When Lies Unfold

Chapter 79

Barranquilla Carnival

Colombia

12 years earlier

I shouldn’t be here,but somethin’ about this drew me in. For one night, I wanna be inconspicuous.

I should be revelin’ in what I’ve already accomplished, but some days, it feels like I’ve taken on more than I can handle.

It’s why I’m here wearin’ a stupid mask coverin’ my face from below my nose up to my hairline while I’m surrounded by an ass-ton of people who don’t know me and sure as hell won’t recognize me.

People in my line of work don’t tend to mingle or do shit like this. But I figure it’s safe ’cause I’m never predictable and these people are too busy celebratin’ and havin’ the time of their lives.

It’s a foreign kind of sensation, bein’ around so many people who’re carefree and lettin’ loose. People who have no idea about the bloodbath that took place a few hours ago. They’re clueless about the recon my men and I’ve been doin’.

I’m torn by a fraction of envy that they’re able to let loose like this while the other fraction is flat-out irritated with myself.

I’ve got shit to do, and I’m screwin’ off by bein’ here. I’m about to say fuck it and just turn around and leave.

Then I see her.

It doesn’t seem possible with how crowded it is, but our eyes lock and hold. I can only see her from the shoulders up, and she’s positively fuckin’ breathtakin’.

With blonde, chin-length hair, her face is concealed by a blue sequined mask extending to her upper lip. The rest of her face and body is painted black with streaks of metallic blue, and large blue feathery wings fan out from her back.

An eagerness I’m not used to propels me forward, and I venture closer, dodgin’ and weavin’ through the thick crowd. Once I’m in front of her, she peers up at me with eyes so blue they must be colored contacts.

Her costume is a strapless, form-fittin’ bodysuit that molds to her perfect curves, and I realize now that she’s dressed as a butterfly. Specifically a blue morpho, which is common in my home country of Costa Rica.

It’s impossible to hear anythin’ above the cacophony of music and overall revelry, let alone have a conversation, so I offer her an upturned palm.

It’s a silent question I have no right to ask—to expect this beautiful woman to walk farther away from the carnival with me—but I’m driven by a strange sense of urgency.

She hesitates long enough that I’m about to let my hand drop. But before I do, she slips her delicate one in mine.

I swear to Christ, somethin’s wrong with me, ’cause this just…feels right. Like she’s supposed to be mine or some shit. Which is fuckin’ ridiculous, ’cause I know better than to entertain delusions like that. I knew goin’ into this life that it’d be a solo venture.

I’m not built that way, regardless.

But when she blinks up at me with innocent eyes, I’m tempted to say fuck it and throw away all common sense for her.

I lead her away from the thickest part of the crowd until we arrive at a side street where it’s not quite as deafenin’, but we still have to shout to hear each other.

“What’s your name?”

Her lips part to answer before somethin’ like fear intermixed with regret flashes across her features. But it’s gone before I can be sure. “No names. Not tonight.”

Disappointment spears me, but I’m not stupid enough to turn her away for somethin’ like that. I still gotta ask, though. “You got a husband? Boyfriend? Anybody special?”

Her full lips, painted a shimmery shade of blue, purse resolutely. “No.”

Relief barrels through me, and a smile tugs at my mouth. “Good answer.”

We edge farther down the street, still hand in hand. “What about you?”

“Nope.” I smirk. “No husband, boyfriend, or anybody special for me.”

“Ha-ha.” She playfully nudges me with a feathered wing. “What a surprise, especially with your exciting choice of costume.”

I don’t take any offense at her teasin’ remark, ’cause this festival’s notorious for providin’ the opportunity for people to have the most vibrant-colored costumes.

But I’m dressed like I always am—in all black, or pretty damn close to it. It’s easier to blend in with the darkness and shadows at night, which is when I do most of my work.

When I spot the food truck offerin’ carima?olas, I lead her toward it. She pleases me even more when she doesn’t balk at me orderin’ the two deep-fried yuca fritters and two bottles of water.

A second later, when she tries to shove cash at me, is the first time I cut her a look I’m used to givin’ my men when they don’t follow my explicit orders.

Her eyes go wide, so big and blue, but I gently tuck the money back in her palm. “Not sure where you had that hidden, but you don’t need that with me.”

Hesitance lingers on her face, but our order’s called, and I collect it from the food truck window for us. Grabbin’ a few napkins, I lead her off to the side, attemptin’ to find a place where we can stop and eat without bein’ jostled to hell and back.

All available benches are taken, but I spot a flat concrete stoop that looks promisin’. I offer to lay down the napkins so she won’t risk ruinin’ her costume on the rough, filthy surface, but she shakes her head. “I can stand.”

With a scowl, I sit and carefully set my food and water aside. I pat my thighs. “Have a seat.”

Blue eyes flash with surprise. “But my wings?—”

“Will be fine and outta the way.” I gently tug her so she’s sittin’ sideways on my lap. “There. Now, we’re good.”

“But your pants will get ruined from the concrete.” Concern lights her features. “You should treat Armani better than that.”

Interestin’. So, she knows her upscale brands… “Armani’d understand that I gotta be a gentleman.”

Her smile makes me feel like a fuckin’ schoolboy with his first crush. Even though her colored contacts are a pretty blue to match her costume, I wish I could see her without ’em.

Fuck. Somethin’s really wrong with me if I’m tied in knots over a woman’s eyes.

When she raises her carima?ola to my lips, it feels normal to let her feed me—like we’re not two strangers who just met but potential lovers.

I offer her bites of mine as we alternate, and our conversation is easy. It’s like we’ve known each other for a lifetime instead of mere minutes.

We discover we both have a weakness for good coffee, keepin’ our bodies healthy—aside from indulgin’ here and there—and love readin’ just about anythin’ we can get our hands on.

She’s smart, witty as hell, and gorgeous. I’ve never met a woman I actually enjoyed talkin’ to as much as this. Hell…I never enjoyed spendin’ time with a woman I wasn’t tryin’ to fuck.

It’s why, for the first time in my life, I hold back. I wanna kiss her so fuckin’ bad, but I don’t. ’Cause she’s not like the others. She’s classy—it’s obvious in how she carries herself and her recognition of what I’m wearin’. But she’s also got a sweetness about her that’s rare.

Once we’ve finished our food, she shifts like she’s gonna get up, but I stop her with a hand on her hip. “Just fine where you’re at.”

A shy smile plays at her lips, but when she catches sight of the time on my watch, her entire body goes wrought with tension. She scrambles off my lap, nearly takin’ off my head with her wings.

Her brow creases with worry. “I need to go.”

Panic scalds my insides as I straighten, ’cause every fiber in my body is screamin’ for more time with her. “I’ll walk you back.”

“No. It’s fine.” She says this abruptly before her eyes take on a sadness that has my gut twistin’ in knots. Steppin’ closer, she presses a kiss to my cheek. “I’ll remember this night forever.”

The finality of her words puts the bitter taste of regret on my tongue. I give in to the urge to grab her wrist before she can dart away.

“Meet me here again tomorrow night.” The words are out before I realize it.

Fuck. I’ve never sought a woman’s attention, let alone begged her to spend more time with me. It’s not me bein’ cocky—that’s just the truth.

Our eyes hold, and the anguish in hers confuses me.

She eases her wrist from my hold, then plucks one perfect metallic-blue feather from her wings and places it in my palm. Closin’ my fingers around it, she gives my hand a quick squeeze. “In another life.”

With those three words, she’s off, disappearin’ into the crowd that’s only grown thicker with each passin’ minute.

I lose sight of her and those blue wings far quicker than I’d like. But I don’t chase after her, even though every muscle in my body protests.

I can’t. There’s no room in my life for anybody. I’m buildin’ my empire, makin’ a name for myself. Soon, nobody’s gonna associate the name Santiago Hernández with the dirt-poor Tico?1 kid from the worst barrio?2.

Instead, they’ll know that Santiago Hernández is the most powerful narco in not only Costa Rica, but all of Central America. That I’m expandin’ my territory and even makin’ deals throughout South America.

No woman wants to come second to that, and I’ve never been tempted to rethink my goals or reconsider my path.

Until now.

I’d never admit it out loud ’cause it sounds crazy as fuck, but I swear I saw possibilities in her eyes.

Openin’ my hand, I stare at the feather she gave me. It fuckin’ figures. The first woman to shake up my world is one I don’t even have a name for. Nor do I have the time to consider trackin’ her down.

Lightly strokin’ my thumb over the feather’s softness, I mutter to myself, my voice lost in the surroundin’ noise. “In another life.”

Tuckin’ the feather in my pocket, I cast one final glance in the direction she disappeared in before I turn and leave.

Once I reach the outskirts where I parked my vehicle, I toss the mask in a nearby trash can and drive off.

It’s the last Barranquilla Carnival I ever attend.