The Slayer (Untamed Hearts #2)(75)

Tino shook his head. “I don’t want to ask him to do that. The blow upsets him. He thinks it’s his fault.”

“Is it?”

“No.” Tino sounded certain of it. “It’s my fault. He rides it out without anything but f*cking cigarettes, and I’m getting loaded every chance I can get. I mean, granted, he did roll his ass off for a few years, but then he just walked away from it like it was nothing.”

“How much do you have left?”

“Not much.” Tino flinched as he said it. “I left it behind on purpose. I needed to get far enough away that I couldn’t get back.”

“Romeo’s gonna notice,” Chuito assured him. “’Cause you’re gonna feel like you want to die, especially if you got half as many bad memories as I do.”

“I gotta lotta bad memories.”

“When you crash, tell him you’re coming to hang at my place for a couple days.” Chuito hit his arm lightly. “I got your back, bro.”

“No, it’s okay.” Tino tilted his head on the steering wheel. “I think I can ride it out.”

“Well, if you can’t. Come see me.” Chuito gave him another smile. “I’ll do what I can to help.”

Tino considered that for a moment before he looked at him again. “Do you wanna drive it?”

“Oh, f*ck, yes.” Chuito opened the door before Tino could change his mind. He walked around the front of the car and gestured to Tino. “Move, motherf*cker. Let a real man drive her.”

Tino laughed as he crawled over and sat in the passenger seat. When Chuito got into the driver’s side, Tino warned him, “I do have blow on me. So if you could keep me from getting picked up on possession in this backward town, I’d appreciate it.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Chuito closed the door and put the car into gear. “I haven’t had shit to do for three years but figure out how to speed without having Wyatt pull me over. That’s how I live hard these days.”





Chapter Twenty-Seven


Tino must have had less than he admitted; either that, or he had a little toilet funeral for his blow like Chuito had. There was something profoundly scary about getting picked up in a town like this on felony possession.

Gangsters liked to go down on their own turf.

Chuito was sure the Morettis had the federal correctional facilities completely under their thumb. Going down in New York would be like Club Med without the *, as Marcos used to put it.

Going down in Garnet was a whole other issue.

Chuito sat on the weight bench next to Tino, who was currently taking a f*cking nap in the middle of the Cellar. He eyed Tino, seeing that his skin had become pale. He was tan, as tan as Chuito, because this motherf*cker was very Italian, but there was just a strange, sickly gleam to him now, as if the lack of blow had sucked part of his heritage out of him.

Chuito remembered feeling like he was paying back a loan shark when he crashed, with triple the interest. Every fake good feeling he had ridden off of had simply been borrowed, and paying it back had been a bitch. He had honestly thought he’d never be able to have even a semblance of a good feeling again.

Tino’s hands were folded over his bare chest that was rising and falling too hard, making it obvious whatever he was dreaming about wasn’t good. Chuito looked around, making sure Romeo and Clay were still training in the cage.

Then he leaned over and touched his shoulder.

He jerked with how fast Tino knocked his hand away and then shoved Chuito back against the other bench. Between one blink and the next, Chuito had Tino’s hand wrapped around his neck. Chuito’s stomach knotted, because he saw the way Tino reached behind him, as if looking for a gun in the back of his pants.

Specialty.

No f*cking kidding.

This guy tried to take out motherf*ckers in his sleep.

Chuito was pretty sure he wasn’t that bad.

“Should I be glad you aren’t strapped while you’re working out?” Chuito asked curiously as he dropped his gaze to Tino’s hand still wrapped around his throat.

He wasn’t fighting back. It wasn’t Tino’s fault, but knowing someone almost pulled a gun on him didn’t exactly leave Chuito feeling warm and fuzzy either.

Tino sat back down on the bench without an apology. “What’re you doing here?”

“You are in a gym.” Chuito glanced around and then leaned into him. “Are you okay?”

“I flushed it,” Tino admitted as he buried his face in his hands. “My brother is nailing the sheriff’s sister. He could come after us with a real vendetta when he finds out. Can you imagine going down in this town?”

“I can imagine it. I have spent years having nightmares about that shit.”

“Madonn’.” Tino fell back against the bench and put a hand over his face.

It took less than thirty seconds for Tino’s hand to drop back to the floor.

Motherf*cker was asleep again.

Either Chuito had a bigger tolerance for crashing, or Tino had been snorting a lot more blow than he’d admitted. Chuito leaned over and shook him again. This time, when Tino jerked, Chuito knocked his arm away and cupped Tino’s face in his hand. He squeezed his cheeks as he spoke to him the same way he would Marcos. “Keep your eyes open. You’re being obvious, and this town gossips. You’ll have Wyatt on your ass in two seconds.”