Loving a Colombian Cartel Thug 3

by K'Aliyah Knight

  I get up.

  “Lorenzo… you don’t… it’s my burden to bare,” she tells me. Something in me wants to promise to bring that muthafucka back, at least half alive for her to kill. Moms wants that for herself.

  “I’ma go rectify this situation,” I reply, continuing to the front door. I’ll consider giving her a call once Santiago’s found. But my primary interest is making sure he can’t touch her again. As I grip the front doorknob, I remember back to the first dinner we had in Colombia two years back. The woman who held the knife to Santiago’s throat isn’t the embarrassed sad woman she was just now. My moms is a warrior. She really just didn’t’ want me to know. I’ll bring back her kill.

  Three of my goons are just right outside, just in the area of the front door. They stay on rotation these days. It’s dark in the distance, but the sensor lights pick up anything that comes near.

  “Where is Rocky?” Damn, why is this girl always my first thought?

  “Uh...”

  “Uh...” A few of them begin.

  I shake my head, itching to pull the trigger finger on these stupid muthafuckas but that would make me more like... my father.

  “Never mind all that. You,” I point to one of them, “Make sure her ass is home before day break.”

  “Si, Señor Medina.” He nods.

  “The rest of y'all, no sleep for none of us until Santiago’s head is chilling on my fireplace.”

  See there. That's how the fuck I'm different from that nigga. Santiago’s ass would have his thugs looking for his victim. Fuck that. I want this bitch so bad I can taste his death.

  Mayté

  To get a call that your son is fighting for his life makes me spring into action.

  I ain't dying. Not close. Well, maybe a broken heart has kept me in the bed for almost thirty years. Being in bed has weakened my immune system. Other than a hard cough, my live in nurse, Bernice is more so my new bestie. Has been since Margarita moved to North America all those years ago.

  But I start to rise.

  “Señora Mendoza,” says one of the maids, stepping into the room. Her eyes gawk at me as I try to get up. “I heard noises and thought it was you. What in the world—“

  “Give me a hand. I got to go,” I tell her while raising my arm. “Where is Bernice?”

  The maid is stunned stupid. She doesn’t help me. Good thing I didn’t gain weight while laying here so long. It takes a few grunts but before I can frown. Bernice steps into the room dressed in her usual scrubs.

  “What's wrong?” Bernice asks.

  “Chuey,” I tell her.

  “Let's go.”

  ~~~

  It’s almost two am. We end up at the hospital. If Rockwell hadn't been crying so incoherently while calling me on his phone, I would have told her to drive to my place and have a doctor come to us. Since I rarely walk, I'm gasping for air as I make it down the long corridor.

  Then there she is. For the first time my eyes land on the only thing Chuey talks about these days; the reason my son has become dumb. At first, I tried to rationalize it as a fling. As Rockwell having some glorious pussy that Chuey would get tired of or wear out. Like his father.

  But I don't even think he's gotten the cookie.

  Then I rationalized that Rockwell was like me, the wife of a drug lord. Easily set aside for a slice of power. Maybe Chuey is enchanted with her broken heart. You can tell that she’s dying of a broken heart a mile away. My son used to do the sweetest things to get me to smile. To. Just. Be. Happy. Can he be so used to trying to save his own mother that he’s redirected his affections on this woman? However the hell Rockwell has captivated my son, the bitch is gorgeous even as she cries her little eyes out.

  And I owe her. If Lorenzo came to her home and Chuey then came... Or whatever she said occurred, while crying into the phone and waiting for an ambulance. The story should have ended one way.

  Chuey dead.

  “Mrs. Medina...” I begin, drawing her attention in a soothing tone. Yeah, that's why my son and his cousin are fighting over this little thing. She's meek. Like me.

  Rockwell looks up; innocent eyes are filled with tears.

  “I'm Mayté.”

  It takes a while to register, as she looks me up and down in confusion. “Oh... I thought you were very ill.”

  “Well, we women do anything for our sons. Whether it be staying in a dead end relationship or telling them the truth about rape.”

  The horror in her eyes tells me Santiago’s misdeeds were Chuey’s saving grace. Yeah, Rita must have told Rockwell about Santiago and his true colors. She, in return, most likely told Lorenzo while the beast was killing my son.

  I want to continue down the corridor to my son’s room and check on him. But I linger for a second. Looking down at her again, I say, “Rockwell, it's time for you to go.”

  “I know, Mrs. Mendoza. I've—”

  “Mayté.”

  “Mayté, this probably looks bad, like I'm Chuey’s lover coming to the hospital in the middle of the night with him, but he's a good friend.”

  “No, that's not what I mean. I'm not here to insinuate or judge.” I sit down beside her. Bernice takes to my opposite side. It's so quiet and empty in the lobby this late.

  I continue, “Well maybe I am insinuating and judging based on my experience. You need to leave Lorenzo.”

  She scoffs, “I did leave him.”

  “No, you moved around the corner—metaphorically. I'm sure Rita has preached to you about teaching him a lesson. But...”

  “I won't be near Chuey anymore, Mayté. Honestly, Rita just told me about her and Santiago. I planned to stay away from Chuey, no matter how nice he’s always been.”

  Fuck. When people realize my husband is a rapist, they pity me. I guess pretending to be dying for years, you'd think I'm used to the pity. But this shit is different. I can see the pity in her eyes.

  She continues, “I told Chuey earlier today that we should talk. Just talk. I will be staying the hell away from him, so you don't have to worry about me causing any more problems between the two. Not that I tried...”

  She seems frazzled. Most likely from telling Lorenzo umpteenth times that she hadn't cheated. Santiago pulled the same bullshit and he had bitches housed in the east wing of our mansion.

  “You don't have to explain to me, Rockwell. I understand your side as a wife. But I mean that you need to go so far away from Lorenzo that he can no longer own your heart...”

  Rockwell

  When I first laid eyes on Mayté, I just thought she was some black woman stuck in Colombia. She resembles Diana Ross’s slightly younger sister. Just beautiful. Anyway, y'all know how black people do. If we're out of our element and in an area with none of our people, we flock to the only ones that are our own.

  I’m stunned to find out she is Mayté, Chuey’s Mayté. The one he talks of with so much love. I can only suspect that he's a good son to her and she's a good mom to him. And that a miracle brought her out of bed past midnight or any other time of day.

  Then she told me to leave Lorenzo. No games. Really leave him.

  How the fuck does my heart react to that? Every second that I've stayed in Miguel's apartment, I’ve felt like I'm dying. How do I go further? Go somewhere he doesn't know? What about my kids? Lorenzo Junior doesn't have shit to say to me. I'm a bad mom, but it's 1-2 since the twins won't chose me over Lorenzo. I wouldn't ask it.

  She told me to go. For me. I went.

  Nino

  Why she gotta be such a fucking idiota? Damn, I hate to see the tears in her beautiful eyes or even a bruise on her face, but Zendaya needs to know who loves her. Who’s keeping her safe? And it sho’ ain't her fucking family.

  Little did I know that my girl was changing over the months since her birthday party; the more schooling she got, the more freedom. Damn, don't even wanna think about that.

  One night, as she’s grinding on my dick and puffing on some yay, I start to rock her hips as she lets her hea
d fall back.

  “Zennie, I love you so fucking much.”

  “I know.” Zendaya smiles and blows the blunt smoke in my direction.

  She ain’t going to say that she loves me back. “Bitch—”

  She laughs playfully.

  “I’ma beat ya ass.” I flip her onto the bottom, but not before grabbing the blunt from her fingers. With one hand gripping that fat ass, I get blazed while beating at the pussy. It’s all gooey, wet, shit. It’s heaven in this hell we call Colombia.

  “Dang Nino,” she moans. “Bae, I lovvvve you.”

  “For real?” Now I’m grinning, blunt dangling from my teeth as I continue to mold her insides to my dick. After nutting, I fall straight onto her body. Then I reach over and mash the blunt onto the countertop of the folding tray that’s my makeshift side table.

  “Nino, now you already know that you’re a big dude.” She pushes at my muscles. “Move.”

  “Nah.” I let up a little, so Zendaya can curve her tiny body toward mine. We lay all tangled up for a while. These those bitch types of situations, but I know Zendaya loves them.

  After a while I say, “We need to hit the city tonight.”

  “Why?” Zendaya asks, but her tone means more like ‘we.’ My bitch hasn’t been so jealous of me fucking with other hoes to hustle. It’s been a while since Zendaya has had to lift her finger without a textbook being in it.

  “Because the rent finna be due,” I snap at her in Spanish.

  She takes a deep breath. “Nino, I need to study for this exam, bae. Make one of ya side pieces roll.”

  Maybe I’m just being selfish. I miss rolling through the tourist area, hitting licks and banging on sadity muthafuckas with Zendaya. She has a point but I reply, “Hell nah.”

  “You can fuck ‘em. Then they should be of some use.”

  “I don't trust no hoes.” Getting up from the bed I stare at her beautiful naked body. Then look her dead in the eye. Haven't hit on her in months. Not since she lied about going to see her mom.

  “Get dressed,” I tell her. That's final.

  Something in me wishes I hadn’t been so hard on Zendaya back then. She never would have crossed paths with Santiago Medina Mendoza…

  Zendaya

  From Nino’s stand point, me fucking or almost fucking dudes to steal their money is nobler than my parents pimping me out. When I was maybe 9, moms got sick. Papa had been looking at my booty for a while. Little did I know the muthafucka was sizing me up for my first Julio. Wasn't a week later that I was standing at my mom's bed; damn near deathbed with how sick she was. She took my hand and asked me to do this favor, just one. It would make enough money for the medicine that they needed. Damn, my virginity would make enough money to pay the rent for 6 months, put food on the table, all that.

  Now Nino thinks keeping me from them is helping me. Only the longer we partake in this dysfunctional ass shit I know he's going to turn into them. My parents started with good intentions. He has too.

  Money and greed changes people.

  I've been working my butt off at school. Honor roll, only A’s can grace my progress reports. One day I’ma have to leave Nino too. I’m barely fifteen and a half, but I know that this hard love must come to an end.

  For now we got the tourist destination of La Playa resort. The contours of my shape are molded to a stolen satin dress. My long curly hair in a messy bun like I've seen a few sadity bitches do in those magazines. Knock off red-bottom heels and all that make me look the age, the status and the finest chick up in the casino.

  Nino stays back. At 21 he cleans up well. Nino and his baby face; he almost looks his age for a change. He always looks so young with his cornrows. But now he has on a rented suit that goes well with his buff physic.

  We both walk around the smoke clouded room. The sound of fake change being dispensed every time somebody makes back a few dollars that they have lost has heads turning. I stop at the $50 blackjack table and Nino shakes his head from across the way. I move to $100, dude shakes his head. When he does so as I get to the G table, I'm tempted to pull out my phone and read a book on my kindle app. Where this fool want me to go? How I’ma attract an old fart that has money. I stop at the penny slots and fold my arms.

  Nino steps up to me. “I need ya mindset to get right Zendaya. Think big.”

  “Hello? I just went to the $1000 table. Man, what you want?” I whisper through gritted teeth.

  He nods over to the high stakes poker room and my eyebrows raise. I'm not some grown ass woman. If we're going to front, it won't be for no fucking millionaire. Pain shoots up my spine. I grimace.

  “Smile,” Nino orders.

  I grimace harder.

  “Zendaya, keep fucking with me. I’ma bust a cap in your stupid ass,” Nino threatens. Nino then kisses my cheek and shoves me toward the entryway.

  I stumble. The “Julios” I'm use to never seen me in no damn high heels and couldn't afford to. I teeter tot up the marble staircase, holding onto the gold railing. The smoke fumes are of expensive cigars in this area. The servers are even cuter. Like models in their barely-there uniforms. I'm staring at one like I ain't even competition.

  A man in a penguin suit comes up to me. The cheapest table is $100 grand. He looks me up and down, certain that I’ve taken a wrong turn.

  Before I can think of something smart to say, the sexiest old guy in all of Colombia speaks. He reminds me of those damn Dos Equis commercials as if he can make his own brand.

  “Get out of the way!” he tells penguin dude. The guy is as bossy as Nino, but his suit-cut is custom fit. From the follicles of his shiny black hair to even shiner leather shoes, this man is used to giving orders. Those dark, deadly eyes roam over to me. “Mi Bonita, come here.”

  There's no politeness in his voice as he clearly complements how pretty I am: just a muthafucka used to getting what he wants.

  Santiago Luis Medina Mendoza is a cartel King, so I would be stupid to not do his biding with a smile. With my head lifted high, I gracefully walk toward the table where he, 1 other drug dealer and two high-powered attorneys are playing. The tricks that are at each of their arms look at me. Men are dumb. But these hoes know I'm not a day over 16, no matter how many dicks I've sucked.

  “You,” he looks at the 10 to his right since there's an even prettier version on his left. “Move.”

  The model-looking chick glares daggers into me as she walks out of the high stakes area.

  I walk over and try not to do a double take at the gold coins they are using.

  I order a Cosmopolitan and get all touchy and feely with him and the dude on the other side, since that's what the other tricks are doing.

  I look at my phone after a while. I know Nino must've lost his damn mind. Hours later and I'm still looking around, checking my phone, waiting for my dude to pop up and say surprise. Something. What in the world has gotten into Nino? We take from lambs, but we are no wolves. These mutherfuckas don’t get got.

  Santiago's lips brush against my ear in a debonair manner, he asks, “How bored are you?”

  There’s something in his eyes. As if he expected me to bust it wide open for him since there are literally millions on the blackjack table.

  My mind is on my crazy ass boyfriend and school. I murmur, “I'm not bored.”

  “You're not enjoying this.” He grabs one of the silver coins and holds it up to me. “Most ladies, they look at this and their pussy drips with desire…”

  Nino

  It’s been a while since I’ve stopped looking over my shoulder for Santiago’s people. Word on the streets is that muthafucka is in hiding himself over some familia bullshit. Fine by me. But the thing is, I don’t even fucking feel like that bitch dude fully understood why I stole his money. The funds mean nothing to me.

  I was hoping Santiago would catch up with me one day. I still got a little something for that muthafucka when or if he does. One day, my mind is tough on Zendaya. I’m missing my bitch as if she were just raped an
d mutilated by Santiago just yesterday…

  “Andres, pull over real quick,” I tell my oldest friend while he drives down the tiny streets.

  He looks out the window at the cluttered small businesses. “Man, dude we just driving through the neighborhood for your digs… why you wanna eat here?”

  “Look, your ass can go pick up my dry cleaning,” I say, shaking my head. “The fuck wrong with you? We got a few dollars, now you wanna eat at five star restaurants on a daily.”

  “Few dollars?” Andres chuckles as I slam the car door.

  I step into Jiménez Casa, this hole in the wall restaurant that people say is like their mother’s cooking. Shit, my mother ain't never cooked me shit. But my Zendaya always was a beast in the kitchen.

  The moment I see her, I could have sworn she was Zendaya. As I stare across the room, the hostess waves, “Señor, estas esperando a alguien? –Are you waiting for someone.”

  I ask the chick what the waitress’s name is in Spanish.

  “Uh the curly haired one?” she responds.

  “No,” I reply. It’s as if I’m in a trance. As I start toward Zendaya’s section, I take a seat at a tiny, two-seater table and rub my hands together.

  When the girl steps closer, and I look into her eyes. They’re the same hazel as my Zendaya’s. Not many bitches have light brown eyes; this one right here has me so far gone.

  “Zennie... Uh...” I glance at her nameplate: Rocky.

  “Que… gusta… comer… Señor,” Rocky says. Her Spanish was just a little shaky. Then she switches to English, more so talking to herself, “Oh… your menu. Un momento por favor.”

  Rocky struts away.

  “Zennie!” I shout.

  She turns back around, eyebrow arched.

  Feeling dumb as fuck, I just continue with ordering a simple carne asada plate that has to be on the menu.

  That was day one. I got to get to know her.

  Day two. I tried something else off the menu, just to get Rocky to speak to me. She's stuck up just like my Zendaya was about her books and her timeframe.