The Slayer (Untamed Hearts #2) (6 page)

Wyatt surprised Chuito, because he should be fucking unconscious. Instead Wyatt pulled his mouth guard out. He wiped his face, coming away with a handful of blood, and glared up at his best friend. “A fucking southpaw.”

Rather than apologize for not warning his friend, which Chuito personally thought was very fucked-up, Clay just asked, “Nose broke?”

Chuito watched with trepidation as Wyatt felt his nose. Chuito’s heartbeat was still throbbing in his ears. His eye was swelling. His jaw hurt worse, but he was starting to realize that he had just beat up a sheriff.

Even if they had asked him to, the reality was scary in the aftermath.

“It’s fine,” Wyatt assured him, still feeling his nose cautiously. “I think it’s fine. I’m gonna look like hell tomorrow, but not like it ain’t happened a hundred times before.”

“Wy—” Jules was at the cage, her fingers intertwined through the holes as she looked in.

“It’s fine, Ju Ju. I’m okay.” Wyatt rolled over and got onto his hands and knees with a grunt. He lifted his head to look at Chuito with wide eyes. Then he did the craziest thing of the afternoon, which was saying something. Wyatt glanced back and gave Clay a wild, manic smile and repeated with a sense of awe, “
A southpaw
.”

Clay held up a hand with a wince of apology. “I should’ve told you, but I thought it’d make the point better to fight him without knowing. To show you what all those motherfuckers in Miami were dealing with. He doesn’t give any hints. He blindsides them.”

“Oh my God, you found a fucking unicorn. A big, mean unicorn who fights like his life depends on it. Intense, no shit!” Wyatt jumped to his feet despite the fight and wiped a hand over his face, staring at his bloodied glove, while the blood dripped off his chin and ran down his chest. “And he’s fast. Holy shit, this boy is so fucking fast.” He spun around and pointed at Chuito. “How much do you weigh?”

Chuito frowned at him, still trying to recover from the mental whiplash. “’Bout two hundred. A little over.”

Wyatt ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up in bloodied blond spikes as he considered that. “God, we could put him Heavyweight eventually. He’s only twenty. He’ll be fighting for years after you retire, and no one knows about him. He’s completely unknown on the circuit. You couldn’t buy that advantage for a billion dollars. It won’t last forever, but for now—”

“He’ll have to be twenty-one to get a contract,” Clay reminded him.

“It’s okay.” Wyatt still sounded manic with excitement. “We need time. His right side is weak. His offense sucks. His ground game is even worse, but who cares? He’s got a left hook that could kill a bull.”

Chuito realized Wyatt had just claimed to be stronger than a bull, which wasn’t far off, because he was bleeding like a literal stuck pig and looked to be happy as fuck about it.

These people were loco.

“Wyatt, are you all right?” Jules seemed to be the only one with common sense. “You’re bleeding like crazy.”

“I’m
so
good,” Wyatt assured her before he turned back to Chuito with a hard look. “Boy, you better stay out of trouble. You better appreciate that gift you’ve been given and plan to do something with your life.”

“Something, like what?” Chuito asked hesitantly.

“Are you naturally left-handed?” Wyatt asked him rather than respond, because he was really stuck on that.

Chuito nodded. “Sí.”

“Do you understand what being a southpaw means? Do you know how terrified professional fighters are of a natural southpaw? They will be scared to death to get into the cage with you. Do you know what a scared fighter is?”

“A dead fighter,” Chuito answered without hesitation.

“That’s a little over the top.” Wyatt threw up his hand at that and then grinned again. “But a scared fighter is a losing fighter, and that is the only kinda opponents we like fighting. We’ll get your right side strong and your left side stronger. All you got to do is stay out of trouble. Can you do that? ’Cause if you don’t, it’ll be the greatest waste in the history of this sport. Seeing you do anything else but fighting in the cage will be like an insult to God, who gave you that golden left hand.”

Chuito gave him a skeptical look, because he didn’t believe God had done him any favors. Instead of arguing, he just nodded and made a promise he wasn’t sure he could keep. “Sí, I can do that.”

Chapter Six

“Okay, this is it.” Jules Conner opened the door to the apartment above her office. “It’s musty. No one’s lived here since I had it done. This has been sort of unexpected. I didn’t know Clay had invited a fighter here during that promo trip. The furniture I used was just some old stuff I picked up. You could redecorate if you want.”

“It’s fine.” Chuito tossed his bag by the door. He unzipped his jacket and dropped it on top of it. “How much?”

Jules pulled back in surprise. “You want to pay for it?”

Chuito gave her an equally shocked looked. “You want to give it to me for free?”

“I had assumed that when we gave you the fighter spot, you would require some living expenses to be covered until you started making money.”

Chuito looked around the small apartment again. It was one bedroom, and it wasn’t particularly fancy, but it wasn’t a shithole either. “What do I have to do for it?”

“You have to win.” Jules laughed. “You have to train really hard. Trust me, this is not a free ride. No one would want to be trained by Wyatt, Clay, and their team.”

“Wyatt, the pendejo whose ass I just kicked?” Chuito asked her. “That’s who’s going to be training me?”

“Yeah, that one.” Jules nodded as she looked around the room. “That’s why you got the spot. He’s not easy to beat. Though, in fairness, I think he underestimated you. The southpaw thing threw him off. He’s my brother. Did you know that?”

“Sí.” Chuito stared at her pointedly. “You’re like six feet tall. Who else would you be related to?”

Jules glanced around again. “I haven’t seen him lose like that in a while. He did underestimate you, but that’s his fault. I guess another concussion won’t hurt him.”

“You’re not mad at me?”

“Why would I be mad at you?” Jules asked curiously. “It was an exciting fight. Congratulations. Hopefully we’ll all benefit from working together.”

Chuito just rolled his eyes, deciding he’d stop trying to figure out anyone here. If someone had kicked his brother’s ass, he wouldn’t be giving them a place to stay. Of course, he didn’t have a brother anymore.

Just a cousin who was down for at least another year.

“Okay, rules,” Jules said as she turned back to him. “First off, nothing illegal. No drugs. Most fights require extensive testing—”

Chuito flinched, just slightly, but she noticed.

“What?” Jules asked harshly, because this woman was like his mother and clearly missed nothing. “Is that an issue?”

“No.” Chuito shook his head, even though it was a huge issue if they were going to test him anytime in the near future. He hadn’t exactly been living light since his cousin went down. “No drugs. Nothing illegal. Got it.”

“I was raised in a cop family. I can smell something fishy from a hundred miles away. Both literally and figuratively.”

“Great,” he said as he looked around the room. “Is that it?”

“I carry a gun. Many of them. If you fuck with me.  If you fuck with my business—”

Chuito held up his hands. “Do you want me to leave?”

“I’m just firmly establishing where you and I stand. We’re business partners until you break the law. Then you’re stuck playing a game of good cop, bad cop with me and my twin brother. If you take advantage of my hospitality, I’m not going to be the good cop.”

Chuito laughed and looked away as he said in Spanish, “It’s like going down with my mother as the warden.”

“What?” Jules frowned. “All I caught was something about your mother.”

“You speak Spanish?”

“A little bit. I took it in college, but I ain’t used it much since then.”

“Are we good?” Chuito asked her, because he really wanted to be away from all the crazy gringos for a little while.

“I guess.” Jules nodded. “But listen, I have another renter next door. It would be better if you just avoided her.”

“Why, what’s wrong with her?”

“There’s nothing wrong with her. I just don’t think you two would be compatible.”

“Does she have a problem with Latinos?”

“She doesn’t have a problem with anyone. I’m just saying it would be best for all concerned if you didn’t bother her.” Jules gave him a stern look. “Remember, I do carry a gun.”

“Look,
mamá
, I’m not gonna bother your renter. I don’t do gringas,” Chuito assured her. “I like my own people. Now, unless there is a Latina in this town somewhere, your neighbors are all safe from me. I won’t say a fucking word to any of them.”

Jules nodded at that. “I called her before I offered you the place. She’s fine with you moving in, but still, best to avoid.” She pulled the key off her key ring and put it in his open hand. Then she lifted her head and looked at him. “Did you just call me your mother?”

“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.

He looked around the apartment again, thinking about his mother, who was living fairly well now that Chuito had taken over Los Corredores. He was risking a lot to stay here, and for what?

He didn’t need these gringos to make cash.

He did just fine on his own.

It was still a mystery to him, but he felt compelled in the same way he did when he stole a car. It was like an invisible force, pulling him toward it, even if part of him knew it was a mistake. Like it was supposed to be his, even if everything in society told him he should never try to touch it, let alone take it.

He fished his phone out of his pocket and called his mother. She answered on the third ring and said in Spanish, “I’m at work,
chico
.”

“I think I’m going to stay,” he whispered, feeling an uncomfortable wave of misery roll down the back of his neck, because saying it to his mother meant it was true. “I’ll have Angel bring you what’s mine. All of it.”

“
Un momento
,” she said to someone. There was the sound of a door being opened and closed, and then she whispered into the phone, “What do you want me to do with it?”