Mad Dog

by Ophelia Bell

  “You like that?” I ask, my voice rough with a need I’m barely able to hold at bay. My groin is pressed against the round swell of his ass, and I’ve managed to ignore my stiff cock until now.

  “I love everything about this,” he murmurs. The reply makes fresh arousal surge south, but I ignore the desire to take things further. It’s enough that he’s given me permission; I trust that he won’t take it away when I have the energy to focus and make it good. Instead, I snuggle closer, overwhelmed by how well his solid, bulky shape fits against me. Leaving off the idle caresses of his torso, I slide my arm farther around his middle, then seek out Celeste in the dark.

  She presses closer to Maddox, and I lift my hand to her cheek, brushing my fingertips across it. I peer at her over Maddox’s shoulder, my gaze searching hers for evidence that she has an issue with the direction our relationship has taken, that this new desire of mine might somehow be the breaking point for us. But she doesn’t look disgusted, or even surprised. She looks happy.

  She turns her head and kisses my palm, holding my hand against her cheek. Then she slides her arm across Maddox to press her hand against my chest, right in the center where I wear my heart so publicly on the surface of my skin.

  34

  Maddox

  When I wake in the pre-dawn darkness, I might be inclined to think I’m dreaming, sandwiched between the pair of them with Leo’s body mashed up against my back, but I haven’t had dreams this good in years. I haven’t had anything this good in my life.

  I’m not sure what I expected to happen after Leo fulfilled his part of the bargain and let me fuck him. It certainly wasn’t his complete one-eighty into bi-land. But I saw it in his eyes when he stood over us, a perfect reflection of the bone-deep craving I have for both of them. I don’t think he sees me quite the same way as I see him, but I don’t really care. All that matters is that they’re here now, and neither seems the least bit spooked by how intense things got.

  If anything, I suspect Leo hasn’t come close to getting it out of his system. Even though he seems content to just snuggle, he’s still hard enough to go another round. I’m too dazed and muzzy from all the sex, so I can’t form the words to tell him I’m game. As sleepy as I am, I feel too alive with all the pent-up want for these two. I can imagine us going at it until we’re raw. Even though a very real downside to all of it looms, I’m not ready to acknowledge it yet. I want to milk it for all it’s worth and maybe even spend some time fantasizing about it not actually ending.

  I did kind of lay down my limits with Leo last night. That I don’t do casual. That if we do this, it isn’t just on a lark. And we did it, so what now? Was I too damn desperate to have them both admit they wanted something serious with me to see the one enormous roadblock to that ever happening? I mean, besides the fact that poly relationships are still pretty fucking taboo. Not to mention that anything that flirts with homosexuality doesn’t fly among the gangbangers Leo deals with, and he needs to maintain control. It’ll be difficult for him to hold on to that terrifying el Rey León persona if he ever comes out as anything remotely queer.

  But I don’t want to hide what we have. Not even from the one man who could—and probably will—take it all away from me the second he finds out.

  I’m suddenly aching for Leo to fuck me just to distract me from those thoughts, but I also don’t want to ruin this perfect moment.

  Instead, I lift onto my elbow to peer down at Celeste. She’s sound asleep and doesn’t make a move as I pull the blankets higher up to cover her bare shoulder. I remain propped on my elbow, gazing down at her for a minute in the faint light from the bathroom. I’m tempted to grope her just a little to reaffirm that this is all real, but she deserves her rest.

  “You all right?” Leo murmurs and I finally blurt out the thing that’s been eating at me since reality started to seep back in.

  “Arturo’s going to kill me, isn’t he? For real this time.”

  “He didn’t kill you the first time you defiled his daughter. Why would he now? Trust me, he doesn’t hold back if he intends to put a man in the ground.”

  “I was a kid then,” I say and shrug, not sure if that logic holds up or not. I shift onto my back and tuck Celeste closer to my side. She repositions in her sleep and sighs as her cheek comes to rest on my chest.

  “She was a kid then.” Leo reaches over me to brush a lock of hair off her forehead, remaining propped on one elbow looking down at us. It’s a tender gesture that drives home how deeply he cares for her. “I think the fact that he had you beat to shit is because of that, but the reason he didn’t kill you is unrelated.”

  “How much did she tell you?” I ask, because he’s letting on that he knows a lot more than I expected, all things considered.

  “Everything except who you were. You weren’t the only pendejo who got on Papá’s bad side for touching her. You’re just the only one who lived to tell. All she told me was that the first boy she was with was spared. The only other candidate didn’t have to do more than think about fucking her before he disappeared. She wanted to make sure I understood how real this is, if Papá Flores is allowing me to be with her.”

  “So you think he’d spare me now? Why? I didn’t save her life like you did.”

  He’s silent for a minute, then drops onto his back and stares at the ceiling, sighing. “I’ve been his lieutenant since September. Most of the shit I’ve learned since then I wish I didn’t know, but I wouldn’t change a thing since it means I get her. I’m going to tell you something that I don’t think Celeste knows, or she’d have already told you.”

  “I’m listening,” I say when he pauses and takes a breath, then looks at me.

  “I think your parents are working for him. Or your mom is, anyway.”

  I let out an involuntary laugh. “Fuck no, that’s impossible. My dad hates Arturo. Says the whole reason he joined the marines to begin with was to stay out of his reach. Which is fine by me, since it got him out of our hair most of the time. He wanted to leave LA, but Mom refused because she didn’t want to start over somewhere new. That’s probably why he keeps volunteering for assignments as far away as he can get.”

  He shoves himself back up onto one arm. “Mad Dog, how do you think your mom managed to keep her studio all this time? This is prime real estate. Real estate that Arturo Flores owns. You are here at the pleasure of the fucking king of Los Angeles. She’s been laundering money for him probably since you were born. He hasn’t killed you because she means something to him.”

  My urge to wrap my hands around his neck and make him take it back is only halted by the presence of the sleeping woman beside me. I clench my fists so hard my knuckles crack. My teeth grind together as I calm down but he still looks straight at me, not even flinching.

  “How do you know this?” I ask through gritted teeth.

  “Because he told me. Or he told me enough to put the rest together on my own. He could sell this building for millions the IRS would never question, yet he holds on to it to funnel dirty money through it, and not a lot at that. He says it has sentimental value, and I’m pretty sure he isn’t referring to whatever memories the place holds for Celeste.”

  “You think my mom and Arturo were—what?” I’m cold inside and a little nauseous, unwilling to complete the thought.

  Leo leans up on his elbow again, a worried look on his face. “Shit. I didn’t mean to suggest . . . I just thought if you knew, you’d stop worrying about the old man taking you out. It’s probably nothing like what you’re thinking.”

  But the truth is that it makes too much sense not to be exactly what I’m thinking. I just never realized it until now. Mom was Celeste’s dance teacher for years. Once a month, Arturo showed up to pick his daughter up after class, and every single time he came, he would meet with Mom in the office that used to be in the little room where I do tattoos.

  To the ten-year-old boy I was, it was just grown-ups doing grown-up business. I remember the night Celeste broke down in te
ars, crying about how her Mama was dead and wasn’t coming home. I didn’t know what the hell to do. Elle hadn’t been born yet, so I had no practice dealing with little girls. All I knew was that I’d be devastated if something like that happened to me, so I just held her and comforted her as well as I could.

  It just seemed logical that when I went to Mom’s office later to ask for a box of tissues, she was sitting on the love seat, holding Arturo in her arms. If Celeste’s mother was dead, that meant his wife was dead. Of course, he’d need to be comforted too.

  They looked shocked when I popped my head in, and Arturo moved away from her fast. Their clothes were all askew, but they weren’t naked. I just assumed he was too distraught to keep himself put together the way he usually was. Even at that age I grasped that losing a loved one would mess you up pretty bad. I didn’t think a thing of it, and every time after that I was more and more preoccupied with Celeste, too much so to care what kinds of meetings Mom had with Arturo.

  Leo squeezes my shoulder. I shake my head and scrub my face with my hand.

  “This can’t be real, but it makes too much sense. I remember seeing them together once. I mean, they were together a lot, but only this one time did they act strange about it.”

  I look at Leo, who still hasn’t spoken and whose expression looks a little too horrified to just be reacting to the confirmation that his boss probably slept with my mom.

  “What is it?” I ask, bracing myself for something even worse.

  He glances at Celeste. “He’s owned this building for more than thirty years. Do you think he and your mom were . . . all this time?”

  The bottom drops out of my stomach, and the world goes dark. When my vision clears, I’m standing at the foot of the bed with no memory of how I got there, shaking my head and staring at Leo. He’s kneeling now, hands stretched out to placate me. Celeste sits up, blinking in confusion.

  “What the hell?” she murmurs and rubs her eyes.

  “He is not my father. Don’t you even fucking suggest it!” I’m breathing fast, practically hyperventilating.

  “Maddox? What’s wrong?”

  I point at Celeste. “Tell him you’re not my sister. Jesus!”

  “Why would I be your sister? That’s ludicrous.”

  Leo puts himself between me and Celeste as if I’m some kind of threat. “Turns out his mom and your dad have been a lot closer for a lot longer than he realized.”

  Her eyes widen, and it’s clear she had no clue either. I’m racking my brain for something, anything to prove otherwise, but I just keep going back to that night more than sixteen years ago that proves my mom was having an affair with Arturo fucking Flores.

  Celeste leans over and turns on the bedside lamp, then climbs out of bed, grabs a clean shirt from my dresser, and slips into it. She’s so calm as she crawls back onto the foot of the bed and nudges Leo aside, then kneels in front of me, resting her palms on my shoulders. I flinch, still mentally rejecting the idea that I might have just fucked my sister.

  “Look at me,” she says, hooking her hands around the back of my neck and forcing me to tilt my head down and meet her eyes. “Papá didn’t move back to Los Angeles full-time until just before I was born. He and Mama lived in Cancún with . . . they lived in Cancún for at least three years before that. He and Mama were very happy, very much in love. They were until just before my mother’s death when I was eight.”

  “Celeste, he needs to know the truth,” Leo says.

  I narrow my eyes at her, and Celeste shoots Leo a withering look, then returns her gaze to me. “It is the truth. There’s no way you’re my father’s son. I know Marcella and Papá too well. I’ve only seen photos of your father, but you look just like him. So do your brothers.”

  “And my sister . . .” I begin, but I know that’s wrong because Elle looks nothing like Dad.

  “I don’t know,” she says, seeming to pick up my train of thought. “What you’re thinking is possible if I’m following this conversation right.”

  “What are you keeping from me?” I demand, gripping her by the upper arms.

  She clenches her jaw for a second, giving me a hard stare as if she’s digging her heels in about something, then finally relents. “My parents had an open marriage. But before that they were in a triad with someone else.”

  “Tell him,” Leo says.

  “Does it matter who it was?” Celeste snaps at him. “All that matters is that Papá will understand this. And he’ll accept Maddox because he helped us that night. I know there’s no love lost between Papá and Julian Santos, but Maddox is Marcella’s son, so that must count for something.”

  “It’s not the kind of secret you keep from someone you love, Celeste,” Leo says. “You of all people should believe that.”

  A pained look crosses her face, and now I’m really worried. Should I sit down for this? When she doesn’t say anything, I back up and collapse into the ratty armchair behind me. Whatever it is, it can’t be any worse than the revelation about my mom’s extracurricular activities. But Celeste doesn’t seem fazed by the idea that her dad was kind of a man-whore, so maybe I should chill out.

  She scoots to the end of the bed, draping her legs over the edge, and squares her shoulders. I raise my eyebrows. She’s gearing up for something a lot more in depth than just naming names.

  “The night Leo was shot, Gustavo had, unbeknownst to me, scheduled a gun deal that was not sanctioned by my father. Papá doesn’t deal guns anymore. He hasn’t in several years. Most of our regular income comes from black-market antiquities. I didn’t realize this was happening until later, and it isn’t really important. What’s important is that the man Gustavo was dealing with was someone called Amador.”

  I swallow and look away, not sure what this has to do with the discussion at hand, and really wary of letting on that I already know all this.

  “Amador is—”

  “I know who he is,” I say.

  When I go silent again, she takes a breath and continues. “Amador and my father were once as close as brothers . . .” she begins, but what she tells me next has nothing to do with Amador’s reputation as the leader of the most dangerous drug cartel in Mexico. It has everything to do with her origins and her father’s love for her mother. The three of them were—What? A thruple? Is that what we have now?—and were together a long way from Los Angeles when Mom and Dad got married and had me.

  This news doesn’t really settle the question of my siblings’ paternity, but Celeste was right about my brothers—we’re all our father’s sons. Even Sam has the same piercing gray eyes as our dad, eyes that see more than I want, at least when he’s actually paying attention. Elle is the spitting image of Mom except for her eyes, which are a gorgeous hazel, not unlike the eyes looking at me right now.

  Celeste lets out a breath and drops her hands to her knees. “Anyway, does that ease your worries?”

  I nod but I’m not sure I’m very convincing. It does ease my immediate worries, but it doesn’t answer all my questions by a long shot. “The woman who rejected your father before he moved back to Mexico, did he tell you her name?”

  She frowns and shakes her head. “I didn’t think it mattered, but if it was Marcella, that would explain the animosity Papá has for your father.”

  I snort. It would explain a lot more than that. What it wouldn’t explain was why Mom stayed with Dad all these years despite his frequent absences and how awful he treats her. Especially if Arturo was kind to her and has been a widower all these years.

  Celeste stands and closes the distance between us, slipping into my lap and hooking her fingers behind my neck. I reflexively slip my hands around her waist and look up at her, relieved but still uncertain.

  “The important thing is that Papá isn’t a stranger to a relationship like ours. He knows what you did for us. And if he really does have a soft spot for your mother, that’s even better.”

  That wasn’t my big takeaway from her story, but I concede that she’s rig
ht. It’s at least worth testing the waters and maybe not worrying that he’ll have me killed.

  “I think we can both protect you,” Leo says. “If he’s pissed about it, anyway.”

  I sink back into the armchair with a weary sigh. This whole night has been exhausting in both the best and worst ways, and I’m ready to get back to the good parts. I take in Leo, who has moved to the end of the bed and sits with his elbows on his knees, watching me with concern creasing his brow. Celeste’s plump ass feels amazing on my lap, both her bare thighs draped across my legs.

  “Is this even real?” I blurt, looking between them both. “All that craziness aside, I still can’t believe you two are here. That you’re serious about . . . about me. Please tell me if you’re fucking with me because I would rather know sooner than later. And you.” I point at Leo. “Jesus, man, I thought I disgusted you the way you ran out of here that night. What changed?”

  He shakes his head, his hair a wild, dark tangle brushing his shoulders. “It wasn’t what you told me that made me run. It was the fact that you kept it a secret from me for so long. I thought of you as a brother after all those hours I spent in your chair, under your needle. You know all my secrets. More than any other artist, even Toni, and she’s been my best friend for years.” He tilts his head, then adds, “Maybe I was running from myself a little too. I might have had a bit of a man-crush on you but wasn’t ready to admit it.”

  Laughing, I say, “Well, obviously, the feeling was mutual. Too bad Celeste had to sacrifice her own ass for you to admit it.”

  He gives Celeste an appraising look. “Nah, I’m glad she’s at the center of this. Nothing has ever made more sense to me than this.”