Why was it that as soon as you cleared someone from your system, they tried sneaking back in like nothing happened? That's exactly how I felt at the sight of Ángel sitting in my VIP section at work. Two weeks had passed since we last saw each other, and with the help of Jamilee, I was doing a good job of staying away from him. I blocked him in my phone, on all forms of social media, and stared at my naked body covered in adding bruises every time I even thought of reaching out to him. He would have some of his men post up in front of my school, but I nipped that shit in the bud by reporting them to campus security. Jamilee also made sure to stay by my side whenever we went out. They knew better than to mess with her. Too bad she couldn't show up to work with me. I could've used her support and protection right now.
"Welcome to Duplex, my name is Trish, and I'll be your server. What can I start you with?" I said, making sure to keep my distance from Ángel, who sat in the center of the leather sofa, two set of men flanking him on each side.
Ángel leaned back in his seat and sized me up, his eyes lingering on my curves, which were on full display in the little black dress I wore. "I would like three bottles of Moet Rosé...Trish. Then I want you to tell your boss that you're taking the rest of the night off to join me. I've been missing your company."
"So, that's three bottles of champagne?" I pretended to scribble on the notepad. "Got it. I'll be right back with your order. Would you like to add on any appetizers?"
"What I want to eat isn't on the menu."
I clenched my thighs together at the mention of Ángel's devilish tongue working its magic on my sweet spot. In the past, he was able to gain my forgiveness by apologizing to my body, but the words never made it out of his mouth. It was my fault; I taught him how to treat me, and like any good student, he paid close attention. Now I was paying dearly for sweeping everything under the rug.
"What's wrong with you?" Nicole asked as she handed me the bucket filled with ice and champagne. "You got a money table tonight. I don't know what he does for a living, but I know every time he comes here the waitress doesn't walk away with anything less than ten grand in tips. That sounds like a down payment on a laboratory."
"Fuck a lab," I replied, yanking the bucket off the table with more anger than I intended.
Nicole's eyes widened at the statement. "Trish, you've been acting real funny over the past couple weeks. I know your parents haven't noticed because they like to think you're perfect, but I always make sure to keep an eye on you."
"Maybe you should focus some of that attention on Normani. She's the one who needs someone to talk to with the way she keeps crying for help in her sleep."
The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them. I didn't mean to out Normani's personal problems, but Nicole was a bloodhound—once she got a whiff of something she wouldn't stop until she had all the information. Maybe she could channel some of that energy to her sister. Concern flashed in her eyes for a fleeting second.
"You're not the only one people watching, Nicole. You play like you can't stand Normani all you want, but I know better. Whatever your beef is with her, you need to squash it." I regretted it when Nicole's face formed a mask of anger. "Nicole—"
"Don't you have your drinks? Now get the fuck away from my bar."
Nicole turned her attention to the hands waving for her assistance. I shifted the champagne bucket and headed back upstairs to my section where I found that Ángel and his men weren't alone. A woman sat on each of their laps with the exception of Ángel, whose wife sat beside him draped in jewels and dressed in a Givenchy number I saw in Normani's closet. They were tonguing each other down like horny teenagers. I placed the bucket on the table and set them up with flutes and enough napkins to keep them out of my hair for at least half an hour. One of the women waved her hand at me.
"Excuse me, we need a few bottles of Patrón and some of those buffalo chicken wings. Mmkay?" she said with a little more stank than necessary. I started off to put in their order when she called me back. "That's a really nice necklace that you have on. Where'd you get it from?"
"Stefania," Ángel's wife hissed, giving her friend a warning look.
Stefania shrugged back in response. "What, Camila? I was just asking a question."
I glanced down at the necklace, which was a gift from Ángel for my birthday. "A friend of mine gave it to me for my birthday. Is there anything else I can get you?"
"That'll be all," Camila said kindly.
There she was with that nice attitude of hers, making me feel worse than I already did. Why would Ángel cheat on her? She was beautiful—with high cheekbones, blue-green eyes, porcelain skin, and a head full of natural blonde hair that would never need to be hidden underneath a wig—and no matter how I hashed it, us being together would always remain a mystery. I stole peeks in their direction as I made my rounds, each one doing more damage to my self-esteem than the last.
"Trish, your food for section three is up," Sarah, one of the waitresses, announced to me as I was grabbing drinks for another table.
"Can you take over section three for me please? I wouldn't ask you if I didn't need it."
Sarah lit up at the idea of taking over a money table. "Trish, you're giving up a lot of money..."
"Money isn't worth your sanity," I replied with a sigh. "I'll be sure to do the transfer in the system as soon as I'm done serving this table. You mind if I take one of your regular tables?"
"Take whichever one you want. You know what? I have a table that might bring you in some decent cash. You see the one with those women over there? They've been buying drinks at a steady pace. I wish they would've accepted a few drinks men have offered to buy them."
On the opposite side of the club was a group of four women having a good time with each other. They resembled supermodels and men visited their tables every now and again. Each time they turned the men down and went back to partying with each other. I knew exactly how to play this table to get the best tip. After finishing my rotation, I headed over to the ladies' table and introduced myself with a sultry smile.
"Good evening, my name is Trish. I switched tables with Sarah to offer you a more personalized service," I replied, being sure to make eye contact with each of them. "How about I start with you with a round of drinks on me?"
The women smiled at each other and then at me. "We'd like that," they chimed and went back to dancing.
A mischievous smile spread across my face on my walk to the bar. The reason why they had turned down drinks from men was because they were out on a double date with each other. Some might believe the solution to the problem was telling their admirers they were lesbians, but that would take the attention placed on them to a whole new level. Each time a man asked me to take a drink to them, I mentioned that they were with the Mackenzie family. Word traveled around, and they were left alone for the rest of their stay.
"Thank you for making this such an amazing night, Trish," Mona, the leader of the pack, said, kissing me on the cheek on their way out. She held out a card to me along with a black envelope. "If you ever need anything, please don't hesitate to reach out to me. We'll see you around."
I squeezed the envelope tight. There had to be a decent chunk of change inside. Not wanting to risk losing my blessing in disguise, I went upstairs to the locker room to place the envelope inside of my locker. While I was alone, I pulled my cell phone from my bra to see if I had any messages. My entire screen was filled with messages from Ángel using someone else's phone. He started off begging me to meet him in the bathroom, but around the time I changed tables, the messages became downright nasty. I jumped when the phone started ringing.
"Listen, I told you that I'm done with you, Ángel! Leave me the fuck alone!" I screamed into the receiver.
Click.
I threw myself down onto one of the leather sofas that dotted the large changing room. My frustration turned into tears. The walls were starting to close in on me with every passing minute. I couldn't go anywhere without Ángel stalking me in some way, shape, or form. Part of me was ready to go back to him so I could get some peace.
"I don't know how many other ways I have to make myself clear, Trish. We're not done until I say we're done," a cold voice said from the doorway.
Ángel stood against the closed dressing room door, watching me with a blank expression on his face. In his hand was a burner phone, most likely the one he had been using to harass me all night. I swiped away the tears in my eyes, refusing to let him see that he had me any more stressed than I already was. Judging by the predatory look in his eyes, I could tell he was having more fun stressing me out than being with me. I was nothing more than a game to him, and I guess I would have to put up with this until he grew bored of me.
"No, Ángel, we're done tonight. You don't love me—you never have. Everything you've put me through over the last year shows that you get off more on control than being with me. You like knowing that I'm afraid of you, and you'll do anything, like show up where I work with your wife, to make sure I'm miserable."
"I didn't invite her here tonight, Trish. Her meddling sister showed up because she knows about you. I love you, Trish," Ángel plead, switching from cold to apologetic when he saw I wasn't backing down. "I'm sorry for the way I treated you the last time we saw each other. I've tried to apologizing in person, but you've been avoiding me."
"I'm avoiding you because I'm done with you, Ángel!" I screeched, backing away from him and placing my hands out to stop him from walking toward me. "There is no love between us. I wasn't with you for love—I dealt with you because my self-esteem was so low I believed I was worth half a man, a shitty half at that. You use me as a punching bag so you don't have to lay a finger on the woman that really matters to you."
Ángel didn't like being called on his shit. No one who was wrong ever did, but coming from me, it had to have been an extremely low blow. After all, I was supposed to be convenient pussy without a brain or mouthpiece attached. He pretended to be unfazed by the accuracy of my words—stroking his beard while laughing—except he forgot that we had been together for so long that I knew when he was going to fly off the handle.
"Jamilee's got you feeling yourself, huh?" Ángel asked after another minute of laughter. "I can't think of any other reason for all this mouth from you, Trish. She's jealous of what we have. Her boyfriend can't do half of what I do for you."
"You haven't done anything but make me miserable."
Ángel took the jab in stride. "Is that so? Well then maybe I need to call my realtor and have him put the laboratory space I purchased for you back on the market." He noticed the surprise in my eyes. "It wasn't until I arrived home that I realized how wrong I did you, Trish. I knew if I was going to make things better between us I would have to come with a grand gesture to show how sorry I am. I am sorry, Trish. You have to believe me."
Ángel took one step forward, and I took two back. This was how it always started with him: apologies for beating the shit out of me, promises of treating me right from here on out, followed by some fake grand gesture I would always hear about but never see. He kept walking toward me, his sweet nothing growing closer no matter how much I backed up. They came to a halt when he had me backed against a wall. That was when the real Ángel came out. He grabbed me by the neck and slammed my head into the wall for extra measure.
"I should have my men find that loudmouth friend of yours and cut her tongue from her mouth for having you think that you could speak to me however you please," Ángel hissed, squeezing my neck tight. He placed his chapped lips against my ear and added, "The only way you're getting away from me is in a pine box. You understand me?"
I clawed at his hand, my eyes begging him to let me breathe. My lungs swelled in relief as his grip slackened. Between breaths, I replied, "You're right: the only way I'm escaping you is if you kill me. Do it, Ángel. Put me out of my misery because I would rather be dead than stuck with you."
"Is that how you really feel?" he asked through gritted teeth.
I nodded. "If you don't kill me, I'll kill myself."
Ángel let go of my neck and walked away from me. I sagged against the wall, still trying to catch my breath, when a blow knocked me off of my feet, a kick in the stomach following shortly after. My head hit the floor with a crack, causing my vision to starburst. Ángel dropped to his knees and stared at me, studying the pain on my face. He ran a hand over my jawline with a lover's caress and punched me in the same place, proving that any type of pleasure always involved some kind of pain. I wasn't ready for the first punch, but I braced myself for the second and was relieved that I was fading too fast to feel it. My body grew warm and fuzzy, like it was comforting me for death to arrive. A smile spread across my face. This was it, the moment I had been waiting for.
I was finally free.
__________
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Sniffle.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Sigh.
The duet happening in my hospital room was soothing. I would've danced to beat if my body didn't feel like it had been hit by a truck. Why wasn't I the least bit surprised that Ángel couldn't kill me? I had taken away the fun by giving him permission to do so. He couldn't bear to walk away without the last laugh, so he beat me within an inch of death just to let me know that if he wanted to, he could've taken my life. I wanted to believe this was my parting gift for our tumultuous relationship, but I knew better; he was going to wait for me to let my guard down before striking again.
"Trish? Trish, are you awake? Can you hear me?"
My eyes fluttered open to find Nicole hovering above me. Her cheeks were tear-stained like she had been crying, which was weird because Nicole never cried. Not when our grandmother died, not when one of her ex-boyfriends was murdered in front of her, not even when she heard the news about Normani. Nicole was a human rock, and to see her crying over me of all people was disturbing. I tried to tell her to calm down, but my throat felt like sandpaper. She removed the mask delivering oxygen long enough to give me a drink of water. The cold water caused my throat to contract, making it a chore to get the water down. I persevered, drinking my fill and breathing heavily after doing so.
"Trish, I'm not here to judge you. I'm not even mad. All I want is a name. Tell me who did this to you, and I'm not accepting 'I don't know' as an answer," Nicole said patiently. "I haven't called your mother yet because, when I do speak to Tina, I want to be able to tell her that the problem is solved. I can't do that until you give me a name."
I would've believed Nicole's pretend calm if not for the vein in her temple throbbing. She was fuming on the inside, and depending on my response, I could send her over the edge. "Ángel. Ángel Garza."
"Ángel Garza? The third jineteof the Tres Jinetes?" Nicole replied, referring to the Three Horsemen Cartel Ángel was part of. "You can't be serious right now, Trish. A fucking jinete... Their infamy is based on no one knowing what they look like and you managed to fall into the second in command's lap."
I replied with a weak ass shrug. "I was going through a really rough patch when we met. He was good to me at first, telling me things I should've told myself, and next thing I know, he turned into a monster. I stayed mainly out of fear, but also because I believed he was the only one that would ever love me. Stupid, right?"
Our conversation was interrupted by a knock on the door. A doctor entered with a nurse following right behind her. Nicole sat back down in her seat and pulled it closer to my bed, which was her polite way of letting the medical professionals know that she wasn't going anywhere. The doctor's smile grew strained; I could tell this wasn't her first interaction with my cousin. If they were bothered by how she was behaving, they didn't let it show, instead focusing on checking my vitals and making notes on the clipboard placed at the foot of my bed. The doctor came over to the left side of my bed—far away from Nicole—and checked out some of the superficial bruises on my arms as she gave me a brief rundown on my condition. I suffered from a concussion—no surprise there—and had been put under observation all night. My vitals were strong, I wasn't showing any signs of long lasting neurological damage, there were no signs of broken bones, and if I continued showing signs of improvement, I would be released. I could tell that she was dancing around a piece of important information. Nicole grabbed my hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. Everyone knew something except for me.
"Ms. Boswell, you were brought into the emergency room with heavy uterine bleeding. Upon further inspection, we discovered that you miscarried due to the trauma you experienced." The doctor took my hand into hers. "I'm sorry for your loss."
"Thank you," I choked out.
"Can she have some time alone to process the news?" Nicole said as more of an order than a question. She waited for the pair to clear the room before asking, "Trish, I can't imagine how you're feeling right now—"
"Relieved." The first word that came to mind after finding out that I was no longer pregnant by Ángel was, "Relieved. Why would I want to carry a constant reminder around with me for the rest of my life? How did you know I was pregnant?"
"I'm the one that found you," Nicole explained. "I came looking for you when you didn't return once your break was done. You were lying in a puddle of blood barely moving. My first thought was that you was stabbed in the stomach until I looked and saw..." There was no need for an explanation of what she saw. "Trish, I don't plan on letting him get away with this."
Nicole worked as a bartender at Duplex for show, but her real occupation was as one of Urban's most loyal hitters, starting at the age of eighteen when she moved into our house. Her hands were the most lethal in Brooklyn, with her longtime boyfriend, Malone Mackenzie, coming in second. The couple was responsible for more than three-fourths of the gang related hits that took place within New York City. It was all good when I was battling him alone with only Jamilee's words as my support, but Nicole's idea of growing a backbone involved breaking a nigga in half. Ángel had no idea whose cousin he fucked with but Nicole would make sure he found out.