Always (Cape Hill Book 3) Page 11

  “She needed to hear it,” he responds unapologetically.

  That’s all it takes for me to hop on my feet and lunge across the bar for his dumb, smug face.

  “I’ve had enough of your shit!” I yell, pulling my arm back and hitting his jaw. “I get that she had questionable mothering skills, but she was fourteen when she gave birth!”

  He doesn’t even fight me back. It’s odd, a man like Absinthe Luther, not taking a challenging punch thrown his way. He just laughs, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think he was drunk.

  Maybe he’s just lost it?

  “What’s wrong with you?” I ask.

  “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” He continues to chuckle like he can’t take anything seriously.

  “You’re not acting like nothing is wrong. You’re acting like you need this. This confrontational bullshit.”

  He throws his head back, his throat bobbing with maniacal cackles. What is wrong with him? Why is he doing this?

  My mind travels back to that night when Helen had enough and begged me to save him.

  “What are your routes?” Danté yells.

  When a pregnant silence meets him, a resounding hit of flesh upon flesh rings out to fill the void. My eyes clench shut in response, knowing how much it hurts to be on the other side of that fist.

  “I said!” Thwack. “Where are your routes, chota?”

  “Get fucked,” a deep voice says over a gargle. “I’m not telling you shit.”

  Danté’s growl is guttural and blood-thirsty and even causes a shiver to race up my spine, and I’m not even in the same area.

  I’m hiding.

  It’s this unnerving fear of him forcing me to slice and dice Absinthe again. The last time, the blood oozed through the crevices between my fingers, coating me like an abstract painting, turning me into a painter of my misgivings. Sweat dribbled off my forehead, and before remembering, I swiped it, leaving red streaks of his blood on my skin. If I were a different man, it’d be bloodthirsty warpaint, something to pride in, but it’s not. This isn’t something to boast about. It’s violent, unnecessary, and a fucking power trip for Danté. It striped my skin until that night when I finally made it home. I avoided Zaely and Silv, and I fucking cried in the shower as the water went from crystal clear to a light peach. Call me a bitch, a coward, or whatever else suits you, but hurting him, a man who just wanted answers, didn’t sit right with me.

  Danté knew it too. That’s why he had me do his dirty work.

  When I hear a whispered “I’m not doing that,” I’m brought back to the present. Standing up from my chair, I scoot closer to the area housing Absinthe. In Spanish, I hear Helen and Danté arguing.

  “I won’t,” she proclaims, pain in her voice.

  What does he want now?

  A boisterous chuckle leaves D, making him sound demonic.

  “If you want to leave with your life, you will. You’re Los Desolados. Remember your place,” he reprimands. “If you need a reminder, we don’t pussy out.”

  I hear a low whimper, almost like Helen didn’t mean for it to slip out. “Okay,” she concedes, and then I hear another sinister chuckle.

  Don’t see what’s happening. Don’t do it.

  My mind doesn’t win, though. My morbid curiosity does. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. As I escape the small hidey-hole, my feet make use of the dark entryway near where we keep prisoners.

  Danté, from my vantage point, seems to be talking to Silv. Their hushed whispers are indiscernible, but whatever it is, has D leaving and Silv standing guard. In the center, like he’s been for the past several weeks, sits Absinthe Luther, Viper King. On his lap, shaking from head to toe, is Helen.

  “Dios mío,” I hiss under my breath.

  He wouldn’t, would he?

  “Pssst,” I say gently to Silv, knowing what he’s going to force Helen to do. If I can distract him, it’ll lessen the blow, or fuck, at least, I hope it will.

  “You’re not supposed to be here,” he grits in a tight voice.

  This is how he acts when we’re in the open. Indifferent. Bored. Uninterested. Luckily for me, I know how to loosen this man. Silently stalking toward him, I reach around him. My hand slowly slides across his thick pecs, down his toned abdomen, and then stops at his hips.

  A low growl escapes, and it lets me know I’ve won his attention momentarily. I slip a finger beneath the band of his jeans, and he has enough strength to stop me.

  “Stop,” he groans. His hand grips my sneaking one, and even half-assed, he’s a strong fucker.

  He’s more reserved than me. He’s not openly gay—or bisexual. He’s just Silv, and to the rest of the world, he only likes pussy and partakes more than the average teenager.

  “No,” I reply, and I kiss his throat possessively.

  Everything around me fades as I lick the vein throbbing against his thin flesh. He forces my hand free, forcing me backward, toward the hidden place I came from.

  Good. Now she can do her duty but make it less for Danté and more for pleasure. Absinthe’s mostly. This is what D does. He makes the women use seduction to fuck with his targets’ mentally.

  Maybe it’ll work.

  Helen did specify a connection—not to D, but to me. We’re much closer.

  Silv yanks me around and grabs my throat. His large palm, calloused and warm, strong and confident, presses down on my windpipe. It grounds me somehow. It’s only been days since we’ve been together and alone, but it feels like so much longer.

  “Silva,” I purr.

  I wish it was brighter. I want to see him glare at me in lust, barely holding back, losing his self-control and the battle of being straight in the open.

  It’s intoxicating really, the feeling of having that power and knowing I can bend him until he breaks for me.

  “Silas,” he hisses, his voice barely audible but forceful all the same. It’s guttural and sexy all at once.

  “What’re you waiting for?” I taunt, my hand snaking up to his hold on my throat, teasing him with feather-like strokes.

  “Don’t fucking test me, mi chico árbol.” My tree boy.

  I shiver at his use of my nickname as heat swarms in my lower abdomen. I want him, to taste him, to touch him, to have him.

  The smell of his sweet sweat and the soft mint from his toothpick habit invades my nose as I scoot closer, making the distance between us disappear. The frenetic way his chest beats in succession with his breaths gives me all the leverage I need.

  Taking his hand off my throat, he whimpers, as if knowing he’s lost once again. My knees connect with the cement, and adrenaline pumps through me, knowing Danté could walk in and see me defiling his brother. I don’t fucking care, not anymore. Not when this man, the one who makes me hot in ways I didn’t know possible, my first… my first… love? Man?

  Both.

  “What’re you waiting for? Suck my cock, Sy.” His tone is full of sex, husky as can be, and demanding in a way that has me unbuttoning him with abandon.

  My Silv.

  He’s as frantic as I am, desperate for me too. His hands grip his boxer briefs, sliding them down enough to release his stiff erection.

  The very one I could describe and trace every vein as it throbs, and the little freckle right at the base, the one shaped like a little fucking star that I make sure to lick every single time I’m beneath him. Pushing his hands away, I grip his thighs and lick from his root to tip.

  He cries out above me, and I smile. When he cries above me, I nearly preen. Pride swells, and a warm sensation, acute to love even, swims through my system like any hardcore drug.

  “Fuck… just suck me already,” he complains, moving his hips toward my waiting mouth.

  And I do, I take him as deep as I can. The first time we did this, I gagged, but I’ve grown accustomed to his size and girth.

  Salty precum coats my tongue as I take him in and out of my mouth. I savor each stroke, knowing when Danté inevitably finds out, this will all be over.

>   “Mi chico árbol,” he groans seductively. His voice pushes me on, making me move faster while cupping his balls, rolling them in succession of my bobs.

  His hands snake through my hair as he roars his release, smearing my mouth with his essence…

  I shake my head, reminding myself to get to the important part, to not lose sight of what really mattered that day.

  “Te necesito, Silas,” Helen harshly whispers.

  Her voice is stripped of its proprietor. Even punitive, it’s lacking her normal fire. Out of the lot of us, she’s the strong-willed beast that breathes fire, even when she’s in a good mood.

  "¿Qué paso?”

  Her eyes connect with mine, and in hers I see absolutely nothing. It’s as if every piece of her was stripped away, her body only an anchor keeping her one place while her soul stayed trapped beneath the darkness.

  “I-I can’t do this anymore,” she whimpers.

  Helen, the vicious animal of a woman… is crying. Out of all the years I’ve known her, she’s only ever cried when Pedro died. She’s in tears, and though they’re silent, they speak volumes.

  “What happened?” I repeat, this time in English, hoping she tells me so I can help.

  She’s the only woman in the fold, other than Belén, and she’s never around unless trying to get with Danté. If any of these puñetas touched her…

  Then my mind recalls what happened before I distracted Silva.

  “What did he make you do, cariño?” I push, but laxer this time, with more care.

  “He-He,” she stutters, the tears no longer silent, the cries no longer soft. She hugs me. She actually puts herself into my arms, shaking like a fragile little girl.

  Like the little girl I first met, the one who would entwine our pinky fingers when nervous.

  “Cariño,” I repeat, “Háblame.” Talk to me.

  “Not now,” she responds and pulls away. Moments later, seconds even, she’s wiping her eyes and almost turning off her emotions.

  She closes her eyes tightly, almost willing away the memory, the pain, the heartache. Then she straightens. She looks up at me, a steely smile in her wake, a fake one that proves as much strength as it does weakness.

  “We need to save them.”

  “Them?” I question, wondering what she’s talking about.

  “Yes, them,” she enunciates as if talking in another language.

  “Did I miss something?”

  I must’ve. Since Danté caught me with the twins the first time, he hasn’t trusted me. Not really, not like before when we were brothers who had a bond more than skin and blood deep. Now, it’s like I’m a no one. Desconocido.

  “When he took Absinthe, he took his VP too.”

  My face must show my feelings, and my stomach feels sick. He’s had the Deaf one here all along. I can only imagine what he’s put him through and what he’s endured.

  Mierda.

  “Why didn’t he tell me?” I say aloud, not realizing.

  “He’s going to get rid of you, Sy. I’ve heard the others whispering. There’s going to be a coup, and they’ve been planning it a while.”

  “Fuck. How did I not see this coming?”

  “You’ve been too wrapped up in them,” she states bluntly. “You don’t think we notice, but we aren’t blind.”

  “What about them? Is he planning to hurt them?”

  “No.” She doesn’t elaborate, but when I start pacing, she stops me by placing a hand on my arm. “They already chose him, Sy.”

  No. They wouldn’t.

  “I don’t believe you,” I admit hoarsely, already believing it as time goes by. Of course I meant so little. “Regardless,” she starts, interrupting my splintering heart, “we have to get Absinthe and Deaftone out. After what they made me do tonight, I can’t risk them staying. I need you to help me.”

  And I did. I got them all out, Helen included.

  Absinthe wants me to attack him, and now, I know why. I shake the horrible flashback, reorienting myself into the fight in front of me.

  “That’s it, isn’t it, Sinthe?” I condescend, my fist still hovering over where I already punched him. “It’s her. Helen.”

  At her name, he roars, flying toward me. His tattooed fist collides with the side of my jaw as I barely move my nose out from his massive bear paw. When he comes back at me, I barely block him. This man, drunk or not, is a raging storm, so agile, destructive, and swift.

  “You can’t handle what she did and what he made her do to you, isn’t it?”

  He throws another punch, missing my nose by centimeters but hitting my cheek and knocking me back a few steps.

  “You’re pissed she ran and you can’t find her, aren’t you? Well, hate to break it, Sinthe, but she’s happy without you!”

  And then he rushes me again.

  But he and I both stop when a loud bang from a gun rings out. He drops his arms, and I turn to face the cause of the noise. Standing five feet away is my girl. My little heart. My Leia.

  Her fierce appearance, drawn-in brows, and skimpy outfit have me near dropping to my knees to worship the ground she walks upon. She’s such a sight in her barely-there shorts and crop top. The glistening belly ring I love to swirl my tongue around has me groaning.

  The sound is too noticeable, and Sinthe and Xo both look at me. Xo’s still nestled on the ground in the fetal position, but Leia spares her no glance. She’s staring directly at the two of us. On her face is anger and annoyance, two different expressions that hold the same type of weight. She’s disappointed, and I don’t blame her one bit.

  We’re acting like children, and she’s the only young one in the room.

  “You are both being stupid,” she reiterates her stance with words. Still, she doesn’t bother looking at her mamá, but no one can fault her. Their relationship is weird and strained. It has been since I met her six years ago.

  “Leia,” Sinthe starts in on her with an excuse.

  She silences him with a quirked brow, and it takes everything in me not to chuckle at the move. She’s breathtaking while angry.

  “Both of you,” she directs at Sinthe and myself, then lowers the gun, putting the safety on, “need to get your shit together.”

  I narrow my eyes at her for swearing. Yeah, I get it. She’s an adult, but I like her to keep her profanity for me, when we’re alone, preferably in a bed. She knows how I feel, and that’s probably why she returns a smirk in my direction, one that says, try me, Sy.

  Maybe I will.

  “There’s nothing to work out, mi corazoncito,” I lie, not willing to dredge up Darryl and certainly not ready to tell her the entire relationship between Xiomara and I was fake.

  Sinthe must feel the same way since he replies, “Yeah, it’s nothing, baby girl.”

  Baby girl, my ass. Fuck off, punk.

  He may play hard ball with Xo and I and maybe even his entire brotherhood, but with Leia, he’s a softy. I’ve witnessed it. Since she was little, according to Xo, they’ve bonded. I’d be jealous if I didn’t know better.

  Either way, I still hate when he touches her. She’s mine. She’s always been mine. She’ll always be mine.

  “You must think I’m dense,” she responds, placing both of her dainty hands on her hips. She doesn’t believe in bullshit any less than I believe Danté is gone for good.

  “No,” both Sinthe and I respond immediately, resulting in chuckles as we both defend ourselves so easily.

  “We just had a friendly suggestion,” Sinthe says.

  At the same time I say, “We were just catching up.”

  Her eyes roll dramatically, the Latina in my girl flaring up in that moment. “Such bullshit,” she mutters.

  I glare once again at her dirty, little mouth. I’m the only one who gets to filthy her up. It’s time for a reminder even if she doesn’t want it.

  “Are you both done fighting like prepubescent teens? Or am I going to have to shoot again?” she sasses, tapping a finger on her chin.


  “About that,” Sinthe starts, raising an eyebrow at her. “Why the hell did you shoot a bullet off in my bar? That shit’s coming out of your paycheck.”

  She laughs, throwing her head back, exposing her throat that I love so much. I’ve missed this—her smile, her giggle, the way she laughs with her entire body rather than those fake ones you get from women like Pilar and Xo. They’ll laugh at nothing, giving their reaction to anyone and anything. Not Leia. She needs it to be exasperated. It has to have meaning. It has to be worth her laughs, worth her smiles. I adore it. The sentiment behind her chuckles are only for moments like this.

  “Fine. Take it from my paycheck, but you should be paying me for saving you from damages,” she quips, showing where the tumbler now lays a mess on the floor and his bottle of Absinthe spilled everywhere.

  “She’s right,” I defend, smirking at the derisive look she gives me in return.

  She’s hot-headed all right. She never used to be this way, and I’m digging her fire, thriving in the energy it gives me.

  “I don’t need you defending me, Silas.”

  I let out a surprised snort. The way she articulates my name, enunciating it as if I’m a child gives me joy. I’d gladly throw her over this tabletop and show her how not childish I am, but alas, I can’t. Not when Absinthe is shooting daggers or when Xo is being despondent.

  We need to talk, not now, not here, and definitely not in front of everyone, since whenever we’re in the same room, anger and heat seem to get the better of us. Though both he and Xo know, we don’t need a spectacle.

  “I’m not defending, mi corazoncito. I’m merely speculating,” I say with a wink.

  Her face flares, that pretty coral tinting her cheeks softly. She glares at me. I’ve missed this—the back and forth we always seem to have where we love each other and hate each other in equal parts. Sometimes, the hatred fuels the desire as much as the desire fuels the hatred.

  “Jesus Christ,” Absinthe intervenes. “She’s fucking taken, and you’re her goddamn stepdad.”

  As soon as the words leave his mouth, Leia covers her face with her hands, her embarrassment obvious. I’m indifferent, unwilling to give him any more leverage than he already has. Leia takes several moments to gather herself, and when she’s back, peering at us, her face is a mask of unemotional boredom. It hurts, knowing she’s with him, the little prick who told Danté we had slept together.