Page 63 of Miguel

At this, Loco cackled, slamming his palm against the surface of the bar. “Zeke’s pretty little kinder teacher. Might want to remind her that she’s his woman, because she left him on Friday and he’s been moping ever since.”

“Hiskinderteacher?” Ink asked with wide eyes that shone with nothing but mirth.

“Fuck you, Loco,” I retorted.

“Well, what’d you do to her?” Xiomara asked, propping her chin in her palm.

“What do you mean what’d I do? I didn’t do shit.”

She snickered. “In my experience, if a woman leaves you, it’s because you did something to fuck shit up. So what did you do to her?”

“She’s afraid of club life.” Loco grabbed a bottle by the neck and pulled a long drink in. “It was obvious. Her and Mayan’s little mousey piece were both intimidated when they were here.”

Was that why she’d left so abruptly? Had it been the putas? The rapport of my brothers as they joked and cussed openly? More importantly, why hadn’t I noticed? Why had Loco?

“If she’s a kinder teacher, this is the kind of life you have to ease her into, brother.” Ink buried his nose in Xiomara’s neck, humming contentedly. “Start slowly. Woo her first.”

“Because you’re a fucking expert.” I rolled my eyes.

“He’s not,” Xiomara joked. “But some women like nice things. Flowers, presents, attention.”

Ink hummed against her skin. “And some like to be fucked within an inch of their life on tattoo chairs.”

“You’re such an asshole.”

“If you two are gonna flirt, I wanna see some fucking,” Loco chimed in. “Or else get the fuck out of my sight.”

Xiomara laughed and Ink growled.

And I toyed with the shot glass on the bar, an idea already forming in my mind.

Chapter Twenty-three

Lorena

Thoughtheglassanddebris had been cleaned and everything looked as good as new, the fear was still fresh. It didn’t matter that the apartment had been cleaned, when the memory of the violence tainted our place. It sat low in my gut, the discomfort, the reminder that we weren’t safe.

But then I’d look out the window and see the prospect sitting, keeping vigil, and the fear would fade.

Yes, I was pissed at Miguel. He hadn’t called me once since I broke it off, and yet had his prospect keeping an eye on us both. Being ignored was what I’d wanted, until I’d gotten it. Now a part of me ached for the man I had been getting to know and wanted with a stupid fervor.

Desiree wasn’t faring any better. I’d expected it, because she’d been home when the attacker was here and I hadn’t. But to see her searching through every dark crevice, to feel her body jump when I touched her shoulder as if her soul banged against the walls of her flesh seeking escape, made my own heart lurch.

We were both on edge. That much was obvious. I wondered if we would have been on edge at the compound, if we would have gotten used to the lifestyle of the MC, and I wondered if it would have been better than this.

Tuesday morning, Desi and I got ready to go our separate ways for our jobs. We usually walked out together and took the same combi, though we both got off at different stops. When we stepped out of our apartment building, it was jarring to no longer see the prospect standing in wait for us.

Instead, we were greeted by Mayan.

He towered over us like a tree, his silent glare disconcerting. His eyes barely flicked in my direction, and instead focused entirely on Desiree.

“Buenos dias,” he spoke, his voice gruff, guttural… But he alsosigned.

I could feel Desiree’s shock as her body gave a small jolt. We hardly ever talked about her life, but it made me wonder if anyone had ever learned to sign for her. Or if it was a shock because it was Mayan. Big, dangerous biker.

Yet he was putting in effort.

Some people didn’t even do that, and while the bare minimum didn’t deserve a pat on the back, I found it to be sweet. Was the bar really on the floor?

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