Mad Dog

by Ophelia Bell

  “What he believes doesn’t make a difference. She is still dead. You are still not his daughter, mija.” Weariness has set into his tone. He doesn’t speak for several seconds, and I feel his eyes on me and look up. “You and your brother saved my daughter’s life. No reward would be too great. Is there anything you wish from me to repay you for what you have done?”

  “Aside from resurrecting Gustavo so I can kill him myself?” I ask. Arturo gives me a grim smile, and I instantly know we share common ground. I glance at Celeste and exhale, ignoring the twinge in my shoulder. It’s way past time for more drugs. “If you were serious about what you ordered me to do when I came in—to stay by her side—then I need no other reward.”

  I’m looking at her as I say it, and tears spring to her eyes. She reaches out to me, and I take her hand and squeeze. I wish like hell Manny didn’t have to die for me to have her, but I am determined to honor his memory by not fucking this up.

  “You two should go rest and get cleaned up for supper. Elena is making a feast for us tonight.” We rise and are halfway to the door when he calls to me. “And Leo, if you need clothes, have Elena pull something from my closet until you can buy your own things. As my lieutenant, you will need to dress the part.”

  I pause at that statement and turn back, meeting his gaze. The understanding of what he’s just given me sinks in. He didn’t even ask whether I wanted the job, yet somehow I’m sure I never had a choice.

  I give him a nod and follow Celeste out the door and down the hall to her bedroom, wondering the entire way whether I ever had a choice about any of this, or whether fate has somehow snuck up on me and played some cruel, yet bittersweet prank.

  22

  Maddox

  I am back at work the next day as if it’s business as usual and I don’t have several crates of illicit firearms stashed in the back of my garage. With Gustavo dead, J.J. has no contact left to help unload them. He insists he’s working on tracking down a lead to get in touch with Amador, but I’m more and more certain it’s too little too late after he ran with both the cash and the guns, no matter what kind of shit show the deal turned into.

  Eventually, he gives up on that endeavor, and I wake up late one night a couple weeks later to find him hauling the crates into the back of a moving truck. New crates are stacked in their place a week later. As it turns out, he managed to track down a buyer, but the deal was never intended to be a one-time event. His military connection wants regular sales to happen, or J.J.’s head is on the block. He insists it’s fine, he’s got it handled, and at least it isn’t Amador this time, it’s some other cartel from some other part of Mexico. He doesn’t want a repeat of the last botched job any more than I do, and he hands off the cash to me to clean through the shop, so I don’t have room to complain.

  At least Elle’s college fund is getting fatter now, but it’s only a small consolation because my brother keeps digging himself deeper into a world I have a sinking feeling is going to be his destruction, and maybe mine too. The worst part is that I’m not even sure I care.

  Every day, I spend an hour or more just sitting on an uncomfortable little stool in that corner, staring at those boxes of death while I drink my morning cup of acrid black coffee. The stacks of crates continue to change from week to week, but my thoughts about them never do.

  I tell myself they aren’t hurting the people I live with. They go to madmen in another country who wage war among themselves. I tell myself it makes it okay that the cartels are J.J.’s customers because I don’t give a fuck whether they destroy each other. As long as it doesn’t touch me and my livelihood, then they can do whatever the fuck they want.

  I tell myself all kinds of lies on a daily basis.

  The one saving grace is that Dad is on a duty assignment, so Elle and Sam don’t need to escape to my place to avoid his temper. Another three months of peace before we have to walk on eggshells again and I have to worry about the fresh bruises on Mom’s arms whenever she comes to teach her dance classes. He’ll be gone through the holidays, which means I get another Christmas of peace with my family, something I never had when I was a kid—and Mom broke the news that Marco is going to be home too, so it will be everyone but Dad. Mom’s over the moon but sad at the same time. Why she still loves the bastard I have no idea, but she does. He used to pretend he cared about being with family during the holidays, but that changed after Marco enlisted. I guess he couldn’t deal with yet another son failing to follow in his footsteps as a marine.

  Love is strange, I guess. My brother J.J. seems content bed-hopping between women despite my offer of a spot on my couch. Mom would happily have him home too, though she doesn’t have room in that tiny house for two men the size of Sam and J.J. I suppose love has nothing to do with it where J.J. and his endless string of hookups is concerned. Avoidance maybe, but not love.

  Love was what made me push Leo and Celeste together, and I should probably regret it, but I don’t. I never see them, but the Quin brothers stop by sometimes for ink, and I can ply them for news under the guise of being interested in their lives while evading their questions about my sister. It seems Elle has formed an unlikely friendship with these two, and I’m not quite sure how I feel about that. They avoid coming in when they know Sam will be at the shop and are always respectful when they ask about her.

  Leo has only been in for ink once since they left. The conversation was almost nonexistent but enough for me to glean some important details. He lives at the Flores estate full-time now and has taken Gustavo’s spot as Papá Flores’ lieutenant, though I can’t imagine him in brass knuckles beating the shit out of someone for pissing Papá Flores off. It’s ridiculous that I have that impression, because over the year we became friends, I saw signs of the violence he dealt and that got turned back on him. He arrived at plenty of our sessions with bruised hands or ribs. I bore witness to his temper when he went after Gustavo. It was just never directed at me, not even the night I confessed a secret that probably still disgusts him.

  When I walked him to the door after his recent session, he surprised me with a sudden—if brief—hug that left my head spinning. I stood staring out at the sidewalk for several minutes after he disappeared, wondering what the hell it meant. I haven’t seen him since, so I may never get the chance to ask.

  I wish I could say things are business as usual, but everything’s changed since that night, even though my day-to-day life really hasn’t. I still tattoo a steady stream of gangbangers, with the odd local thrown in who is brave enough to venture into this part of town for ink. Mom still holds her dance classes next door five nights a week, and Sam and Elle still hang at my shop or my apartment in the evenings while she’s at work, before the three of them drive home together.

  Sam has even started inking a few designs on his closest friends who are willing to be guinea pigs for him. J.J. volunteered to be the canvas for his first real tattoo, and Sam spent a full week up nights working on the design. He refused to let anyone see it until it was completely finished and inked—not even J.J. himself got to see, and was a good sport about it even though I could tell he was nervous as hell. But the finished tattoo—holy hell, the kid puts me to shame. It was a hyper-realistic scene of a black and white spotted koi fish twisting up J.J.’s spine, complete with rippling water and lotus blossoms.

  I should fucking hire the kid and pay him for real. He’d bring in so much business if he started advertising with shit like this. But I’d rather give him an excuse to leave Los Angeles if he gets it in his head to go elsewhere. I’ve chatted with Mom about it a few times and I think she agrees, even though I know she hated every second of seeing each of her older sons leave the nest. So far two of us have come home and don’t show any sign of leaving again anytime soon.

  It’s a slow day right after Thanksgiving before Mom’s first class starts, and I’ve finally talked her into renovating the old locker rooms in the back of her studio. I have enough cash flow through my business, even if a good chunk of i
t isn’t close to legit, but I don’t want to just sit on it. It’ll be six more months before Elle graduates, and I want something to show for the trouble now rather than later.

  “I’m very proud of you, you know,” Mom says, pausing by the old lockers after we finish walking through the area, discussing the demo schedule. “You don’t have to use your money to fix up this place.”

  “I want to. It’s the least I can do after you let me move in. It isn’t like I won’t be reimbursed by the landlord when it’s finished anyway.”

  “You and I both know I needed you here. I wasn’t ready to move to a new location after all these years.”

  “Consider it a Christmas present then.” I give her shoulder a squeeze, and my gaze catches on one of the lockers near the end. The initials etched in the metal are still visible despite the paint that covers them, and I wince at the unwanted memory. It’s time to let go.

  Mom sways on her feet, and my attention snaps back to her. She’s squinting, and her face constricts like she’s in pain a second before she tilts to one side.

  “Mom!” I catch her against me and settle her onto the bench. “Are you all right?”

  She raises a hand to her head and blinks rapidly. “Just a headache. They usually pass in a few minutes. I’ll be fine.” She squeezes my hand and pushes me away. “Don’t worry, honey, I promise I’m fine.”

  Alarm bells go off in my head. “Do you get these often? Headaches and dizziness?”

  “No, honey. I mean it. I think it’s just low blood sugar. I skipped lunch. I’ll have something before class starts.”

  I crouch down and narrow my eyes at her. She’s pale and delicate, her dark hair pulled back into a tight bun as always. The lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth are deeper than I remember, but she’s still the strikingly beautiful woman she always was. Not even a hair is out of place today, which is nothing new; she always makes a point of presenting herself like a pro no matter how chaotic her home life is.

  She squeezes my shoulders with both hands and gives me that maternal stare of tolerance, then stands and brushes her hands down the front of her black leotard and the flowing gray skirt that falls to her knees over black leggings. She’s steady now, so I stand back and exhale a relieved breath. My family is all I have. Keeping them safe is all that matters.

  “I’ll contact the landlord to arrange the necessary paperwork so we can get going on this,” she says. “Thank you for your help. You should go though. I think you have a customer.”

  When I leave the locker room, I’m surprised to see she’s right. Someone is in the front area of my shop, inspecting the photographs on the walls. I didn’t hear the bell jingle, but Mom’s episode distracted me.

  “Welcome to Mad Dog Tattoo,” I say, annoyed that Sam isn’t here to greet the woman until I remember he’s up at my place studying for midterms with Elle.

  From the rear, I’m impressed. She’s slight, yet curvy, in faded denim with a black leather motorcycle jacket that’s short enough to highlight a nice eyeful of toned ass. Her jet-black hair is pulled into a braid with wavy strands escaping, and she holds a shiny black helmet in one hand, propped against her cocked hip. A hot girl who rides and likes tattoos. Maybe my luck has changed.

  Her profile intrigues me, and recognition sparks, but it isn’t until she turns toward me that it hits me full force who she is, and my brief interest is replaced by a wary excitement.

  “These are good,” she says, nodding toward the photographs. “Really good. Are they all yours?”

  “Tattoos and photos,” I say with a nod. “I’m Maddox. It’s an honor, Ms. Valentine.” I hold out my hand to her.

  “Everyone calls me Toni,” she says, taking my hand. Her brief smile fades quickly. “Leo Reyes told me about you. Or more specifically about your brother, I think?” She reaches into her inside pocket and pulls out her phone. She taps the screen and shows me a familiar tree-of-life drawing from Sam’s sketchbook—the one Leo caught with his camera the night I finished his lion tattoo.

  I was only halfway checking her out, testing whether my libido might be up to the challenge of hitting on a pretty girl who I clearly had something in common with. Part of me is relieved that she’s actually here for Sam. Then my brain connects the dots between her, Leo, and Celeste—and Manny.

  “I owe you,” she says in a low tone, glancing toward Mom’s studio, where her afternoon students have started to arrive. “Is there somewhere we can talk?”

  “Sure.” I lead her back to the cubicle where I tattoo clients, but she keeps going, pushing through the door toward the garage as if drawn there by some unseen force. My stomach coils tight as I follow. We stop in the center of the space beside my bike, and she looks around.

  “I know they said he was killed in Compton, but Celeste told me they brought him here before the funeral home took him away. I just wanted to see . . .”

  I move beside her and let her have a moment in silence. She stares up at the afternoon sunlight filtering in through the high windows, then at my truck. The presence of the guns hidden under the old tires in the corner nags at me like a telltale heart, but her gaze drifts past it without incident and lands on me, wet with unshed tears. She sniffles and drops her eyes to the floor, wiping at the corners and clearing her throat.

  “Even if he’d been breathing when he got here, I wouldn’t have been able to save him,” I tell her. “The bullet went straight through his heart before it hit Leo.”

  Toni lets out a heavy breath and turns to look up at me with hazel eyes that shouldn’t carry such sadness at her age. It’s a stark contrast to the glint of wicked humor visible in all her online promo shots. But I understand this look all too well because I still feel the same way more often than I’d like to admit.

  “I know. Leo told me everything. I’m grateful to you for saving him and Celeste. They’ve been my foundation since it happened. I suppose I owe you a thank-you for them too.” Her smile is more genuine now, and I can’t help but smile back as I shake my head.

  “I didn’t save them. Leo’s wound wasn’t fatal. And I wasn’t the one jumping in front of bullets that night. Celeste owes her life to Manny and Leo, not me.”

  Toni regards me for a second, and I’m sure she can see right through me. Her expression says she knows I’m holding back, and she holds my gaze long enough that I start to itch. I scrub the back of my head with one hand and glance at the floor, uncomfortable under her scrutiny.

  “Listen, if you want to talk to Sam about his art, I can go get him. I’m sure he’d love a reprieve from studying for his history exam. Just don’t jerk him around. If you’re not serious about taking an apprentice, just go, and nobody needs to be the wiser.”

  Toni ignores the change of subject. “She tells me everything, Maddox. She has since we were kids. And Leo and I have been close for the past five years. I know what you mean to both of them. She might be with Leo now, but she has loved you almost her whole life, and Leo cares about you more than he’s willing to admit.”

  My brows twitch, and I rub them with my thumb and index finger, sighing. This isn’t what I need to hear. I need to be able to move on. “Does she love him? Are they happy? Because that’s all that matters.”

  She smiles. “Yeah. It’s wonderful to see because neither of them have ever been this happy in their lives, and I’ve known them long enough to know. But they’re afraid to flaunt it around you. Afraid it’ll hurt you. I can sense something is missing, and I think it’s your friendship.”

  I clench my teeth and narrow my eyes. “How much did Celeste tell you?”

  “Enough for me to guess that you’re lonely here. If you can see your way to accepting their friendship, I know they’d love to see you again. And for the love of God, will you finish that tattoo you started for Celeste? She showed me the design ages ago. It’s amazing, and I refused to ink it for her. It should be you.”

  She isn’t biting on my request for details, so I just hang my head and sigh. “Fine. I
could use the business.”

  She lifts one eyebrow and crosses her arms, but that’s all I’ll cop to because I can’t handle admitting more to her. I’m conflicted as hell about the idea of setting eyes on either of them again.

  Finally, she sighs, realizing that’s all she’s getting out of me, and casts her gaze up toward the windows to my loft. “So, your golden boy of a brother—Sam, is it? I want to see more of his work. I know it’s short notice, but do you think he’s up for an interview?”

  “Woman, that kid will be over the fucking moon just to meet you. Wait here and I’ll get him.”

  23

  Celeste

  “Happy” hasn’t been part of my vocabulary for as long as I can remember, but being roused in the early morning by the possessive squeeze of a muscular, tattooed arm sends me pretty deep into the realm of happiness. Leo’s murmured “g’morning ángel” is muffled by the skin of my neck, and I tilt my head, inviting his continued kisses and nips as he trails them over my naked shoulder.

  I sigh and push back against him, ready and already aching to feel him inside me, but he seems to be on a mission. He pushes up onto his elbow and hovers over me, pulling the sheet down to bare my breasts, then cups one in his big hand while he laves the other with alternating kisses, licks, and nips of his teeth. I like the sharp spikes of pain in between the softer teasing, and he picks up on the fact that it gets me hot, biting harder with his teeth and pinching my other nipple between thumb and forefinger.

  “Leo,” I whine, rubbing my thighs together and arching my hips toward him, desperate for more. In answer, he nuzzles lower, then sinks his teeth hard into the underside of my breast. I gasp and bat at his head but catch only a wild mass of tangled hair.

  “Mine,” he growls, then laughs against my belly as he moves lower. “You won’t get that tattoo I want you to get, so I need to mark you somehow.”