The Viper (Untamed Hearts #1)(70)

Always.

He should’ve pulled the trigger at the warehouse.

Chuito came back with two bags of supplies and threw it between them. When he started the truck, Marcos turned to him and asked, “What if Angel had smoked me?”

Chuito put the car into gear and said, “I’d be in jail. I wouldn’t even have finesse about that shit. I’d have killed him in broad daylight.”

People said that kind of thing all the time, but with his cousin, Marcos more than anyone understood how true it was.

“I’m not worth it, Chu.” Marcos whispered. “Why?”

“’Cause I love you, dumbass.” Chuito snorted in disbelief. “I like this world better with you in it.”





Chapter Nineteen


The world was swimming because Marcos had his first concussion. At least that was what Doctor Chuito claimed. Marcos wouldn’t know. He’d never had one before.

When he told his cousin that, Chuito sounded surprised as he sat on the closed toilet seat in the bathroom, waiting for Marcos to finish showering because he didn’t trust him not to face-plant on the shower tile.

“Really?” Chuito asked for the second time, as if it were completely unbelievable.

“Yeah, if you hadn’t shown up, I wouldn’t have one now. You distracted me.” Marcos put his face under the shower spray and then cursed when the water hit his cut. “?Ay carajo!”

“Wow, I’ve lost track of how many I’ve had,” Chuito mused thoughtfully. “Tino gave me one last month.”

“Remind me to never fight Tino, then.”

“Jesus, with all the fighting you’ve done? All the underground shit? All the street fights? All the times you hit pavement? You’ve never had a concussion?” Chuito sounded like he was talking to hear himself speak as he mumbled in Spanish. “You are the luckiest bastard I’ve ever met in my life. The reason you do all this crazy shit is because you know you’re lucky. Why the hell didn’t any of those bullets get you that night? I have asked myself that question a thousand times. Why didn’t I lose you too?”

Marcos pulled back, feeling something strange and cold roll down his back. The water was hot, but the memories, the ideas, were icy and horrible.

“She was dead before you were out the door. She was watching you.” Chuito’s voice was haunted. “She has to watch over you, Marc. I mean, shit, you got into a car accident and met the love of your life. That can only happen to you.”

Marcos didn’t like that idea. He didn’t like the thought that his mother had somehow saved him and let Juan die. She had loved Juan and Chuito like they were her own; she would’ve never chosen one of them above the other.

“Shut up,” Marcos choked. “Just shut up, Chu.”

“You should get back together with Katie,” Chuito surprised him by saying. “If your mother saved you, if she’s been saving you, you should do what Juan was supposed to do. You should make the world better.”

“You could make the world better,” Marcos reminded him.

“No, I can’t.” Chuito sounded like he believed it too. “You’re the lover. I’m just the fighter.”

“Chu—”

“No, I’m right about this,” Chuito argued. “I got you out, Marc. Do something with it. Please.”

“What did you do?”

“It doesn’t matter what I did. You’re out. Angel’s not your problem anymore. You can hang with the same pendejos, and no one is going to give you shit about it. You could walk into the warehouse tomorrow, and Angel wouldn’t do anything but kiss your ass. In fact, I should have you do it while I’m still here just to watch.”

Marcos heard the same dark sound in Chuito’s voice that he had in the parking lot, that horrible turn that told him he was somehow seeking revenge.

He turned off the water and then pushed back the curtain. He grabbed the towel off the rack without bothering to dry himself. He wrapped it around himself, and then he reached over and grabbed the back of Chuito’s shirt, fisting it tightly.

“?Co?o!” Chuito knocked at his hand, but Marcos wasn’t letting go. “Are you blitzed?”

“WHERE IS IT?” Marcos screamed loud enough to wake the neighbors. He pulled at Chuito’s shirt, hearing the fabric rip. “TAKE IT OFF!”

Chuito had no choice but to let Marcos pull his shirt over his head. Then he stood and held out his hands, showing off his bare chest that had all the same tattoos it always did. The stars on his shoulders. The cross over his heart. The black English lettering over his stomach that marked him as the Slayer. A name he’d had for years before he started fighting professionally. A title he’d earned much more brutally than any of his fans could imagine.

Marcos turned him, looking at his back, seeing it was all the same ink.

“Are you done?” Chuito asked in annoyance.

“No.” He looked to Chuito’s jeans. “Take them off.”

“Okay.” Chuito kicked off his shoes. He set his gun on the counter and unbuttoned his jeans. He stepped out of them and then threw them at Marcos hard enough to almost knock him off his feet when he was still fighting this concussion. “Happy?”

Marcos studied him, looking at his legs, knowing it had to be there somewhere, but it was all the same. He tilted his head, seeing something peeking above the edge of his boxer briefs on his hip.