Page 40 of Reign of the Queen
“So, seduce her...well, at this point we have everything to lose, so why not try it and see if it sticks?” I sigh sarcastically, having my doubts about this plan of action.
“Who’s up first then, or how do we do this?” Finn asks from his side of the booth, looking worried.
We all turn to look at Carter; Finn grins,the psychopath.
“Me! What the fuck, why me?” Carter folds his arms across his chest in disbelief.
“Come on player, you’re not confident in your skills to make Mia’s panties wet?” I laugh at Carter.
“Fuck you man; you know there’s a better chance of her shanking my ass than letting me anywhere near her panties.” He glowers at the rest of us, giving us all the finger.
Finn breaks out in such a hearty laugh that he has tears trekking down the side of his face.
“True dat, but regardless man, you’re up first.” Finn points at a miserable Carter.
“Then it’s settled. We will do whatever is necessary to keep Mia under our control and the rest of the school, too. Carter, you’re first, make it work and let’s see what her reaction will be to that. In the meantime, the rest of us will keep digging into Mia’s past and her family,” Theo declares and moves to get out of the booth, essentially ending this messed up meeting.
“Let’s go; I’ll drop you fuckers, then I have to go see a man about keeping blondes away from my asshole father,” Theo throws out as he’s already heading toward the café door.
Finn and I look at each other in understanding. Neither of us has it as bad at home as Theo and Carter. Yeah, my parents are assholes and neglectful, but at least they aren’t complete demented psychos like Theo and Carter’s dads.
* * *
As I walk into my family's marble entryway, I hear voices raised in Spanish coming from my father's office. I pause to assess if I can determine who's here in the house. You never know with my dad who you're going to find. There are at least two or three male voices and one female. I decide to head in that direction and see who's here.
I pass colorful abstract paintings along the stark white hallway walls that my mom has spent a fortune on collecting over the years. Shaking my head at how all of them just look like blobs and streaks of paint to me. This is not a home, it’s an art gallery with zero warmth.
When I reach my dad's office, the slate gray door is partially open, and my father is sitting behind his monstrosity of chrome and glass desk, his loafered feet propped up on top, black hair all slicked back. My mother sits on the edge of the desk in a bright pink floral dress, looking every inch the former pageant queen that she is. A man whose back is turned to the door sits in the dark green leather chair in front of them.
"Ah, Mateo, good you're home.Hijo, come here for a moment!" My mom calls out to me when she spies me in the doorway.
I stand there and stare at my mom. My mom was a Miss New Mexico before she met and married my father. She's from one of the largest and wealthiest families in New Mexico, with ties to mines and oil. Her dark, wavy hair is trailing down her shoulders and her back. Her tawny golden-toned skin has no hint of wrinkles yet, even though she's pushing forty-five. She looks young and eager to see me, which considering she doesn’t usually pay me much attention, gets my anxiety going. I get most of my looks from her, except for my eyes. They come from my asshole of a father. Eyes like a snake (la serpiente), my mother calls them.
"Boy, where have you been?" My father stares intensely at me in question, forever angry at my existence.Pretty sure he wishes my mom had swallowed me instead.
"With the kings at the café." I shrug.
The guy in the chair turns toward me and chuckles. "Still calling yourselves kings, little Matty?"
"TioManuel? What are you doing here?" I ask, swallowing the boulder size lump in my throat at seeing him here in our home.
"What, not happy to see me, Matty?" Manuel asks, getting up from the seat.
He's a giant of a man, towering over my six-foot-one frame and outweighing me by at least a hundred pounds. I notice his face is more lined with age since the last time I saw him, and his hair has gone primarily gray.
"Umm, no,Tio, why wouldn't I be happy to see you?" I move in to give him a man hug. He slaps my back so hard with those big, heavy paws that I almost feel like I'm going to end up on the floor or, at the very least, with a rib broken.
"Mateo?" I turn in the direction of the chair in the corner, not having seen the other visitor in the room when I entered.
"Diego.” I look at my cousin, who I haven't seen since we were just boys running around my grandparent's house in Columbia when I would go down for the summer to visit. "I didn't see you there,primo."
He gets up and walks toward me. He's slimmer in build and slightly shorter than my six-foot-one height. He's stockier than I am, with thick muscles evident below his clothes. He reaches out his hand for a handshake, and I notice the jagged scar running down the side of his temple to his jaw. It looks relatively new and still pink.
"Primo, what happened?" I question, motioning my chin to the scar and gripping his hand in a firm shake.
"A little trouble with another cartel,niño, nothing to worry about," my uncle Manuel answers for him, before he can get a word out.
"You're not in school, cuz?" I raise my eyebrows; my cousin and I are the same age.What does my uncle have him involved in? Why isn’t he finishing off his senior year?
