Meat Market Anthology

by S. Van Horne

  God, I need a fucking vacation…a few seconds to breathe because I’m drowning under all the stress, loans, and bills.

  But even that costs money. Everything costs money. Money that I don’t have.

  “Antonio, mijo.”

  Fuck. Why does life have to be so hard?

  “¡Mijo!” she repeats in a sharper tone.

  “Sorry, Ma. I love you, but I need to go.”

  As much as I love my mother, I can’t talk to her right now. My thoughts are focused on other things, like trying to figure out a way to pay for everything without turning to illicit means, mainly finally breaking down and contacting my cousin and taking the Gaitan’s money. But if I do that, my mother will surely have a heart attack or disown me.

  So, I must figure some other way because those bills are stacking up. Before long, I’ll be a marked man with a collection agency, and my credit will be even further in the pits than it is now.

  After saying my farewell, with a promise to call her after work, I hang up.

  I rest my head in my hands and gulp for air.

  In…out…

  I repeat until my body calms, and I feel in some sort of control.

  My waist vibrates, indicating I’m needed. I unhook the pager from my waist and scan the code. Work calls.

  Minutes later, I enter a patient’s room. I have every inch of this floor memorized, so I go in while reading the patient’s chart: twenty-five-year-old female, health insurance coverage current, a lump on her right hand.

  Though I’m not supposed to judge, the reason she’s in the emergency room seems excessive. She’s spending thousands of dollars on an emergency room visit when she could have called her primary care physician.

  “Good afternoon, I’m Dr. Gaitan, and I’ll be your attending physician.” I look up and take a step back in surprise.

  The room is filled. Almost a dozen men arch around the hospital bed. Their gazes zoom in on me, their faces scowling.

  Clearing my throat, I take a tentative step forward. “Okay…” At the sound of my voice, their bodies go taut, their jaws clench, and their arms flex, all except for the older gentleman. “Where is my patient?”

  For a moment, I even fear they’ll pounce.

  “Here.” The female voice draws my attention to the bed.

  She sits in the center, between an older woman, who’s holding her hand, and a younger woman with short blonde hair. The older woman looks familiar. Maybe a prior patient or family member?

  “I’m the patient.” She raises her hand in the air, like an elementary school student, and smiles at me sheepishly. Her cheeks are rose-tinted. “Please excuse…” She jumps off the bed to stand before me and jerks her thumb back toward the formation behind her.

  Her apology falls on deaf ears because nothing registers through my brain but the vision of her. My eyes devour every detail, from the top of her dark-haired head to the tip of her boots, and then back up again. Even in her plain t-shirt and well-worn, fitted jeans—that mold her luscious, full hips and fit like a glove down to where they’re tucked into a pair of working boots—she’s a vision. A curvaceous, mouth-watering, rocking body vision out of every male’s wet dream.

  A weird sensation flutters in my stomach; my breathing becomes difficult; and my legs go weak. Gripping the chart, I fight the urge to pull her toward me and stroke every hill and valley of her body. My mouth aches for a taste of her.

  Dirty, naughty images fill my mind. Images of those full, rosy lips of hers begging to be kissed. Images of her lips wrapped around my thick, hard cock. Images of me sliding into her.

  My pants tighten.

  “Yo, doc! You better get those thoughts out of your head and start thinking with the head above your waist, or we’ll beat the ever-living-shit out of you,” one of the males calls out.

  And just like a bucket full of ice-cold water being poured over my head, I’m snapped back to the present.

  Well, fuck me.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ALEJANDRA

  IT’S ILLEGAL TO COMMIT MURDER, I keep reminding myself as I sit on the hospital bed waiting to see a doctor. There’s no way I can get away with it when it’s my entire family and my best friend I’m considering offing.

  “I don’t need this, Abuelita. You’re overreacting!” My words are aimed at the stone wall that is my grandmother.

  My eyes implore someone, anyone to take my side, but no one comes to my rescue against Doña Cecilia.

  My cousins are no help, for they are enjoying this visit to the hospital too. They are worried about the lump on my hand, but at the same time, they take pleasure that this emergency room visit is on me and not one of their escapades. After all the shit I’ve given them over the years, this is something they’ll never let me live down. Though worry is mixed with the elated look on their faces, I am the baby of the family, therefore, it’s their duty to cause me any type of embarrassment—a duty they take to heart.

  My grandfather, who has his hands on my grandmother’s shoulders, shakes his head at my protests.

  Then, there’s Teresa who is rubbing my back in a manner she thinks is soothing, but is really driving me insane. She’s no help at all.

  “We’re going to spend so much money on this visit, and all for nothing,” I continue to protest, hoping someone will change their mind at the mention of money.

  Instead, my grandmother’s grip on my left hand tightens, her lips form a thin line, and her nostrils flare in irritation.

  “Alej!” Her voice vibrates with fury, and she is literally shaking beside me. “Your abuelo and I have not worked our entire lives, sometimes going without, to build a name for ourselves, to build a legacy, and to provide a nest egg for each of you children for naught. If I want to spend a fortune to ensure you are healthy, then I will. I would give my fortune for each of my grandchildren. Do you understand me?”

  Her question strikes fear in me because this is the voice she uses when she’s about to explode. My grandfather leans down and whispers in her ear. Her body relaxes, and the grip on my hand lessens.

  I breathe a sigh of relief and bow my head in submission.

  “Yes, ma’am,” is my only response because nothing I say will get me out of this room. Not until my grandmother is certain I’m okay.

  “Relax, Alej,” Teresa murmurs from my other side.

  “You know that hand is about to be smacked away. Right?” I grumble.

  “You’re ungrateful, you know that?” she states without remorse or anger. She’s known me from the moment I came to live with my grandparents. “I’m trying to soothe you.”

  “Well, it ain’t helping.”

  “Fine,” she huffs, snatching her hand away from my back.

  “Fine.” I chuckle and bump shoulders with her. She smiles at me.

  “Good afternoon, I’m Dr. Gaitan.” A gruff, smoky, and very appealing voice sounds as a new person walks into the room. “And I’ll be your attending physician.”

  My eyes snap up, and I freeze.

  Lord…he’s over six feet of pure male deliciousness. His bronze-tanned skin and lean and well-toned muscle is encased in dark blue scrubs, and my fingers long to run their way through his attractive tousled nest of light brown hair. I could practically drown in his beautiful hazel eyes.

  “Hay, Dios mío…” my grandmother sighs.

  “Sweet, baby Jesus. Pour some chocolate on that man and let me lick him dry to my heart’s content,” Teresa moans.

  That jerks me out of my reverie. My jaw clenches at the image she paints. Teresa is sexy, attractive, and never lacks from male attention. But the thought of her with him, in that manner, makes me want to scratch my best friend’s eyes out. It’s an unfamiliar sensation, and one I don’t quite like. We’ve never had a rivalry between us. Not even when we both liked the same boy in middle school. No man has ever come between us. My reaction to him and her words unsettle me. It scares me.

  My body tenses and a low rumble sounds deep in my throat.
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  She sends me a questioning side-glance. “Did you just growl?” She sounds incredulous.

  “No,” I snap and look up, hoping the doctor didn’t notice our little interaction.

  He didn’t. His gaze is focused on the embarrassing male wall behind us.

  “Okay…” Indecision crosses his face before he takes a cautious step forward. “Where is my patient?

  Irritation and anger is long forgotten and mortification takes their place.

  “Here.” I raise my hand. “I’m the patient.” And I can’t help but give him a small please-forgive-us-smile.

  My face burns, and I pray against hope that I’m not as red as a tomato. Hoping to gain some control over this mess of a situation, I jump off the bed and stand before him.

  “Please excuse…” I don’t bother finishing the sentence. I just jerk my thumb at the Neanderthals behind me.

  His eyes survey me up and down, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. My mortification heightens when I remember my clothes. While Teresa is dressed in a cute, fitted, low-cut V-neck jumpsuit with heels, I’m dressed in an old t-shirt, work pants, and work boots.

  I try to calm myself by taking several deep breaths. No matter what I wear, I’ll never measure up to his movie-star good looks. There’s no way this Adonis of a man is interested in me because men like him are never interested in tomboy princesses like myself.

  “Yo, doc!” Max calls out, popping his knuckles. “You better get those thoughts outta that head of yours and start thinking with the head above your waist, or we’ll beat the ever living daylights outta ya.”

  And just like that, the gorgeous doctor is forgotten because murder is once again at the forefront of my mind. Nothing will save them from my wrath when we get out of here.

  I’m going to kill them all.

  ANTONIO

  It was pure torture.

  Touching her. Being close to her. So close, I could smell her light, flowery scent, reminding me of a fresh, spring day. It was natural, and not at all overpowering.

  One hour of touching her unexpectedly rough hand drove me almost insane with desire.

  After discovering she worked in the oil and construction field, I understood the callouses, and my want of her rose to a whole new level for she was a strong, determined, independent woman.

  The need to kiss her or ask her on a date was almost more than I could endure.

  Then, add the wall of testosterone, their death glares, and hovering presence over my shoulder, and my desire mingled with frustration. Not even their explanation of making sure I didn’t “cop a feel” calmed me. Only the look in Alejandra’s grandmother’s eyes kept me from being an ass and kicking them out.

  However, when I took an ultrasound of her hand and they all leaned forward to see the screen, the green monster reared its head. I witnessed her family rally behind her and a twinge of envy settled over me because that is what I could have had if my father hadn’t died—a big, loving, and supporting family.

  The ultrasound showed a five-millimeter mass located on the side of her right hand, below her index finger. There were no signs to indicate alarm, though her grandmother did insist I bring in a second opinion, from an “actual experienced doctor” because it was her baby’s life in my hands. After the second doctor confirmed my diagnosis, Alejandra was discharged, and with her, my only chance at something more than stress, work, and worry about money.

  Finally, I’m free until my next shift. Ten whole hours to eat, shower, run errands, and get that blessed and much-needed sleep.

  I settle on the couch and take a huge bite out of my peanut butter sandwich—the first “decent” meal in God knows how many hours, because hospital snacks do not qualify as food—and dial Jax’s number.

  Jax, a buddy of mine from college, should be able to help me find a way to make some extra cash. After all, he helps his brother, the butcher, with their well-known establishment—The Meat Market. Together, they worked their business out of the red and into the black, bringing in a good lump sum of profit. Surely, he’ll be able to give me ideas or even an offer. Yes, he’ll razz me some after my constant refusal to work for them, or at least “help” out every now and then, when they offered me a “job” in the past. Though I’ve refused time and again, things do change, and desperate times call for desperate measures. At this time, my morals have taken a backseat to my financial need.

  Hearing Jax’s voice on the other side of the phone is stress relieving. With him, I don’t have to hold back about my worries. I can talk.

  The conversation starts out with the usual greetings and him talking about a recent client of his—his very first client, the one who got away, and who is now back with life-changing news. I briefly mention Alejandra, the highlight of my socially-lacking life, then ease into the main reason for my call: I’m folding.

  I’m no longer saying no to their offer.

  As anticipated, Jax gives me shit, but what should I expect from a friend? If I were in his shoes, I’d do some teasing before welcoming him with wide open arm.

  He gets me in touch with his older brother, the butcher, and after a discussion with him, ironing out the details, my rules for my level of involvement, and discussing my cut, I’m put on the menu—a new addition to their “stock.”

  My description on the menu states, “Chorizo: Age twenty-eight, Mexican-American medical resident. Sal is a recent addition to the Meat Market stock. Six-foot-one, bronze skin, light-brown hair, with honey-colored eyes you can drown in. Great for evening galas, family gatherings, and a quiet, tranquil evening for two.”

  Jason explained that all the guys use a fake name, so I decided to go by Sal—a nickname Jax gave me in college to shorten my middle name, Salvador.

  “Welcome to The Meat Market,” Jason adds to his farewell before hanging up.

  At his words, I’m unsure whether to laugh or cry. What the fuck did I just get myself into? God, I pray my mother, who is highly conservative, never finds out because her disappointment is worse than her chancla.

  She will flip if she ever discovers I just became the Chorizo in the Butcher’s Meat Market.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ALEJANDRA

  THAT’S IT! I’M DONE. I can’t take this anymore.

  Not even the threat of jail will keep me from eliminating my cousins and Teresa from the face of this Earth. I love my family, but the past three days have been pure and utter Hell!

  The smothering, the constant rotation of babysitters, the restriction of not lifting a finger for anything, the imprisonment in my own home…they don’t understand that I need to move, to work, to do something. I can’t just sit and relax because I’m going insane.

  “Come on, Alej. Open wide,” Max croons, making airplane motions with the spoon, like I’m a baby, as he tries to force-feed me some damn applesauce.

  I try not to wretch. That abomination people call a healthy snack is inches from my face.

  “I’m going to vomit all over you,” I warn him, inching away.

  But my escape attempts are pointless. Teresa’s body traps me, making me an easy target for Max and his antics.

  “Alej,” he sighs in an over-dramatic show of patience. “Applesauce is great for you.” He sticks the spoon closer to my face. I jerk back, almost onto Teresa’s lap. The traitor laughs. “Come on. This applesauce is one-hundred percent natural and low in sugar. De-li-cious.” He makes fake savoring sounds. “It’s healthy, light in calories, loaded with vitamin C, and—”

  “Then, you eat it.” I slap the blasted thing away.

  “Hell no! Abuelita made this for you. I don’t eat t…this shit.” He makes a disgusted face.

  “Then why the hell are you forcing it on me?”

  “Because you’re the baby, and this is what babies eat.”

  “You’re such an—”

  “Plus, it’s high in fiber, so you’ll feel fuller,” he interrupts me. “Trust me, your hips will thank you.”

  “You’re an ass!”<
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  “Come on, Alej. Just eat it so we can leave this room,” Teresa pleads. “Abuelita won’t let you go back into hiding before you finish it. Since she’s gotten a taste for applesauce and proclaims all of its healing powers, she’s convinced it’s going to make the lump disappear faster.”

  “No. I’m done!” I jump from the couch and make sure to stay as far away from that mush as I can.

  “Alejandra Maria de la Rosa!” My grandmother’s voices booms through the house.

  “Fuck,” I whisper under my breath.

  “I heard that.” She walks into the room, hands on her hips, and eyes narrowed in displeasure. “You will eat that applesauce, and you will like it. Do. You. Understand. Me?”

  “Please…” Without shame at the witnesses present, I throw myself at her feet imploringly. “Anything but that, Abuelita. That stuff is vile and will make me sick. That’s what happened last time.”

  “Last time, you were so drunk, you thought it was a melted Jell-O shot,” Teresa points out.

  “Really, Tere?” I exclaim, giving her a you-better-shut-the-hell-up glare. We don’t talk about those days.

  Abuelita clears her throat. She looks down at me before offering me her hand to stand. “Basta, before I give you something to really cry about,” she commands, putting a stop to any more of my antics. “Fine. You want to leave without finishing the snack I made you? Okay.”

  “Really?” My voice is filled with hope.

  “Yes,” she answers. “But,” she raises her hand, stopping me from running out of the room, “I will let you leave, and by leave, I mean leave this house, if, and only if, you run an errand for me.”

  “Anything,” I promise.

  “You will run this errand alone,” she emphasizes when Teresa comes to stand at my side.