7
1665 Words
Ariel Beckham.
I’ve been standing at the sink, mindlessly washing my hands for the past three minutes. The water's running, but my mind is far away—on him. Ramirez. That arrogant…that threatful….
Suddenly, the bathroom door swings open and I hear the chatter of voices. Ashley and Benita walk in. Instantly, I sense that their conversation is swirling around Johnathan. Oh no. Is he in school?
I tense up but keep my eyes on the sink, pretending I do not hear.
They pause when they see me. I glance up, and Ashley’s smirk appears immediately.
"Have you seen Jonathan?" she asks, dripping with curiosity.
I turn off the tap and wipe my hands on my shirt. "Why would I see him?" I reply, coldly, without giving them a second glance. I push past them, making my way out of the bathroom before I can hear whatever snide comment they’re dying to make.
But my mind circles back to Ramirez. His threat lingers in my thoughts like a dark cloud. What kind of work would he force me to do? A stripper? Will he force me to dance on a pole or will he use me to smuggle things? I don’t even know the full extent of what he does...
As I step into the hallway, I spot Noah ahead. I rush toward him. "Hope you enjoyed the ride?" he says, without even looking at me, rolling his eyes as he slips into the classroom.
I follow him inside. "Hannah dragged me, and your brother locked the doors..." I mutter, folding my arms defensively.
"Yeah, I saw that," Noah replies nonchalantly, sliding into his seat.
I hover near his desk. "Is your car working now?" I ask but before he can respond, Ashley grabs my arm, yanking me around to face her.
“What the hell?” I snap.
“He said he was going to come see you on Friday! So where the hell is he, and why haven’t I heard from him?” Ashley yells, drawing attention from the class.
"I don’t know? Since he cheated on me with you, you should know better."
Before Ashley can reply, Noah steps between us and slices her hand off my arm.
"They’re broken up! Stop asking Ariel about that scumbag," he tones.
Ashley’s eyes narrow. "Scumbag? When he was paying your rent, groceries, and whatnot, he was still your boyfriend, wasn’t he?" she sneers.
My lips press together as heat rises in my chest. She thinks she can humiliate me, drag me down with her. But I won’t let her.
"Why don’t you go to his house and find out?" I say, stepping closer. "You’ve been f*****g him after my visits, haven’t you? So go back and be that snack you are!"
The class erupts with gasps, laughter even. Ashley’s face twists in fury, but her friend grabs her arm, pulling her back. The insult landed and I see the sting in her eyes.
Just then, the first teacher of the day walks in. Quickly, everyone scrambles to their seats. I head to mine and I don’t regret a single word. Ashley sits in front and Hannah opens my note up for me.
“What was that?” She whispers to me but I can’t even speak. I cannot form coherent words yet.
I scratch my head, feeling tight in my chest because I know exactly what happened that night. However, I stopped watching after Johnathan rolled off the stairs. Now, I have to wonder what happened after then. Is Johnathan…? Did Ramirez? No, of course not.
I’m sure it’s nothing. I decide, taking out my pen but all of a sudden, I remember how he almost suffocated Carlos. The way his hands wrapped like a serpent. Ramirez is capable of violence...he is. Is Johnathan in a grave already?
It was mentioned that Ramirez was a South snake. And from the knowledge I have, the South snakes are momentums of the city. They are not gangsters, or simple troublemakers. They are mafias, men who have pledged to the cadres of the underworld.
As soon as school ends, I leave to the busy interpose of the city. My feet take me to the nearest ATM and I exhale, my stomach twisting in knots. The machine whirs and clicks as I punch in my pin. I know I have nothing but I am praying for a miracle.
Fifty bucks! Just fifty!
I’m short of at least $800 for rent and no matter how many times I stare at the screen, that number doesn’t change. Still, I withdraw the cash, feeling its thin, crinkly texture as I tuck it into my skirt pocket. I have just three days? What will Ramirez do to me when I fail?
I think he’ll destroy me.
Could I sell my fridge, maybe some of my other electronics? Would that even be enough?
But then, I remember Miguel. I can’t go near the apartment complex—what if Miguel is guarding it? Waiting for who beat his brother up…that is, if Johnathan is still alive.
I stand, frozen in thought. And when I glance up, I see him.
Miguel!
He’s coming out of a building just across the street, a phone pressed to his ear. I catch sight of the gun strapped to his waist, and my stomach turns. His friends are with him, armed too, and their faces are set in a dangerous calm.
Panic surges through me, and without thinking, I duck low behind a parked car. My heart pounds in my ears as I peek over the hood. They’re crossing the street. Towards me.
A scream builds in my throat, and before I can stop myself, it slips out. I shoot up from my crouch and bolt. My feet pound the pavement and I dart into the first place I see—a bar called “Steel and Shadow.” It’s big and hopefully, crowded enough for me to hide.
I shove my way in, desperate, and just as I make it through the doors, I crash into someone coming out. The impact nearly knocks me off balance.
When I look up—it’s Ramirez. Every muscle in my body freezes and my lips tremble as if words are trying to form, but nothing comes out. Before I can even think, I spot Miguel and his men—approaching the bar through the transparent windows.
Without a second thought, I grab Ramirez’s arm and I drag him with me, rushing toward the first door I see. I shove us both into the small space and shut the door behind us.
It’s a closet, barely big enough for the two of us. Ramirez is so close. I can smell the mint on his breath. I can also feel the scratch of his stubble brushing against my forehead. He is that tall. My chest rises and falls with heavy breathing.
With nowhere else to look, my gaze drops to his chest where his shirt is unbuttoned just enough to reveal his skin.
“What the hell are doing?” He roughs.
“Just wait...” I beg.
It’s only when I glance down that I realize I’m still gripping him, my fingers are wrapped tightly around his. Slowly, almost reluctantly, I let go, and I see something flicker across his face—annoyance, impatience maybe.
His tone is sharp. “Did Noah put you up to this?”
“Huh?” I blink, confused but I catch the way his gaze shifts, falling to my lips for just a moment.
I am not trying to be delusional but his gaze is always finding my lips.
“Get off the door.” Ramirez says and I swear, it’s a threat.
He tries to open it himself but there is hardly any space to get his hand behind me.
“You don’t understand. Johna—”
“Cease it!” He shuts me up.
“You don’t even know what I want to—” I try to explain again.
“I don’t care!” Ramirez grits.
I seal my lips, clearly seeing tension that rolls off him in waves. I pulled him because Miguel has a gun and he was literally coming in here! Did I forget how intimidating this one is too? When Ramirez tries to shift closer, instinctively, I lift my knee to shield myself, but due to the cramped quarters, it slides between his legs.
Immediately, I know that I have done something wrong.
We look at each other at once.
My knee presses against something heavy, something that’s undeniably his groin. I freeze, the realization hits me like a punch to the gut. Oh no. My eyes widen, and I gasp, covering my mouth as if that will erase what just happened.
“Keep your f*****g knee—” His voice is rough, biting, and so close to my ear I can feel the heat of his breath. His face is only inches from mine as he rattles the door in frustration.
If I could disappear in this moment, I would.
A curse word in Mexican slips through his teeth. I am embarrassed. Ashamed. Afraid. Yet, he smells of something intoxicating—an expensive cognac, leather, and pure masculinity—it’s why I am so afraid.
As he rattles the door, his toned arms brush against my chest.
"You jammed us in..." His voice vibrates through the small space and his Adam’s apple bobs as he speaks.
“Um, I’m sorry—”
“I will try.” I quiver, attentive to the storm in his eyes.
I hope I am not about to be suffocated like Carlos or dead like Johnathan.
I start to turn, but the space is so tight that my back presses against his chest. Every movement forces me closer to him. Somewhere in the midst of my awkward shifting, I hear him groan, low and deep, sending shivers down my spine.
- Writer
