In God We Trust [SPORADIC UPDATES]

QUATRO

chapter four ✗ sensualidad

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"AY MAMI, ¿QUÉ pasó? ¿Porqué traes esa cara?" ("What happened, why the long face?")

I glared at the stupid guard sent to bring me food to my room. For some particular reason, Mateo thought it would be an excellent idea to send his most annoying guard that happened to speak Spanish. He must've ordered him to piss me off, too, because it was working. Sometimes, I wish my eyes could send literal daggers towards people, but unfortunately, the incompetent man still stood by my door, clutching a tray of food, unharmed. 

"Besa mi culo." ("Kiss my ass.")  I responded through clenched teeth, standing up to snatch it from him.

The guard remained unbothered, smiling with his yellow, rotten ass teeth as if he'd just been complimented. "¿Qué, no te gusta?" ("What, you don't like me?") It was then that I noticed that he had a black eye patch cast over his left eye, while the other was a coal black. He was tuerto. He had a thick, ungroomed, curly beard spotting his jaw, and I wanted to laugh because he looked like an actual pirate.

But instead, I took a french fry off of the plate, "Why are you still here?"

He chuckled slightly, and I watched his movements in disbelief as he walked towards me, sitting down on the expensive silk sheets. My mouth fell open because he was basically rubbing his greasy, stained jeans on the white beddings and I literally slept in those. Irritation made my jaw tick, why was he practically making himself at home? I shoved another fry in my mouth in hopes that I could swallow my annoyance, but it was no use. 

"I wanted to meet the ticket to our succession."

I set aside my plate. "I'm not an object, puto. I'm a person before anything else, and if you or any of your associates don't see that, your heads are farther up your cannoli filled asses than I imagined," I said, crossing my arms over my chest. "Now, I'd really appreciate it if you'd leave. You're polluting the air with the pungent smell of rotting parmesan." And like the rude bitch I am, I tilted my nose high in the air, as if I was above him. 

He still seemed unbothered, his one good eye glinting with humour, "Feisty, I like. You Colombian whores are always the bitchiest, aren't you?"

"Us Colombian whores have standards, one of them being that we don't associate with cheap, filthy, entitled men. Come back when you have a little class," Although my smile was sickeningly sweet, it was the humanized version of a wolf snarling with a flash of its canines. He shifted on the bed, purposely exposing his gun that was tucked into the waist of his pants. He wanted me to be scared, he wanted me to know that all it took was the click of a trigger and a bullet to my head to end my life.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, a type of half-assed laugh as if he found the situation amusing. "Listen, principessa, I'm just here to bring you food and a message. Mateo wants you in his office in ten minutes." Then he set down a small piece of folded white paper on the bed.