6. Esteban
6
ESTEBAN
" I 'm staying." I raised an eyebrow at Ricco and dared him to argue with me. He was Javier's oldest friend and second-in-command of the Dirty Dogs. Not that that meant shit with how we ran, but it was what the world saw.
"Kid," Ricco sighed, shaking his head at me.
"Ricco," I warned.
"He's passed out. He's doing fine. He won't wake up until morning. Javier will feel like a little bitch if he thinks we have to babysit him. It will fuck with his head. Make him worse than he actually is."
"Don't give a shit. I'm staying. If Rita can't be here, I will." She loved Javier more than herself. It was fucked she'd even leave to get Matías, but something Javier said made her think that he wanted him here.
He probably did. It was no secret that Javier viewed Matías as a son. But Rita needed to be here with her father, not tracking down an asswipe who went to extreme lengths not to be here .
"Suit yourself. But Esteban..."
I already had one foot in Javier's private room when Ricco placed a hand on my arm. Glancing back, I met his stare with a cool gaze of my own. He wasn't going to talk me out of this. No fucking way.
Take Rita out of it. I cared about Javier too.
"We all know you fucked Rita–" I sucked in a sharp breath. "But it was just that. Fucking. Everyone but you, knows that."
My top lip curled. This was what he wanted to say? Right now?
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" I stepped back out of Javier's room and let the door close.
"Listen, you're a fucking fantastic Dirty Dog. You have been from the very beginning, but you're still a kid–"
"I'm twenty-four years old, Ricco. I'm not a fucking kid."
"And Rita is twenty-seven." He let that settle between us like his words would flip a switch in my head.
I scoffed and turned for the door. "Doesn't matter. We're not together, and it goes against everything in the Dirty Dogs for you to stick your nosey ass in my sex life."
"Not when it comes to Rita. She's as much a Dirty Dog as you are. More. I'm just looking out for you."
Waving my hand, I opened the door to Javier's room, slipped inside, and shut Ricco out.
My nostrils flared and my forehead throbbed from the mild headache Ricco only made worse.
I didn't need that shit. Neither did Rita or Javier.
Releasing a breath, I rolled my head from shoulder to shoulder, forcing the tension from my body. Once it was as gone as I was going to get it, I took the chair next to Javier's bed.
He turned his head my way and gave me a sleepy-eyed look. "Ricco's a fucking Mary Sue with that shit. "
I snorted. "You heard him?"
"The dead heard him." He grunted as he tried to scoot up in bed. I bent forward to help but he shooed me away. "Get the hell away. I don't need help. I'm fine."
He said that, but he ended up staying in the same spot with his head resting on the pillow. He was a sharp old man. Loyal as they came, and quick on his feet. Old as shit too.
For a man who ran a deadly gang in South America, he also had a sweet look about him. Like he was someone's happy grandpa.
"Yeah, yeah." I humored him and flopped back in the chair.
"Ricco's right, you know."
I sighed. "Not you too. I'm here because you're here and Rita's not. I care. Get over it."
"Not that." He mashed his lips together and closed his eyes. "The other thing."
"What other thing?" I asked, but made it clear in my tone, I'd rather not have this conversation at all.
"We all know you fucked my baby girl."
What? I scrunched my face up. "I'm not talking about this,” I seethed. “Unless you want to rehash your public fucks in the club." There were many, and I'd witnessed more than I liked to admit.
His chest compressed with his loud exhale. "She's always liked you. But you're not Matías."
I couldn't blink. I didn't twitch.
The only thing I could do was sit there staring blankly at him. He actually just said that.
Javier pulled the rug from underneath me and idly watched me flailing on my back like he hadn’t hit me in the gut with his fucked up truths.
"Matías was her one. Fuck ." He coughed, and grabbed his chest. Not in danger of another heart attack. Probably from the tender muscles. "Damn, he was my one too."
I ignored the disbelief coursing through my body. I kicked aside the doubt his words were creating inside me and focused on how insane his words were.
"What the hell, Javier?" I finally found my voice. "You can't hold onto someone when they don't want you." I fucking knew that. "And what does that even mean, he was your one?" I parroted back to him.
"I wanted him to lead the Dirty Dogs. Steal him away from Vicente."
Gripping the ends of the armrests, I fought the urge to shake some sense in him. Every muscle in my body was strung tight.
"Why? We don’t need him,” I gritted out. It was harsh, but the man jumped ship at first convenience. He was nothing. No one.
"Yeah?" He asked sardonically. "Did you get any messages today at the shop?"
I stuck my tongue between my teeth, almost biting it off. Javier wanted an answer and I couldn't avoid it forever. "A nice flower arrangement with a sarcastic get well soon card," I bit out.
"What else did you hear?" he prodded.
Javier knew all this already. "The new gang is setting up shop on the corners."
He nodded. "And I'm laid up in this hellhole. It's a weakness we can't afford. Just Matías' name is scary to motherfuckers like that. Hell, he wouldn't even have to do anything. Just being head of the Dirty Dogs would be enough to keep away all the fucking posers."
What the hell was it about that guy? Was his dick made of gold? That might work for Rita, but what the fuck ? Javier too?
"He's a coward, Javier. He left. Broke Rita's heart. He's not worth shit," I spat as my head felt increasingly stretched from the pressure inside it.
"You don't understand how the heart works. Not Rita's."
I jumped out of my chair. I couldn't believe this shit. "Is this what you want for her? Someone who will leave her over and over again? Someone who's too afraid to take her back when she needs it? To keep her safe when she fucks up?"
"And that person is you?" He glanced up at me, the edges of his dark irises cloudy from age.
"Damn straight, that's me. Whether she wants me or not." I heaved, losing my cool. "I fucking love her. Is that what you want to hear? She wants Matías' dick? Ricco's? Some fucking guy in the Bastard Brothers’ company? I can't do shit about that. But doesn't it make you feel better knowing someone like me–” I thumped my chest. “–is looking out for her? Always?"
This wasn't what I had planned when I walked in here, but this aching need to get his approval, even if it was only on the surface level, clenched in my gut. I needed him to tell me I was good enough.
Shit. I’d never thought about it but now that it was out here, I needed it.
All Javier did was look up at me with a ruthless sort of pity in his expression. His lips tugged down into a frown like he was measuring his words before he told me how much of a failure I was.
But I wasn't. I was far from it.
I worked my ass off for the Dirty Dogs. I won deals, delivered punishments, solved problems the old assholes tinkered over for years.
"It's not you, son."
I closed my eyes. Javier was like a father to me. The man must collect fatherless sons for a hobby.
"Rita loves Matías. She always has."
"And you?" I opened my eyes and glared at him, refusing to let him see how his words seared me to the bone.
"He's the son I never had," Javier said softly. "If things had been different, he would have been the next President."
"It doesn't matter to you that he fucked off for selfish reasons?" I shouted.
"It matters because he's not here. I can't change the way it should have been."
"Fuck that. You can't live in the past. Placing all your hopes on one man and forsaking every opportunity after it, is stupid. Let go of the fucking past," I growled as I leaned over the bed. "Ricco was right. You don't need a babysitter. You're just fine. You'll always be just fine, right old man? Maybe the next time you wake up, Matías will magically appear. For you and Rita."
I stormed out, barely able to see where I was going from all the anger clouding my brain and vision.
Fuck, I'd never been this pissed.
He thought I wasn't good enough? That Matías was the magic bullet that was going to save the day?
Delusional was what he was. Fucking rocked in the head.
Matías was a selfish coward who only really cared about his brothers. Fuck everyone else.
I passed a handful of Dirty Dogs on night watch. Several tried to call out to me, but I ignored them.
Outside, I gulped down fresh air like water and hopped on my bike. As soon as I kickstarted it, I ripped out of the parking lot. My body buzzed too much to head home, so I took the scenic route to clear my head.
It worked, for the most part.
By the time the sun was high in the sky, I was exhausted and drained just enough that I was numb.
The thoughts were still there.
I was only good enough for Rita to fuck.
I wasn't good enough for Javier.
Matías was the golden child, and for what? Doing absolutely nothing.
"Shit," I muttered as I climbed off my bike and pulled off my helmet. At least I was tired enough to sleep off the rest of my anger.
Javier didn't think I was good enough for shit? Fine, whatever. I was still a Dirty Dog.
I walked to the side door of the compound. This was my home as much as my house was and I'd be fucked if I let anyone scare me off.
As soon as the door opened, shouts and cries came from inside. I didn't think twice, just started running toward the main room.
What the hell? Some of the wives were here.
They were crumpled against their men or on the couches. Several of my brothers stood off to the side, blank eyed. Others hugged and buried their faces in each other's neck.
"What happened?"
Ricco glanced at me. "You didn't check your phone," he said. I pulled it out as he hustled my way.
There was a message sent out to the club chat.
Ricco: Javier passed. Blood clot.
That was it. All they'd written .
My head got light and I stared at the floor. My phone slipped from my fingers, busting against the concrete floor. Then in a swell of self-hatred I bellowed and turned to the wall.
I punched that motherfucker so hard, my knuckles split. The pain felt good. Like I deserved it.
I was an idiot. I should never have left his room. Why'd I let his words get to me? He hadn't said anything I didn't know. About him or Rita.
Yet, I made my choices, and I let my anger get the best of me and walked out.
And Rita…
I yelled again, getting all my rage out as I slammed my fist into the wall a second time.
"Stop, kid." Ricco pulled me back. But I was a beast. I fought him off of me, then the next Dirty Dog. Then the next.
Each time I clipped one of them with my hand or elbow, I felt a little more human. With the speed I was taking hits, they needed this too.
All that kept flashing across my face was Rita's beautiful pert nose and perfect face. Her devious cat eyes that held nothing back. And how devastated she was going to be.
We couldn't tell her.
How could we fucking not?
I flopped down on my ass and draped my elbows on my knees. We had to tell Rita. Catching my breath, I reached over and grabbed my phone. The screen was hard to see through the new cracks.
Me: Rita, baby...
I sent the message. Then without giving it too much thought, I broke the news. As quick as I could.
It took a minute, but she read it .
More than anything, I wished I could have been there with her.
I stood on the tarmac with my sunglasses shielding my eyes. For once, the heat coming from the pavement didn't bother me.
My thoughts were too consumed by Rita and being there for her.
Somehow, I'd gotten Ricco to tell everyone else to fuck off and let me be the only one to get her.
She'd appreciate that. Rita thought she was so badass, and in a lot of ways she was. Yet she was also as soft as any woman I'd met.
How many times had I heard her say tears were for weak people? She didn't cry.
But she’d be crying today. If not when she landed, as soon as she stepped off the plane. Because shared grief burst through the strongest of walls like a motherfucker.
Once her eyes met mine, she'd lose it.
And I'd catch her. Just like I always had and always would.
The distant sounds of the plane coming in started buzzing in my ears. Nice of Andre to let her use his private plane. He'd even sent her with his best pilot. It made for a quick return home.
No matter what I thought of them, he had my gratitude for taking care of her.
It was more than Matías had ever done for Rita. I just had to make her see that so she could move the fuck on.
The plane stopped not far from me. After five or ten minutes, the door opened, and the stairs were attached. Then Rita stepped foot out of the plane.
She was stoic with her body armor on. That was her thing. Protecting herself with her skintight dresses and wicked high heels. It was an obsession as much as it was a crutch.
Her gaze locked on the steps as she descended and I walked her way, reaching the bottom of the stairs when she hit the last step.
Then she looked up, and her bottom lip trembled. Her eyes were bloodshot and swollen, lacking the heavy makeup she regularly wore.
"Esteban," she whispered as she doubled over.
"Shh..." I gathered her in my arms and lifted her against me. Her body wrapped around mine and I carted her away from the plane as she cried into my neck. "It's going to be okay."
"It's not. He's gone. Papá is gone. And I fucked up by leaving.” It was almost a wail.
"It's okay. You were trying to give him something he asked for."
"Did he know he asked for that? I left before he was fully awake." Desolation was so thick in her voice.
Shit, it was hard to hear her beat herself up. I got it, but I didn't fucking like it.
"You did what you thought was right. He knew where you were. He loved you and knew you loved him."
I sat down in a chair outside the small private airport, arranging Rita on my lap. She cupped the sides of my neck and stared deep into my eyes. So much heartbreak stamped across her face. Even the tears caught in her lashes were devastatingly sad .
"I hate him, Esteban." Her brow furrowed and she bared her teeth. "I hate him so fucking much. I told him to come back with me, that Papá was dead and he just...he just...argh!" Another flood of tears fell, and I guided her head to my shoulder.
"Stop it. It's not worth it. You don't need Matías. You have the Dirty Dogs, and you have me."
She cried harder.
We needed to go. There were arrangements to be made, but I sat there holding Rita. She needed this more than anything else and I'd be damned if anyone stopped me from giving her what she needed.