Trouble

I only let the fear consume me for a second before I remembered the cigarette in my hand and took another big puff. Where he was, under the light, I could see from the way his face contorted that smoking disgusted him. Which was good for me, since that meant that he might go away faster.

The silence between us was awkward, so I finally called out, “I said, ‘Can I help you?’”

“Oh,” he responded. “Is my bus not out here?”

Furrowing my brows together, I took one last drag of my cigarette before throwing it to the pavement and grinding it to dust with my shoe. “Doesn’t look like it, pretty boy.”

He smiled at me, but there was something wrong with it. I could see the fear in his eyes. I didn’t know where it was coming from, considering my heat was packed away out of sight. Although I had it for protection, I didn’t exactly go around waving it in the air and throwing out threats.

So there was just something about me that freaked him out. Wimp.

“Now that you know there’s no bus here,” I started, my voice low and slow to make sure I didn’t speak any Spanish, which flowed so freely into my normal speech that I hardly noticed it, “why don’t you go look somewhere else? I’m sure your other band members are worried about losing you.”

But instead of answering, he just stared quizzically, blinking every few seconds, as if he was trying to figure me out. I wanted to throw out the classic line, Why don’t you take a picture? It’ll last longer.

Too bad I was too mature for that.

When he finally did speak, he threw me for a loop. “Are you a prostitute?”

I choked on my saliva a little bit, and I felt my face turn red as I coughed violently into my leather-clothed elbow. When I looked over at him again, he looked almost smug.

“That’s why you shouldn’t smoke,” he told me condescendingly, like he was an elementary school health teacher. It’ll give you lung cancer, children. But none of that shit applied to me. I probably wasn’t going to live long enough to get lung cancer, anyway.

“That had nothing to do with my smoking, pendejo,” I fired back. “I inhaled my own spit. And to answer your question, it’s none of your fucking business.”

“Is that a yes?” He cocked his head to the side like a confused puppy dog. Actually, with his face, those big, dark eyes of his, and his tilted head, he probably could pass for a dog fairly easily.

“That’s a leave,” I replied obviously.

“Why are you so desperate to make me leave?”

I looked at him in the eye again, making sure that he felt the full extent of my Mexicana wrath. But instead of the fear I saw earlier, I saw a little twinkle of amusement. The longer he talked to me, the more comfortable he got with me. Good fucking lord.

I had about half a mind to take out my gun and threaten him with it, or even just turn to the side and pretend like I was getting something out of my pocket to flash the piece at him. I would have, too, if he hadn’t been him. Lord knew what would happen to me if I threatened a pop star with a gun.

Not that I even knew which one he was.

“You’re staying, aren’t you?” I sighed in defeat, leaning up against the brick wall and crossing my arms in front of my chest.

“I’ll take that as an invitation.” He smiled at me for a second before looking around the alley.

God, if there was one thing I knew, it was that this kid could get taken out in about half a second by even the worst fighters in the gang. Although his build was solid, and it was clear that he did some kind of exercise, there was a kind of energy about him that radiated weakness. And the fact he was in a boy band didn’t really help matters.

“It’s not an invitation,” I told him bitterly before checking my watch again. Only ten more minutes, and I could leave the nosy snot in the dust.

God, if someone showed up and left because that kid was there, Cristobal was going to kill me. And if Cristobal killed me, then Esperanza was going to get called out into the gang, and I sure as hell would haunt this British kid’s ass for the rest of his natural-born life.

The dark-haired guy opened his mouth, clearly prepared to say something and start some kind of a conversation. But instead of sticking around to listen, I headed further toward the front of the alley.

“Hey, wait up!” he screamed a little too loudly, hurrying to close the distance that had just developed between us.

“Cállate la boca,” I snapped at him, fighting the urge I had to punch him in the shoulder. If he kept screaming like that, someone was going to hear and take a peek to see what was happening.

“What?” he questioned. “I’m sorry, Niall tried to teach me some Spanish, but I can’t pick it up.”

I made a disgusted face and shook my head. But at least I could make a mental note that the kid wasn’t Niall. Four names left.

I checked my watch left. Seven minutes.

“Is this where you live?” the moron asked. “You have a nice dumpster.”

“Are you high?” I turned and glared at him. “No, this is not where I live. I may be Mexican, but I’m not that poor. Thanks for being a condescending asshole.”

“That’s not what I meant!” he rushed, his cheeks coloring with embarrassment. “I just-”

I threw up a hand to silence him as I listened harder. I could have sworn I heard a whisper. The only thing running through my head was Cristobal’s warning about the cops, who often patrolled around here, looking for brawling drunks and, well, people like me.

Just as I was about to relax, I heard the sound of a glass bottle getting kicked across pavement. Definitely sounded like a cop was trying to sneak in and catch me unaware.

But I was too good for that.

I dove behind the dumpster the dumbass complimented, dragging him with me and putting my hand over his mouth. It probably tasted like cigarette ashes, but it was his own damn fault for being so fucking loud.

He struggled for a second, writhing back and forth, trying to get out of my grasp, but he stopped when I stuck my knee into his spine. A second later, a flashlight scanned the alley, looking for any sign of movement, any sign of life.

“Must have gone home,” a deep voice expressed. “They’re getting smarter, those Monstruos.”

“Smarter?” another voice replied. “Oh, please. Mexicans can’t be smart.”

Instinctively, my hand tightened around the kid’s mouth, and he let out a small whimper, which made me shove my knee harder into his back.

“They probably just don’t sell here anymore, since we caught that Hector kid,” the second guy continued.

Oh, so I’d been wrong about Hector; Cristobal hadn’t done anything to him.

“It’ll only be a matter of time,” the first predicted. “This was a pretty profitable place.”

“We’ll have to wait and see.” There was the sound of jingling, probably the cop showing off that he carried handcuffs. Big fucking whoop.

The dragging footsteps finally retreated, so I threw the kid off me and ran my hands down my pant-legs, getting rid of all the dirt and dust.

“What was that all about?!” the kid gasped with wide, frightened eyes. There was that fear I’d missed.

“Don’t worry about it,” I mumbled, gathering my hair so it spilled over one shoulder and checking my watch. My shift was past over, and there was no reason to stick around. “I’m leaving. Bye.”

“But you didn’t tell me your name,” he called. “I’m Liam.”

Ah, that one. Okay. Once he said it, the bells started ringing in my mind.

“Congratulations,” I told him with a fake smile. “Bye.”

“What’s yours?”

I cleared my throat and turned around. “Vete a la mierda,” I told him.

“It’s pretty,” he complimented.

I fought the urge to burst out laughing as I hurried out onto the main street, starting the walk home.

God, I wished I could have seen the look on his face when he Google-Translated that bad boy.