The Slayer (Untamed Hearts #2)(94)

“Man, you’re better than me. I can’t take any of it. No matter how bad the injury is, I can’t let them write me a script like this. I’d swallow the bottle in three days. I wanna swallow it right now.”

“Yeah, me too.” Tino took a sip from his very large glass of whiskey. “Give it to me.”

“Considering what you associate stimulants with”—Chuito looked at Tino harshly—“I’d rather not.”

“Good point.” Tino leaned over the table and set the bottle between them like an ominous symbol of everything it represented to both of them. He got up and poured Chuito a glass of whiskey and handed it to him. Then he clinked the one in his hand with it and toasted. “To downers.”

“To downers.” Chuito agreed and drank half the glass, because he saw it for what it was, an offering of something that was the exact opposite of violence.

“Damn.” Tino winced as he watched Chuito drink. “I shudder to think what you did with blow.”

“Right?” Chuito laughed. “Now you know why I can’t take Vicodin.”

Tino sat down and studied him for a long moment, taking a drink, but doing it like an Italian, savoring it like the pendejos who made Johnnie Walker did it just for him.

“Okay, so tell me, ’cause I gotta know,” Tino started as he stretched out in the chair, dark gaze still leveled at Chuito. “How good is the sex that had you spilling your guts like that? ’Cause I sure haven’t f*cked a woman who made life in prison sound like a good idea.”

Chuito looked at his glass, considering the question. “Pretty f*cking good.”

“Your back’s all f*cked-up,” Tino pointed out. “She’s a scratcher. I like scratchers. It’s always the quiet ones. Always.”

“She f*cked me like a criminal,” Chuito admitted as he closed his eyes. “It messed up my sensors.”

“I guess.” Tino took another drink. “Did you tell her about Nova?”

“No.” Chuito shook his head. “But she noticed the ink is the same as yours. She did notice, and I’m sorry about that.”

“I f*cking hate my tattoo.” Tino sighed. “We were young and stupid when we got them. My people, we don’t get tattoos, you know? It’s just a thing Nova and I did. Like a statement, f*ck the establishment, and afterward all the guys in our crew got it too. Made it worse, like they were standing with Nova no matter what. Man, my father whipped the shit outta me when he saw the ink. Holy f*ck. I think I still feel the belt from it.” Tino closed his eyes and tilted his head back as if remembering. “Asshole’s been dead for two years, and I can still feel that belt.”

“Did he beat Nova?” Chuito asked curiously, because he noticed Nova wasn’t scarred like Tino was.

“No.” Tino took another drink. “It hurt Nova more to see him beat me. That was the one way my father was a really great gangster. He wasn’t smart like Nova. He wasn’t cunning like the old man, but he knew how to manipulate people. I was never any good at it, but Nova got that from him. He can manipulate better than our father could. Like the tattoos. Ink’s permanent. Seeing it on so many bodies started to make a statement. It was a line, young gangsters versus old gangsters. Fuck with us, and you’ll have a war on your hands you will not win.”

“There’s a lot more young gangsters,” Chuito agreed.

“Yup.” Tino nodded. “Nova does shit like that. Sends little messages to the establishment. I told you, it’s a poker game to him. Still wish I didn’t have the f*cking tattoo. I hate it.”

“It doesn’t bother me,” Chuito admitted. “I like seeing it. I like reminders.”

“Yeah, well, you’re f*cked-up like that.” Tino took another drink. “Did you tell her you killed those motherf*ckers for Wyatt?”

“Not exactly. She noticed the ink outside the snake was new. She knew I killed two people since I moved here. She doesn’t know why. I wouldn’t sell out Wyatt.”

“You’ll just sell me out?” Tino observed with an arch of his eyebrow, his gaze flicking to the Vicodin on the table.

“She’s not stupid, Tino,” Chuito pointed out. “I have the same ink as you on my body. She knows your family is mafia.”

“She didn’t know I was mafia.” There was a sharp edge to Tino’s voice.

“Everyone knows you’re mafia,” Chuito told him sadly. “Just like everyone knows I was a gangbanger. We just have a very polite ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ policy here in Garnet. Stop being so f*cking defensive. Can you go down for having an Omertá tattoo on your body?”

“Obviously not.”

“I told her I work for the mafia. I’ll admit to telling her that, but I didn’t say who.”

“She knows who!” Tino shouted at him. “She knows it’s Nova!”

“You told her to f*ck me,” Chuito shot back. “You set it up! I know that’s what you were doing when you told her I was moving back to Miami.”

“I didn’t know you’d treat her like a f*cking priest after you were done,” Tino retaliated. “All you had to say was that it was old ink. That you watched too much Sopranos when you were a kid. You could have said anything! I have been making shit up since I was a teenager. Why is this hard for you? Do you tell every woman you f*ck about your Los Corredores ink?”