

“Do you need some help, Jefe?” our driver asked. I couldn’t remember his name. We had a few men who took turns getting us where we needed to go, but this guy was one of the younger drivers, who always seemed eager to be of service, however he could.

I didn’t want his help, but my arm felt like it was on fire, and we’d had no place to stop to get checked out by a doctor on the way home, not without risking being caught. I wasn’t sure how fast Don Antonio could get his network of men into gear. We had managed to get a piece of cloth tightened around my wound, though, and the bleeding had stopped hours ago. Thank God, Manny’s injury had been topical. Mine was more than a surface wound, but not life-threatening. My arm beneath my long-sleeved shirt still felt sticky, though, and the blood had since dried and stuck to the hair there. I didn’t think I could hold Manny’s weight.

“Sí. Puedes llevarlo por mí a su recámara?” I asked, nodding toward the house.

“Yes, Jefe.” The driver came around to my right side and helped me pull him out of the car. Manny mumbled something, and the driver picked him up in a bridal hold. Jealousy that I couldn’t carry him like that made my gut churn and my fingers twitch, but I followed the driver toward the house. I took the opportunity to peruse Manny’s body, though, and was pissed off, to say the least. The muscles he’d had from his time spent in the waves were… not gone, exactly, but he’d clearly been sitting inside for a good long while. He was still beautiful, though, and always would be.

Rafael stopped me before I could get through the doors. He winced apologetically when I turned my angry gaze on him. “Sorry, Thiago, but I just got a message from Santi. Odin wants to meet next week.”

“You saw how angry Manny was, Rafa. You want me to leave him when he’s like this?” I snapped, waving toward the door he’d disappeared through. I kept my injured arm against my chest, fighting off a cringe at the pull of my torn skin. There was no doubt in my mind that I’d need stitches and to have the jagged, loose skin cut off. Another scar from another battle wound; this one was worth it.

“With all due respect, but this is business, Jefe.” Rafael shook his head. “We need this deal.”

“Then send Arlo. He’s still a Reyes.”

“But he’s not the Reyes.” He sighed and bowed his head toward me. “I’m sorry, but Odin will want to discuss this with you. A week is a long time. Maybe Manny won’t be so upset by then.”

I closed my eyes in frustration and then looked up at the early morning sky, which was slowly getting lighter with the rising sun. “Fine. Set up the meeting. If I have to bring Manny with me to Pleasant Beach, I will.”

Rafael nodded and turned his back to me, already tapping at the phone in his hand. I’d made a good choice in putting Rafael as my second after Papá died, even if I made enemies by doing it. Some of Papá’s old comrades didn’t like that I’d changed the lineup of men who worked for us, pushing some of them out, but I had to do what was best for me, and I’d seen the weaknesses in those men. The number of them I could trust could be counted on one hand, and that included Axel. It’s why he was still around. Then there was their dislike of my orientation. Even when Papá was alive, they had never hidden their disgust, though they’d been smart enough to keep their words to themselves. The world had changed, and these men hadn’t. Their prejudice would get me killed, so it was obvious they had to go.

I walked through the door, a maid waiting beside it to let me in. I nodded at her as I continued inside and headed up the circular stairs in the entrance hall that took us to the second floor. “Third door on our right,” I said to the driver, who nodded. I went in just as the driver settled Manny on the bed.

He was still firmly asleep, his cute snores echoing in the room we’d furnished just for him. The bed was dressed in mint greens, his favorite color, and it suited the wooden floorboards perfectly. I’d set him up with a king-sized bed, and a sitting area in the corner with a round chair and small bookshelf for him to store any novels he loved. I remembered how much he enjoyed sitting down to read a good story. I hoped that hadn’t changed. He also had a walk-in closet that led into his own bathroom.

The driver came to my side and bowed his head. “Is there something else I can do for you, Jefe?”

“What’s your name?” I asked, holding my arm against my chest. It had begun to ache now that the adrenaline of the night had worn off.

“Martín Miguel Ángel Domínguez-Iglesias, Jefe.”

“Pablo’s son?”

“Sí. My papá has always loved your family.” He smiled, and I took the time to study him. I could see the similarities between him and his father. Both had roguish good looks, with a square jaw and brown eyes. He was as tall as Pablo had been as well, but he also looked young to be his son. Pablo had been in his seventies when he’d died of heart failure last year. My own papá had been upset about the loss of his friend.

“I didn’t know he had a son your age.”

Martín grimaced. “I’m the youngest, Jefe.”

I snorted and waved my good hand. “And? I know when I’m being given half-truths.”

He hesitated and I let out an impatient sigh, which urged him on. “I’m not the son of his wife, Jefe. I belong to his mistress, Verónica Adriana Iglesias-Castillo.”

“Ah.” I chuckled. “That makes sense. I’ve met your older half brother. He’s nothing like you.”

“No, Jefe, he’s not. My brother… has no interest in me being part of his family.”

“Is that why you joined our cartel? To belong?” My gaze strayed to Manny. I couldn’t look away from his chest rising and falling. He was finally here and safe. Nearly naked on the bed. What a beautiful sight.

“Yes, Papá spoke highly of your father. I wanted to be part of the same cartel he worked for.” He kept his head bowed, and I liked him already. He’d shown his willingness to do anything for us more than once. Always so eager to work, even the shitty jobs.

“When did you join us, Martín?”