Minuet ~ Chingón

This site is..

Based on an original story and alternate future by Sonny & Ais called In the Company of Shadows.

The story contains..

Slash (M/M), het (M/F) and graphic language, violence and sexual situations. Not intended for anyone under 18!

Side Stories

The Beginning ~ Emilio, Sin
Minuet ~ Chingón, Gioia
Rainbow ~ Ryan
A Morning in Cedar Hills ~ Kassian, Boyd
Preface: Book 2 ~ Sin
Vanilla ~ Emilio, Carhart
Sideways ~ Emilio, Carhart
Fool ~ Emilio, Carhart
The One Left Behind ~ Blair
-somnia ~ Owen
Scrollwork ~ Vivienne

~*~

Around the Compound Stories, a Series of Events:
Incident #1 ~ Rebecca, Sin


Links

Our AFFN profile

Minuet

Chingón side story

Released 9/4/07, written by Sonny


Timeline: Two weeks to a month after ch 37 (Contains spoilers for Monterrey arc!)
Note: Not what readers requesting a Chingón side story expected probably, short, probably one of several involving the two subjects if interest is shown in them. Further notes at the bottom.



The terrain was rocky and sandy, causing dust to blow in the air all around them as the truck sped across the rarely used road that wound through the dessert like a dried up creek. It seemed that they were surrounded by a vast sea of nothing; only dirt and the orange-pink horizon, the burning disc of the sun slowly setting sending strong rays through the ever present clouds that haunted the sky.

In the distance Monterrey could be seen; just a blip of darkness in the distance because they were still over an hour away but seeing it, nonetheless, was a reminder that the peace of the drive was about to end. Soon, the smell of clean air and the feel of a warm breeze and sand brushing against her face would be replaced by pollution, sweat and the kind of humidity that seemed forced into existence by so many bodies being packed in such close quarters.

Even after eight years, Gioia wasn't used to it and definitely was not looking forward to it. The city itself was a symbol of stress in her mind but it also signified the official end to the only time she spent alone with the silent man in the passenger's seat.

Almond shaped eyes slid over covertly but it seemed she didn't have to worry about being caught staring like she had been so many times in the past. He was paying little to no attention to her and not for the first time in the past week did she notice that his sullen gaze was focused intently on nothing in particular, well-formed mouth pulled down into a frown as his long fingers pulled idly at a rip in his faded leather pants.

She looked away, focusing again on the road and pursing her lips together, wondering if she should say something, do something, to break the obstinate silence that had lasted nearly the entire journey. Normally she would have done so in an instant; she was anything but shy around her commander and if anything, she was closer to him than any of the other men were even though many of them had known him for far longer. She knew it caused resentment among some, especially among the older guys, but she didn't let it faze her.

She was one of the few women in the gang and of that minority, she was the only one who wasn't romantically involved with one of the men, the only one who didn't make a spectacle of her gender in one way or the other and the only one he didn't disregard as soon as his steady gaze settled on her. It wasn't that the other women were overly sexual or dramatic, although some of them certainly were, but more that the ones who weren't felt the need to overact their toughness just to overcompensate for the fact that they were women. She understood the mindset, she understood the need for it since they were surrounded by the type of men they were surrounded by, but at the same time she'd never been able to behave in that way.

Instead she did what she had to do and never made a big show of it, never brought unnecessary attention to herself and never tried to play the act of 'sexy girl' or 'tough girl' and that is exactly what had caused him to treat her as a partner, almost an equal, and that is when the trust that now existed between them had begun to form.

She didn't know if she'd call them friends, but they had a closeness that simply didn't exist with him and others. For all of his sarcasm, humor, quick temper and flare for theatrics, when it was just she and him, he was a stoic man with a lot to think about and sometimes she even got to know what went on in that constantly churning mind.

But now wasn't one of those times. Now she hesitated before interrupting his thoughts. Now she knew that his mind was on something far more serious, far more complicated than their usual smuggling routes, deals and fights with rivals.

Now she knew he was plotting something but she had no idea what it was and for the life of her, she had no idea why it was causing him to remain in such a perpetually foul mood. It was unsettling in a way because what she saw in that piercing gaze was like a prophecy for things to come and she knew that meant there would be nothing but trouble ahead.

The silence stretched and after awhile she heard him shift in the seat, causing her gaze to automatically skim over to his well-muscled frame. He had the same expression on his face but now at least he didn't appear to be lost in a trance. His eyes were narrowed slightly as if he were judging the distance between them and the city as he tugged a black cowboy hat low over his eyes, casting his entire face in shadow.

When she'd first met him she'd thought that his tendency to hide his appearance had just been part of the image, part of the lo más chingón persona. But after eight years of being in 4FF, of getting to know the man, she'd come to realize that it really was just a part of the dogged paranoia that plagued him. He only ever uncovered his face around his men and even then, it was never for very long and tension could be seen in his shoulders the entire time as if he felt naked without a disguise of some sort.

She'd been in the gang two years before she'd been trusted enough to sit in on one of his meetings, before she was considered more than a flunky, and only then had she seen his face. And it hadn't been what she'd expected. He had flawless features, clear intelligent eyes and seemed of indistinguishable age. She knew he was older than her; he had to be to have known some of the man for as long as he had, but she couldn't place his age for the life of her. His face and body, like his usual attitude, had a youthful quality that sometimes seemed ill fit for the things she knew he was capable of.

"We'll be there soon," She said unnecessarily, needing for some reason to break the silence. This was the last opportunity she would have in a while to be alone with him; once they got back to the city, he would be lost to deals, drinking and the never-ending stream of women who were more than happy to keep him company even if they never got to see how attractive he really was.

He said nothing in reply, seeming content to stare into space moodily, and she frowned slightly. "Naco." Still he didn't respond, didn't even look over at her, and she wished she knew his real name so that she could truly get his attention. She'd asked him once what his birth name had been, and he'd just given her that sly smile and declared that 'Naco' was as real a name as any and that it'd been his nickname since childhood. Now it was a nickname people in the gang used for him. To outsiders, he was just lo más chingón.

"What are you, deaf?" The words were out of her mouth before she could contain them but the looming Monterrey skyline was making her impatient and annoyed. She was almost sorry she'd said it though; sorry that she'd been rude when he probably had more important things to worry about than the fact that she wanted attention from her crush. Even so she felt slightly satisfied as his gaze turned on her.

"What is it, Gi?" He asked in his American drawl, deliberately mispronouncing the first part of her name as 'jee' even though she constantly corrected him.

Gioia opened her mouth to reply but realized she didn't really have anything to say. With a slight frown, she pushed her thick black hair away from her forehead and wrapped her hands tighter around the steering wheel. Making up something would only make her seem stupider so instead she settled for matter of fact truth; her usual tactic. "What's up your culo these days? You've had a bad attitude ever since the night we returned from Matamoros."

A lazy shrug and he began to toy with the turquoise ring on his middle finger. "It was a stressful trip."

She snorted. "Uh huh. So stressful that you spent the entire time drinking tequila and snorting lines of coke off of sweaty prostitute bosom," She replied mildly.

"Well you know," He murmured, still twisting the sterling silver band around his finger. "Selecting whores is a time consuming affair. One must first find the most attractive, the most skilled of those and then the task of figuring out which won't give me syphilis. It's more work than you realize. I don't expect that one such as yourself would understand what I truly go through in order to get an adequate companion."

"Companion," She scoffed. A companion was a friend, a comrade, someone you confided in; not a hooker with oversized breasts and an overactive vagina. But she chose to keep that to herself and instead tested the waters around the topic she truly wanted to discuss. "I know it's not my place," She began calmly. "But Ió"

"Oy," He interrupted and she could feel the glare even if she couldn't see it under the brim of his hat. "Don't kiss my ass."

Gioia made a face and sat up straighter, lifting her chin slightly in defiance at the idea of pandering to him or anyone. "Don't flatter yourself, pocho," She replied with snort, using the derogatory word only because she knew it didn't faze him. She would never disrespect him, even jokingly, if it really got under his skin. But the term's description was true; he was as American as could be even though he'd allegedly grown up in Mexico. "It's just that..."

"Yes?" Once again he drawled out the word slowly in that distinctive accent. She couldn't truly place where in the States it came from but she knew it was not Texan or Southern in general.

"I was wondering what you're planning," Gioia admitted finally, letting one olive colored arm dangle out the window. "But I know how you are and that's why I gave the precursor."

There was another stretch of silence and she noticed that his gaze once again returned to the window, to the horizon and the quickly darkening sky. "Something big," was the vague response.

She nodded briefly, surprised to have even gotten that much out of him and feeling motivated enough to ask her next question. "Does it have anything to do with that boy?"

This time the silence was not as natural and not nearly as comfortable. There was a sudden tension between them, in him, that was blatantly obvious to her and she feared that she'd said something wrong but she wasn't sure what. It wasn't as though the incident was a secret; it'd occurred in plain sight of everyone.

His gaze returned to her and this time she knew it was with that shrewd, calculating stare that could make a grown man's knees knock together. But she continued to stare straight ahead and did not change the subject, did not take back her question and after awhile he spoke again. "Do you all have some theory about me and that boy?" It was asked in the same casual tone but this time he spoke with a steely undercurrent that showed how serious he was and not for the first time, did his paranoia turn on his men, on her.

Gioia grit her teeth in frustration and realized that she should have worded the question more carefully; perhaps been clearer that this was her suspicion, not something she'd heard from or discussed with others. "I don't know what you mean by 'us all'," She said calmly, not letting him see how distressed it made her that he could so easily suspect her of some plot even though she was one of the most trusted in his inner circle. "I've been alone with you for the past week and your silence, your mood, was something I noticed on my own. I could tell you were plotting something or at least deep in thought about something and then I realized that it has been that way since, like I said, we returned from Matamoros, since the caravan encountered that boy."

"Hmm." Some of the tension bled out of his posture and he looked out the window, lips once again turned down slightly. "Not in particular."

She nodded, no longer feeling comfortable with the discussion and once again they fell into a long silence. Monterrey loomed ahead ominously and her mood, briefly lightened, sunk lower as she entered one of their passages into the city.




Notes:
(1) Gioia - pronounced Joy-ah
(2) Culo - Ass
(3) Pocho - Americanized Mexican
(4) Naco - a word typically used to describe lower class people or poor people in Mexico even though Chingón Naco uses it as a nickname; could point to some clue as to his upbringing or his past
(5) Gioia has no real idea where Chingón, or Naco, originates from or where he was born.