Page 17 of Nicoletta
NICOLETTA
Three days later, the videos of my father still weigh heavy on me. Outrage, disbelief and denial. Although I saw the images with my own eyes and don’t doubt the intel, I’m still having a hard time admitting it to myself.
Sadly, this abuse goes on all over the world, and accepting I was involved with two men who invested in one of the lowest crimes hit me hard. Abusing and using vulnerable young women—it’s hard to stomach, especially since, over the years, I’ve spent so many hours at the clinic in L.A. discussing the repercussions of childhood abuse and what it manifests. Addiction, obesity, damaged egos, some irreparable.
After exposing these men, there will be no going back to my world in L.A. I don’t know what the future holds for Bolt and me, but in talking to Marisol at the gym today, I found out there are plenty of outreach programs right here in Tijuana that need qualified people.
They also enlightened me on the motto of the Royal Harlots—Sisterhood, Strength and Security. Not that I’m ready to join, but I could definitely get behind their message and the goodwork they do for the people of Tijuana. Which makes telling Bolt about the knife all the more important. I contemplate waiting until after his fight, but the longer I wait, the harder it gets.
“Are you all ready for fight night?” Bolt asks as he saunters into the living room. The man has a definite swagger that gets to me every damn time.
“I don’t know. Never been to any kind of a fight, but I don’t think I’ll enjoy seeing your pretty face busted up.”
“You got nothing to worry about. I don’t let them get that close to me.”
“The first night we met, you had a bruise on your jaw.”
“That was from sparring with Diesel. I was trying a new move, and he nailed me to prove a point.” He puffs out his chest. “Nothing to worry about.”
“Always so cocky,” I tease.
“And you fuckin’ love it.” He wraps his arms around my waist, and I inhale the spicy soap from his shower after the gym.
“There’s something I need to tell you . . .”
There’s a knock, we exchange a look, and Bolt heads for the door with his hand traveling to the gun at the small of his back. “Who is it?”
His question is met with giggling. He looks back at me, and I shrug, praying it’s not another visit from Gina.
Bolt inches the door open, and Maxie, Marisol and Martina pile in carrying bags with an assortment of clothes over their arms.
Martina lays her items on the couch, then turns to Bolt. “We’re here to get your woman ready for her first fight night.”
“So you have to leave.” Marisol points to the door.
“In other words, get the fuck out.” Maxie gives him a shitty grin.
“Geez, you women are bossy.”
“Like your woman isn’t,” Maxie throws back at him.
Bolt’s gaze jumps to me, but he stays silent.
Marisol literally pushes Bolt to the door. “Go downstairs and hang out with your brothers. We may be a while.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m goin’,” Bolt grumbles.
The minute the door is closed, Marisol and Martina jump all over Maxie. “What the hell did you say that for?” they both ask in unison.
“What?” Maxie flicks her gaze to me. “You gonna tell me you’re not his woman?”
I open my mouth to answer, but Martina blurts out, “First of all, it’s none of your business, and how the hell do you know if they’ve even talked about anything like that yet?”
“Oh, c’mon, with the way he’s looked at her the last three days in the gym? Shit, he walks around with half a hard-on.”
Marisol rolls her eyes. “I told you she was the outspoken one.”
“Outspoken, bullshit—I’m just sayin’ what everyone is thinking.” Maxie turns to me. “Shit, are you gonna tell me your panties ain’t damp?” She waves her hand at me. “Probably already done it more than once, and it’s only four o’clock in the afternoon.”
