Belle (Urban Fiction)

M I G U E L (Part II)

"You better start talking or I'm calling my brother, you ungrateful piece of shit," Sandra growled at Miguel.

They had sat in silence for ten minutes now. Sandra was giving him time to gather his thoughts and come correct, but she was losing patience. She refused to converse casually with a traitor. She wasn't going to double-cross her brother even if her life depended on it. She clutched her pocketknife furiously next to her in the shadow of her body, ready to attack.

Miguel cleared his throat and rubbed his sweaty hand across the steering wheel. He nervously tried to keep his attention on the road. Although he didn't know Sandra well, he knew what people told him and that was that she was a firecracker. A ticking time bomb of anger ready to blow

"Sandra, please try to listen," he reached a sweaty hand to touch her knee.

"Bitch, I will slit your throat and have Sandré's goons dissolve your body in the next hour if you even think about touching me again," Sandra barked.

He played it off and rested the hand going for her knee on the gear of the car. He normally was cool and collected, a real charmer. But being in the presence of the Don's beloved sister shook him up. He knew he had to choose his words very carefully because her threats were not idle.

"Sandra, I'm not a chivato. It's the way I grew up... I'm not from Miami like you and Sandré."

"Don't call him by his first name, puto," Sandra looked him dead in his scared brown eyes. She knew she was in charge at this moment. It was unusual for her because Miguel ran the club and controlled the other girls and he was their boss and was seen as a power symbol in that place.

This moment made her realize how much power and weight her brother's name actually carried.

"My bad. You and boss," Miguel corrected himself. "I'm from Compton. I grew up around black people. Nothing but black people. I was a foster kid... yanno how that goes. And BGF took me in. They treated me like their own and my big homies raised me collectively... everything I know, I know because they taught me. They took their time with me and showed me the ropes—"

"Okay, speed this up. I don't care about your sob story. Take me home."

Miguel rolled his eyes and did what she said. "I loved my big homies, but I didn't wanna stay in Compton my whole life. King of Diamonds was my dream since I was seventeen, and I knew Miami was poppin' wit bad bitches so I came here and boom. King of Diamonds was born... from a lot of loans and ass kissing the higher ups." He let out a chuckle trying to ease the tension. Sandra hid her small smile.

"One of them was Boss's right hand man José," Miguel continued, "I've never exchanged two words with your brother. Everything was through José. I told him my vision, he thought it was a good investment, and he pulled some strings... er— pulled some plugs— and got me the building and gave me a few stacks to renovate."

Sandra's eyes widened. The puzzle was starting to become a clear picture now.

"That's how I got tangled with the Cartel. When he had first given me the loan, I couldn't pay him back of course so he had me move some weight and do some other shit to repay him. I still pay rent to him, but my deal with the big ups is done. I repaid that part of my debt."

Sandra understood it now. That's why she had gotten the job so easy. No interview, no tryout, nothing. She was confident that she had actually gotten this one thing on her own, but of course her brother and his Eyes, which is how he referred to his goons, had their names written all over this—as they did with every aspect of her life. She never asked for much from Sandré, but independence was the one thing she demanded, and he just refused to give it to her.

Sandra was his baby sister and the only woman he was sure he'd ever love, which is why he kept close watch over her and spoiled her the way he did. He couldn't go back in time and protect their mother or make life a breeze for her, so he promised himself he'd do it while he could for his sister.

"That's why I've kept my job then, huh?" she disregarded his long backstory.

"No, honestly, Sandra. You are the best dancer that club has seen in a minute. I was ecstatic once I saw your moves your first night because the place had started to get slow. Nothing but cheap, creepy, old, limp dicks had started to show up and you brought back that young, stupid, reckless crowd we needed. Niggas be ready to lick your toes and give you ten kids as soon as you come on stage."

Sandra looked at Miguel for the second time during the car ride and the life had returned to his eyes. She could tell he was starting to think shit was peachy. Well, it wasn't.

"Don't say that word unless you're black. That shit ain't cute," Sandra snatched the reins of the conversation again.

Miguel rolled his eyes. "Where do you live?"

Sandra had forgotten just that quick that she had asked him to take her home. But after quick thinking, she knew that wasn't a safe idea and her brother would be livid. Nobody knew where they lived except José, and Sandré wanted to keep it that way.

"Just drop me off at Trish's. I'll have somebody come get me."

She gave him directions to Trish's apartment. When they pulled up in front of the apartment complex, Miguel let the car purr idly and waited to see what Sandra would do. She didn't seem angry enough to cut open his arteries anymore, but he knew not to press her buttons right now.

"Why did you do that in the club earlier tonight?" Sandra asked him as she fondled her key rings in her dainty hands.

Miguel sighed. "I'm sorry. I was hammered. Somebody could've pushed me off the Eiffel Tower and I wouldn't have noticed."

For a moment in the club, she thought maybe Miguel wasn't a pussy and that maybe he was the one man in the state of Florida that was brave enough to get that close to her. Why did she even bother? He wouldn't have even looked in her direction if he hadn't been off the shits.

Everyone feared her brother and wouldn't dare get tangled with his pride and joy. One wrong move and that's your ass. Make her cry, the Don makes you scream. Break her heart, the Don breaks your teeth. That's how it was. This plain fact made Sandra untouchable and unattainable in more ways than one.

"Whatever I said, I didn't mean it. Whatever I did, I'm sorry and it won't happen again," Miguel promised.

Sandra nodded and slipped her switchblade into the back pocket of her leather pants as she opened the car door. She thought maybe Miguel would try to stop her, like in the movies, and tell her he wasn't scared like everybody else and that he didn't care what her brother said... but he didn't. He smiled at her once she closed the door and then he sped off into the dark night.

Good thing she had a key to Trish's apartment.