Armando

My phone rang, slicing through the tension-filled silence while Maya was in the shower. I knew I shouldn’t answer it; every instinct screamed at me to ignore it. But the thought of leaving it unanswered gnawed at me like a festering wound. I had charged it earlier when Maya was away, a small flicker of hope in an otherwise darkening world.

Jake’s name flashed on the screen, and a wave of dread washed over me. My stomach churned with anxiety, but this was my crew, my responsibility. I couldn’t let Rico’s shadow cast a pall over us.

I slid my finger across the screen, and Jake’s frantic voice crackled through the line.

“Armando? Is that you?” His breath came in quick gasps, sounding almost muffled as if he were hiding in a quiet room, wrestling with his own fears.

“It’s me,” I replied, steeling myself for whatever grim news was about to surface.

He exhaled sharply, a mix of relief and panic. “Thank god you’re alive. Where are you? We can come get you.” Jake had always been the moral compass of our crew, driven by a relentless urge to do what was right. But now, with Maya entwined in this mess, I felt the weight of secrets pressing down on me. I didn’t want her to bear the burden of the truth—not yet. I wanted to slip away without dragging her into the chaos.

But something had happened earlier; I could feel it in my bones, even if Maya wouldn’t say a word. The worry gnawed at me, twisting my gut. I needed to protect her, but at what cost?

“I’m safe. Don’t come for me. Just keep the crew safe and watch out for The Dealers.”

Jake exhaled sharply, annoyance lacing his breath, but I knew he was powerless to help me right now.

“The Dealers came through here. We have casualties. Trisha is dead.”

My heart slammed against my chest. “Trisha?”

“Yes! She’s dead, Armando!” Jake’s voice trembled as he shouted at someone on the other end of the line.

Trisha—the girl we had rescued weeks ago, barely twelve years old. A child who had lost her parents in a horrific car accident, escaping just before the flames consumed everything she loved.

“Armando?” Jake’s voice cut through the fog of shock.

“I have to go. I’ll call you when it’s safe. Jake?” I murmured, the heaviness settling into my bones.

“Yes?” he replied, breathless, urgency thick in his tone.

“Get my fucking bike from Cranson River.” I hung up just as Maya stepped into view, her silk top clinging to her curves like a second skin. The fabric did little to hide the pulsing outline of her nipples, igniting something primal within me. Beads of water glistened on her thighs, remnants of a recent shower, and her hair dripped softly as she paused, staring at me with a mix of confusion and something deeper.

In that moment, amidst the chaos and loss, the world around us blurred, leaving only the undeniable connection that crackled in the air between us.

God, she was breathtaking. Her blue eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that ignited a fire deep within me, stirring desires I thought I'd buried. The heat coursed through my veins, amplifying every pulse, every breath; my body was a taut string ready to snap at the slightest provocation.

It had been a year—twelve endless months since I'd felt the warmth of another body against mine. The last encounter had been nothing but hollow, a fleeting moment spent with a woman who was just another face in a crowded club. But Maya? She was different. She wasn’t just another pretty girl; she was a force of nature, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that she belonged to me, and me alone.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” she quipped, her voice laced with playful defiance as she stepped into the kitchen, flicking on the light. For a moment, I was blinded by the bright glow, but when my vision cleared, there she was, radiant and resolute.

“I just might,” I muttered under my breath, my heart racing as I followed her into the kitchen. Maya stood at the sink, effortlessly slicing into a package of chicken, her fingers deftly maneuvering the knife. Each movement was graceful, like a dance, and I couldn’t tear my gaze away.

“What are you making?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady as I eased myself onto a bar stool, wincing slightly from the wound that throbbed beneath the surface.

“Chicken Alfredo,” she replied, her back still turned to me as she rinsed her hands under the water. The rhythm of her actions was soothing, yet charged with an undercurrent that sent my heart racing.

“What did you do to them?” she asked suddenly, her voice slicing through the air and catching me off guard. It took a moment for her words to sink in, and then realization hit like a punch: she was asking about The Death Dealers.

The weight of that question hung heavy between us, the unspoken darkness lingering just beneath the surface. In that moment, I knew this wasn’t just a casual conversation; it was a revelation—a moment that could change everything.

“They think my crew stole a shipping container full of meth.” I crossed my arms, the weight of my words settling heavily between us. Maya stood frozen, her hands gripping the counter as if it were her only anchor in a storm.

“Meth?” she breathed, disbelief twisting her features. “You’re in a gang? You sell drugs?” Her voice quivered, and I could see the color drain from her face, leaving her pale and shaken. She inhaled deeply, fighting to regain her composure.

“Since you put me back together, yes, I sell drugs. I don't touch them; I sell them to survive.” I watched her retreat to the pantry, her fingers trembling as she struggled to open a bag of pasta.

“I lead a gang—the Demented Devils. I’m their president.” A surge of pride coursed through me, but it was overshadowed by the horror etched on her face.

“I helped a gang leader?” Her voice was barely a whisper now, tinged with an urgency that sent chills down my spine. She looked ready to crumble.

Without thinking, I closed the distance between us, cupping her face in my hands, pouring everything I felt into our gaze. Those golden hues of her skin, her striking blue eyes locked onto mine, igniting something raw and electric. In that moment, I couldn't hold back any longer. I kissed her—a desperate connection. At first, her lips resisted, a startled breath escaping her, but then she melted into me, returning the kiss with an intensity that mirrored the fire between us.

Her tongue surged against mine, a fierce dance that ignited an inferno between us. I leaned her back, deepening the kiss with an urgency that left no room for doubt. The taste of her—sweet, intoxicating nectar—flooded my senses, driving me wild.

Every nerve in my body was alive, pulsing with a need that felt primal. My desire throbbed, desperate to claim her warmth, but I fought against the instinct, craving more than just physical connection. It was as if the world around us faded, leaving only the electric current of our bodies entwined.

In that moment, I couldn’t tear my gaze from her. Her lips, swollen and inviting, were a testament to the fire we had sparked together. I could see the tumult of emotions swirling in her striking blue eyes—fear, confusion, and something else, something deeper that mirrored my own longing.

The ache at my side became a distant memory, overshadowed by the beauty before me. I wanted to hold her close, to erase the chaos of our lives and lose ourselves in this fragile connection. But even as the intensity of our kiss deepened, the weight of the world pressed down on us, grounding me in the reality we couldn't escape.

I stepped back and let Maya continue cooking, the air heavy with the aroma of spices and unspoken words. The meal was a silent ritual between us, our forks scraping against the plates in a symphony of tension that filled the space. Each bite felt charged, as though the food nourished not just our bodies but the fragile connection hovering between us.

When we finished, the kitchen transformed from a vibrant battleground to a serene aftermath. Once the dishes were cleaned, I retreated to the living room, where the soft glow of the television flickered like a heartbeat in the dimness. Suddenly, I noticed her by the hallway, framed in shadow—Maya’s silhouette almost ethereal, as if she were too beautiful to be real.

“Thank you for dinner,” I murmured, my voice barely louder than a whisper. She nodded, a flash of nervous energy in her eyes, before darting toward her room. The door clicked shut behind her with an intimacy that felt like a promise left unfulfilled, leaving me alone once again.

As I stood there in the solitude, a wave of emotion washed over me. I peeled off my shirt, each movement heavy with a mixture of longing and uncertainty. The television flickered in and out, casting fleeting shadows across my skin, yet nothing could distract me from the echo of her presence lingering in the air. My heart raced, a poignant reminder that this moment—so electrifyingly close yet frustratingly distant—was just the beginning of something profound and deeply unsettling.