The Slayer (Untamed Hearts #2)(15)

“You’re acting like my mother.”

“Don’t ever do that again,” Jules said sternly. “Really. Never. I’m too young to be your mother.”

“That’s what you think,” he mumbled in Spanish.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” Chuito shook his head. “I got it. No drugs. Don’t talk to your renter, and never call you my mother.”

Jules put her hand on the door, but still she looked hesitant. She eyed him again, her gaze resting on the ink on his forearm. “We’re trusting you. Does that mean something to you?”

Chuito looked around again, trying to decide how he felt about it. Then he nodded and agreed, “Yeah, it means something.”

“We’re offering you a chance to be very successful. You have raw talent, but we have the means, the facility, and the trainers to help you be amazing. All that we ask is that you work as hard as you can and stay out of trouble while doing it.”

“I’ll stay out of trouble,” he said firmly, seeing that she still wasn’t fully convinced. “I will. I promise.”

“Promises mean something here.”

“They mean something where I come from too. We’re good, Jules.” He hesitated for one long moment and then said something to Jules that he hadn’t been able to say to Wyatt or Clay. “Gracias.”

“You’re welcome.” She gave him a smile as if she understood just how hard it was for him to say. “You have my number if you need anything, and I think you have Clay’s too,” Jules said as she reached out and squeezed his arm again, reminding him of a mother whether she wanted to or not. “I understand you don’t have any food here yet. There’s a pizza place you can order from. We have a restaurant about a mile down the road and—”

“I have money. I can feed myself.”

“Okay.” Jules still hesitated at the door and then reached out, touching the black eye her brother gave him. “I think there’s ice in the freezer.”

“It’s fine.” He arched an eyebrow at her. “If you don’t leave, I’ll have to call you mamá again.”

“I’m leaving.” Jules stepped out and jerked the door closed.





Chapter Seven


Chuito breathed a sigh of relief when he found himself alone. Then he leaned against the door Jules just walked out of and tilted his head back as he looked at the low ceiling.

Why was he doing this?

He’d had a perfectly good business going in Miami. He made a lot of green doing what he was doing, and he wasn’t particularly concerned that none of it was legal.

Now he was here, under the microscope, and that sort of shit really mattered to these crazy people. They’d stick their brother in a cage to get his ass kicked, but a little blow, and they’d probably have Chuito down for possession in a heartbeat.

If they only knew.

Chuito left behind a whole blow warehouse in Miami.

Dealing really was so much easier than car theft. It just wasn’t as fun. Car theft took skill. It was a rush. He felt like Robin Hood when he was boosting cars.

There were so many rich pendejos in Miami.

So many cars to choose from.

Every time he got one, it felt like he was cleansing a little bit of the anger from his soul. He imagined some * who treated his mother like shit at the diner where she worked. Or someone who bitched out his Tía Camila about f*cking up their laundry, because she’d been a housekeeper before she died, and Chuito knew from her just how cruel those rich motherf*ckers could be.

His mother never had the stomach to clean up after other people, even if it paid better. She barely had the stomach to serve them food, but she did all right with tips due to certain assets God saw fit to bestow on her.

Even when he got heavy into running Los Corredores, the gang he essentially ditched to drive up here, he would still take the time to boost cars to get back at every * who’d disrespected his mother and aunt. He liked masculine cars, like Grand Sport Corvettes and Dodge Chargers with red racing stripes.

All those dick-extension cars the gringos in Miami preferred. It made them feel badass to drive them, just like it made Chuito feel badass to steal them.

He looked around the apartment again, thinking about his mother, who was living fairly well now that Chuito had taken over Los Corredores. He was risking a lot to stay here, and for what?

He didn’t need these gringos to make cash.

He did just fine on his own.

It was still a mystery to him, but he felt compelled in the same way he did when he stole a car. It was like an invisible force, pulling him toward it, even if part of him knew it was a mistake. Like it was supposed to be his, even if everything in society told him he should never try to touch it, let alone take it.

He fished his phone out of his pocket and called his mother. She answered on the third ring and said in Spanish, “I’m at work, chico.”

“I think I’m going to stay,” he whispered, feeling an uncomfortable wave of misery roll down the back of his neck, because saying it to his mother meant it was true. “I’ll have Angel bring you what’s mine. All of it.”

“Un momento,” she said to someone. There was the sound of a door being opened and closed, and then she whispered into the phone, “What do you want me to do with it?”