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Even with the thumping bass and the noise of all these people packed into the warehouse, the party seemed to quiet as people stopped their conversations to take note of the most notable guest in their midst.
Michael Scarrone had arrived at the party.
And he’d heard everything I’d just said.
NINE
BUSTING UP THE CONQUISTADORS
Michael
I regretted going to Carrera’s party before I even set foot in Port Morris. How many underground joints like this had I been to over the years? This was nothing more than another abandoned warehouse. Another mass of people. Another “legendary” get-together that was guaranteed to be broken up at three in the morning and cost at least one kid the rest of his life, thanks to the “War on Drugs” and Stop and Frisk.
There’s a reason people call it the Boogie Down. People in the Bronx have always liked to party.
That isn’t always a good thing.
Maybe it was still one of the poorest neighborhoods in the city, but everyone could smell the sea change when big companies were coming in and buying up lots for pennies. Developers would follow. High-rises were on the horizon. Yeah, the South Bronx was changing, like everywhere else in New York. But it was a long way from safe—maybe even less so for the people who had lived here the longest.
People like Lea Zola.
Who was the reason I found myself slapping hands with some of my old crew and greeting others with a nod or a “what’s up?” while searching the crowd. I found her standing with her girls around a drinks table, tipping back Carrera’s notorious Jungle Juice, while Robbie Caldera, wearing an expression a shark might while circling its prey, poured for them again and again.
And then she opened her mouth and shouted something straight out of every motherfucker in the party’s wet dream: Next man she meets gets to hit that…for the first time.
Lea Zola just invited a warehouse full of conquistadors to invade her new world.
And I thought my fuckin’ heart was gonna stop.
“I think you got your wish,” said one of Lea’s friends as I charged toward them like a bull.
Lea’s big green eyes grew even bigger when she caught sight of me. Her perfect mouth was shiny with gloss and leftovers from her drink. She wore a tiny pink dress that was glued to her curves. I could see practically everything through the thin material—the outline of her navel, the curve of her hip, the exact shapes of her nipples.
Jesus Christ.
She was probably the most innocent thing in the room, but between the dress, the Barbie-looking heels, and the sleek black hair falling down her back, she was the perfect picture of sin. It was a hell of a contradiction and stopped my brain completely. It also hadn’t escaped me that every dude in the room was now looking at her like a piece of very juicy meat. Something they would love to…pound.
Fucking fuck.
Her entire mood shifted as I approached—it was in the tilt of her hip and slight arch of her back. A subtle invitation, but it was there. And it disappeared the moment I spoke.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I demanded.
Lea’s luscious mouth dropped open. “What did you say?”
“Damn,” her friend with the mini twists said. “Ange, did you hear that?”
“Jealous, much?” the other with shoulder-length blond hair replied.
I ignored them both as I grabbed Lea’s hand and started towing her away with me.
To where? I couldn’t have told you. It was instinct. All I knew was that every cell in my body was screaming at me to get her away. Away from prying eyes. Away from wandering hands. Away from anyone and everyone who saw only a piece of ass when I saw so much more.
Not for me.
Never for me.
But sure as shit not for any of them.
