Caged: Retribution
Chapter 9
Téa didn't have much of a chance to evaluate all that love on Todd's face, which she'd long determined to be a mix of vulnerability, desire, fear, and sorrow. He turned to the rain and she repressed a shout to get him to turn back. She wanted to see that look again because that was the man she knew. And that man… always brought them together. Except his shirt buttons had been undone near to his navel and she had seen the black snake. The top edges of its body contained the letters of his MK affiliation and the forked hissing tongue of its open mouth on his neck warned of it, and that brought her smack back to the reality of their circumstances. He had changed too much… or she did… or maybe she just saw him now for who he really was…
...a man driven almost entirely by his history. He WAS his history.
Yes, yes, that was it. Here in Havana and perhaps since that fateful day when she saw the MK letters in his tattoos… his history had become a screaming constant coach at his side, pushing him down the field, shoving him left and right and to the center and every other way. Before, at least, the coach had only whispered directions. Téa sighed heavily and gripped the door behind her. He didn't give her time to consider what he was saying in that one familiar look. No, he blinked it all way, the love disappearing inside of him as he turned to that rain.
"Didn't think it was gonna get all stormy again," he said, his words slurring, swaying a little. Shoving his hands into his pockets. The music had quit and yet he was still dancing. A little.
"I'd a' dressed for it," he added.
Téa was silent. He could feel her staring at him. Seeing her had been… like rain on his tongue. He watched the drops fall steadily, evenly, lit up against the streetlights. Havana had been particularly wet this winter, he had heard. The winter had been strangely cold for the island. Global warming, he supposed, funny as that sounded because he was cold as hell right now. Cold to the bones. No kinda warming in that. The rain had soaked through to his skin. He smoothed his jeans at his thighs and touched the fabric of his shirt at his belly. The rain just kept going. And right now it smelled like Téa's perfume. He closed his eyes and laughed softly at an intrusive memory of another perfume.
His mother's.
"'God is crying,'" he said aloud. "My mama used to say that. Stupid 'cause I don' think she believed in God."
He searched the room for a chair because he was woozy with all that Jack and ice. Drank that shit like it was water and made the fuckin' plans. Easy peasy. Kapow. Sky will be raining men. And maybe bits of his mother. He shook his head. His mother was dead and gone. There was a song with that line, yeah? It's raining men. Good one, Blanco. He sniffled and plopped down on the fat chair by the desk. Eyes on his wife. She was backed up against the door, a guard to a wild beast. He held back another drunken laugh and resisted grabbing his cock. A beast alright. He was full of laughs tonight.
"Do you believe in God, Delgado?"
In a clipped voice, she said, "You're drunk."
"L'abogada… there she is... always on the ball, verdad?"
She didn't say anything and he got slightly anxious because he was here to talk to her, to see her, and he couldn't deal with her silence at him. This shutting him out. "Answer me - do you believe in God?"
"Why should I answer? You don't really care about God or whether I believe in it or anything. All you care about is your… retribution."
Téa eyed him, fingers digging into the wood to keep her in place because she wanted to slap him awake. To bring back the man she loved. She wanted that look again. She wanted to see the man who loved her in Llanview, who fought for her, who'd kill for her. The one who promised behind the peephole, I won't hurt you, Delgado. He was a stranger in so many ways… and yet… he was exactly who he'd always been. He had his long legs apart, hunched into himself, elbows on the chair's arms, one hand smoothing his beard. Long silver-tinged hair dipped to his shoulders, wet strands striping his cheeks. Those light eyes full of darkness were on hers. As steady as the rain behind him.
He fingered the medal around his neck. Touched it thoughtfully, Rico in the background of his thoughts. He meant to go back to Sylvia's after talking to that munitions guy. He did. He walked ten feet out the front of the bar and then turned around and ran for downtown Havana like a crazed horse running for the stables. Running to her perfume.
He said, "God's a cruel bitch if he's real. Or if she is."
"God isn't a he or a she."
He smiled, tilting his head to the side. Happy to see her playing along. He chuckled, "So you do believe. You're a... believer."
"Maybe I am." She didn't move. Brows furrowed. "Why are you here? I doubt it's to talk about God."
His smile had faded at her use of his words against him. Ever the lawyer. "Why am I here," he mused. "Jus' needed to see you."
Téa snapped, "And how might Rico feel about that?"
She bit her tongue, literally. She did not want to be pissy and yet here it was. It was why Rolon came to her room, why she rang him and said, get down here, get in my bed. And he did. She'd heard the desperation in Todd's voice and got… wounded. Do you have Rico with you? Got petty. She tried to be her empathetic self… to recall the beauty of them in spite of horror-filled histories, to appreciate his breathtaking ability to find love in the darkest places. She tried to live in her vow to postpone her more base instincts until he was well. Until she had rights again, but then it all failed because she had to ask… what rights was she talking about? This wasn't Sixteenth Street. Havana was far darker thanks to her poor aim. Were they even married anymore, in God's eyes? Did she want to be married to him? What did they have anymore?
The children. They'd always have their children.
She held his expressionless gaze, no answers there. Beyond the bullets, he had an obligation to tend to a beautiful artist at Sylvia's casita, one that brought him to life with his kisses and the way he took him into his mouth, massaging and sucking until Todd's body had quaked and Todd himself was gasping...
Lemme see you come.
She huffed, a pain right through her gut. "Well?" She wasn't going to back down, sympathies for his wounds aside. Rico was wounded, too, and Raquel had conveyed enough judgment of them to make Téa think Todd wasn't so honorable when it came to him. Todd had said he'd been rude to Rico. He'd hurt him and his lover had run.
He let go of the medal and tore away from her piercing look at him. He felt naked. She could see through him, into him, and she had always loved him no matter what she saw. At least he used to think that. Until the bullets. And maybe that was why he was here. Because he wanted to study her, to understand her. Like a frog on a dissection table. He rubbed his face, hiding behind his hands. Why had she shot him? In the end? Why? His own voice banged in his head… how could you do that to me? Alcohol made him a little nauseous, truth be told. He needed water. The room spun when he closed his eyes so he kept them open.
Shrugged, "I got no fuckin' idea how he'd feel. He does kinda like you so maybe he'd be jus' fine with it." Rico's body reverberated against him still, the frenzied need for sexual contact… so clearly coming from madness, a commonality they shared. Being wrecked through and through by monsters was their mutual state of being. He scratched his chest, buttons undone, and he realized he couldn't remember how they came undone. Things had happened to him his whole life and his brain filed them away like top secret shit.
That's above your pay grade, Mr. Manning.
His heart sped up, a sudden rumbling of fear coming up like vomit. A man at the door. Someone other than Peter. Moving out of the shadows. The ties at his wrists tightened and so did his balls... like Pavlov's dog. Dogs. Plural. He wanted that good feeling all over again.
Hello, beautiful boy. I am here to show you more lovely things tonight. We had a wonderful time when we last met. You made such angelic... noise.
Todd huffed and shot open his eyes. He could have thrown his head back and howled like a dying Pavlov dog. He growled instead. He'd gotten lost there, the pictures coming at him without warning, without any rules. Time hadn't passed, however. Téa was still at the door, apparently innocent to the hell he was living. The rain was still coming down and his hand was flat on his chest. Wet skin. He was shaking with cold. He looked at his palm as if it had blood on it and back at her. His breathing normalized. Caro faded into the dim light of the room. Only a temporary reprieve. He should have gone back to Sylvia's house to check on Rico. But he didn't. Couldn't. He ran to her hotel, boots smacking hard on the asphalt and concrete and cobblestone. He'd run looking back over his shoulder, sure someone was following him. Just ghosts. Cops. Criminals. God. God had been following him, huffing in his ear.
"Todd?" She had seen him vanish into something. She had stood still as death as he drifted, his eyes open and afraid, looking at nothing, not breathing. Then that small gasp as he came back to the room. God… god… she could not help him and it killed her.
He was quiet, eyes serious, lips pressed tightly into a hard line. Now, now he showed her his worries. A peek into his soul-deep woundedness. Téa gripped the door. There, that look, that was her husband. The one who wrangled her in like a wild horse. Amor, how you tear me to pieces, how absent you were when I put two bullets into your chest. I saw nobody other than Blanco.
"Who undid your buttons? You never wear your shirt like that."
Suddenly the hurt was gone and after a moment or two, he laughed a little, rubbing his face once more. His voice was soft and scratchy and his words blended together. He said, "I think a woman did it. I think... she did it at the bar where the whiskey was and MK men were talkin' to me before the rain started. I think. Funny, I can't remember. I forget so many things..." He stopped talking. Added, "Like why I'm fuckin' here."
Téa could see the trembling of his body and the mother in her, the wife, thought he should get out of those wet clothes. Instinct. "Tell me about Rico," she said instead. "Where was he?"
"Rico," he rasped. Licked his lips… "Mmmm… found him in the Maze… a place where whores go to fuck. His brothers found him first and beat the holy hell outta him."
"That's horrible. I'm sorry." He could tell, she meant it.
"Such a fuckin' useless word. Sorry sorry sorry." He smiled crookedly. "I like the way you say it though. Sssaw-reee. Soft, no tongue on your teeth... not like lo siento... It's harder. See-en-TOH... teeth on your tongue... teeth teeth..."
He got to his feet all of a sudden, boots hitting the floor, and he jogged into the bathroom. Like the pro he was, he dropped to his knees and puked his guts out. Tears and snot and Jack. Teeth teeth teeth... he groaned a little. Grabbed his cock and squeezed it because he fucking felt like it. Because it screamed at him. Pavlov's dog. You make such angelic noise. Tears rolled hot down his face, lost in his beard. Let himself go and reached to flush everything away. The dizziness lessened. He fell back on his ass, knees up. Grabbed a towel off the rack above him and wiped his face. Banged the back of his head on the wall. Hissed, "Fuck..." He lost a bit of his drunken haze and the bathroom felt terribly real and small and her perfume was everywhere now. He wanted more Jack again. No… no… he wanted the fucking heroin.
FUCK.
Téa was at the bathroom door, barefoot, toenails painted red, smooth legs disappearing under a clinging black dress the top of which showed off cleavage, a swelling there because of the baby. Her breasts were fuller than usual. He licked his lips. Had a sudden overpowering need to lick her nipples, to suck at them, to touch those full breasts until she was screaming for him to get inside her. Closed his eyes. Why was he here? What the hell did he expect? Actually, she was doing what he had imagined her to do… standing there, high above, bending in the storm he brought her. Bending… like the palm tree she was. The strongest creature he knew. He was here because he needed her strength maybe.
"You ok?" She said the words as coldly as the rain, like she was part of that rain.
"Didn't eat… broke ma'own rule."
She stepped inside and fussed with a bag on the counter. Muttered, "I didn't know you had any rules." Turned around and dropped a toothbrush into the valley of his body.
He chuffed... "I got ethics. Lots of fuckin' ethics."
She left and returned with a thick velvet robe. A man's robe, dark green. She carefully put it on the counter and turned to face him, staring down at him. For being so much smaller than him, she towered now. Her hair fell about her face, darkening her features. Brownish fronds of the palm tree. He almost smiled - he would have if he still didn't feel sick.
"You'll catch pneumonia," she said. "Get out of those stupid wet clothes. Take a hot shower."
The door slammed shut.
He looked at the toothbrush, twisting it around. Red, brand new. American. "Didja bring a pack of 'em? For all your overnight guests?!" He shouted the words. Nothing came back. He rubbed his wet nose. And though he thought he lost his high, tears started coming again and he tried wiping them away but they just kept on, like the rain. His wrists burned from being tied up… and the bite hurt bad… the one on his chest from Caro… and pain shot up through him… getting him to hunch over… and through all that, he wanted to rub against Caro's dead body, rub until he's coming hard in his jeans like he did with Ivan… oh FUCK…
He threw up again only this time he tasted salt and bile and a whole lot of hate. At least tonight… he made sure the Macias brothers would be dead. Retribution. He coughed the end of the Jack and ice and wiped his mouth and remembered that a woman had unbuttoned his shirt and played with his nipple and then kissed him with soft lips. She had lingered at his mouth and it had made him think of Téa. Now he remembered the buttons. His wife had flashed into his head and the image had stayed with him, a bulldog's bite this time. He huddled against the wall and held his mouth hard and fast so no noise would reach her.
Téa heard the shower and the clunking of his boots as he undressed. Knew he grabbed onto the wall and grunted because he'd tipped over. She could imagine it because she'd seen him undress hundreds of times, drunk, lost in his darkness. Falling over. And now she wondered, of those times, how often was he high on heroin and not booze? How many nights had he crawled into bed, spent from having his cock milked by a whore? God, GOD, she had lived under a rock.
She closed the balcony doors but she wasn't sure that was a good choice because she could hardly breathe. The air was thick with moisture. She left one open. She thought of turning on more light. Decided against it - she wanted the low light. Too much light meant too much truth. She then lay on the bed and flicked through her phone's pictures. Starr, Lucia, Reese. Jedediah as a teenager, still bearing a kid's developing body. A more recent one with that charming-as-hell smile, eyes just like Todd's only so much lighter in spirit. He'd bulked up, so similar again to his father. Narrow, tight, hard muscles. He wanted to leave Havana but she didn't think he'd be able to do it, push come to shove ...
The door opened and Todd came out with the thick velvet robe on. He'd loosely tied the belt. "Is this Rolon's robe?"
"No," she snapped.
"Whatcha lookin' at?"
He still sounded drunk. His words still slurred. He wasn't swaying as much though. His hair was pulled back, slick with water. His skin had paled. He smelled of soap. "Our children," she said, "… your children." Like she thought, that was too much truth, too much light. He ignored her. The kids hit him deeply, she knew. It seemed like the one thing, the one weapon. He glanced around the room and walked to the single open door of the balcony. He leaned against the side of the closed door, depending on it being locked and immoveable to hold his weight. He crossed his arms. His head cocked to the side, against the door.
"Why'dja shoot me, Téa?"
"I told you… I wanted to kill Blanco. I thought I had to."
He was quiet a while. Then he turned around, back now at the door's edge. The robe had loosened some and Téa wanted to tie the sash tighter. Keep him wrapped up. His face wasn't full of love but full of the deepest hurt, a familiar look now. One he showed her everytime he'd laid eyes on her since she arrived in Havana.
"I am Blanco," he said."There is no difference and you fucking well know that."
"Do I?" She got up and stood with her hands on her hips. Her features were hard-set. She was angry now. "The man I lived with was a FATHER to his children, a HUSBAND to me. He had his issues, his wounds, his bad acts… but he had his goodness. GREAT goodness under everything. Ethics." She stopped talking, eyes away from him, eyes on the past, on that night. "In RJ's bar, you were nothing but a gangbanger. You revelled in the slaughter of your rivals. I saw you, Todd. YOU… were nowhere in sight. My god, Jedediah saw the video… and you know what he said?"
Todd shrugged. "The truth?"
"Yeah, the TRUTH. That you smiled at the camera… and flashed the MK sign with your fingers-"
"I meant that as a fuck-ya to Gannon."
"Except it wasn't just to RJ! You were saying it to your SON. You KNEW he'd see that! And if that was to Jed, then it was also a FUCK-YOU to US… your family. Lucia, Reese… Starr. That's what you said to all of us, that night." Her eyes dropped to his belly. "And that is a world of difference between YOU and Blanco."
"Wishful thinking. Todd and Blanco... one and the same."
"NO!" She stormed to him… tore open his robe… his arms moving to let her do it. He wasn't leaning on the door any more. He stood firm against the force of her as she flared her hand on the letters, her face close to his. She hissed, "Los Reyes del Mambo… you burned it onto your skin… and this ink screams to me my big mistake. That Blanco was the only one who could have survived the shooting. It's just like him to get shot and LIVE. A big old fuck-you to his would-be killer. ME. This ink is the biggest fuck-you to everyone who loves you. The truth is, my Todd didn't survive, my children's father… he died of a broken heart because I see so very little of him these days." Her voice cracked at that. "And for that... I'm so so sorry, and so regretful."
He was still for a moment, shadowed eyes on hers. Then he moved from the door, leaving Téa. He sat on the chair. Immodestly. One leg flung over the armrest, the rest of him lounging back. The sash had come undone. The sides of the robe had fallen away. A glaring fuck YOU. Rico had called Blanco his lion and there was definitely something untamed in the way he reclined there. She was right about him. Same as at the bar that night. Blanco had woken up and was here now.
She glanced away, murmuring, "Jesus…Todd..." But she looked again...
There was more to his pose than intimidation. There was something in the way he sat there… a using of his body. He showed his muscles when he did that, hard abs, shaped pecs, his resting cock… with a wildly clear message that it wouldn't be resting long. He had always done that, maybe, but there was an intentionality that perplexed her. THAT was unfamiliar. He had his eyes hard on her. She didn't know who THIS man was. There was some of Rico in it… she thought of how Rico lay on the bed, eyes on Téa… leaving her breathless and confused.
Come on… come on… don't you want it?
A seducer.
"Tell me," he purred, "Is this Rolon's robe? I smell him on it."
"No. It's your imagination."
She couldn't deal with his immodesty. Marched over to him and forced the robe's edges from his sides, covering him. And he laughed, a soft drunken laugh that reached his eyes, and for the shortest of instants Téa remembered their playfulness and their joyful tussling in bed that turned hot and she fought a burst of sadness. But the moment evaporated and he grabbed her hands firmly, grabbed her so hard it almost hurt, almost made her lose her balance. He'd very much stopped smiling.
"Todd," Téa growled, trying to pull away, useless effort. "Stop it…"
He jerked her closer to him, whispered between gritted teeth, "Is this...his robe?"
Her eyes narrowed with her own hate and she spat, "YES! Yes, Todd, he wears it when we're together. We roll around on it. Naked and sweaty. Yes, it's his cologne you smell but it might be mine and it might be a lot more than THAT… and how does it feel? You jealous? Be grateful. At least you don't have see him FUCK me."
He pushed at her, just enough to get her away from him. "Now it comes," he said darkly. "You're a liar. You judge me."
"So WHAT? You judge ME! You tell me you understand why I shot you, that you get it, that it was deserving, blah, blah, blah… and yet here you are in my room. To ask me again. To judge me! So we're even. Or maybe we're not. I don't love Rolon… you can't say the same about Rico."
"You loved RJ."
She said nothing.
"O'course you did," he murmured.
She leaned down and smiled… a bitter side smile that screamed she had something on him.
"And you loved... Kenny."
He was taken aback at that. His features softened just a tad. Just enough for Blanco to recede. Blinked.
"I saw it on his face when he told me about you and Rico… en sus ojos. He knew there was truth to you being with a man. He knew you could LOVE a man… and how could he know? Only if he experienced it for himself. And by the look on your face right now… I was right in my conclusion."
He looked away. Dropped his head back, eyes on the ceiling.
"Have there been any others? Maybe Leticia and Jovanna… were not the only sellers of heroin."
He didn't answer a long moment or two. Looked at Téa and got an ugly look on his face. "Does Caro count? Peter Manning?"
"No," Téa said. "Of-of course not."
"I learned to work with them… it wasn't all non-consensual."
Téa eyed him, a light going on. A seducer. Like Rico. My god… Her voice softened. "You were a child. Consent isn't possible."
He shrugged, "Do strangers in shooting galleries count? Faceless people… hands… mouths…when I was high and drifting in the black? Does Phillip Manning count… paying me a thousand bucks to suck me off so I could get a little more dope?"
She shook her head, swallowing rocks in her throat. Oh he was good at getting to her. He knew how to do this so well, shutting her down, twisting her weapon so the muzzle was at her heart instead of his. Yeah, he knew well how to smash his way into her softness.
He hmmd and added sarcastically, "You know, Phillip probably doesn't count because I didn't let him finish the job. I didn't come."
She bit her tongue once more only this time it was to stop from saying sympathetic things. He never shared any of this from Sixteenth Street. Perhaps he'd been a seducer there, too. My god….
"Todd…," she breathed.
"Then no, no others. You don't have any worries. Jackson a few times and now Rico. And yeah, Kenneth. One time. And he fucking broke me. Showed me something that felt like love in the middle of my Statesville run and that one night made me want to go home so fucking BAD but there was no way that shit was gonna happen so I only got angrier and unfortunately, Jackson tended to be the recipient of my hate because he couldn't do it like Ken did… and he sure as hell didn't feel like YOU. And what were you doing at the time? Oh yeah… screwing FUCKING Gannon." He did not smile. Eyes hard on her as he spat, "No… not screwing. Loving him."
She crossed her arms, hurting a little for sweet Smithy Jackson who had no idea why Todd couldn't hold the love he had tried to give him, and Todd laughed bitterly… groaning, "Oh my fucking GOD…"... and he sounded like he hated her with the fire of a thousand suns and god did that hurt. Her wrongs against him were hard to live with. Sure, his wrongs outweighed hers… but he had a way of making her feel that there was nothing worse than what she had done. She focused on him… and that was classic Todd Manning, the rapist. The one who assured Marty Saybrooke that he had "forgiven" her for her wrongs that made him rape her. In the court record. Yes… oh yes… every transgression he had committed had been preceded by hers, and hers had been the cause of her own downfall, and hers had been oh so much worse.
El Diablo Blanco.
She breathed a cleansing breath and stepped away from him. Her frayed nerves needed settling. They had gone back a hundred steps to the moment when he first saw her in Havana. He always seemed to devolve to hating her for shooting him. He could cop to the rightness of it a million times but he'd never let it go and it was a promise that he'd sure as hell use it when he needed to.
Maybe… maybe Jedediah was right. Maybe she should head home… there was no marriage, there was no hope, Blanco was alive and Todd was dead.
She walked to the bed and sat down, the baby kicking her. She massaged her side. "Tranquilo… muchachita…," she whispered.
Now they had time. Now she could evaluate what was happening here. How many sides of himself had he shown her in the past hour? Why? What was he doing? He wasn't going anywhere and neither was she. He had come here for a reason and she wasn't sure for what. Maybe it was just to figure it all out. Her, Rico, everything. The rain had gentled outside but the watery heavy air wasn't any better. She should have turned the lights on. There were too many ghosts walking around. Blanco was swinging his leg as it rested on that armrest. Head back…
He watched her from the corner of his eye… he had retreated into the safety of Blanco the bastard because Todd was too broken, too ashamed of how he operated. Ashamed of what MK had done to him. Ashamed of what Peter, and apparently Caro too, had created in him. He could close his eyes and if he was disconnected enough or open enough or lonely enough, anyone could touch him into oblivion. That woman tonight… how easy it had been. How frightening that was to him at times. Like a child, he gave himself up. Strangely defenseless. He swallowed, his leg swinging. Or maybe he was just crazy. Téa could never understand any of this. Children can't consent, she said. No, but they sure as hell can learn to make abuse easier to take.
What are you doing? What… what… get back to your room.
I'm scared of the rain. Let me get in bed with you.
Get the fuck outta here!
It's cold in my room. Let me, please, Daddy. I can keep you warm too.
He shuddered violently. He remembered these things now. All these truths. She wasn't safe anymore. Nobody was. She was right-he enjoyed ending Los Serranos that night, not to mention Horenda and Ivan and he was going to fucking love hearing the Macias brothers are dead and gone... and likewise, he was going to love eradicating Caro and all his tools.
He. Would. Love it.
He glanced at Téa. He wasn't safe anymore either. Ever. He was too weak with her, too needy and wanting… and… he was so very afraid of the visions and didn't know how to live with them. They overtook everything. They crawled out of thin air and were so real. Neverending. He rubbed his face, and pulled his hair back. A headache wracked him. Fucking whiskey. He heard Téa call room service, talking softly in Spanish.
"Coffee, sandwiches. I know the kitchen is closed. I will pay extra. A lot extra. Please? You have been so kind to me. I was hoping… yes, oh thank you, thank you so much."
Her voice carried over to him, soothing and caring despite her run-in with Blanco, "Will you eat, amor?"
He lingered on her mouth. Mimicked her. "Amor. A-mor."
Téa leaned back on her hands. Waiting.
"Do you love me, Téa?"
"Yes."
"What does that even fucking mean? You say it, I say it. Rico hates saying it, doesn't believe in it… or-or-or can't identify it but I think he thinks it. Brandy said it's when you give things up for someone else… what the fuck is love anymore? Today, now?"
She was quiet for a time, thinking about it. What is love? She looked at Todd, and he looked back at her, expressionless now. She loved him and yet she shot him. He loved her and yet he can't stop MK or heroin. He had said that Kenneth showed him something like love and Rico was definitely showing that now and vice-versa and she never doubted that he loved his children… and she certainly loved their kids and her own family and Abuela and...
She shrugged and sighed, "To me, love feels like home. When I am with you…" She paused. "When I was with you, I felt like I was at home. I felt complete. Whole. Love feels like something deep inside is being fulfilled. Like my soul is being fed. When I'm… when I was with you, at our house, in Llanview, in our bed, at dinner, in front of the TV with our babies in our arms… anywhere we are together, I felt fed. Brandy only caught part of it. Giving something up… that's just a tiny thing. One symptom of love. But not a requirement… just one expression of it."
Todd heard her, having turned away. Looking at her was agonizing, called for too much of him. Love felt like home. His eyes stung suddenly, salt running down his cheeks once more. Home. Where his children were. Where they had all been. Home… but it was also where he'd grown up. A home thoroughly corrupted. Where he'd been crushed through to his soul. Rico felt like THAT home and Todd was so fucking desperate to save him from it. And for a while… prison had been home. Bars had been safe. He sniffled back the snot and knew he shook from a sudden sob. He slammed a hand over his mouth and swallowed it all back. He closed his eyes and breathed. Waited for the pained spasms to quit. The rain had increased again and he adjusted himself on the chair, sitting proper-like. Wiped at his face and sniffled hard and angrily.
"I didn't mean to upset you," Tea murmured, her own eyes moist with unshed empathetic tears because nothing cut her more deeply than his pain.
God… damn it.
He watched the rain for a bit…. and now he looked at her with haunted eyes, like Rico's. Said quietly, "My home… was hell. My home with you was wrecked when you shot me. And prison… was home, too. Love isn't home, not to me."
She said in a soft voice, "I see that."
"So come up with something else."
She dabbed at her eyes and sniffled, too, twisted her mouth, thinking more on it. Shrugged and shook her head, "Love maybe is impossible to define then. Maybe it's just pure longing. A desire to be with the other person no matter what, without explanation. It just… IS. You know it when you feel it."
Her words meant something. He blinked… rubbed his mouth. Pulled his hair back and let it go. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. Head in his hands. He looked so sad, Téa thought. So… weighted by the confusion of this world.
She smiled sadly at him. "I don't know how to save you anymore. I remember when I thought sex was the way. I thought letting you have me, freely, any way you wanted or needed, that THAT would keep you close to me. That it would breathe life into you. And it did a little … like I saw with Rico… and yet that's not the answer."
He took her in a moment and then had to look away.
That sad smile again… "Sex is easy for me, simple. Two bodies making each other feel good. But not for you. Touching is layered with meaning and agenda and… and power differentials... and while feeling good, it can also be so damaging and you don't always know the difference. How could you? Nobody has ever shown you how to love the 'right way.' And now… someone who loved you, touched you, thousands of times… me… I touched another man while you were in prison, I do it now… here in Cuba…. and of course, ultimately, I tried to kill you. You must look at every touch you come upon with such... suspicion. Such unfathomable fear. No, I haven't helped your confusion in this regard. In any way. And I am supposed to be the one who loved you most."
Todd leaned back on the chair. Such fucking confusion. Just like Diego.
Why am I alive?
I don't know.
Why am I breathing?
Hell if I know.
Let me get in bed with you. I'm afraid of the rain.
And the sun, and the wind… FUCK, what aren't you afraid of?
Can I get in bed with you?
Don't, don't touch me. Please, Diego….stop touching me. You're just my friend.
He shook away the feel of him, those times when he'd paw at Todd 'cause he didn't understand. An endless battle. Sometimes though the fight got too hard and Todd would just lie there on his bunk, zoned out on dope, and let Diego burn himself out. The kid would hold onto him, rubbing on his thigh, bumping mindlessly until Diego shook, saliva wetting Todd's tee-shirt. He just had no fuckin' idea what to do with himself because this world was so goddamn confusing. Todd wondered if that was him, too. With Brandy, Jovanna, Leticia… etcetera… etcetera… etcetera.
Why am I here?
He cleared his throat and said in a still-scratchy voice, "I trusted you, Delgado, without confusion, when it came to you defending me… from all my wrongs, always." He laughed quietly, emptily, and raised a shoulder, eyes on the floor, "I could go to you with anything 'cause you were my lawyer… and... and you had my back like nobody else ever did." He pulled his hair back and tipped back again. Eyes on the ceiling. "Love was you. You took in my kids, you made a home for all of us... and you could never…" His voice dropped very low, quiet, quiet. "You could never rape me."
A knock at the door made them both jump, breaking their momentum. She went to the door after a moment and opened it, and a young man smiled and shyly brought in a cart with coffee and sandwiches just like Téa had requested. He then took one look at Todd and all that smiling disappeared. Todd was looking at him like he could strangle him in two beats. The tray dropped a little heavy on the table, the coffee carafe and mugs landing rough, too, and the man shuffled out fast, refusing any tip.
There was a water jug next to the sandwiches.
Todd moved slowly, getting to the table. Poured water into a glass and drank it down fast. Poured another glass-full and drank it down just as quickly. He returned to the chair with a sandwich in his hand. He ate it slowly. Téa took hers to the bed, a coffee on the nightstand. They ate in silence. Todd was a little more awake, a lot less drunk, and now kind of like a curious feral cat. He got up and nosed at the tray, finally picking up another small sandwich. He shoved it between his teeth and held it that way as he poured coffee into the other mug. He dumped some milk into it, splashing, and Téa smiled at the fact that he liked cafe con leche. He sat again in that chair and Téa thought he found some safety there. He finished his sandwich and sipped his coffee. He raised his eyes to her. She was up against the pillows. He studied her. Eyes moving down her body, back to her face once more. He was expressionless.
"Show me the pictures," he said. He wanted to see the children.
Téa picked up her phone, clicking it on, getting it set up, and motioned to him. He got up, taking slow steps like that same feral cat coming to unfamiliar food. The fear was real and thick. What he was afraid of was hard for her to know. He waited some moments before sitting next to her, the bed dipping slightly with his solid weight.
He took her cell. Took a breath before looking. He hadn't seen their faces since the shooting. Glanced down at last at Lucia, bright and grinning, a tooth missing. He missed that milestone. Putting money under her pillow. She had her very own fuck-you going on in her mismatched clothes and crinkled nose like Téa's. He swallowed hard. Shit. Slid the photo away. Reese came up. He had changed a little. Been six months, maybe? Something like that. He was grinning like the Cheshire Cat and Todd smiled for a second. His little monkey, legs and arms wrapped around him, hanging on for dear life. He looked like he was going to be ok maybe. Not so fragile anymore. Then Starr. College girl. Sexy sassy mama. Blair's daughter. Then Jed. A happy shot. Not like the last time Todd saw him from the balcony of Sylvia's house. He gripped that phone and slid through more pictures until he couldn't bear their faces any longer and tossed it to the side.
"You should talk to them," Téa said.
His hands were on the mattress, holding himself up. Eyes on his toes that he curled slightly and scraped the floor with. His breathing was tight. For a long while he just breathed and stared at the floor. Hardwood. Like Sylvia's place. Like the beachhouse. He shivered at the remembrance of Rico's neck in his hands, of his back getting rubbed raw on that floor. Shook it off. He turned to Téa finally. Couldn't let her go. Her dark eyes, dark hair, her changed figure that was all Mother Earth and fierceness and bearing down to push that baby out... to then make a house into a home... a place that would never be corrupted, a place where she would fight for her family... where she'd dream of saving him with whatever tools and weapons and shouts... anything... fighting them hurricanes that he never failed to bring her. Fighting and surviving.
She shot him because she was a MOTHER. Because she was terrified for her children. Because El Diablo Blanco was a mean, hateful, deadly bastard who kills without a second thought when he thinks it's justified and his justifications are broad and far-reaching and yeah, sometimes his bad acts blow back on innocents, to hell with Todd Manning's ethics.
Your ethics are fictional bullshit, bitch.
This… he knew.
"Oh Todd... don't look at me like that..."
He dipped down to her and held her around her waist, his head on her lap. The baby moved inside of her and he felt it, and he moaned softly, not moving for a long while as she caressed his head. He soon reached up her back and stretched and pressed himself on her just enough to push her down. He was over her now, and he held her, lifting her, sliding her more on the bed so she wasn't at the edge anymore. Now, now it was her turn to tremble.
"What?" she asked. His eyes, his mouth... those knitted brows, a face full of sorrowful love. She started to weep and tears wetted her eyes and she squeezed them and she felt his lips kissing the tears away. She reached up and held his face in her hands. Just looking at his face. No words able to be said. Too many to say.
And he laughed softly at her sudden silence after all her talking and explaining and analyzing. He leaned close to her and said, "Sex was a great way to try to save me. So... if you want to... try... you know-"
She grabbed him by the hair at that, shook him, and in a broken voice said, "But it's not enough. Tell me what to do, god damn it!"
He searched her eyes for an answer and he found himself silent. He had no solution either. How to save him? There was no saving him. There never was any way to do it. It was work with no end. He loved her for the effort. And if it wasn't for her shooting him, he'd be home, still loving her effort. He pushed through her hold of him until he had her lips against his.
"Love is right now," he said quietly. "Love is when all the shit goes away. Only with you could I forget who I was. That's what you did for me. You always made me forget. Just for a little while." He kissed her, a delicate, warm kiss. "You're beautiful. Like a sunrise. So much promise." He smiled, then didn't. That bottomless-pit sorrow returned to his eyes. "I wish I could forget long enough to go home."
Téa's voice caught in her throat, "Let it go, Todd… let them all go. Let law work FOR you. For those kids. Let prison kill Moreno, Caro… and all their workers. Please don't let it be you. I'm afraid that whatever bit of Todd is left… will completely disappear into Blanco...forever."
He didn't say anything to that. His hand moved on her belly, feeling around, his eyes on hers. He then rested his forehead on her cheek, and Téa touched his damp hair. A hand dropped to the robe. Her leg moved. Sliding on his.
"Stay with me, come home with me," she said quietly. "Forget Blanco... just be YOU."
He smiled, a sad one. And it cut into her because he whispered, "I can't forget."
He kissed her again, and again. Taking her lips between his, the tip of his tongue lapping at her so delicately she wasn't sure her he'd done it. His hand moved to her breast and he sighed with relief at touching her over her mourner's dress. He kissed her more at that, an intense consuming kiss. His tongue reached inside her mouth, giving her a familiar soulful caressing. A hand now on the back of her head, pressing her to him. His skin was warm, the robe falling open. Téa slipped her hand beneath the velvet, touching his hip. Slipping up his back, feeling his strength, the lines of him. Their legs draped on the other's. Their bodies fit, like well-worn gloves. They stopped the kiss. Eyes on each other. She reached up and slipped her fingers through his hair. He smiled again and Téa found herself smiling back and he kissed her some more. And they rolled over and she was on top of him and she sat up and looked down at him. Her hands lay flat on his chest. Covering the bullet scars. She looked hungrily at him.
And he joked, "Don't let the baby hear what you want to do to me." And it was funny and was a little play on desires... death and sex were so close, doncha know? And in that joke, he sounded like he forgot all the shit they were in.
She laughed and tore off her dress and bra and she slid to the side and took off her panties and then she urged him up...sliding the robe off his shoulders and untying that sash. She got on his lap and he grabbed her ass to press her warm core against his cock... he watched her... face to face... both trembling just slightly, just enough to show their wants, above it all...
… and suddenly they were purely themselves. Unchained, unfettered, unbothered. She smiled as if they just met in the universe, two souls who recognized each other and yet had no idea what journey it was they'd been on. It didn't matter. They were just... here.
"I know you," she murmured. "I see you, Manning."
"Where ya' been, Delgado?"
And with that, they knew they were both right on what love meant. It was a place of respite. A home in the midst of chaos where they could forget who they were, where they were, what tomorrow would bring. Love was a place one longed for, for all their days.
Love was just... being.
Being together.
He kissed her hard and wrapped his arms around her, holding her breathlessly tight to him. She did the same, and they kissed for the longest while, she on his lap that way. He soon released her, easing her onto her back. She stretched her arms above her head and he lay alongside her, suckling at her breasts, touching her body, doing what he had fantasized about, licking and pulling her nipple's stiffness, licked repeatedly until she was panting and digging at his shoulders, soft wordless moans coming from her. He was hard and he rolled his cock on her thigh as he switched breasts and attacked her there.
Their bodies touched at all points, hands and mouths all over. They rolled over and returned to her on his lap and then back to him on top of her and Todd held her hand, their fingers intertwined. They made love like this a million times, they both thought, and yet never here in Havana, with the rain falling gently out an open balcony door. And yet it was as it always was. They weren't here in Cuba... there were just here.
Téa opened her legs and rocked her hips against his thigh and he easily moved in between hers. He groaned as he held himself up, holding his flesh and using it to rub her sensitive bits, watching her as she arched her back, as she grew needier to have him inside. He caressed her with the silky head, slowly exciting her more and more. She let her legs fall further open, knees back, toes pointed. Hands on him... and she pleaded now, just like he wanted her to, "I need you inside of me... Todd... cariño... I need to feel you. All of you. Oh please..."
He loved the sound of her voice, the one turned on and grasping at him, and he breathed, "Talk to me..." He lay on her, his ass rising and falling, as he slid along her wetness, not yet entering her. He had led her hand to his rear, gotten her to squeeze him. She now had both of her hands on his muscled rump, pressing him against her, groaning with raw desire. Making him move up and down, over and over...
In Spanish, she moaned, "I do not want to talk, I want to love you, I want to hear you come. I want to see you lost in me. I want you inside of me, you bastard..."
"Oh fuck, yes..."
She laughed only a little because he slid hard and fast into her, in and out, lost in her just like she asked. He was forceful and she was shameless in her noise. She wrapped her legs around him, groaning with the feel of him. It wasn't his size or width... it was how deep he got himself, it was how he held her, how he adjusted her so her hips were angled... God GOD, when he pumped, she felt he was as far as a man could get inside a woman...
When he loved her, when he fucked her, she felt more wanted than with anyone else. Nobody had his mad need of her, his utter passionate use of her.
Nobody.
He kissed her arched neck, running his tongue everywhere he could go, tasting her, remembering her. He rolled over so she'd be on top, sitting on him, impaled on him. He always loved that position, loved to watch her fucking him. And he still did. He watched her face as she rode him, fast at first, then slowing down, sliding up and down, over and over, getting closer and closer to the end.
Except he didn't want it to end. And that end wrenched tears out of him. They ran down his cheeks, relentless and hot. He shook with restraint, stopping her, but it was too late...
He grabbed her and he thrust hard and fast, noisy now, flesh into flesh, their breaths ragged and fast.
And just as Téa cried out, her hair wild and face drawn with the high of being here, he gasped at the intense orgasm raging through him, the spasms sharp and unyielding and sweet as he ever knew. Delicious white noise. Blissful forgetting. He groaned obscenely... and jerked involuntarily... and held her to him as the waves soon gentled and receded, leaving them with shallow breaths and heated skin. Téa fell onto him, her lips on his shoulder, cradled in his strong grip of her.
They said nothing, they only clung to one another in their space within the chaos. They didn't need to say the words. They loved each other beyond any definition.
The rain slowly stopped and they listened to the water dripping off the balconies and the rooftops. Downtown, Havana, was quiet.
"Are you cold, still?" she asked.
He smiled just a little, saying, "No. Are you?"
"No."
His face grew serious, and soon, sleepy. And she was relieved as she saw him close his eyes. She caressed his face, and smoothed his beard, and kissed his lips. And after a while of just watching him sleep, she asked out loud, not even really asking him, her voice so quiet there was no way he could possibly hear, "So when are you planning your great revenge, Mr. Man?"
Without missing a beat, with his eyes still closed, he whispered, "A week, I think. Jus' need a couple a'things... and hell will have a new army. Go home, mi angel, mi mamita preciosa, go home to our children. Para Esperanza. Tell 'em I did it for them."
He slipped into a deeper sleep at that. A week? Tell them I did it for them? His hands loosened and she freed herself. Her heart raced as a terrifying wave rolled through her. Todd hadn't come here to confront her, to figure things out, or to rekindle love, or even just for sex. God, GOD... she looked aghast at his peaceful features, his resting form, at all that gorgeous wreckage, at all that heartbreaking scarring and ink and impossible history, and she knew to the core of her what he had come for. She covered her mouth to not scream. She tightened her fist to not punch him awake.
Do you believe in God, Delgado?
Todd Manning came to say goodbye to her, to his children. To see them just one more time before he blew Manuel Caro and his minions to kingdom fucking come. He had done it. He was going to make this thing happen but with one confirmed twist. He was, once and for all, going to kill the true Mad King of the Mambo Kings...
El Diablo Blanco.
"You bastard," she choked through burning tears. She had one week to change his mind because just like he said, Blanco and Todd were no different.
God is crying, Delgado, can you feel it?
To be continued...
