Punished (Calavera Hotels #1)

Chapter Eight Adrian

I’m sitting in the passenger seat of a black van with Osiel and Ricky as we drive through, collecting money from different banks and organizations that operate under the guise of the cartel. I’m still trying to figure out my phone when I see an incoming call from the FDC. I had been waiting for Efren to call me back so I could check in with him.

“Hello?”

“Hey, big homie. I haven’t been able to call. They’re trying to move me to a detention center.” I knew Efren was considered illegal, despite spending his whole life here. He could have applied for his citizenship at eighteen, but we were only seventeen when we were tried as adults. His foster parents couldn’t legally adopt him without admitting to their own crimes .

“I’ll talk to Patricio. Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m thinking of just going back. There’s some work Vidal wants me to do and, honestly, I think it’s time I meet my parents.” I go silent, and he knows what I won’t say. I need him here with me. The guys I work with are reliable, but I don’t trust anyone the way I trust Efren. We have been raising ourselves for years, and we would take a bullet for each other if we had to.

“Did you give her the letter?” he asks, and I already know who. I didn’t ask a lot of questions, but Efren wanted me to deliver a letter to Alma Guiterez, his brother’s ex-girlfriend.

“Yeah, your sources were right. She works at the hotel as a maid. I gave it to her this morning.”

“Thanks. I don’t want to interfere with her life, but I owe it to my brother to make sure she’s alright.” I don’t push the subject, and he doesn’t have to explain shit to me. I never explained my whole newfound rich family or the cartel shit I dragged him into with me.

The fifteen minutes run out and I return my focus to work. The three of us are on our way to Conejo’s ranch.

“Look at all these billetes!” Ricky says, and I look back to see we’ve filled the entire back of the van with bags of money. We get to the front gates of Conejo’s ranch. He has guards spread out all over the property. We make it up a large hill to see a large green house. When we pass by it, I see a woman around my age watering flowers. She has long blonde hair and waves as we pass by.

Ricky whistles low from the back seat as Osiel drives on to the back of the property where the warehouse sits.

“How does someone as ugly as Conejo make a fine ass daughter like that?”

“Nah, fool. I’m not into orgies,” Osiel says, and we look at him, confused.

“I’ve known her since I was a toddler. I’m telling you, homegirl has like seven different personalities in one. Could you imagine trying to have sex with all of them?”

I shake my head and Ricky lets out a laugh.

“No mames!” Ricky says in disbelief. Osiel is always joking about something. We drive a few more miles until we reach the warehouse. Several trucks are parked out front, ready to take their loads. We divide the money between the different dealers before splitting our cut of it. It’s a promotion for me not having to directly touch drugs or kill someone for pay. A perk of being a Consuelo, I presume. I’m about to get back in the van when Conejo pulls me aside.

“Did you see my daughter, Genesis, out front?”

“Ya. I mean, we all saw her. She was watering flowers,” I say, assuming he wanted us to check on her.

“What did you think?” Shit. I already know where this conversation is going. Conejo is old school. He believes in arranged marriages, and because he trusts me, he wants to give her to me. Flattering. But she’s not my type. I barely noticed her when we passed by. My thoughts are still stuck on a certain brunette with big brown eyes and that intoxicating smell of vanilla. The feel of her ass molding into me when I reached over her the other day.

“I’m not trying to settle down just yet,” I say, and he nods.

“She’s a good girl. She’s obedient, knows how to cook, cleans, and doesn’t talk back. When you’re ready to settle down, you let me know, and she’s yours, vato.” He says it like she’s one of his animals he’s trying to auction off. Like those qualities would be a selling point. To me, it just sounds safe and boring as hell. Now I just felt bad for the girl.

I t’s late when we get back to the hotel. Osiel and Ricky convince me to join them for a few drinks in the hotel bar before I head up. When I walk in, I see Mireya and Alma in a corner booth. My eyes roam over Mireya. Her hair is up in a ponytail, gold hoops dangle from her ears. She’s still in her work pants, but she’s removed the polo top, and in its place is a thin, black spaghetti-strap tank top. Her large boobs on full display. My mouth waters like I’ve been stranded for days in the desert. Alma catches me staring and shoots me a dirty look.

“That one has veneno for blood,” Ricky says, and I look to see Thalia walking in to join them. I would bet the 10K I made today to back Ricky’s claim. She most definitely has poison or some other toxin in her blood. I watch as he stares her up and down. Gross . I look and see Osiel is a bit more respectful and adverts his eyes back to the bar. He’s just here for a good time. The cartel funds his father’s construction business. A business that he would be taking over soon, since his dad played his cards right. I heard stories about his father while I was in prison. Someone crossed him and he cemented their body into one of his construction sites. They would be the ideal partners going forward, when Vidal was ready to expand his operations in the real estate market.

I listen to the conversation between Osiel and the bartender, but my eyes never leave Mireya. Osiel must have noticed me staring when he comes up beside me. He hands me a Modelo and uses the end of his beer bottle to point it towards Mireya. “You know her?”

“I used to,” I say before I take a swig of my beer .

“Before you went to prison or what?”

“We grew up in the same hood. I was just wondering what the last six years looked like for her.” He fiddles with his phone before looking up at me.

“Well, according to Instagram, not much.” He leans in to show me something on his phone. I look quickly at his screen. I don’t want to seem too desperate, but Osiel has already picked up on my curiosity.

“Oh, we are making you an account, homie. How else you going to get laid in 2024?”

Within an hour, he makes me a profile with a picture and follows himself and some porn stars. He shows me how easy it was to find her, since he and Alma were friends. She has a ton of tagged pictures of them out together. Then he gives Ricky and I a brief course on IG stalking.

“Rule #1: Don’t like anything. It will notify her you liked it, and she’ll know you were creepin. Rule #2: Never watch her stories or lives. She can see who watches the stories. And bet your ass she will block you. Or worse, she’ll put you on blast and tag you. Eliminating any chance you may have had with one of her homegirls.”

He is obviously talking from experience. The guy has a PhD in failed relationships and an understudy in internet stalking. I’m not sure what was creepier–the fact he knew all this or the way Ricky is taking in all the info and writing notes on his phone. I zone out when he starts on his Tinder lesson.

I don’t have time to figure out a dating app nor am I interested. I just need to figure out what Mireya has been up to the last six years. It’s like an itch I need to scratch, and I convince myself it is fueled by my need for revenge. Surely, it has nothing to do with the way I feel every time I look at her. This longing need to see what she hides under the thin material of her tank top. The smell of her arousal. The taste of her orgasm. Fuck. I just need to look at her page once. Scratch the itch and continue on like we never knew each other. A plan I already screwed up after tasting the orange in Don Mario’s cookies and warning her.

Time flies when you're stalking your ex-girlfriend. The bartender calls out for last call and I move to pay our tab. While Osiel was crafting a horrific Tinder bio for Ricky, I spent most the night looking up the last six years of Mireya’s life. You’d think she was the one who was in prison, as there were very few pictures of her. Most of the ones I found were tagged on Thalia and Alma’s Instagrams. She never posted a picture of her by herself. Most of her posts are pictures of her, Thalia, and Alma. There are a ton of nurse memes, pictures of food, and a ton of pictures of a fat cat. A cat lady. I hated cats. But it’s better than seeing pictures of her and Bryan. There is absolutely no sign of Bryan. No sign of any guy. No sign of her mom, who probably still hates me. Her highlights, which Osiel said were safe to stalk, are mostly a recap of their Thursday nights and family events with the Consuelos. She’s spent the last 6 years more involved with my biological family than I have been.

I leave the bar and head to the elevator, where a very drunk Thalia and Mireya are trying to help an unconscious Alma get in. They finally get her in, and before the doors can close, I squeeze myself through. Alma’s leaning against the elevator wall as she passes out. Mireya holds her up and Thalia is laughing on the floor. Mireya sighs in frustration. She’s the soberest of the three of them. She avoids eye contact with me, as usual. Anytime I am around, she looks at anything but me. It’s like she is afraid of what would happen if she looks directly at me. Good. She should be afraid of me. She is my enemy.

She bites down on her bottom lip and I press the button up to the thirteenth floor. I’m fighting my carnal urge to pick her up and drag her to my room when the elevator doors open. I watch as Mireya tries to get both Thalia and Alma out, but it’s a bit of a struggle.

I move to Thalia’s side, and she looks up at me, her eyes glazed over. “Frankenstein,” she says, then begins laughing hysterically again. I reach down and pick her up, motioning to Mireya to show me the way.

“Come on, loca. Let’s get you home,” I say as she continues laughing like a madwoman. If her head starts spinning around, I will drop her ass so fast. I was down to kill anyone who crossed me, but what I was not willing to do was fight a demon possessed bitch. Mireya guides me to Thalia’s penthouse. Thalia lives with Olivia, my biological aunt, and her twin children.

Olivia opens the door and she looks tired. We obviously woke her up. She looks down at Thalia and sighs.

“Let me guess. Top Shelf Thursday?” she says, as Thalia starts to mumble a refute. She looks upset as she looks down on Thalia, but when her eyes meet mine, she gives me a warm smile. Olivia motions to enter and leads me to the back bedroom. “Shhh,” she whispers. “The kids are sleeping.”

Their penthouse is much bigger than the one I’m staying in. There’s a large kitchen and a dining room off to the side. The walls are covered with pictures of Thalia, Olivia, and the two children.

“That’s Lucia and Luca. The twins,” Mireya says from behind me. She smiles softly and I nod. She passes me, and I follow her to a back room. The room is full of gothic décor. Framed horror movie posters line the walls. All the movies from the late 70s, early 80s. The Omen, Carrie, and The Awakening.

“Thank you,” Olivia says, and I drop Thalia on the bed, watching her fall to the mattress hard. She reaches for her head and groans. Olivia’s eyes widen as she stifles a laugh. As a kid, I always felt alone and wanted a sibling. Now that I had Wednesday Addams as a sister, I wasn’t too thrilled. Thalia starts laughing again, and Olivia rolls her eyes and slams the door behind us. She leads us into the kitchen and goes to the back room to get Alma a blanket.

“They all love you, and I know you are all still trying to get to know one another, but they are good people.” I turn to look at Mireya, into her big brown eyes. Something about the way she looks at me brings me back to a time when I thought we’d be together forever. Memories of her arms wrapped around me, the letters she would write me, our late night phone conversations. I never once let those memories disturb me while I was locked up. I never thought of her, and now that she has appeared back in my life, those memories are infecting me. Like the time I threw a rock at a wasp nest then ran like hell. That’s how this felt. Those memories catching up to me every time I was around her. Just like wasps stinging me over and over again that day. I knew better than to let her in. She was a piece of normal to me during a difficult time, while I was trying to navigate the chaos of my mother. We aren’t the same dumb kids we used to be. It was just a phase, and it’s better to pretend she never existed than to wonder if she ever cared at all. If she had, she wouldn’t have worked with Bryan to set me up.

I’m about to leave when something catches my eye. The bracelet she’s wearing. She notices where my eyes are focused and glances down. I grab her by the wrist and pull her into me. She doesn’t pull back, and I lean into her. My lips brush over her jaw, then up, as I whisper in her ear, “Goodnight, Mariah.”