Courtesy of Mamá Nana.

And if some white man raped your daughter, that man would be found, garroted.

Again.

Mamá Nana.

So if you heard any word from anyone about anything, and you certainly were listening, you told Mamá Nana.

Then she decided with her singular genius who to sell that information to . . . and when.

He should have learned from this.

Benito should have learned how to earn loyalty from Mamá Nana.

He had not.

However, right now, he didn’t have time for this.

“Mamá Nana, I need information,” he told her something she knew.

“You need a number of things, Benito.”

He clenched his teeth.

“That girl,” she flipped her hand, “the young one. You gave her opportunities. She warmed your bed. Then she betrayed you.” She rested her hand back in her lap. “This, I understand.”

That surprised him.

And at least it was something.

“The other one.” She drew in a breath. “Very sad. But messages have to be sent.”

That surprised him too.

“Yes,” he gritted out when she didn’t continue.

She turned to her tea, took it up, brought it to her lips, had a sip, put it back down, then again gave him her attention.

“It is God who judges,” she declared.

Fucking hell.

“It is,” he agreed.

“We have our wants, our desires,” she went on. “Even those that seem deviant to me, it’s not for me to judge. It’s for God.”

Benito felt stillness invade.

“And I have long since learned that a woman must do what a woman must do to get along in this world,” she continued.

“Mamá Nana—”

She interrupted him.

“She saw to your needs. Debased or not, she saw to your needs, Benito, and you disrespected her as you did?”

“It was her who showed disrespect,” he bit out.

She inclined her head. “I see. Understandable to teach her a lesson then. About the face, of course. But rape?”

Benito glowered into her eyes.

“That’s unacceptable, mijo.”

He was not her son.

He did not remind her of that.

“I’ve watched your career with some fascination,” she shared. “I even found at times I admired you.”

He put his hand to his chest and sieved the sarcasm out of his words when he said, “I’m humbled.”

“Nothing humbles you,” she replied softly. “This is your problem, muchacho.”

Benito dropped his hand.

“Make peace with this motorcycle club,” she demanded. “It was foolish to declare war on them. They are righteous warriors in a sea of wickedness. Their leader in other times would be a king. Give them what they desire, Benito.” She leaned toward him. “Everything they desire.”

Of course.

She knew about the bones.

She sat back.

“And rid yourself of the things that made your mother’s heart so weak,” she carried on. “Oh, the years she lived, the wear on her knees, worrying her rosaries, praying for your soul. You must put behind you the drugs, Benito. The whores. The guns that through you invade our streets. And then come back to me. We will talk again. We will find this man you seek.”

“I’m afraid that I’ll need your assistance sooner.”

She used the toe of her fifteen-hundred-dollar pump to slide the briefcase across the rough, warped, notched slats his way.

“And my regular fee will be triple,” she concluded as if he had not said a word.

“Mamá Nana—”

“I’ve spoken.”

He took a step toward her but stopped when her gaze got sharp.

“I have spoken,” she repeated.

He held her eyes.

Then he took more steps toward her, but to retrieve the briefcase.

He then turned his back on her and walked to the steps, down three, but stopped and turned when her voice came again.

“They say, mijo, these millennials who think they know all. The young. So brash. It’s amusing. But they say the future is female.”

He waited for it.

She didn’t disappoint.

“Learn this as you go forth in your endeavors, Benito.” Her voice was like a blade. “The future is now.”

She did not understand his actions with Camilla or Natalie or even the whore he’d beaten.

The man stood by his wife, the father his children, Mamá Nana would be there.

He did not, for him, Mamá Nana was a ghost.

But the woman with no husband, the children with no father, Mamá Nana was always at their side.

And if a man took his hands to his wife, his children, he was not found garroted.

But he left the neighborhood and he didn’t return.

Benito knew this before. He knew she would not make this easy and even thought she might not speak to him at all.

But he was reduced to this.

And it was worse.

He’d allowed an imbecilic, deadbeat, outcast biker to reduce him to this.

Perhaps he was actually learning a new emotion.

And experiencing it, he preferred only having the few he already felt.

He dipped his chin, tasting acid on his tongue, turned away, finished going down the steps and back to his car.

His driver was waiting at the open door for him.

He folded his body into the back.

His driver shut him in.

He tossed the briefcase on the seat between him and his man and faced forward, his expression stony, refusing to look out his window as his driver set them moving.

He detested being back in his old neighborhood and because of this, for years, he’d not returned.

The squalor. The ridiculous peasants laughing and cooking and celebrating Cinco de Mayo and meticulously planning their daughters’ quinceañeras and doggedly trudging to church on Sundays to worship a God who long-since had forgotten they existed.

They might have wanted more, but the white man would never allow that, and they were too stupid to know that if they really wanted it, they’d have to take it.

He’d wanted more.

And he’d taken it.

But he knew that Mamá Nana was wise.

And she was right.

He had few emotions, so he had no idea how to be humble.

He would have to learn before he lost everything.

Hawk Delgado had that stupid snatch he’d taught a lesson in her ludicrous red room.

With Delgado’s protection, even Benito could not find her to silence her.

Yes, he’d have to learn to be humble.

Or he’d lose everything.

Sixx

When the black Mercedes was out of sight, Sixx moved from the shadows, up the steps, and leaned against the turquoise pole.

“Have I said how much I like your outfit?” Mamá Nana asked.

“Not yet,” Sixx replied, not looking down at the close-fitting black net sweater over the skintight black cami that topped skinny camo pants and glossy ankle boots with their narrowed square toe and chunky, three-and-a-half-inch heel.

“It confuses them when you care about what you wear,” she declared. “It makes them underestimate you. Like our minds are so frail, it’d overtax us to see to our appearance, put together an attractive outfit, and be able to recite that two plus two equals four.”

Sixx really liked this woman.

So she smiled.

“His mother,” Mamá Nana said quietly. “Una santa. His father, un cabrón. Though he was simply useless. Their boy was just born bad.”

Sixx knew little about Benito Valenzuela.

But she was catching up.

And from what she was learning, the woman couldn’t be more right.

“I need to know where those bones are, Mamá Nana,” she told her.

“This, I will tell you. If our agreement stands.”

Sixx nodded. “I’ll give them to that Club.”

Mamá Nana nodded back. “I will send mis hijos with you. They will be heavy. Soiled. It would be a shame if you ruined that outfit.”

Sixx shook her head. “I have some men who’ll help me.”

“You can trust them, mi loba,” she said softly. “And they will guide your way. Not to mention, these bones are considered treasure. They’ll be guarded.”