Page 121 of Nest of Thieves
“Bistec encebollado. Steak and onions.”
“Need any help?”
“You can chop the onions while I cook the steak.” He points to the knives and grabs a bag that has a few pieces of thin steak marinating.
Setting my water aside, I grab the chef’s knife and set to work chopping. The steak starts to sizzle in the pan and my stomach growls. I’m so hungry.
“You know how we met?”
I glance at Vette, pausing with the knife on the cutting board. “You and the guys?”
He nods.
“No.” I continue chopping, waiting for him to give me more.
“We were all around twelve when we ended up in the same foster home. The couple were assholes, and we were all so angry at the world. We got in trouble. Suspended from school. Grounded. Shut in our rooms together. Basically, they tried to ignore us the best they could.”
I drop the onions in a bowl and slice into the jalapenos. Vette turns the steak over.
“Eventually, they got tired of our shit and sent us back to the group home. At that point, no one wanted to adopt angry teenagers. The guys and I became inseparable. Somos familia. We’re family.”
“Family by choice.”
“Si. We left the group home at sixteen and never went back. It didn’t take long for us to get involved with Atlantic City Knights.” He says all of this without concern of me knowing their story, and a twinge of guilt races down my spine. This is what I’ve been waiting for.
Trust.
This is what I need to save my sister.
It feels so wrong.
“Anyway. We got mixed up and ended up being the punishers. The ones who would go and kill whoever wronged our boss.”
This is my golden opportunity to ask more about A.C.K., but my gut twists with unease. I don’t want to dig for information while he’s telling me about his past. It doesn’t feel right.
“How long did you do that?” I ask instead, taking out most of the seeds of the jalapenos but leaving some.
“Too long.” He removes the steaks and drops them into a bowl, letting the extra juices drip into the bottom. “We were losing ourselves. Our humanity. Mis padres would have been so disappointed. It fucked with Mac the most.” He gestures for me to bring the onions and jalapenos.
I dump them into the pan, and he sprinkles salt over them, using a spatula to make sure the onions are in a thin layer across the pan.
“My point is, we’re not good guys, Jo. We’re fucked-up. We will fuck up. We’re all starved for love.”
I bite the inside of my cheek and lean against the counter. If that’s true, why is Lark running from me?
“But,” Vette caveats, “sometimes when you’re not used to receiving something, it can make you do stupid things.” He stares at me. “The only people who have ever loved Lark are me and Mac. ¿Entiendes? Do you understand?”
Remembering the time my mother showed up at the dorms and I showed her Atticus, or when I got in trouble for stealing that alpha’s watch at the Spring Soiree, or any other time I was simply being myself and she rejected me, I realize I can understand some of that.
“Yeah, I hear you.”
Vette nods. “Good. But that doesn’t mean you forgive him for shutting you out without him earning it. He owes you an apology, an explanation, and an orgasm—or five.”
I chuckle and bump my elbow into his side. “Only five?”
“You want more than that?”
“I mean”—I shrug—“why not twenty?”
