Vice(58)

Natalia props herself up on one elbow, looking at me. “Show me.”

“You want to see?” Of course, I never turned my back on her the other day when we f*cked in her tree house. I know she noticed the parts of my tattoo that were visible over the tops of my shoulders, but she never saw the full piece. Would it have freaked her out then, if she had seen it?

“Yes,” she tells me softly. “Please. I’m…interested.”

She sure as hell looks like she is as well. “All right. If you insist.” I take off my shirt in a smooth, fluid movement, grabbing the material behind my head and pulling it off in one go. Natalia’s unashamed as she studies my body. She tentatively reaches out and runs her hand over my chest, her lower lip fastened tightly between her teeth. She likes what she sees. She likes the fact that I’m ripped. She likes the fact that I’m strong, and powerful. I don’t think this because I’m an *, and I’m vain as f*ck. I can just see the appreciation on her face, and for the first time it matters to me.

I’m not jacked for the sake of looking good. I work out and I train hard because I need to know I’m going to be the better man in a fight. I always need to know that I’m going to be able to overpower an assailant, and I can’t do that if I have a f*cking beer gut. But now, with Natalia’s eyes roving over my stomach and my chest, her hand skating over my skin, I’m pretty f*cking stoked that I look the way I do, because she seems to be into it. Really f*cking into it.

Slowly, I turn around, so she can see my back. She breathes steadily, apparently calm enough, but I can feel her shock. It’s a big tattoo. A really big f*cking tattoo. From between my shoulder blades, down to the base of my spine, the black ink spikes and curls, forming the Widow Makers’ club badge. A skull, mouth open, with two guns crossed behind it. The top rocker says Widow Makers; the bottom rocker reads New Mexico. Above the bottom rocker, in small, bold lettering: Vice President. My skin feels electrified while Natalia begins to trace her fingers over the lines and shapes of the ink.

“Did it hurt?” she whispers.

“Not really, no.” I’m sure she noticed the scars on my chest and on my side. I’ve taken two bullets before. A knife once, when I was in Chino. Those hurt way more than being tattooed, but I don’t need to emphasize the fact that I lead a dangerous life to her. For some reason, I don’t want her to think I’m that kind of guy. I want her to feel safe with me, I want to take her away from nightmares and heartbreak, not introduce her to even more.

“You’re lucky,” she whispers. “Mine hurt a lot.”

I spin around. “You have a tattoo?” I never noticed it before. She was completely naked the other day. How could I have missed something like that on her? Natalia nods. Slowly, she pushes back her sleeve, and there, on the inside of her forearm, is a brand. The exact same brand I noticed on Plato, the very first time I met him: A wolf’s head, and underneath it, a large, bold V for Villalobos.

“He had you branded? Like you’re his f*cking property?” Anger seems to be a constant these days. It pollutes me from the inside out, and I can’t seem to get the taste out of my mouth.

“Of course I am his property. I am his most prized possession.” Natalia rolls her sleeve back down, holding her hand over the brand like it still hurts her. “He wanted to do it on the inside of my thigh. So any man who dared to try and sleep with me would know he was trespassing. I managed to convince him it would be better to have it here, where it was visible, though.”

Jesus. On the inside of her thigh? Sick motherf*cker. I’m sure he would have wanted to administer the brand himself. Just the thought of it makes me want to throw up.

“I was only fourteen,” she continues. “I was changing. I started to get breasts,” she explains miserably. “And my father decided a deterrent was in order.”

“God damn it.”

“It’s okay. It was a long time ago.”

“I don’t care how f*cking long ago it was. It was still a shitty thing to do to a child.”

Natalia takes my hand. I could easily allow myself to get lost in the cruelty of her father’s treatment, but what would be the point here, in this moment? This time is sacred, no one watching, no one primed and ready to report us to Fernando. I won’t spoil it by raging over something I can’t go back in time and change. I lift our intertwined hands, and I kiss her wrist, drinking in the soft, subtly sweet smell of her as I inhale.

“Simon says take all of your clothes off, Natalia Villalobos,” I say quietly, grinning at her.

“What? It’s still my turn,” she says. Her laughter is hushed, but the ease with which she smiles makes me happy. “I’m not done asking my questions yet.”

“Save your questions for another time, when we both have to be fully dressed. Right now, we’re alone, and I want to eat that pretty * of yours.” I half expect her to deny my request. It would be understandable, given the fact that we’re under her father’s roof, and therefore not entirely safe, but she doesn’t say a word. She sits up, still watching me as she carefully slides the straps of her silk slip over her shoulders, pushing them down to reveal her perfect f*cking breasts. I try to stifle my groan, but it’s futile. The frustrated, heated, need-driven sound escapes me, and Natalia shivers.

“We have to be quiet,” she whispers.