Page 157 of Embriagado

Unfazed, he nodded. “Yeah, I pissed off the wrong inmate. That crazy asshole… he was one cruel motherfucker. Anyway, we started fighting before he pulled out a makeshift knife and stabbed me. It hurt like a bitch, but nothin’ major. A few stitches, and I was as good as new.”

By now, he was all dry, yet stayed naked. He seemed awfully comfortable, which was an issue on its own, but more importantly⁠—

“What happened to him?”

He shrugged. “Beats me. The dude got transferred the same week, and I never saw him again.”

If someone had stabbed me, they’d be long dead.

“How was it?”

He looked at me, confused. “How was what?”

Stepping to stand in front of the mirror, I grabbed my face cream.

“Prison.” I opened the lid and applied some to my hand. “How was it?”

“Awful.”

I watched his expression darken through the mirror.

“I hated every fucking minute of it.”

Done with my cream, I placed it down and turned to face Mr. Rivas, who still seemed soaked in bad memories.

“Well, what a pity,” I said and was ready to move on when he spoke.

“Ever been scared about going there? You know, to be locked up in a cell while life keeps on going?”

Looking him in the eyes, I held his stare.

“No.”

“Really? How come?”

Because I fear worse ends than that.

“I’ve just never thought about it.”

His stare hardened, but before he could slip in another word, I said, “Come on, let’s go back to sleep. It’s late enough already.”

41

SANTIAGO

Ari letting me stay the night had become a frequent habit.

While I couldn’t say he was falling for me, considering how just this morning, he violently kicked me out of his bed, the guy was warming up. It was the small things that proved it. Him allowing me to stay at his place, us eating together, or how he asked me to trim my pubes because he preferred them neat. I mean, could you get more exclusive than telling your man to trim his bush? I don’t think so. But jokes aside, Ariyan actually started showing interest in me. Like when he asked how I’d gotten that scar on my rib cage. He never cared for shit like that before, and now that he did… it got me excited.

Intuitively, I brushed the scar over my shirt. I’d never given it much thought, but now that I did, I couldn’t help but recall the crazy eyes of the motherfucker who stabbed me. Thank fuck that dude got transferred early on because I’d bet my money he was there to kill. But back to my sexy fox, who kept my mind busy twenty-four hours, seven days a week.

Our odd dynamic started to shift on Christmas Eve, after he told me he was in debt. Who was he in debt to? He refused to say, but from the bits he did say, I got the feeling it was one nasty son of a bitch. Swear to God, if I ever got my hands on the bastard, I’d beat the ever-living shit out of him. But until that day arrived, I invested my all in winning as many fights as I could. Bet money began piling up, and the wager was getting higher with each fight. So was the risk. Still, I was on a fucking roll, and at this pace, we’d reach our mark by the end of this year.

Ten. Million. Dollars.

Once again, the mere thought of this insane number formed a knot in my stomach, and I paused from making my coffee.

I never imagined a broke guy like me would have anything to do with so much money, and one glance at our shitty kitchen would be proof of that. But here I was, making thousands of dollars over a single fight. It might have been illegal, and I was risking being sent to prison if I was ever caught, but fuck it. My parole had ended last month, and with Ari’s freedom on the line, ain’t no way I was backing out.