Fistful of Benjamins (16 page)

 

“F
uck me, Julian! Fuck me,” Malena begs while moonlight bathes her dark, satin skin.

I lift up her baby-oiled body and jam her up against the bedroom wall. She wraps her long legs around my hips and I slide effortlessly into her tight pussy.

“God, you feel so good,” I growl into the crook of her neck.

It's the only truth I've told lately.

Shit got real complicated the second I moved into her place. Friends became friends with benefits within a matter of days. My sex-starved body now ravishes her nightly. Malena loves it, even though she complains that I'm insatiable. That is probably true, too—at least as long as she wears her jasmine-scented perfume. That shit drives me wild.

“Oh.
Oooh
.
Oooh
.” Malena rakes her nails down my back.

I hiss because they course the same tender path every night. Still, the shit doesn't stop my dick game. Hell, I can't stop. A blinding lust that I don't understand takes over my body—but it has nothing to do with Malena personally. Yes, the sex is good, but no matter how hard or long I fuck her she never fills the hole inside of me.

The longing.

“That's it, baby. Ah. I'm coming!” Malena's legs lock around my waist as her pussy squeezes my cock.

I close my eyes and allow a cloud of jasmine to take me away where a shadowy woman teases my mind and body.
Who is she?

“Oh.
Fuuuck
,” I roar, thrusting my hips harder, deeper, and faster.

“Julian,” the other woman whispers in my head.

“
Awwww.”
As I rock my head back my entire body quakes before I blast off inside of her.

Malena screams out my name as she explodes and coats my dick with her body's thick honey. Spent, we remain entwined up against the wall, panting and struggling to get our breath.

Hot and sweaty, we tumble into bed.

I'm the first to come back down to earth and when I stare into Malena's moon-glow face, I'm disturbed by how little I feel for the woman who's taken me into her home, who feeds, clothes and even fucks me on a nightly basis. What the hell is wrong with me? Why can't I feel something for her?

As usual, Malena curls into a spoon.

I hate this shit, but I force myself to endure it because I owe her. Everything I have I owe to this woman. This shit is frustrating. So far, my ace detective hasn't been able to find jack shit. Something has to happen. I don't know how much longer I can fake it.

“What are you thinking about?”

The question comes out of left field and jars me.

When I don't answer, she glances over her shoulder and peers up at me through the silvery moonlight. “Julian?”

“Nothing . . . everything.”

“You've been so distant lately.”

Huffing out a long breath, I roll out of our spooning position and let my mask slip. “Don't start this shit again.”

“What?” Malena gasps and sits up straight. “I just want to talk to you.”

I toss the silk sheets off and sit on the side of the bed. “Talk about what? We keep talking about the same shit over and over again.” I try to reel in my anger but her needling has gotten under my skin. All she does is yap, yap, yap. I could fucking strangle her some fucking times. I've actually dreamed about it.

“Is it something that I've done?” she asks.

“I don't know why you can't understand that I'm frustrated about this whole situation. Not everything is about you.”

“Ouch.”

“You asked.” I climb out of bed and pace.

“Sorry. I was—”

“You were
what
?” I snap. “Can't we ever just fuck and go to sleep? Do you really have to know what the hell I'm thinking about every damn second of the day?”

“You know what? Fuck you!” She hops out of bed and storms to the adjoining bathroom.

I glare at the closed door. “I got to get the fuck out of here.”
And go where?
Pissed, I pace like a caged animal. Finally, I stomp out of the bedroom to the kitchen where I down two beers in two minutes. It's also where Malena finds me.

Irritated, I'm not ready for another round of ‘talks'. “I'm going to move out,” I tell her.

“What? No. Why? Is it something I did? I can change. I can fix it.”

“The last thing I want to do is to overstay my welcome. I don't want you to feel like I'm taking advantage of you.”

“No. I've never said that.”

“But it's time for me to face the real possibility that I may never get my memory back. I have to start building a life.”

“Without me?”

I stop pacing. “I didn't say that.”

“But you've been thinking about it.”

Tell her the truth.
“You deserve much better than . . . damaged goods.”

“Don't say that. You're not damaged goods—even if you never get your memory back. You have so much to offer.”

I shoot her a dubious look, which compels her to continue. “Look. You're good-looking, intelligent, strong. Even if you have to start over, you can do anything that you set your mind to. My brother Diego says you're doing great over at the club, right?”

“Diego. Humph.” I roll my eyes. I hate that job, but there was no point in bringing that up. We can go around and around on that shit all night.

Malena reaches out and grabs my hands. “Come back to bed,” she coos. “I'm not ready to go to sleep yet.”

I let her lead me forward and she peppers kisses along my neck. I close my eyes as jasmine floods my senses and seduces me.

 

I
t's another Saturday night at Playa del Carmen's hottest club. It's wall to wall with scantily-dressed women and testosterone-charged men. The hard-driving beats from the DJ's turntable have everyone turned up. Guarding the door, I'm amused at how the bougie transforms into the rachet within five seconds of walking through the door.

Multicolored strobe lights splash over the crowd while a thick, potent cloud of ganja, soured cologne, and funk pollutes the air. After three months of this shit, I'm bored with it all. However, it's a job that pays under the table and is tiding me over so that I don't feel like I'm taking advantage of my living situation.

“Yo, man. Are you all right?”

“What?”

Kaleef, another bouncer shakes his head and chuckles under his breath. “Damn, man. You're really zoned out, huh?”

“Nah. Nah. I'm cool. What's up?”

Kaleef jets his thumb over his beefy shoulder toward the closest bar. “You got some chick asking for you.”

“Me? Are you sure?”

“Yep. She asked for Julian. You're the only one that works here.”

My gaze sweeps to the bar where I spot Amalia, a bona fide knockout in a gold, shimmering number that showcases her chiseled abs.

“Hope you don't mind my saying that your new baby girl is thick as hell,” Kaleef jokes, pounding me on the back. “Better not let wifey find out that you're dipping your dick in random chicks.”

I frown. “Thanks, but she's not my girl—and Malena isn't wifey.”

“Uh-huh.” Kaleef says. “Well, boost a nigga up and send baby girl my way when you're through talking to her. You know how I do.”

I smirk and share a fist bump with the brothah, but when I walk away I roll my eyes and toss Kaleef's request out of my mind. “Hey, you,” I greet Amalia. “I thought that you only remembered me on paydays.”

“Not likely.” She meets my gaze. “You're kind of a hard man to forget.”

My brows shoot up as I take my time to do a slow drag over her shapely figure. She doesn't stir my blood either—not like the woman who teases me in my dreams nightly. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“Tempting—but I'm on the clock. I need to keep a clear head.”

“On the clock? Dressed like that? You must have another job that I don't know about.”

Amalia laughs. “You'll be amazed how far a ho's uniform can get you in my line of work.”

I laugh. “Okay. So what
business
brings you here this time of night?”

Amalia's smile fades. “Well, you're still quite a mystery. So far you're a man that appeared out of thin air.”

“Great.”

“So I brought this.” She reaches down for her clutch bag and pulls out a few items.

“What's that?”

“A do-it-yourself fingerprinting kit.”

“You carry a fingerprint case?”

“I do now.” She smiles. “Look, I know that you don't want to deal with the police.”

“Because they like to shoot at me,” I fill in for her.

“Well. I have a contact that I can trust at the department. I can have him run your prints for me on the down low.”

“No.” I shake my head. “No cops. I told you that.”

“Look. I trust this guy—and my going door to door flashing your picture has gotten me nothing but blisters.”

Frustrated, I look down at the small kit and then notice the bartender clocking us. “Hey. Let's not do this right here. Let's go in the back.”

Amalia glances around. “Good idea.” She gathers her things and follows me to the club's storage room.

“All right. We should have some privacy for a few minutes,” I say.

Amalia places the inkpad and the print card down on top of a box.

“So what happens if it uh . . .”

“Comes back dirty?”

I nod.

“I promise to call and give you a heads up before the cavalry bangs down your door. Deal?”

I hesitate. A voice in the back of my head is telling me not to this, but at this point I'm ready to do this and get the shit over with.

“Well?”

“All right. Let's do this before I change my mind.”

Amalia flashes me a reassuring smile. “Relax. It won't take long.” True to her word, the process takes less than a minute.

“Now what?”

“Now we wait,” she says as she seals the print card and then crams the kit back into her clutch. “You should be used to waiting.”

“For how long?”

“No more than forty-eight hours. If I get something sooner than that I'll call you. Promise. You're still at Ms. Castillo's place?”

“Yeah. But let me give you my cell phone number. It's a pre-paid but it does the job.” We exchange numbers and then I proceed to take her back into the club. The throng of people has thickened near the dance floor where a tall brothah shoves into me, but instead of apologizing, the man turns toward me with an attitude.

“Yo, nigga! Watch where you're . . .”

My chest swells up as I step up to this Goliath, who has an ugly scar across his face. “Is there a muthafuckin' problem?” I challenge.

“Holy shit,” the man mutters, stumbling backward and reaching for something tucked behind his back.

I waste no time going for my own piece and shoving Amalia off to the side—a second before the bullets start flying.

I return fire.

Screams go up and people dash everywhere.

I clip the man's shoulder. In retaliation, the scarred man grabs a petite woman and shoves her into my direct line of fire.

I take my finger off of the trigger and then shove the woman out of the way. However, that gives the man time to bolt toward the front door with the crowd.

I chase after him and have to dodge more bullets for my trouble. By the time I make it through the door, the shooter is long gone. “What the fuck?”

“H
e's alive,” Salazar announces.

I power the wheelchair around from my office bar and face him. “Are you sure?”

“I saw him with my own eyes,” Salazar says. “His hair is different. He's scarred and burned, but I'm
sure
that it was him.”

I draw in a long, measured breath. More sightings. I'm almost too scared to believe.

“Where?”

“Club Fuego in Playa del Carmen. He was there with some woman.”

I perk at this news. “Cataleyna?”

Salazar drops his gaze and scratches at his scar. “No, boss, but—“

“But what?”

“The woman did look a lot like her.”

Against my will, hope needles its way into my heart. “Check it out. If it's him, you know what to do.”

A mischievous grin slides across Salazar's mangled face. “Yes, sir.” He turns and marches out of my office.

“P
ush! Push!” the large midwife, Maria, coaches from between my legs.

“I can't! I can't!” Sweat pours down my face while every muscle in my body seizes with pain. “Please, make it stop.” The baby is ripping me in two.

“You can do this. You can do this. I know you can,” Ruthie, a girl who's no more than fourteen, presses a cool compress against my forehead, but I'm in too much pain to notice. No doctor. No epidural. And no Julian by my side. The pain only intensifies my anguish.

“Wait. This is all wrong.”

“Wrong? What's wrong?” I pant, peering down at the woman between my knees. I can't take it if there's something wrong with my baby. The baby is all I have left of Julian.

“I have to turn the baby.”

“What?”

“Hold on,” Maria pushes in her hand.

“Aaaarrgh!” My body turns into one large spasm.

“Don't push.”

I hear the order, but my body has a mind of its own and it wants the baby out.

“Stop pushing!”

“I'm trying.” I toss and turn while the midwife battles to keep me still.

The wild-eyed teenage mops the sweat from my hair and neck.

“I almost got it,” the midwife says, still turning the baby.

I hope so. I don't know how much more of this I can take. I twist and squirm on the huge California-king sized bed. My gaze finds the two cameras in the corners of the room.

They are watching me. They are always watching me.
The fucking assholes.
Why do they get off doing this shit? How much longer will this nightmare last? Why isn't my father doing anything about it? Does he even know that I'm still alive?

“All right. Got it. Get ready to push.”

Tears well up. I'm too weak to fight them back. That only makes me angrier. Once upon a time, I was a lot stronger than this. I wasn't afraid of anything. Now I'm this weak, pathetic, groveling creature imprisoned in yet another golden cage while a set of mad men pull the strings in my life.

“All right now.
Push
!”

Exhausted to the point of delirium, I lay in a pool of my own sweat. “I can't. I can't.”

“Señorita, you must,” Ruthie says. “It's almost over.”

I want to believe her, but I can't. The pain is all-consuming, and it feels like it's going to go on forever.

Ruthie sets aside the compress and takes my hand. In the next second, I crush her fingers as the next spasm hits, but the teenager bears the pain without complaint.

“
Aaaaaaaah!
” I push down with all I have.

“It's coming. It's coming. I can see the head,” the midwife cries.

I pant a few more breaths and push again.

“That's it. That's it. You can do it.”

“
Aaaargh!
”

“One more,” the midwife coaches. “We're almost there. Give me one more big push.”

Panting, I don't know whether I have it in me to continue.

“One more,” Ruthie whispers.

“Julian,” I beg, needing to believe that he's with me now. “I don't know if I can.”

“Yes, you can, Señorita,” Ruthie encourages. “Push.”

Digging deep, I find a strength that I didn't know I had. “
Aaaaargh!
”

The baby's shoulders clear and the rest of its body slide out.

“I got it. It's a girl,” Maria announces, and then turns to clean the baby.

“Oh thank God,” I moan, closing my eyes for a prayer of thanks. But something isn't right. “What's wrong? Why isn't she crying?”

Ignoring me, Maria continues to clean the baby.

“Answer me. What's wrong with my baby?”

Suddenly, the door bursts open and
he
strolls into the room, his dark gaze raking over me with contempt.

Fear creeps into my heart. “W—what do you want? What are you doing here?”

Maria finishes cleaning my baby and then wraps her in a thin blanket.

“Give her to me.” I hold out my arms, expecting Maria to hand me the baby, but instead she makes a beeline toward Vasquez. “What are you doing? No! No! Give her to me!”

Maria lays the baby in his arms.

At long last, the baby wails at the world. “
Whaaa! Whaaa!
”

“Give her to me!” I block out my pain and scramble to get up from the damp and bloody sheets. “Give me back my baby!”

His lips curl sinisterly. “What baby? You don't have a baby.”

“What? No!”

He turns back toward the door.

“You can't do this.” I stand up onto my wobbly legs and stumble after him. “You fucking monster. Give me my baby!”

Ruthie makes a feeble attempt to pull me back, but I shove her so hard that she careens into the wall.

The midwife gets into the act and the two struggle with me.

He laughs, never breaking his stride toward the door. “You'll be doing yourself a favor if you could forget all about this.”

“
No!
” I wrestle free. “You can't do this! You can't do this!” I reach the door just as it slams in my face.

Locked.

I pound on the door, desperate. “Give me my baby back!”

Laughter rumbles through the door.

“Give me my baby!”

The laughter fades as I slide to the floor, a broken woman. “Please, give me my baby.”