When Lies Unfold

Chapter 67

Juarez reluctantly leavesonce everything’s confirmed for tomorrow, but not before leveling me with a cutting look.

He didn’t appreciate my demands that he put me in touch with the agent inside Hidalgo’s home. However, he finally gave in once I pushed my point that I’ll be the one walking directly into the lion’s den tomorrow.

I’m unsure whether to be relieved or more cautious that it’s a female agent. Either way, I plan to contact her once everything is in order.

Gordo’s agreed to alternate staying on watch here tonight. As we file out of the conference room, he says, “Gonna get some rest before it’s my turn.”

Santy dips his chin in a nod. “See you later.”

Gordo excuses himself, leaving Santy and me in the hallway, drenched in suffocating tension.

I’m desperate to escape his presence, because I can’t bear to look him in the eyes after what I just revealed. Aside from being responsible for his daughter’s abduction, I’m also the woman who traded her body for freedom.

There’s no escaping those facts, and I can’t bear for him to regard me with nothing but abject disgust.

Numbness has seized my emotions, seeping deep into the marrow of my bones as I resign myself to my fate: voluntarily surrendering to Hidalgo and entering that prison once again.

But I’ll do whatever it takes to get Alma back. I owe her and Santy as much.

Doing so means reconciling that if I choose to kill Hidalgo, it’ll likely end with my own death. I desperately want—need—to close that chapter of my life and revoke its power to haunt me any longer, but it’s not just about me anymore. It’s also about taking revenge on Alma’s behalf.

Tossing a half-hearted, “I’ll see you in the morning,” over my shoulder, I make it two steps before he ensnares my elbow. Santy hauls me back against him with such force that I stumble into his chest with a startled gasp.

His eyes hold me captive as he stares down at me, expression inscrutable. “Where you think you’re goin’?”

“To my room.” To hide, because I know you’ll never look at me the same way as before.

His probing gaze gives me the impression he’s privy to my thoughts. When he shakes his head and says, “No,” confusion riddles me. Especially when he adds, “You’re comin’ with me.”

Wariness coats my voice when I ask, “Why?”

“’Cause you and I’ve still got shit to sort out.” His voice grows thick with emotion, causing my heart to twist painfully. “And with Alma gone, you’re the closest thing I’ve got to her right now.”

He doesn’t grant me a moment to process his words; he leads me down the hall to his bedroom.

I don’t bother protesting. Even if he’s planning to yell and cuss at me for what I’ve kept hidden, it still means I’ll spend a few extra moments with him before it’s all over. That’s what matters most to me.

Fucking fate. She knew I was hiding from every facet of the narco life and decided to throw me right back into the fiery depths. But I can’t muster regret for how things turned out. Otherwise, I would’ve never met Santy.

I would’ve never been granted the privilege of knowing and loving Alma. Of experiencing a hint of what it’s like to have the love and adoration of a child—one who wants you to be their mother more than anything.

I never would’ve experienced what it’s like to have a man who protects me at all costs. He may not express his affection verbally, but he shows it in his own trademark manner.

He’s proven that he’s not like Hidalgo. Though he is a narco, a criminal, and a murderer, he doesn’t have a vapid space where his heart should be.

Even if he doesn’t realize it, Santy has one of the biggest hearts I’ve known. Alma alone is proof of that.

Once we’re ensconced in the quiet confines of his bedroom, he leaves me standing with my back against the locked bedroom door while he casts off his boots and socks. Wordlessly, he removes his holstered weapons and carefully sets them aside.

As he begins unfastening his button-down, I shift from one foot to the other, wondering what he wants from me.

His focus remains on unfastening the buttons at his wrists while his tone is conversational but firm. “Got some questions I need you to answer for me.”

My answer is muted with caution. “Okay.”

He shrugs off his shirt and tosses it in the nearby hamper. My eyes greedily memorize his ink-covered upper body, knowing this is the last time I’ll see it.

His hands move to unfasten his belt. “Hidalgo beat on you and carved on you, yeah?”

I swallow past a growing lump in my throat. “Yes.”

He slides the leather belt free of each loop. “And you were forced to fuck an agent to get free of your husband?”

I lower my gaze to where he holds the band of leather. “Yes.”

“Lola.” There’s a gentle quality to his voice. “Look at me.”

Bracing myself for whatever comes next, I muster the bravery to lift my gaze to his.

“You used that agent up till the moment you killed ’im, ’cause you knew he wasn’t gonna stop takin’ advantage of you or let you make a clean getaway. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes.”

He tosses his belt on the bed. Long, tapered fingers branded with black designs move to his pants, pausing at the button. “Did you like it?”

My breath hitches in my throat, and I barely eke out, “Hellno.”

“So, when are you gonna let go of that shame?”

All the oxygen in the room seems to evaporate at his question. When I’m unable to respond, he slowly advances on me.

Hands gently cradling my face, he forces me to meet his gaze. “You did what you fuckin’ needed to do to get outta there. Let it go.”

My eyes burn as they fill with unshed tears, my chest impossibly tight with a myriad of emotions.

When his thumbs tenderly graze along my cheeks and he whispers again, “Let it go,” the first tear breaks free.

With his eyes locked with mine, his repeated words unlock a gut-wrenching sob as more tears spill down my cheeks. He tugs me against him, enfolding me tightly in his arms.

With my cheek against the hard wall of his chest, his warmth and the steady beat of his heart soothe me.

His gentle murmurs of “You did what you had to do to survive” has my body wracked with cries ripped from deep in my soul. The band of his arms tightens around me. “You handled your shit the only way you could.”

His words are a soothing balm, encouraging me to release all the guilt and shame of the past. “You did exactly what you had to do.”

Speaking against the top of my head, his voice is muted but thick with emotion. “You’re a fuckin’ warrior, you hear me? So damn beautiful and strong…”

I have no idea how long he holds me while I cry, but eventually, my tears taper and my breathing isn’t quite as choppy. He never moves; he simply holds me snug in his arms where I feel safe, like nothing can hurt me.

But this is only temporary.

Once I finally raise my head, the uncharacteristic softness in his features compels me to say it.

“I love you.”

His eyes crinkle the slightest bit at the edges. Then he dips his head, bringing his mouth to mine to respond in a way only Santiago Hernández would.

“I know.”