The rig shuddered once, twice, then died completely and Mateo Ramírez slammed his fist against the steering wheel hard enough that pain shot up his arm but he barely felt it because right now pain was better than the suffocating reality that he was stranded on Highway 44 at two in the morning with a full load of auto parts that needed to be in Monterrey by dawn and his family's reputation on the line.
"Fuck," he breathed, then louder, "Fuck!"
"Well, that was helpful," Carla muttered from the passenger seat, not even looking up from her phone where she was probably texting that girl from the bar last week, the one with the tattoos that Mateo had watched Carla dance with while pretending not to care even though something in his chest had twisted uncomfortably at how good they looked together.
Carla Vega had been his best friend since they were kids stealing candy from Don Miguel's corner store, his co-driver for three years, and the only person besides his abuela who knew he liked men, a secret that would get him killed if his father or older brother Raúl ever found out because the Ramírez family didn't raise maricones, they raised men who drove trucks and fucked women and carried guns and asked exactly zero questions about the occasionally suspicious cargo they hauled across state lines. The point it; they raised men and anything other than that would be a disappointment and an embarrassment they could not entertain.
"Call someone," Mateo said, already knowing what she'd say.
"Who exactly?" Carla shot back.
Bingo.
She finally looked at him with those sharp brown eyes that saw too much, "Your brother? So he can tell your papi that you broke down again? Yeah we should do that. It'll go great for you"
She wasn't wrong though and they both knew it, Raúl had been looking for any excuse to convince their father that Mateo was too soft for the family business. He felt that Mateo was too distracted and sometimes, too something that translated to not man enough.
"There's a garage about twenty clicks back," Carla continued, already pulling up something on her phone, "Morales Auto Repair, they have 24-hour towing"
Mateo's blood went cold at the name and Carla must have seen it on his face because she actually put her phone down.
"You're kidding," she said flatly.
"We're not calling them," Mateo said.
"Mateo, we're in the middle of nowhere with a dead engine and a deadline that's already fucked, I don't care whose fami—"
"My father will literally kill me! Just imagine what would happen if he finds out I took help from a Morales," Mateo interrupted, and he wasn't being dramatic. There was a very real possibility that his father would put a bullet in his head without hesitation before he'd accept charity from the family that had been their blood enemies for three generations over some territory dispute that nobody could even properly explain anymore except that Ramírez and Morales didn't mix. They never mixed, under any circumstances.
"Then I guess you better hope whoever shows up doesn't recognize you," Carla said and made the call before he could stop her. Thirty minutes later headlights cut through the darkness and Mateo's stomach dropped when he saw the tow truck, Morales Auto Repair painted in peeling letters on the side, and when the driver's door opened and boots hit the pavement his mouth went completely dry. The guy who walked toward them was maybe a year or two older than Mateo's twenty-six, tall and broad-shouldered in a way that suggested he spent more time lifting engines than sitting behind a desk, wearing ripped jeans and a black tank top despite the November chill, dark hair falling into darker eyes that scanned the rig with professional assessment before landing on Mateo through the windshield.
Their eyes locked and something electric shot down Mateo's spine, some primal recognition that made his hands tighten on the steering wheel and his breath catch in his throat.
"That's Diego Morales," Carla said quietly, like she was identifying a predator, "I've seen him at the races."
Of course she had, Carla went to the illegal street races every weekend while Mateo stayed home and pretended he had better things to do than watch cars and drivers who made his heart race in ways that had nothing to do with the engines.
Diego approached the driver's side and knocked on the window, not aggressive but firm and soft, and Mateo had no choice but to roll it down. He swallowed and stared at the gorgeous man as he slowly rolled the window down.
"Heard you need a tow," Diego said and his voice was rough like whiskey and smoke, with a slight edge that suggested he already knew exactly who Mateo was and found the whole situation amusing.
"Just the truck," Mateo managed, trying to sound cold and professional instead of like his entire nervous system had just short-circuited, "We'll ride with someone else."
"At two in the morning?" Diego raised an eyebrow, leaning one arm against the truck in a way that brought him closer to the window, close enough that Mateo could smell motor oil and something clean and male that made him want to do incredibly stupid things, "Good luck with that, there's nothing out here for another hour."
"We—we'll manage," Mateo responded.
"Suit yourself," Diego shrugged but didn't move, his eyes tracking over Mateo's face like he was memorizing specific details, "But you're still paying for the tow, Ramírez."
So he did know who Mateo was, and the way he said the name made it sound like both a challenge and something darker. Something that made Mateo's skin heat despite every warning his brain was screaming.
Carla leaned across the seat suddenly, her hand landing possessively on Mateo's thigh in a way that made his jaw clench because he knew what she was doing — marking territory she didn't own and had no right to claim.
"How much?" she asked Diego with an edge to her voice that Mateo recognized as (maybe) jealousy even though that made absolutely no sense. She couldn't be that. Why? First, she knew the relationship Mateo's family had with the Morales and she was being protective. Second, she was his best friend so yeah. This was completely normal, right?
Right?
Diego's eyes dropped to where her hand rested on Mateo's leg, then back to Mateo's face with something that might have been disappointment or might have been understanding or might have been interest that just got more complicated. It was all too much and too sudden and too fast for Mateo to read.
"Three hundred to the garage, another two if you want it looked at tonight," Diego said, still not looking at Carla.
"He's so hot and cool!." Mateo thought.
"Fine," Mateo said, trying to seem cool as well. He turned to the side, pulling cash from his wallet with shaking hands that he hoped Diego wouldn't notice, "Just get it done fast"
"Always am," Diego said, taking the money and letting his fingers brush Mateo's for half a second too long, sending heat racing up his arm. Diego walked back to the tow truck and started setting up the equipment while Carla stared at Mateo with an expression he couldn't quite read.
"What?" Mateo snapped
"You looked at him like you wanted to fuck him or fight him or something, I couldn't tell which," Carla said bluntly.
"I looked at him like he's a Morales and I'm a Ramírez and this whole situation is a nightmare," Mateo lied.
"Right," Carla said, not believing him for a second, "And I'm straight."
"Yeah, hatever," he said rolling his eyes.
Diego worked efficiently, hooking up the rig with practiced movements that Mateo definitely wasn't watching, definitely wasn't noticing how his muscles moved under that tank top or how he wiped sweat from his forehead with his hairy arm despite the cold or how he looked back at the truck every few minutes like he was checking if Mateo was still watching.
Which he was, like an idiot or like someone with a burning naughty desire.
"We should call Raúl," Carla said suddenly.
"Absolutely not," Mateo said
"He's going to find out anyway," she pointed out, "Better if it comes from you"
"I'll tell him tomorrow after the delivery is safe," Mateo said, "If I tell him now he'll drive out here and do something stupid"
Like start a fight with Diego Morales that would end with someone bleeding or dead or both, and Mateo couldn't let that happen for reasons he absolutely was not going to examine too closely.
Thankfully Diego was rounding up. He finished hooking up the truck and walked back to the window, that same dangerous half-smile playing at his lips.
"You can ride in the tow truck or wait for your other ride," he said, "But I'm leaving in two minutes either way"
Mateo looked at Carla who was already shaking her head no, already reaching for her phone to call someone, anyone else.
But Mateo heard himself say, "We'll ride with you."
Carla's head snapped toward him, eyes wide with shock. If her gaze were a bullet at this moment, Mateo would be dead instantly because the shots were brutal.
"Mateo!" she yelled quietly, low but with warning.
"It's faster," he said, not looking at her, still locked in some kind of staring contest with Diego that felt like the first move in a game neither of them should be playing.
"This is a mistake," Carla said.
"Don't be so negative Carla. And be nice." Mateo agreed and opened the door. Diego's smile widened just slightly.
He climbed down from the rig and Carla followed with reluctance radiating off her in waves, her hand finding his arm again in that possessive way that made Mateo want to shake her off but he didn't because he needed her loyalty and most importantly, he needed her silence. He needed her to not realize just how much danger he was in from a single look from Diego Morales.
They climb
ed into the tow truck cab, Mateo in the middle because Diego gestured to the passenger side for Carla with exaggerated politeness, forcing Mateo to sit pressed against his side in the narrow space, thighs touching, shoulders brushing every time Diego shifted gears.
"This is fine" he thought. " Everything is fine."
The truck started with a rumble and Diego pulled onto the empty highway, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gear shift inches from Mateo's leg, and the silence in the cab was so thick with tension that Mateo could barely breathe.
"So," Diego said after five minutes of torture, "What brings a Ramírez into Morales territory at two in the morning?"
"Uh....i guess, bad luck?" Mateo said
"Or fate," Diego countered, turning his head just enough that Mateo could see the challenge in his eyes.
"There's no such thing as fate." Mateo said
"No?" Diego's hand shifted on the gear stick, knuckles brushing against Mateo's thigh in a way that could be accidental but absolutely wasn't, "Then what do you call this?"
"I call this...." Mateo started,"....see don't read into it much. If what's happening now goes out, it's going to get us both killed," Mateo said, but he didn't move his leg away from where Diego's hand was still resting.
"Fate?" He thought as the truck moved quietly in the silence of the night. "Just maybe. Just maybe, for once this thing called 'fate' would not let me down."