The Slayer (Untamed Hearts #2)(17)

Who said self-medicating didn’t work?

Chuito knew a clinic in Miami where, for enough money, they’d make sure anyone would pass a drug test. He was clean from diseases. He was careful as hell about that shit because his mother had scared the ever-loving f*ck out of him and his cousin when they were young teenagers, but he had to pay to pass the drug test for Clay Powers.

Still Chuito knew this was coming. Professional sports took this shit seriously, and there was no one here to pay to pass. He’d known when he left that this was going to have to happen. It was part of the reason he’d done it.

But as he stared at the can, he was starting to question staying here.

Quitting cold turkey.

That was…

He was just considering doing it one last time, but instead someone knocked on his door. His stomach knotted when he thought about getting arrested in this backward state. In Miami, Chuito knew half the inmates. Hell, his uncle had been in prison for years. He had the whole place rigged to his favor.

He shoved the can back in his bag and went to the door, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice as he jerked it open. “Wha—”

He paused, because this wasn’t Jules Conner who had come back to be maternal.

This girl was— Hot. As. Fuck.

Like seriously, drop-dead-gorgeous, could-make-a-million-f*cking-dollars-at-the-club sexy. She was dressed conservatively in a black skirt, and she had one of those white sweaters with pearl buttons. Her light red hair was braided in twin ropes that hung down her back, like a porn star trying to look innocent and doing a pretty damn good job at pulling it off.

This chica even had freckles over the bridge of her nose that just added to her appeal, making her look young and naive and corruptible as hell.

“I, um—” She held up a plate of cookies. “I made these for you.”

Chuito looked at the cookies, mainly because they were level with her chest. “Why?”

“To welcome you.” She let her gaze run over him, before it stopped on his arm that was on display since he had his hand on the door, showing off his Los Corredores ink. “Since we’re going to be neighbors—”

He laughed. “You live next door?”

“Yes.” She nodded. “I work for Jules.”

“What do you do for her?”

Maybe Jules owned a strip club as well as gym.

“I’m her assistant,” she said and then looked away. “Technically that’s just a fancy word for secretary, but I’m going to school. Prelaw and—”

“Carajo,” he mumbled as he looked at her again. This girl was for real. The innocent-schoolgirl act wasn’t an act at all. “No wonder she was threatening to shoot me.”

“Oh, she doesn’t mean that,” his neighbor said with a laugh. “She’s always saying that, but she wouldn’t actually shoot someone.”

Chuito snorted, because he had no doubt Jules would shoot first and ask questions later. He hadn’t lived on the streets all his life not to know a threat when he saw one.

“You should go, chica.” He leaned past his door and saw just how close the other door was. This had once been a house, and they were basically as close as if they were living under one roof. He looked back to his neighbor and said, “And take your cookies with you.”

She looked affronted as she glanced back to the plate. “But I made them for you.”

Chuito was honestly at a complete loss for words. This town was f*cking crazy. Completely insane. It was like he had landed on another planet. No way would someone like her end up living together so intimately with someone like him in his world. Not if she had any male who cared about her.

“Do you have a papi?”

“A father?”

He nodded. “Sí.”

“Yes.” She laughed. “Doesn’t everyone?”

No, not everyone. Chuito didn’t have a father. “Does he know I’m living next door?”

“Well, no.” She looked away. “I’m not currently on speaking terms with my father. Our relationship is strained.”

“Why?”

“He doesn’t approve of me working here. Or living here.”

“Yeah, I bet not.” He snorted, thinking of Jules Conner again. She was more than a little rough around the edges. It didn’t bother Chuito. He could handle hard, pushy women, considering one did give birth to him, but there was absolutely nothing hard about this woman in front of him. “Maybe you should listen to him.”

“Please take them.” She held up the cookies again in offering. “They’re good. I made them from scratch. It’s my grandmother’s recipe.”

Chuito took the cookies and turned to close the door.

“Oh, is that the Puerto Rican flag?” She reached up and touched the tattoo on the back of his neck. “What does Boricua mean?”

Chuito paused and took a deep breath, because feeling her fingers against such a sensitive spot affected him. “What do you think it means?”

She shook her head, her blue eyes wide and bright against her pale skin. “I have no idea.”

“It means I’m Puerto Rican.”

“Right.” She nodded. “That would make sense.”

“I’m going to close the door now,” he told her and started to close it to illustrate his point. “Gracias for the cookies.”