The Viper (Untamed Hearts #1)(5)

His intentions had been good, but it didn’t take long for it all to go to hell.

“You can’t fire me.” Marcos glared at his boss of the past several months, his eyes narrowed in disbelief. “I’m the best guy you got.”

Sebastian sighed and lowered his head as he mumbled, “You know the heat’s been sniffing around my place ever since you started. We’ve had four salvage inspections in the last three months. The cops came back last night. I can’t do it anymore. I’m sorry.”

Marcos felt that familiar white-hot rush of shame and anger wash over him. He couldn’t argue with that reasoning. If he were in Sebastian’s place, getting shaken down every few weeks by the cops, he’d probably fire the ex-con putting a target on his back too.

Even if he was the best body man in Miami.

“Yeah, whatever.” Marcos turned his back on him, determined to gather up his things and then go and get drunk.

Fuck it, what the hell was staying on the straight and narrow doing for him anyway? Clearly life didn’t want him to stay out of trouble.

“Tell your tía I’m sorry.”

Marcos winced, hating the reminder that his aunt—one of the only relatives he still had left—had to turn to an old boyfriend to get him the job in the first place. Something nasty and cutting was on the tip of his tongue. Once upon a time, he’d been guilty of being a mean motherf*cker when it came to shit like this. He’d likely have punched this pendejo for even mentioning his aunt, but now he just walked out of the office without a backward glance.

With his tools in the back of his pickup, he peeled out of the parking lot of Sebastian’s Auto Body, being sure to leave his mark on the asphalt. He picked up his phone, paging through his old contacts as he kept one eye on the road.

Of course, there was traffic, and he silently fumed as he listened to the phone ring.

“Oh wow.” He threw up his hand after someone cut in front of him. When Marcos missed the light, he cursed, “?Co?o!”

He laid on his horn, hoping the dickhead who cut him off could hear it. He didn’t even notice that the phone had been picked up until his friend Luis laughed in his ear. “Road rage, bro. I thought you were changing your ways.”

Marcos just shook his head. “I just got fired—again. Fuck changing my ways. It never works out.”

“No shit?”

“No shit. Heat’s been shaking down Sebastian since I started. He finally got sick of it. I was lucky I kept the job that long.”

“Come down to the warehouse and hang.” The hope was heavy in Luis’s voice. “It’ll be a party. Old school. Just like back in the day.”

Marcos hesitated, because it was tempting to touch those wild, free days of his youth again. It was that long-ago dream that always got him into trouble, because the memories weren’t all bad. There was a time when being part of Los Corredores meant everything to him. It made him invincible. Untouchable. Dangerous. The days before the darkness. When the gang stood for respect and unity instead of revenge and money.

The days before Marcos’s mother and Juan died.

Before Chuito left.

And Angel took over.

“You know he’d take you back,” Luis cut into Marcos’s private thoughts. “He owes you. We all do. Big-time. He’ll literally pay you twenty times what you were making at Sebastian’s. They’re tagging you anyway. Might as well benefit off it.”

“Yeah, might as well,” he agreed in Spanish, feeling a little apprehensive talking about this over the phone.

He wasn’t real sure what the Spanish was going to hide; most of Miami spoke Spanish—cops included.

“And no one can do what you do,” Luis went on. “You’re a f*cking artist.”

That was true, and it was nice to hear someone recognizing it again. He gave up the respect of being a lead member in Los Corredores to spare himself looking over his shoulder every five seconds, but what the hell, he was being hounded anyway.

“I got to go back home first. Take a shower.”

“I’ll tell Angel you’re coming. You staying the night?”

“Probably.” Marcos honked his horn again when someone cut him off. “Carajo, I need to get the f*ck out of the 305. These pendejos can’t drive.”

“That didn’t work out so good the last time you tried it. I can’t believe that cop let you off a DUI. I think Chuito paid him off.”

“Some puta got in my lane that night and then took off without stopping. I blew under the limit. Way under,” Marcos said defensively. He did not like talking about that night. “I got off because that accident was not my fault. Chu is still giving me shit about it. I don’t need to hear it from you.”

Luis chuckled in disbelief. “That’s why you strip the cars instead of boost them.”

“We’re on the phone.” Marcos held up his hand. “Are you blitzed right now or what?”

“A little.”

Marcos grunted in annoyance, still wound tight and desperate to change the subject. It must have been more than obvious.

“Sounds like you need a party. A few bottles, a few blunts, you’ll feel better. Come hang with your bros and remember where you came from.” Luis sounded sincere. “Make some real cash for once. Get out of the shitholes you’re always staying in.”