When Lies Unfold

Chapter 42

I’ve faced downcold-blooded killers, addicts with nothin’ to lose, and downright motherfuckin’ bastards before without blinkin’ an eye.

I’d rather deal with all of those over this any goddamn day.

Havin’ a limp Lola Arias in my arms feels like I’ve taken a round of ammo straight in my gut. ’Cause this isn’t her. I may not have known her for years, but this sure as hell isn’t the ballbuster who’s stood up to me time and again.

This is a mere shell of the brave and beautiful woman who made my daughter fall in love with her almost instantaneously.

Once I step inside the house, my wet shoes squelch with each step. Rain-soaked, our clothes stick to us like a second skin.

Head liftin’ from where it’s been slumped against my shoulder, her voice is painfully hoarse. “I can walk.”

“Didn’t say you couldn’t.”

When I turn down the opposite hall, she protests again, and a part of me is grateful it’s spurred on some of her innate feistiness. She twists in my hold. “My room’s the other way.” When she attempts another escape move, her immediate wince tells me all I need to know.

“Gordo!”

“Boss?” he calls out from behind me.

“Where the hell’s Doc?”

“Should be gettin’ here any minute now.”

“Check.” My curt tone is demandin’, but I don’t fuckin’ care.

Muttered words drift from behind me as I near my bedroom door, then Gordo says, “Doc just arrived at the gate.”

“Send him right in.”

I carry Lola directly into my en suite bathroom, the sensor lights turnin’ on with our presence, and gently ease her onto the large granite vanity.

The downpour of rain has washed away most of the remainin’ traces of the animal’s blood. With her hair matted against her cheeks and the back of her neck, no way in hell should she still look beautiful. But she does. The only thing that detracts from it is the desolate look in her eyes.

She shivers, and I grab a clean towel, carefully wrappin’ it around her, mindful of her injury.

“Gotta get you outta that shirt and get a look at your shoulder.”

“I’ll be fine.”

I lower my face, forcin’ her to look me in the eyes. “What’d I say?”

She scowls, and before she can offer another protest, I firm my tone. “Doc’s comin’ anyway. Might as well do it now.”

I can practically see the internal war takin’ place in her mind. When her body slumps marginally, I know I’ve won this round. “Fine.”

Lettin’ the towel drop to the counter and bunch around her hips, she eases her black shirt up and over her sports bra. After she slides her right arm free, she attempts the same with her left arm but stops with a sharp hiss.

“Let me help.”

At my request, weary brown eyes lift to mine. A few seconds pass until she murmurs, “Okay.” Her lips press into a thin line as I ease the shirt off her, guidin’ her arm as gently as I can. Lettin’ the wet fabric drop onto the counter, I grit my teeth at what it’s bared.

Sonofabitch. She tried to shield that panther with her own body and got shot. Thank fuck it didn’t do more damage and only grazed the flesh of the outer part of her shoulder where it meets her upper arm.

Gently takin’ her arm in my hand, I inspect it closely. Blood still stains the area where the bullet left a small gouge in her inked flesh. No wonder movement makes her wince.

I force myself to take a breath before my gaze connects with hers. “You know how many of my guys have been grazed like this and whined about it?” My thumb sweeps along her elbow. “And here you are, not givin’ it much thought.”

She stares at my throat, but it’s like she’s lookin’ straight through me, not really seein’ anythin’. I nudge her chin upward with two fingers, forcin’ her to meet my eyes. The emptiness in ’em twists my gut into knots.

That alone tells me Marcelo’s suspicions are pure bullshit. This woman isn’t a spy for Hidalgo. There’s no fuckin’ way she’s fakin’ any of this.

It’s why my steely declaration comes so easily. “He’s gonna pay for what he did.”

“Why do you care.” Her tone is listless, without any inflection.

My muscles knot with tension ’cause I sure as hell don’t like havin’ my motives questioned. I drop my hands from her and step back. “I don’t hurt animals. Especially not ones who defend a human.”

Her face crumples, her chin droppin’ to her chest. She sits atop my vanity in her black pants and sports bra, traces of dirt remainin’ along the bottoms and sides of her feet.

My eyes are drawn back to her wound, and I ease forward again to inspect it. The instant I lay my hand on top of her inked shoulder slightly above the injury, I freeze in place. Her body turns to steel beneath my fingers, her breathin’ shallow.

Holy fuck.Hidden in this particular section beneath those colorful blue morpho butterfly tattoos are a shit-ton of thick scars.

“Don’t.” Ragged with emotion, her whispered plea has my eyes jerkin’ to her face, but her gaze remains averted. “Don’t ask.”

How the fuck can’t I? It’s not like this is your average type of scar, either. I know what it feels and looks like after a knife’s carved into someone’s skin.

That’s exactly what this is.

Slowly, startin’ at the side of her neck where her ink starts, I trace a downward path with my fingertips. Makin’ sure to avoid her injury, I sweep over the marred skin at her shoulder and trail along the colorful tattoos, intermittently encounterin’ more hidden scars along her arm and knuckles.

Some motherfucker took a goddamn knife to this woman and carved into her like a toddler would scribble on paper.

Who the fuck did this to her?

A knock on my bedroom door sounds, followed by Doc’s voice. “Mr. Hernández?”

I drop my hand and force myself to move to the side to make room for him. “In here, Doc.”

With his brows drawn together, he rushes in, bag in hand. Settin’ it on the counter, he appraises Lola, his gaze instantly zeroin’ in on her injury. “Well, young lady, it seems I’m the one who’ll be patching you up.”

I grip the rigid muscles in the back of my neck, not wantin’ to leave, but she probably wants me to. Edgin’ back farther, I’m about to step out when Lola’s voice stops me.

“Could you”—she hesitates—“stay?”

It doesn’t even cross my mind to deny her. I instantly move to her opposite side while Doc prepares to clean her wound.

She curls her fingers tightly over the edge of the bathroom counter, but we don’t speak. Doc starts cleanin’ the area, his tone gentle as he shares his assessment with her. He must touch on a tender spot, though, ’cause she sucks in a sharp breath. Her right hand grips the counter’s edge so tight I fear the granite might crack.

When my hand settles over hers, we both jerk in surprise. Hell, I even surprised myself with that move. But I don’t withdraw it—I keep my palm coverin’ hers.

The offer climbs outta my mouth before I realize it. “You wanna hold on to me, you can.”

A beat passes, those pretty eyes searchin’ my face before she releases her hold on the counter. Turnin’ her hand over, palm side up, she threads our fingers together.

An instant later, she tightens her hold on me and her eyes pinch closed. My tone is stern as I level a hard look at the doc even though he’s not payin’ me attention. “Almost done?”

Face a mask of concentration, he murmurs, “Almost.” To her, he asks, “Do you need anything for the pain?”

“No. It’s fine.”

Damn her stubborn ass.

Doc continues. “Would you rather me use surgical glue? What would you prefer?”

“Cayenne pepper and castor oil.” She releases a slow, calculated breath before openin’ her eyes. “Please. It’ll be enough to allow it to heal properly on its own.”

He gives a curt nod before preparin’ a bandage. “I started carrying those with me ever since Mr. Hernández mentioned you using the combination to accelerate healing. It’s remarkable and so simple.” As he uncaps the cayenne pepper, concern blankets his tone. “I must say, though, you’re lucky that bullet didn’t nick an artery.”

Releasin’ my hand, she lowers her gaze to the floor like that revelation already weighs heavily on her. “I know.”

I back away and lean against the wall, waitin’ for Doc to finish up. Once he zips up his bag, he tips his head, gesturin’ like he wants to speak to me privately.

When I lower my chin in a nod, he pats Lola’s knee. “You’re all set. I’ve left some extra bandages. Remember to keep it dry if you need to shower, but I’m sure you know how to handle things from here.”

Her weary eyes lift to his. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

I exit the bathroom, and Doc trails me without a word. He stops once we step into the empty hallway.

His gray brows dive together. “I’m sure you already know she’s suffering from shock.”

“That’s not all she’s sufferin’ from.”

His gaze narrows. “What do you mean?”

Castin’ a backward glance to ensure Lola remains in the bathroom, I still lower my voice when I sum up what happened earlier.

Doc’s eyes flick to the bathroom, and he releases a sigh. “I’m assuming you noticed what those tattoos along her shoulder and arm are hiding.”

Every muscle in my body goes rigid just thinkin’ about it. “Yeah.”

He grimaces. “You know I don’t ask questions. But this is the first time”—he casts another glance toward the bathroom, where we’d left Lola—“I’ve been worried about somebody you’ve got under watch.”

I straighten, not likin’ where this is leadin’. “Just say what you gotta say, Doc.”

He holds up a hand in defense. “I’m not challenging your decision, but I’d honestly bet my life that that woman in there doesn’t pose a threat to you like you think.”

Our gazes hold for a moment. “Meanin’?”

Mouth pressed thin, he appears to search for the right words. He must fail because he simply repeats, “I just don’t believe she’s a threat to you.” His eyes rake over my face as if tryin’ to gauge somethin’. “At least not to your life or your business.”

Irritation scrapes down my spine like fuckin’ razor blades. “The fuck you mean by that?”

He shakes his head in what seems like a fatherly way—not that I ever experienced anythin’ like that firsthand.

I swear there’s a tinge of pity in his eyes. “The only danger that woman poses is to your heart.” What looks like regret and sadness wash over his features. “I just hope you realize the potential before you do something to ruin it.”

With a nod of deference, he walks away, leavin’ me to digest his words. As if I need more shit to deal with. Especially since I still need to address somethin’ important.

Turnin’ my attention to the interior of my bedroom and the light castin’ out from the bathroom, I roll my shoulders and stretch my neck from side to side.

It’s time for Lola Arias to answer a few questions.

First: Where the fuck she’s tryin’ to sneak off to in the dead of night.

Second: Who the fuck chooses to escape by scalin’ a goddamn concrete wall into the jungle?

And third—the one I refuse to admit rubs me fuckin’ raw: What the hell made her desperate enough to flee from me?