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Breaking Bad: 14 Tales of Lawless Love

Page 108

by Koko Brown


  “Oh no, I’m still opposed to wearing them but seeing as how you’re ovulating it’s probably best to be safe.”

  She shook her head at his words. “You’re back on that again. There’s no way you could know that just from smelling me.”

  “I can with hyper olfactory senses equal to those of an animal, like Harry.”

  Her brows frowned in confusion. “You mean your pet tiger.”

  “Harry isn’t a pet.”

  She cringed. “Oh, I just said something culturally insensitive again, didn’t I?”

  “We’ll let it pass this time,” he pardoned.

  “Good, so about finishing this conversation up in my bed and don’t worry I have a stash of condoms just in case your hyper ol…. Oh… Oh…Oh shit!” she screeched.

  If she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes she wouldn’t have believed it, still didn’t in fact. Right there in front of her eyes Hyuk changed into a large tiger.

  “Harry…Hyuk?”

  The tiger nodded its massive head slowly.

  “You’re a…”

  Beast became man again.

  “Were shifter,” he completed for her.

  “Fuck me!”

  “I’d really, really like to but I think that’s just the shock talking,” he tried to make light.

  “And Jay too I assume.”

  “Yes, as well as my father.”

  He moved towards her but she pushed a hand out in front of her to ward him off.

  “So you really could tell when I was aroused or scared?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well that’s just down right unfair.”

  He shrugged. “If you say so.”

  “I do. I can’t compete with that, I think it’s only fair that you have a handicap too.”

  “I didn’t this this was about a competition.”

  She jumped out of her chair. “I got it. A blind fold.”

  “You want me to walk around blindfolded?”

  “Not all the time, that wouldn’t be practical but when are in the bedroom.”

  “Let me get this straight, you just watched me shift into a tiger and your takeaway is that you want me wear a blind fold during sex?”

  She looked pensive then nodded. “Yeah, that about sums it up.”

  “Dear god I’ve fallen for a crazy woman.”

  She shrugged. “And my lover can shapeshift into a tiger. We both have quirks.”

  He growled low in his throat. “Come here woman.”

  Hyuk didn’t wait for her to comply, instead snaking his arm around her waist to pull her into his arms.

  “If we’re done with show and tell I’d really like to have sex now,” she said.

  He paused. “What about the dating?”

  “We didn’t say it had to be in any particular order.”

  “Happy to oblige.”

  THE END

  ABOUT NIA FOXX

  Nia Foxx is a mother of three biped young adults and 3 quadrupeds. She steals time to read and write when her busy life permits. Like most author’s Nia began writing at an early age, elementary school to be exact. She considers writing to be a mini-vacation from the world around her.

  Author contact:

  www.niafoxx.com

  nia@niafoxx.com

  OTHER TITLES BY NIA FOXX

  Find these titles on Amazon

  Claimed: Unchartered Territory

  Haven: Rules of Mating

  Gargoyle Series

  Beastly Behaviors

  The Rancher’s Ultimatum

  Men of the Void Series

  Alphas’s Discovered

  Sleepers: The Witching Hour

  The Buccaneer

  The Vampire and the Reporter

  RECTIFIED

  XYLA TURNER

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thank you to my family, friends, and readers! Without you, none of this is possible.

  Thank you Siera London, Heather Rae, LaQuette, Rena Miller and Jacqueline Quintyne for your help with the health, editing and gambling tips. I appreciate your willingness to assist me with these items.

  Thanks to the One who has already mapped it all out and waiting for us to catch up.

  Much Love,

  Xyla Turner

  NOTE TO THE READER

  Hello, I’m so glad that you decided to read Diego: The Salazar Brothers. I just wanted to let you know that I used my creative license to design a disease for the purposes of this book. As you already know, there are many symptoms for various diseases that each of us may or may not ever display. So for the sake of this work, I have decided to create one and not focus on a real one, per se. There may be similar symptoms, but this one came from my head.

  Thank you for understanding and I hope you enjoy.

  Also, note that Sebastian’s story is coming soon.

  ONE

  DESTINI

  "The man that has your kidney is on his death bed and is in Cuba," Claire, my nurse, whispered in the phone. "He's a very bad man, but you'll live senorita. No one can know because as soon as people find out he’s there unprotected. Let’s just say that he had enemies lining up around the corner."

  The heavy weight that had one day dropped on my shoulders lightly but slowly began to lift from my tired body. Cuba was far from New Jersey, and I had spent all of my money to secure a qualified donor. My blood type was AB negative, and it was nearly impossible to find a donor with the same type. The doctors had given me six months to live without a kidney transplant, but they said it could be shorter, which meant they did not know.

  Renalicious was a disorder that caused the kidneys to fail around the mid-twenties era of life. When I first went to the doctor, he began to tell me that there were a few diseases that would show signs around the same age. Multiple sclerosis, bipolar disorder, lupus, fibromyalgia and even acne. This wasn’t comforting and I was often in the hospital because the issues with my kidney weren’t detected early enough. However, the doctors said that since they were so unfamiliar with what they called Renalicious, they surmised it could be an acute and chronic disease.

  To make matters worse, close to my thirtieth birthday, I had been more tired than usual. I felt like the strength was zapped away from me. Therefore, that sent me back to the doctors to find out if my medication or treatments should change. Even if there were more cases of the disease that plagued my body. Instead of a different regime, the doctors tell me that my kidneys were shutting down and I was at the end-stage. If I did not get a kidney in six months, I would die. Little did they know, I planned to fight until my last breath, and it might just come to that.

  "Are you one hundred percent positive?" I found myself whispering back as I stood in line at the Triumph Casino. "I'm about to get the money to secure my flight and the kidney now, so please be sure."

  "Senorita, I’m positive. One hundred percent positive." Claire assured me in hushed tones. “He’s a match for your blood type and histological. He’s alone but you cannot go to Cuba. Not like you are. No plane would take you.”

  Claire worked at St. Justice, the hospital that I lived closest to and therefore frequented when I had an episode. Three times a week, she would administer the dialysis treatments, so we knew each other well. I have been admitted to this hospital more times than I can count due to my frequent I needed to be hospitalized. It was quite the ordeal when it happened, but it was often enough that the older Latino nurse took a liking to me. She said I was “a feisty Alocada,” which I assumed meant I would never give up. She later informed me, that it translated to crazy girl.

  “Don’t worry, I have a private plane ready.” I laughed. “With all my connections and all.”

  “Your connections,” she scoffed. “It’s that friend of yours.”

  “Yeah, Keith.” I confessed. “I have to go but I’ll let you know when I reach Cuba.”

  As I entered the casino, I was almost thankful for being sick because I was half the weight I should have been, and people would often underest
imate my skills at the Poker table. They also assumed that I was on some sort of drugs, which meant they could or would try to take advantage of me. Or assumed that I was some sickly woman that was not necessarily sharp in the mind. This was the furthest thing from the truth. I had been in some sticky situations where I had to prove that I was more than capable of taking care of myself. Even in my fragile state.

  Poker was my game because it is very much a mental game. Winning and losing is a mix of skill, being able to read your opponents, and keeping your opponents from reading you. Poker players talk a lot about "tells". Tells are things you do, subconsciously, that could give away the type of hand you have. One guy, his eye always twitched if he had a really good hand and one lady I used to play in Maryland, she would scratch her ear if she had a bad hand. I loved the game because I was good at bluffing, betting higher amounts and raising even if I didn’t have a good hand. My opponents knew no different, so I usually won and rarely folded. After everyone was eliminated, I went to gather my winnings.

  As I gathered my winnings, the last man who was eliminated form the game approached me and said, "Nice."

  I hope he didn’t want to go head-to-head. There was really no time for that. My winnings were enough money to add to my stash so I could go to Cuba, pay the doctor, the sick guy and whoever else I needed to get my transplant.

  The man had a long nose with a mole on his cheek, cleft chin, and thinning hair in the middle of his sandy head. My head nodded in his direction, but I didn't linger because I knew what was about to go down. They were all the same. Opportunistic bastards that would kill their own mother if they thought it'd get them ahead in life. I had no tolerance or sympathy for anyone like that. Whatever happened to them is what happened. My last chance at life was in Cuba and that was where I needed to get on the next flight out of Atlantic City.

  My home, or my cube of an apartment, was in New York. I sold my house to get all of the treatments and do the trials that might have contributed to ease my pain and now, prolong my life. As futile as it was, I had no children, no man to speak of, and most of my family had either died early deaths or I had cut them off. I had no legacy and that weighed the most on my heart at the end of the day.

  What would I be known for?

  The ability to school my facial features and not have a tell always helped me win. My stints in the hospital and as well-intentioned as they were, there was always a sad case to be seen. Always gaining friends as they prepared to die and go to the other place that was destined for them. I wanted that life all little girls dreamed of, but at the rate I was going, I would not even make it to Cuba.

  The prickling of my hair standing up on the back of my neck put me on full alert, and I knew without a doubt, I had a tail. My head slowly turned to see the same guy that just congratulated me was following me along with one ugly guy on the other side of him. The new addition was bulkier than the first guy, and his nose was pudgy like a bulldog as if it had been smashed on several occasions. He was probably the muscle of whatever they were about to do.

  Shit!

  The lobby was crowded. I needed to make it to my car, and the parking lot was always deserted during the day. Most people came to Atlantic City and would stay until dawn if they could. It was only three o'clock in the afternoon, and even if the lot was filled with people, the guns the goons who were behind me, probably located in the waist bands of the guys, would deter anyone from getting involved in a mere squabble.

  With a quick thought, I decided to stay in the crowded lobby for ten minutes. When I finally made my move to exit, a rough hand grabbed me by the shoulder and pulled me into a closed off hallway that led to the restrooms.

  "Not so fast," the ugly man growled. "You hustled my boss and now you're going to pay."

  He jerked me into the men's bathroom after putting a yellow cone that read Currently Cleaning in front of the door. Two seconds later, the long-nosed man joined us with his cell phone in hand. The ugly one had a jagged scar down his arm, like he was painfully tortured with a serrated knife. The other one that was at the table with me was clean shaven, in a suit with no jacket; probably in an attempt to look relaxed. Those rogue edges that outlined his face and shark eyes told a different story. He was a snake and would eat anything in his immediate surrounding without batting an eye. I knew it when I scouted out the Poker table. It was a dangerous thing, but I simply had nothing to lose. My life was hanging on by a thread, and I needed to get to Cuba, which needed to happen sooner rather than later.

  In both of my long-sleeved shirt cuffs were knives that I craftily stored for emergencies like this. One of the neighborhood guys I grew up with, Keith, taught me how to use blades at an early age. He said that I was pretty and that men would always try to take advantage of me, whether that was physically or emotionally. He was in his thirties but had to serve his life sentence in a wheel chair. As a kid, I spent a lot of time at Keith's house along with many of the other teenagers. He taught us all types of shit, including how to shoot a gun if we ever found ourselves in a situation that warranted it. Apparently, he did, and since the bullet was too close to his spine, he was stuck in a chair all because he was at the wrong place at the wrong time.

  We still kept in touch and he was the one to secure the private plane when I needed it. Keith knew my situation and I was in no position to ask questions on how he was

  "Hand it over," the boss said. "And we'll let you go."

  The grip from the scarred man's hand grew tighter, which almost sent me buckling. Ending up on the floor would have been too vulnerable for me; even though I could be crafty, I was not strong. Therefore, I needed to use all the strength that I have to deliver my best possible blow because I needed to win.

  The crisp release of the blade sounded right before my thrust in the henchman's stomach caused blood to spurt out. Quickly pulling my hand out with the knife in hand, I saw the pudgy nosed man’s eyes grow wide as he looked from me to the wound that I just inflicted. As if on auto-pilot, his hands followed the pain as he released me and gripped his center.

  "The fuck?" He uttered before his body made a thud sound on the floor.

  My other hand quickly turned on the boss, when I said with a cough, "Don't want no trouble. Leave me be. Get your man a medic or he will bleed out."

  My feet carefully backed up towards the door as I kept one knife on the boss, who looked ready to spit fire.

  "You'll pay for this bitch," he grunted and held up his phone as if he were going to make a call. "You'll..."

  I did not wait to hear the rest as I ran, well more of hobbled, to my car and drove like a bat out of hell back to the Bronx. Before I caught the flight to Cuba, I needed to get my clothes, medicine, and pray that I did not have an episode while on the plane. Once I confirmed with Claire about the exact location of the donor, I connected with Keith who put me in contact with the pilot. We planned to arrive in Varadero, Cuba, the very next day.

  My research on this guy was extensive, and what I could not understand, Claire informed me. The man, Malvo Dominguez, was a ruthless thug, who led and maintained loyalty by force. His dying did not mean much to people because his replacement had already started going against some of the things he had instituted. Cuba was a police state that could use their power arbitrarily; therefore, things were run slightly different than what I was used to in America. One thing that the two places had in common was that money, dollars or Pesos, talked louder than anything else.

  The winnings were enough extra money to bribe the people I would needed to use and hopefully appeal to the man whose life was on the line, and the doctor who would perform the procedure. At this point in my life, I didn't give a shit who got the money, I was willing to do whatever, so I could live.

  I arrived at Hospital Punta de Mali the next day, and it was nothing to write home about. But, I guessed most hospitals weren't. This one looked run down, and the stains within the hallways said more about the management than it did the patients. Malvo Dominguez was in r
oom four-zero-three, which was thankfully at the end of the hall. The only person I had to give money to in order to see my long-lost cousin was the head nurse, who happened to see me as I passed the registration station on the fourth floor.

  I claimed to speak little Spanish, which was true, and then I pulled out two twenty American dollars. Her eyes grew big, and she shewed me away towards my destination, mi primo. Walking into the room, the smell of death lingered in the air. It was an acute and putrid stench that I was quite familiar with it because I'd been in the room with the odor many times. Sometimes, I felt it was my own life that I fought to save during those times in the hospital, but this time, I was ready to battle but not on my behalf.

  The man looked like he was over a hundred years of age with his frail body and sunken face that made his eyes bulge. The pictures that I had seen of him were not remotely familiar to the ghost of a man that lied in the bed. The images that I found were of a handsome man in his prime and some a little older with salt and pepper hair. All of the machines were on and pumping continuously, which made the room very noisy. My eyes slowly scanned the single room and noticed there was nobody else around before I entered. Moving closer to the bed, I saw that the man was awake.

  He coughed but it was only on the verge of saying something.

  "They sent a woman?" He coughed out again.

  "What?" I asked as I grew closer to him.

  His eyes moved back towards me, then he said, "Do it quickly."

  "Do what?" I asked as my eyes took another scan of the room just in case it was a setup. "I came here because I'm dying, and you have my blood type."

  "¿Que?" He asked weakly.

  "Tu, mi sangre," I pointed to myself. "Necesito riñón."

  My execution of the Spanish language was horrible. I tried to memorize some words, but I was nowhere near fluent. I promised if I had another chance at life, I'd learn the beautiful language and travel the world. I would make a point to live for good and not just survival. They were very different, and I wanted to be fulfilled.

 

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