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A smile spreads across my face, my mind traveling back toDiabla’squote. “I’ve danced with death before Marío. You’ll never take me out and you’llneverhave Vicenta.”
I hang up on him before texting Javier and making sure he has more than the usual amount of guards stationed at the beach. I may be confident the Banderas Don will fail at killing me, but I won’t risk Vicenta being hurt in the process of his stupidity.
“I want to help you kill him, Romero,” Vicente’s voice says from behind me. I turn to find him standing there, his arms crossed over his muscular chest.
I see our sisters just inside the house so I jerk my chin. “Let me show you the bikes and we’ll talk in the garage.”
He nods and follows me. When we’re around the house, I notice he’s not limping nearly as bad as he was earlier.
“How’s your leg?” I ask when we get to the garage, my eyes catching on the road rash on his skin through the cut-off sleeves of his t-shirt.
“It's fine, now that I’m with Vi,” he shrugs. “I think the distance between us just made it worse.Estaba todo en mi cabeza, tu sabes?We’ve never been apart and it fucked with my head.”
He whistles when he spots the bikes, walking between my matte black Hayabusa and pearl white Ninja HR2.
Again, I’m struck by how similar he looks to the dead Puerto Vallarta Don, José Vargas. He’s taller than Vicenta, almost as tall as my six feet three inches. His face is smooth of facial hair, and he has an old Hollywood look about him with slicked back brown hair and unmarked skin. His body is well kept, muscular like the fighter he is, but it’s his face that truly catches my attention. I narrow my eyes and stare at him as he squats with a quick wince, looking at parts of the Ninja. The uncanny similarities makes me think back to Marío’s desperation.
Who are the Guzmán siblings?
“What?” he asks, standing straight when he sees me staring.
“Where does your family come from?”
He makes a confused face. “Uh–shit, my dad was born in America with roots that go back to Mexico City, but my mom, I think, migrated to America from Puerto Vallarta. Why?”
Shit, now I know why Marío wants Vicenta so much—she’s a cartel princess, and Vicente here could rule in his family's city if he wanted to… With his sister as Marío’s wife, he’d become a puppet Don.
“Just curious. You look like someone I used to know.” I shake my head, and move over to the bikes. “So, you want to kill Marío?”
He narrows his eyes at my vague answer and quick subject change, but answers anyway. “Yeah, I do. He took my sister from me, sent his dog after us, and almost fucking killed me. That old bastard needs to go. I told Alvaro the same.”
I cock my brows at that. “And you’re still alive?”
He chuckles, crossing his muscular arms over his chest. “He’d agree to anything if he thought it would win points with my sister.”
It’s my turn to laugh. “Well, just know that I’m not him. You being alive for Vicenta is all that matters to me. She’d kill me if I let you do something that ended with you in the ground, and I’d let her.”
He shakes his head and presses his jaw to the side, popping his neck. “I’m not her, Romero, and I’m not asking for your permission. If I get the chance to do it, I will kill that motherfucker.”
Yeah, he’s got Vargas blood running through him alright. “I like you, kid, just don’t do anything that’s going to hurt your sister.” I gesture to the bikes. “Now which one do you want to claim?”
He immediately goes to the Ninja he was eyeing, twisting the key that was already in the ignition. I smile, nodding in approval as I move to the side and let him pull the bike up to the front of the house. Vicenta looks down the drive toward me, a smile spreading across her face as she takes off running in my direction, her hair flying out behind her. I catch her as she launches herself at me, laughing when she peppers my face with kisses.
“What was that for?”
She shrugs. “For many things, but for getting my brother back on a bike. He told me inside he was nervous to ride again because all he sees when he sleeps is the wreck.”
I put her on her feet and watch her move around the garage. I hadn’t noticed his nervousness, not even a hint of it. It seems he knows how to mask like his sister, only his mask gives you false pretenses.
“I’m definitely riding this one,” she says, stroking the seat of the Hayabusa.
I walk over to her, wrapping my hands around her waist, using my thumbs to push her forward so her ass juts out.
“I know a better bike you could ride,Diabla.” I grind against her, loving when she presses back even harder against me, looking over her shoulder like the tempting woman she is.
“Oh, I know that bike very well.” She stands and spins, her small hand gripping me through my beach shorts. “But I won’t be riding it with my brother in the same house.”
She winks and backs away.
