Page 101 of Wishing for La Luna
I text Chico.
Me
Where do I find Thierry?
Chico
At the gym. That fucker is a gymrat, and his team is in a bye week, so he’s in town.
Tito is down to go, so we head that way. “Cause fuck this. He’s doing too much talking.”
“I’m going to make sure he understands Luna is not alone.”
Twenty-nine minutes later, we arrive at the gym. Chico lets us in.
Thierry smiles, condescendingly, like he’s holding back laughter. “I guess you’re here about the sound bite.”
“She’s not by herself.”
“Could’ve fooled me. She’s always on her own when we meet.”
The haze of red that rolls over my eyes is strong. “Stay the fuck away from her.”
He waves me off. “Tell your girl to stay away. She won’t, though, because she’s getting paid well, and she gets to stick it to Adina. You probably wonder every day what else she would do for the money and to needle her ex-bestie some more.”
“Fuck off. Luna is not Adina, which is why you’re after her.”
“I mean, I don’t have to tell you. But if you keep your bitch close, you don’t have to worry about dogs roaming around her.”
The electricity that flows through my fist is so strong.
“Big talk when your girl is still in my DMs. Someone should do her a favor because there’s no way I’ll risk Luna for her. And you felt the same way; that’s why you’re so sprung after my woman. The only way you could have her is by drugging her, and even then, she was telling you to fuck off.”
“Motherfucker.” He swings at me and sucker punches me on the lip.
In my mind, I see her that night, out of it, saying no while this asshole cops a feel and kisses her.
It’s like he pops me like a balloon, because I lose it and start swinging at him, jabbing him everywhere, the eyes, the mouth, the side. His bodyguard lands a few feet from me, and I’m still punching until someone drags me away.
“Lo vas a matar,” Tito’s voice breaks through, and Thierry is on the floor, grabbing his shoulder and screaming.
* * *
Luna
My heart is pounding as I get off the Uber in front of the Midtown police station. There are so many questions and emotions swirling through me. I’m angry that Rio let himself get baited into Thierry and his friends’ fuckery. How can he feel insecure about that idiotic fuckboy? There’s no way in hell I would ever consider giving him a second of my day other than for work purposes. His asshole friends on the radio are a bunch of loser clout chasers with platforms. They instigate gossip because it’s the only way people listen to them. And now Rio is in deep shit.
I’m not worried about the optics. Maeven can create a plan, and I’ll do anything to help him navigate through that. It’s the charges that concern me. Given his history of fights, the cops and Thierry will likely try to use it against him. Elevate is already creating a plan of action. I sent preliminary statements to my supervisor. While he reviewed them, he asked that I head down here to meet with Thierry and his lawyer.
Maeven is headed this way. We agreed to collaborate for our clients, but I’m still worried. The little voice in my head tells me it won’t be that easy.
I walk into the station with the weight of every eye on me. People whisper to each other without bothering to hide it. I keep my face straight and my eyes forward. I spot Hank Brenon, Elevate’s chief lawyer, going into a room and move fast to catch up to him. He sees me as he turns his rectangular face with a prominent forehead and geometric glasses to close the door, and holds it open for me. I rush in and stop dead in my tracks. A tall man that I barely recognize as Thierry stands before him. To say his face is bruised would be a gross understatement. One of his eyes is swollen shut, and the other is blackened. His lip is busted. His shoulder hangs in a sling. I gasp, my jaw dropping.
“Jesus Christ,” Hank swears behind me. “How are you feeling?”
“How does it fucking look? My arm and shoulder are killing me. That shithead?—”
The sound of footsteps echoes closer, and I turn around as Rio is brought in. His hands are handcuffed behind his back. His lip is busted, though not nearly as bad as Thierry’s. There’s a bruise on his jaw. I don’t think, I rush to him. His gaze centers on me, and there’s something there. Chagrin? An apology?
