Page 16 of The Slayer
“You’re acting like my mother.”
“Don’t ever do that again,” Jules said sternly. “Really.Never. I’m too young to be your mother.”
“That’s what you think,” he mumbled in Spanish.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.” Chuito shook his head. “I got it. No drugs. Don’t talk to your renter, and never call you my mother.”
Jules put her hand on the door, but still she looked hesitant. She eyed him again, her gaze resting on the ink on his forearm. “We’re trusting you. Does that mean something to you?”
Chuito looked around again, trying to decide how he felt about it. Then he nodded and agreed, “Yeah, it means something.”
“We’re offering you a chance to be very successful. You have raw talent, but we have the means, the facility, and the trainers to help you be amazing. All that we ask is that you work as hard as you can and stay out of trouble while doing it.”
“I’ll stay out of trouble,” he said firmly, seeing that she still wasn’t fully convinced. “I will. I promise.”
“Promises mean something here.”
“They mean something where I come from too. We’re good, Jules.” He hesitated for one long moment and then said something to Jules that he hadn’t been able to say to Wyatt or Clay. “Gracias.”
“You’re welcome.” She gave him a smile as if she understood just how hard it was for him to say. “You have my number if you need anything, and I think you have Clay’s too,” Jules said as she reached out and squeezed his arm again, reminding him of a mother whether she wanted to or not. “I understand you don’t have any food here yet. There’s a pizza place you can order from. We have a restaurant about a mile down the road and—”
“I have money. I can feed myself.”
“Okay.” Jules still hesitated at the door and then reached out, touching the black eye her brother gave him. “I think there’s ice in the freezer.”
“It’s fine.” He arched an eyebrow at her. “If you don’t leave, I’ll have to call you mamá again.”
“I’m leaving.” Jules stepped out and jerked the door closed.
Chapter Seven
Chuito breathed a sigh of relief when he found himself alone. Then he leaned against the door Jules just walked out of and tilted his head back as he looked at the low ceiling.
Why was he doing this?
He’d had a perfectly good business going in Miami. He made a lot of green doing what he was doing, and he wasn’t particularly concerned that none of it was legal.
Now he was here, under the microscope, and that sort of shit really mattered to these crazy people. They’d stick their brother in a cage to get his ass kicked, but a little blow, and they’d probably have Chuito down for possession in a heartbeat.
If they only knew.
Chuito left behind a whole blow warehouse in Miami.
Dealing really was so much easier than car theft. It just wasn’t as fun. Car theft took skill. It was a rush. He felt like Robin Hood when he was boosting cars.
There were so many rich pendejos in Miami.
So many cars to choose from.
Every time he got one, it felt like he was cleansing a little bit of the anger from his soul. He imagined some asshole who treated his mother like shit at the diner where she worked. Or someone who bitched out his Tía Camila about fucking up their laundry, because she’d been a housekeeper before she died, and Chuito knew from her just how cruel those rich motherfuckers could be.
His mother never had the stomach to clean up after other people, even if it paid better. She barely had the stomach to serve them food, but she did all right with tips due to certain assets God saw fit to bestow on her.
Even when he got heavy into running Los Corredores, the gang he essentially ditched to drive up here, he would still take the time to boost cars to get back at every asshole who’d disrespected his mother and aunt. He liked masculine cars, like Grand Sport Corvettes and Dodge Chargers with red racing stripes.
All those dick-extension cars the gringos in Miami preferred. It made them feel badass to drive them, just like it made Chuito feel badass to steal them.
