Chapter 50
I wakeup to bright sunlight pouring in through the slats of the blinds. Far too bright for early morning. When I sleepily reach for where I usually set my cell phone on the nightstand, I grasp nothing but air.
What the hell?
When I shift, the throbbing in my shoulder elicits a barrage of last night’s events rushing through my mind.
My attempted escape. Andro finding me. Belleza…
I cover my mouth with my hand, pinching my eyes closed. As rapidly as the grief hits, the dismay of what followed stifles its potency.
I slept with him. Ohmygod. I slept with Santiago Hernández.
Lying flat on my back, I stare up at the bedroom ceiling. The whisper escapes my lips before I realize it. “And it wasn’t awful, either.” Damn him. Why couldn’t he have been a nightmare in bed?
To evict that train of thought from my mind, I gingerly sit upright and slide from the bed. My shoulder isn’t necessarily causing me debilitating pain, but it’s making itself known. All in all, I’ve endured far worse.
Padding into the bathroom, I ignore the hint of soreness between my legs as I stop in front of the vanity. My reflection in the mirror unsettles me in a multitude of ways.
While the oversized dark gray T-shirt threatens to swallow my body, a familiar masculine scent clings to it. My hair is a limp mess, and my mouth is slightly swollen while a few faint abrasions are dotted along my neck.
The knock at my bedroom door catches me off guard. So does the male voice that calls out from the other side. “Miss Arias?”
I glance down at myself. Well…at least I’m covered. Advancing toward the door, I crack it open to peer at Diego.
He quickly averts his eyes, holding my cross-body bag in his outstretched hand and another plastic bag dangling from two fingers. “Boss said to give this to you.”
I accept them with a quiet “Thank you.”
He offers a curt nod before turning his back to me but resumes standing outside my room. My words are hesitant as I pose my question. “Are you standing watch out here?”
“Yeah.”
That’s all I get. Not a glance, just one single-word answer.
I gently close the door and peer into the plastic bag to find the supplies the doctor left me last night. I set those aside and take a seat on my bed, rifling through my cross-body bag until I find my phone. There are a few missed messages from Sabrina.
I’m checking in on you to make sure you haven’t become the next Griselda Blanco.
But really. Please don’t turn into a female version of Santiago Hernández. Plus, Nando would be super disappointed.??
Which reminds me, he stopped by the other day to ask about you.
My shoulders go taut at that. Thankfully, her next message puts me at ease—at least a fraction.
I told him your work schedule changed and not to worry about you. Speaking of schedules, since I never get to see you, we need to catch up in person. Do you want to meet for coffee sometime in the next few days?
Well, since you’re not answering, I’m going to assume you’re doing all the naughty things with that man. With a face and body like his, he’s bound to be great in bed.
I mash my lips together, fighting the smile incited by feminine satisfaction that pulses through me. She’s not wrong.
When he’s done having his wicked way with you, text me back.
Just as I’m about to respond to her, another text arrives. This one, however, is not from Sabrina.
It’s from Supreme Asshole.
Heard you were finally up. Hope you slept okay.
I waver on whether to edit his name but decide against it. I cannot allow my defenses to weaken against this man. After all, I’m merely a passing fascination for him.
His next message threatens my will to replace the necessary distance between us, however.
I gotta say, I hated having to leave you like that.
I dutifully ignore that and type out,
Thanks for returning my bag to me. I slept fine, thanks. I need to iron out my schedule because Sabrina wants to meet up for coffee at some point over the next few days.
I groan when my phone’s screen lights up with an incoming call. Dammit.
His deep, masculine voice greets my ears when I answer. “You can’t go out for coffee.” There’s the briefest pause. “As it is, I didn’t want you cleanin’ at all this week but figured you’d give me shit over it.
“I got Aarón to modify your schedule, so you’re only doin’ the houses we’re familiar with that are easy to surveil.”
Irritation threatens to suffocate me, and my tone is waspish. “Well, you’d be right about me giving you shit over that. What the hell do you mean, I can’t go out for coffee? What happened to me coming and going as a guest?”
“It’s too dangerous. I don’t wanna run the risk of Andro puttin’ a hit out on you.” Male voices sound in the background. “If it’s that important, have Sabrina come to you.”
I attempt to digest what he’s just disclosed. Holy shit. I’m officially living in the most messed-up nightmare where a petulant punk hates me for no legitimate reason. Then his second statement hits me, my words emerging slow and stilted. “Have Sabrina come here?”
“That’s what I said.”
My shoulders slump as fear drips down my spine. “Do you really think he’ll try to kill me again?”
He calls out to someone, “Gotta take this in private. Be back in a second,” before addressing me. “Hold on a second, Miss Arias.”
The voices grow more distant before he addresses me in a subdued tone. “Look, Lola…after shit hittin’ the fan the way it did, it’s smarter and safer for you to stick around where my men can more easily protect you.”
When he releases a weary-sounding breath, I wonder what he’s up to. What business called him away unexpectedly in the middle of the night?
“I wouldn’t enforce any of this if I didn’t think it was necessary. I want you to steer clear of anythin’ that puts you at risk right now.” His voice drops an octave. “I don’t wanna chance somethin’ happenin’ to you. Especially when I’m not there.”
Well. That almost makes it sound like he cares about me. But that can’t be right, because he just wants to fuck me. Eventually, he’ll grow tired of me and move on.
“You okay? How’s the shoulder?”
In an attempt to keep things casual and keep my defenses firm, my answer is stilted with awkwardness. “Fine. I’ve dealt with worse.”
A beat of silence precedes his next question. “You okay otherwise?”
I frown. “Otherwise? As in…?”
His voice deepens, dropping an octave. “You sore?”
My mouth drops open. “You did not just ask me that.”
“I’m talkin’ about your shoulder.”
Shit. “Oh.” My cheeks grow hot, and I drop my chin to my chest. “It’s fine.”
A beat of silence passes before he offers, “I wasn’t really talkin’ about your shoulder.” His voice holds more than a hint of amusement.
My head snaps up, and I roll my eyes. “You ass.”
“So, are you?” Concern is threaded in his tone, coiling with more seriousness. “You sore at all? Hurtin’ in any way?”
“I’m fine.”
“You used that word twice already.”
“I should go?—”
“I’m sorry for leavin’ abruptly.” He catches me off guard with that, rendering me speechless. When he continues, his tone holds an intimate quality I never would’ve guessed he could possess. “Sure as hell didn’t want to.”
I pinch my eyes closed and whisper, “Don’t do this.”
“Why not?”
“Because we agreed not to bring it up.”
“I never agreed to anythin’. You’re the one who said we should pretend it never happened. But the thing is, Lola, I don’t want to.” Smugness enters his voice. “And I don’t make a habit of doin’ what I don’t wanna do.”
An exasperated sound bubbles free. “Of course not.”
“Once we take care of business here and I finally come home, I wouldn’t complain if you were in my bed.”
I’m pleased with how composed I sound when I respond with, “Santy, that’s not going to happen.”
The briefest silence greets my words. When he speaks, his voice is gravelly and holds more than a trace of satisfaction. “Considerin’ you’re callin’ me Santy now says otherwise.”
I sputter, “That doesn’t?—”
“Enjoy havin’ Sabrina over for coffee. See you in a few days.”
The bastard ends the call, leaving me gritting my teeth so hard my molars ache.
That’s what I get for sleeping with a man like him.