Cesar On My Block Novels & Stories

Andrew asks and Ace can't decide if he's making fun of or not. " why would you want to know?!" Ace asks with an exhausted voice. " who did it?!" Andrew asks while gritting his teeth. Ace huff's and leads the way to the cafeteria and Andrew is not far away behind him. All of them are looking and it irks him. The cafeteria is a cacophony of loud chatter, each table a cosseted huddle of people raising their voices to be heard. Ace's eyes move towards a laughing jack, he walks towards him and jack notices him.

"What are you doing?" The question still lingered in the air, longer than anticipated as their brown eyes remained on each other, none breaking the contact. Caesar shook his head as he was the first to look away, divulging defeat because he knew he would never be able to stand against his younger brother of ten years, Alastair had made it clear once in an open field arena when he was thwarted like a piece of grime. He cleared his head of those thoughts and stepped back. "I apologize if I unnerved you but I thought I saw something odd, I wanted to make sure the lamp will not go out"

Jaxon I hadn’t even realized I was zoning out until the phone rang and snapped me back into the moment. It took a second for me to remember what I was doing and answer the phone. "Yes?" I called, still feeling a bit dazed and jumbled. "Hey Boss, I just heard back from Alec. They’ve got Cesar on the golf course. If you’re ready, they are ready." "Do it, let’s get this done," I answered. Max made a slightly disapproving noise but said nothing. "Bring him to the country house."

Finally understanding who he was dealing with. I released him, letting him slump against the wall, gasping for air. I turned to leave, my hand on the polished doorknob, when my phone started screaming for attention. Normally I'd ignore it, but my gut told me to answer. "Boss it's me Cesar" Cesar's voice came through, shaking and scared. "We've got major trouble here. Huge trouble, boss." "Stop wasting my time and just talk straight," I snapped. "I'm in the middle of something important here."

To run off and find Celine or Caroline. Instead, he disappears for exactly ninety seconds—I count them—before returning with a plastic container of building blocks. "What are you doing?" I ask as he plops down on the rug in front of my desk. Caesar dumps the blocks out, creating a small rainbow of plastic chaos on my imported Persian rug. "Building," he says simply like that explains everything. I should tell him to leave. I should call Celine. I should do a million things that don't involve watching a toddler construct a wobbly tower on my office floor.

Cesar says. "My nauyi dã crushed ni gaba daya." I frown, puzzled by this sentence. I know most of the language, but I do not know this phrase. "What…what does it mean?" I ask, catching Cesar's wrist. He turns around and faces me. "I shall not tell you," he says. His fingers brush across my collarbone and over the topaz necklace he gave me. "Our Hearts will speak for us." "A zuciya ga zuciya?"

Amelia blinked awake, soft sheets beneath her fingers instead of concrete or duct tape, and groaned at some asshole's idea of hospitality. "Ah good," said Cesar from across the room like they were old friends catching up over brunch instead of kidnapper-and-hostage small talk. She squinted at him, Peruvian features sharp under dim lighting, and clocked his too-casual stance before muttering: Hello Amelia. "Let me guess...Thiago fucked up." Cesar grinned like she'd told an inside joke instead of accused him of being petty as hell. "Knew I liked you," he chuckled before tossing his own words back at her: "Guess that husband's predictable."

Isadora The warehouse was quiet. Too quiet, except for the rhythmic tapping of my fingers against the table. I sat across from Cesar in the center of the room. He was a tall man, well over six feet, with a commanding presence that demanded attention. His hair was jet black, slicked back neatly. His eyes were a piercing shade of green, sharp and calculating, with a subtle scar that ran along his right eyebrow.

It happens on a Tuesday. Nothing dramatic about Tuesdays. No warnings. No thunder. Just a notification lighting up my screen while I’m icing éclairs in the shop, my apron dusted with powdered sugar, my hands finally steady again. Celeste Moreau followed you. Celeste Moreau sent you a message. I stare at it longer than I should. I already blocked her number. I was careful. Intentional. Proud of myself for it, even. Apparently, that only slowed her down.

“My mother thinks it might mean something about mates. About the goddess testing things she set in motion long ago. But I have a bond already. A real one. I am not interested in unraveling that because of a fragment’s reaction.” “I am not asking you to,” Cesar said, his voice gentle but steady. “I would never ask that. I am only trying to understand what is happening to me as much as you are.” His honesty disarmed me more than I expected. “Tell me about your travels,” I said, wanting to shift away from the heaviness sitting between us. “Two years is a long time to wander.”