4 Lobo salvaje: Wild Wolf

"Tres Thunderclap Bourbon. Sin mezcla, por favor. Three of them. Neat." 

"Had a rough day, mate?" the bartender inquired, pouring a glass of bourbon for the man sitting at the counter.

"Si! If I told you, you wouldn't believe it." Ricardo Wood wore a wry smile as he stared at the nightclub before him, which was the best hour of his day. 

Lights flashed on the dance floor, where people danced, drowning themselves in alcohol and the music that was played. It was eleven in the night, and it only brought in more customers as it headed to midnight. 

"Gracias!" Ricardo thanked the bartender when his glass was placed on the counter. Picking it up, he took a sip to feel the warmth of the alcohol slide down his throat. 

He was looking around when he caught sight of a beautiful, blonde woman making her way towards the counter. She was fairly young. Her clothing was modest, but the look in her eyes said otherwise, which met his. She came to stand before the counter, right next to him, her upper body leaning forward. 

"What would you like to drink, Miss?" The bartender inquired. 

"I'm not sure which drink to choose. Perhaps I'll seek the gentleman's advice," the woman said, glancing at Ricardo.

Ricardo took his time responding to her as he took another sip from his glass. Seeing her eye his glass, he asked, "What do you think about Bourbon?"

"I should try it," she replied, shooting him a suggestive smile. When she saw Ricardo turn to give a look at the bartender, the latter went to make her a drink. Curious, she asked, "Do you own this place?" 

Ricardo chuckled. "Not quite. Just a regular, you could say."

The woman turned her body to face him. She then introduced herself, "I am Beatrice Loughty." 

"Ricardo Wood."

"You're not from around here, are you?" she asked, intrigued.

"Bit of a detective, aren't you?" Ricardo teased, earning a blush from the woman.

"It's your accent that stands out," she explained as she leaned closer to him, letting him smell her perfume.

Ricardo, accustomed to such attention, merely nodded. Though he was sitting on the chair, one could still tell he was a tall man. His dishevelled black hair, brooding eyes, and crooked smile were enough to capture a woman's interest. He wore a black coat over his black shirt, and silver rings donned on his fingers. He looked like a man who could roughen up his partner or anyone who tried to mess with him. 

"Si no lo soy. I am not," Ricardo answered the woman. "I am from Barcelona, Spain."

"Interesting. I've always fancied a trip to Spain. I've heard it's smashing with its landscapes and beaches. It must be awfully tough being away from it." 

"Mm. London isn't bad, but it doesn't feel the same, you know," Ricardo stated, remembering the countless nights he had spent after college hours with his friends. 

"What do you do when you're not down the pub?"

"I do women."

Ricardo's response had Beatrice turn speechless at first and then blush furiously. She cleared her throat and said, "I meant work." 

"I work in the biggest opera hall," Ricardo replied. "I am a dramaturg. It involves research for the play," he explained after catching the question in her eyes. 

"I was sure you would be an actor. With your appearance and voice," she suggested, glancing around the club.

"I'd be a natural," he agreed with a smirk, running a hand through his hair. 

"I'm aspiring to be an actress, you see. It seems it's fate that brought us together this evening," Beatrice murmured. 

Ricardo didn't particularly enjoy his time in the opera hall, but he did it because it was the only thing he found to be bearable from the lot of work. He missed the nightlife in Spain when he was young, and it was more full of life than the mundane life now. But over the last few years, he had found some decent night spots to hang out after work, letting off the steam that he had to keep in.

And despite the constraints of his surroundings, Ricardo refused to suppress his Spanish heritage, wearing it proudly like a badge of honour. He cared little for the judgmental glances of the high-society elite, preferring the authenticity of his own identity.

During the weekends, he would catch the train to Manchester and find himself playing football. He would then go have a couple of drinks, enjoying the nights there before returning home. For Ricardo, the allure of the night was irresistible, a siren's call beckoning him to embrace the freedom it offered.

Beatrice downed her drink with an exaggerated gesture. She felt his gaze lingering on her, a sensation she relished.

"We should leave," she declared, her voice low and alluring.

"Hm?" A lazy smile graced his lips, which had her heart skip a beat. 

"It's rather precarious for a lady such as myself to wander alone, particularly with the recent spate of crimes in town. Wouldn't it be more prudent if we departed together, just the two of us?" Beatrice's coy invitation didn't escape his notice.

She watched intently as Ricardo tilted his head in contemplation, her pulse quickening with anticipation. But his response fell short of her expectations.

"I'm afraid I must decline," he responded, his tone nonchalant. "Perdón. But actresses aren't quite my cup of tea," and he left. 

Actually, he had a deep-seated hatred for anything and everybody having to do with actors. The irony was not lost on him, considering he worked in their very midst. But then again, it wasn't like he had much choice with the life he had. 

This night was no different than the one before. Drinking and meeting women in different pubs. He enjoyed their company and more than often found himself in their beds. 

"I adore your accent," remarked Isabella Clark, a woman of the night. She was a prostitute, and Ricardo quite liked her kind, finding their forthrightness refreshing compared to those who concealed their true nature behind a facade of respectability.

"I love your dress, though something says I will like it better off of you." Ricardo didn't beat around the bush and liked to come straight to the point. 

"Perhaps we should move to a more private setting then?"

"Si, I would much prefer that."

Next time he met up with yet another woman on his way to Manchester. She was a widow by the name of Evelyn Harris. Gentle and gracious were the woman's words. She was relocating to Ireland the very next week, so their encounter had to abruptly end.

She informed him. "My brother has arranged for my stay there." 

"Maybe one day I will come meet you," Ricardo joked, and this made the woman smile. 

"I will look forward to it," Evelyn said, before leaning in to kiss his cheek. "I wish we had more time to get to know each other. Will you come with me?"

"Evelyn, see to it that you're well."

Similar mornings followed the seemingly endless nights of Ricardo's quest for the woman. In order to get back to reality, he escaped from the woman's bed and returned to his home before dawn. 

He mumbled, "Meirda!" when he stepped out of a pub one Riddleford night and felt the cold air smash into him. The snow had started to fall. On the harder snow-covered ground, he drew his coat and strode across the streets. 

He reached into his pocket, took out the cigar case, and lit one end while holding it between his lips. Smoke drifted from his lips, causing a brief blurring of vision in front of him. 

"I must seek out the carriage. I really don't want to walk home," Ricardo whispered to himself.

However, the smoke he had blown began to dissipate before he could locate a carriage, and a woman wearing spectacles emerged from behind the smoke screen. He beheld the woman as she walked toward the streetlight, casting a warm glow on her delicate features, blonde locks, and black dress. 

As he studied her, Ricardo moved closer to her, as if captivated by her. The woman, who had been staring at him from a distance, finally turned around when she felt his presence. It was a lovely scene, particularly with the snow falling from the sky and the street being deserted. 

"Hermosa." A small smile started to appear on Ricardo's lips as he whispered. Undoubtedly, the woman was stunning. 

The woman, as if beguiled by the nameless stranger, stared for a second more before a carriage pulled up next to her on the street. The coachman jumped down and opened the door for the woman, who then climbed inside the carriage before being driven away from there. 

Ricardo returned the cigar to his lips and exhaled the smoke.

Upon his return home, instead of taking off his shoes before getting into bed, he just flopped there and stared at the ceiling. He pursed his lips as the quiet surroundings flooded him with childhood memories.

While Ricardo was on the clock the next morning at work, he witnessed the niece of Frontier Hall's owner approaching Sylvester Crowley. 

"Next week's play is something I'm really looking forward to, Mr. Crowley!" Lady Poppy Williams exclaimed, expressing her enthusiasm. Ricardo thought her outfit was as boring as Sylvester's. Her hair was put in a low bun. "I figured I'd swing by here since I was passing."

"Do you want anything to drink?" Sylvester offered politely.

"I really need to get moving. However, how about we have lunch tomorrow at noon?"

"To be honest, I'm not sure whether I can make it work. The workload has been excessive," Sylvester excused himself courteously.

"What if I brought lunch here?" Lady Poppy was adamant that it would save time. She insisted, "It isn't good to skip meals."

If Ricardo wasn't forced to hear the conversation because he was in the same room, he would have escaped. He rolled his eyes before saying to himself, 'It is obvious she is trying to get you to make her your wife. But I don't understand what she sees in you.' 

This was due to Ricardo's knowledge that Sylvester was an uninteresting man. Working and then going home was about it for him. It felt as if someone stuck a stick up his back because the young master here didn't know how to relax and enjoy his life. Always being nice to people, much to Ricardo's annoyance. 

"It would be impolite for a lady such as yourself to dine here," Sylvester said with a similar air of civility. 

Lady Poppy smiled, waving her hand in dismissal. "Barely! My cook will prepare it for us. Then it is decided!"

Look at that! Your future wife is making decisions already! Snickered Ricardo.

Sylvester Crowley and he were too different, and he doubted ever getting along with the man. "Nunca en esta vida. Never in this life."