“He’s just being protective of me. You know he has good reason.” I step close and grab his hand and squeeze. Some of the anger in his eyes dissipates. He remembers the rash of attacks on my father’s properties by a gang that thought it could challenge his control. It came to a head when they tried—and failed—to kidnap me several years ago. If Leo hadn’t been there, they might have succeeded.
“You know I would kill for you if Papá asked me to. Even this fucker knows that.” His gaze slips back to Maddox, whose jaw clenches. “Papá Flores protects what’s his.” He juts his chin forward, as if his word carries the weight of the man who gives him orders. I want to retch at how much of an ass-kisser he’s always been, but he’s easier to deal with if he thinks I’m on his side.
Maddox returns with a moist square and lifts it up. “This’ll sting.” He’s matter-of-fact when he swipes it across Gustavo’s wound, then pinches the broken skin together. He swipes a smear of ointment across the oozing gash, then applies several small bandages that hold the two sides of the wound closed. “You’d do better with stitches, but these will work if you leave it alone for a couple days. Just keep it clean.”
As he’s packing up, Gustavo tilts his chin to the bag. “Is that legit? You were a Navy medic?”
Maddox doesn’t seem keen on talking; he just nods and stows the bag in a closet. Then he ushers us back out front, where the younger guy who greeted us is sweeping glass shards into a dustpan. Leo sits between Benny and Baz, elbows on his knees, and looks up when we enter. His jaw twitches when he sees Gustavo, then relaxes when he looks at me. I give him an apologetic smile. I knew he was going to be here. I could have warned him in advance of my plans to visit.
Maddox is facing Gustavo, arms crossed. “If you came for a tattoo, I’m booked for the evening, but my assistant would be happy to set you up with an appointment.” He shoots a pointed look at his assistant, who looks every bit like a younger, longer-haired clone of Maddox himself. “Sam,” he says, nodding at the kid, “do what I fucking pay you for, will you?”
Maddox motions for Leo and the pair disappear back through the doors while Sam scowls after them. “You don’t fucking pay me, asshole,” he mutters, then turns a charming smile toward us. “So, yeah, you want an appointment or something?”
“Not sure it’s worth it if I’m going to get a beating just for walking in the door,” Gustavo says.
I bite my tongue, annoyance at Gustavo’s manhandling returning despite the revelations of the evening. My status as the daughter of Arturo Flores limits my awareness of social happenings to the upper echelon of LA society. I wouldn’t normally venture downtown on a Saturday night, though not out of any sense of self-preservation, unless I count not wanting to piss off my dad. I came because I’d heard someone had opened a tattoo shop, and it was the perfect excuse to visit the building with Gustavo, who could be more easily enticed with tattoos than the prospect of visiting during daytime hours when the dance studio is filled with young girls in pink tutus. Maddox’s presence here shouldn’t deter me from investigating why we haven’t sold this building yet, but now I’m more interested in finding out what he’s been doing for the past decade.
“Actually, I’d like to make an appointment.” I step up to the counter and smile at mini-Maddox. Up close, he’s just as big as his brother. He just lacks the sharp edges and multitude of tattoos.
“Yeah?” he says, grinning at me.
“I’m not letting you get a fucking tattoo, Celeste,” Gustavo says, grabbing my arm. I glare back at him and tear my arm out of his grasp.
“Is he free a week from tomorrow?” I ask Sam, choosing not to give Gustavo the courtesy of a reply. I don’t even want a tattoo. I already have one tiny tattoo of a flower on the inside of my right wrist. I love it and never intend to get more. I just want a chance to talk to Maddox again after all this time. He and Leo looked close too, and that kind of friendship doesn’t happen overnight.
“We don’t open until noon. How’s that sound?” Sam asks.
“Perfect.” I tap the appointment into my phone, turn, and stride out, evading Gustavo’s hand again as he reaches for me. Benny and Baz circle around and run interference, flanking me and giving Gustavo the evil eye.
“Just because Leo’s brother’s nailing your best friend doesn’t give him the right to fucking touch you, Celeste,” Gustavo snaps. “He doesn’t deserve you.”
Neither do you. He condescends to me in a way not even my own father does, but I just grit my teeth as we make our way toward the car. We’re halfway down the block when a sleek black SUV pulls up and comes to a stop on the street, causing the driver behind it to honk. My neck prickles and my skin warms with shame, as if the man inside will know I’ve just made plans to meet the first boy he punished for daring to touch me. The rear window slides down on the passenger side. I want to keep walking, but if I do, I’ll catch hell later.
I take a deep breath and turn. My father stares out at me, nods to Gustavo, and says, “Get in, mija.”
Stepping off the curb, I wait for Papá to open the door, then climb in when he slides across the black leather seat to make room. It’s dark and cool inside and smells of expensive aftershave and the faint, sweet tobacco of my father’s cigars. Classical guitar
