Page 8 of Hostile Heir

“Will you bring more product our way?” Morales swills his liquor, deep in thought.

I shrug casually. “Of course. How much can you handle?”

Morales nods solemnly. “As much as you can supply.”

“Show me the dollar bills and we’ll increase the orders.”

“Then you’ll have our allegiance, as long as you hold up your end of the deal. Marry Bianca—with one rule.”

I quirk a brow at him. He’s pushing his luck and my patience. “Divorce is off the table. Till death you part and all that shit. This isn’t a stunt to get my forgiveness. It’s forever.”

My lips quirk to a detached smile. “Fine. We have a deal. I’ll marry Bianca Morales.”

2

CARINA

What a night.

I’ve been on my feet for five hours straight. The regular jazz band packed up an hour ago and the final stragglers have dwindled, slightly afraid of Layla’s no nonsense last call. It’s just the two of us left to close.

I look over at her while I clean a sticky tabletop, in awe of her style, sassy attitude, purple braid, and facial piercings. Zero fucks given.

Behind the bar, Layla counts tonight’s tips and mutters about the sleazy creep who left a folded fifty pesos note under his pint glass.

“Cheap ass punk. I’ll break his neck the next time he touches my ass,” she mutters under her breath.

I squeeze the paper towel saturated in antibacterial spray and walk the length of the quiet room, doing a final check. My feet are throbbing, but I’d never admit it to her.

Although she’s not like the girls from school. They had gotten off on sneers and false gossip, taking any opportunity to rip holes in my soul. Whereas Layla tells it like it is. You’re either friend or foe, and nothing in between. I love that about her. Luckily, she seems to like me, which is a whole new experience. Then again, she didn’t meet the ugly kid from my past.

These days I get to be a modified version of myself. More beauty than beast. Well, easier on the eyes, at least. I certainly wouldn’t tally up points to be princess pageant worthy. However, I am more resilient than before. A stronger character built from adversity. Besides, Layla accepts me, scars and all.

I catch her eye. “I’m done, unless there’s anything else you need help with?”

When I first moved here a few weeks ago, I walked the streets and knocked on many doors. Layla was the only person willing to take a chance on an inexperienced teenager. Since then, I’ve been a human sponge. Learning the ropes and cleaning the velvet pintucked booths after the last drunken customer falls out the door.

“Be a doll and take the trash on your way out.” She slides a stack of notes across the bar. “That’s your cut… with a little extra.” She winks.

I squeeze between two red leather bar stools and pocket the cash. “Thanks, Layla. Every bit counts.”

“Don’t go saving all of it. You need to have fun too.” Her lips curl into a naughty grin.

“Yeah… fun.” I laugh lightly. She has no idea; this girl doesn’t know how to have fun. I’ve never had a best friend to lead me astray. The onlyfunI’ve ever had was reading on the roof of my parents’ house under the moon. And then recently it was something very, very bad. Like licking cartel dick and wanting to bounce on top of it.

Christ. My sex drive is out-of-control. I guess that's what happens when a nineteen-year-old virgin finally inhales a penis.

Aside from experiencing what could lie ahead in my non-existent sex life, it’s a cool feeling to earn a wage. To earn something for myself. Tolive.

I don’t use my salary for rent, because my big brother Salvador bought me a modest one-bedroom apartment on the north side of the city, not far from here. It’s located in the safest district in Bogotá. Nothing short of a well-planned move on his part. He’s my knight in shining armor, which makes me even more determined to repay the debt I owe him.

Every time I bring up a payment plan, he changes the subject. The guy makes a shit ton of money that he doesn’t really need right now. So in his big brown eyes, it’s an investment.

It’s only fair if I show him the same sibling love by saving most of what I earn during my gap year. After a few calculations, I’d figured out it would take an unthinkable number of working hours-days-years to match the price he had purchased my compact apartment for. Yet, handing him a fraction of the cost would give me a sense of independence and show him my gratitude. I owe that wonderfully stubborn guy my life. Literally.

Bonus tips pay for food and the snazzy patent leather Doc Martens that were a rare find in a neighborhood thrift store. I spend my money wisely. We were raised in a hard-working family with very little money to spare. I don't want much in life other than happiness and acceptance.

This new adventure of mine, in a city where no one knows my name and where strangers aren’t armed with knowledge of my tragic past, is priceless.

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