The Slayer (Untamed Hearts #2)(30)

“No, they can’t,” he argued. “I was born un diablo, and I’m gonna die one. Devils don’t change, just like angels don’t change. You shouldn’t be in my bed, mami.”

“You’re here because you have heart,” she said so earnestly he almost believed her. “Devils don’t feel guilt. They don’t tell women to get out of their beds either.”

“You keep believing that.” Chuito snorted and rolled over. “Now go to sleep before I decide to test your theory and jack your halo.”





Chapter Twelve


Chuito woke up to the sound of a phone ringing, old-school, like something big and heavy and attached to a wall. He blinked, knowing it was important, but his body didn’t want to cooperate. He hadn’t had much sleep, but he also hadn’t had any more nightmares either. Just one dream about Marcos being Marcos. That was amazing when he had so much worse shit to dream about. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d closed his eyes without having nightmares.

In the background he heard, “Hello— Oh.”

He rolled out of bed and groaned, because every muscle he had hurt, and his body didn’t want to move. He saw that he was still in his jeans but shirtless, and he rubbed at his chest as he looked around, because it was cold as f*ck.

Giving up on the quest for his shirt, Chuito walked out of the bedroom and found Alaine standing there in her nightgown, holding the portable phone to her ear.

“Is it from a prison?”

“I assumed you wanted me to accept the charges,” Alaine said and then jumped. “Oh, hold on, please.”

She held out the portable to him, her eyes on his face rather than his bare chest. He took the phone and then turned, glancing over his shoulder to watch her look lower, taking in the length of his bare back.

“Who was that?” his cousin Marcos asked in Spanish. “She sounds very white. Like country white without the crust.”

“She is very white,” Chuito assured him, also speaking Spanish. “She’s my neighbor.”

“Is she hot?” Marcos asked, still sounding amused.

“Hell, yes, she’s hot.” Chuito glanced at her over his shoulder again as Alaine went back to cooking something. She met his gaze and then turned back quickly, as if she knew she had gotten busted looking. “So hot it’s a problem.”

“You got a hot woman in your house, and that’s a problem?” Marcos didn’t sound amused anymore. “Motherf*cker, I have been down for six months. I would f*ck Luis’s grandmother right now. I don’t want to hear about it.”

Chuito felt like shit, but he couldn’t help but laugh. “I miss you, Marc.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Marcos didn’t sound convinced. “Miss me so much you move to wherever the f*ck you’re moving to. Garnet.” He made his accent thick on Garnet as if trying to prove a point. “With the extra-white gringas. Why is she answering your phone?”

“I thought you didn’t want to hear about it.”

“Does she have big tetas?”

“No.” He turned around and looked at her again, letting his gaze drop for one brief moment while she stood at the stove. “She’s got little perky ones. They’re nice.”

“Eh.” Marcos groaned, not sounding impressed. “Anyway, what’s wrong with you? You sound off.”

“I’m sick.” He sat down at the kitchen table as he said it. He ran a hand through his hair and fought the misery when it crashed back over him.

“Sick?” Marcos asked him harshly, like getting sick wasn’t an option, but then he paused as if something occurred to him. “What? They don’t have f*cking cold medicine in Garnet?”

“I haven’t looked.”

“How long have you been sick?” Marcos asked, his voice lower and concerned.

“A few days.”

“How sick are you?”

“Really sick.” Chuito swallowed hard and looked up at Alaine, making sure she really wasn’t understanding him. “I’ve been working hard since you went down. A lot harder than I was before.”

“You think you caught it from the snow girl?” he asked slowly. “Or somewhere else?”

“No, I probably caught it from the snow girl,” he said, knowing his cousin was asking him if he was doing something harder than cocaine.

“I told you to stay away from the snow girls,” Marcos snapped at him. “What the f*ck is wrong with Latina *? I mean that literally. Latina * solves a lot of problems, and I never get sick because of it.”

Chuito cut him off with a groan. “Stop.”

“Okay, Chu.” Marcos took a deep breath. “Look, my father gets sick all the f*cking time. He can’t always get help for a cold in here. You’ll live. Just stay hydrated.”

“Been drinking coffee.”

“No f*cking caffeine,” Marcos growled at him. “You drink water. Lots of water. You drown a cold. Are you really going to be a professional fighter? You think you’re crashing from the stress of it?”

Chuito heard his unspoken question, if he was getting clean because of the fighter spot. “Yeah, they gave me a spot at their gym. They think I could get a UFC contract. That’s their goal. It seems crazy, but whatever. They’re all crazy here.”