Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Pablo
My temper is on the verge of shattering.
A maelstrom of emotions swirls within me, and there are several I recognize but am not used to.
I’ve spent my entire life sharing almost everything I’ve had with my four cousins.
Before my little brother got himself killed because he fucked around and found out Maksim Kutsenko doesn’t play when it comes to protecting his wife and children, I shared nearly everything with Juan.
Often it was because the shithead took things from me.
More often than not, I gave in to keep him from picking a fight where I would’ve pulverized him.
So, the possessiveness I feel now is utterly foreign and completely unreasonable.
That doesn’t stop it from surging through me.
That and anger at Florencia’s refusal to cooperate, even if I understand why.
I can’t blame her for not trusting me. I don’t trust her even if I want to fuck her into next week.
But she needs to come with me, or she may not survive the night.
I need to change my approach; otherwise, we’ll stay at this stalemate.
“Call your mother and tell her about your conversation with Humberto yesterday. See what she says.”
“She’ll tell me to be careful and not piss him off.”
“And when you tell her he’s put a hit on you? When you tell her he’s threatened to rape her and kill your abuelo and primos? What will she say then?”
“Would he really—to my mother? Has he…”
She can’t finish her question, and I don’t blame her.
“It’s rare for women to go to his home, so he hasn’t had the opportunity.
He knows any of his guards would kill him if he tried.
They may work on his estate, but they work for Tío Enrique.
We have no proof he did before his house arrest, but we can’t be sure he didn’t commission it before my tío banished him to the estate.
Do you want to be the reason he figures out how to make it happen? ”
She’s so quick to stand I barely get out of the way before her head can nail the underside of my chin. Anger shoots flaming arrows from her eyes as she glares at me. They threaten to turn me to ash beneath her feet.
“How dare you?!”
“Did I ask anything you aren’t already asking yourself?”
“If I told my mother anything, she’d tell me to get as far away from you as I possibly can and to not look back.”
“No, she wouldn’t.”
“Yes, she—”
“As much as your mother hates my family, she knows we have far more honor than Humberto ever has. She knows that despite what we do, we never hurt women.”
At least, not intentionally. We’ve committed our fair share of sins in the last few years, inadvertently making women in the other NYC syndicates collateral damage.
It was never the plan to hurt them, but some got caught in the crosshairs.
But in an “us versus them,” we’ll always put our family first. None of the other families are any different.
“She might agree with that, but she would never agree to me going with you. You might not hurt me, but you’ll never convince her or me that you won’t get me hurt.”
“Chiquita, you’d be screaming down the house if you believed I’d hurt you. You would’ve shot me if you believed I was a threat. You didn’t. You kissed me instead. You pressed your body against mine, and you enjoyed what you felt. You want me to spank you, and you want me to make you come.”
I scoop her over my shoulder again like a barbarian carrying his mate off to his cave. My hand lands across her ass once more. We both understand my double entendre as I turn away from her bed.
“You had your chance to gather your stuff and leave willingly. Staying here any longer makes us both a target. If you make a sound as we leave, I will gag you. I’d die for you, but not today.”
Why the fuck do I keep admitting this shit?
Why do I keep oversharing my feelings?
Why am I even having these fucking feelings?
They’re massively inconvenient. They’ll be my motherfucking undoing.
“Put me down. I will make a scene.”
“No, you will not. If there are more mercenaries waiting for you, you’ll make yourself an easy target. I’m not dying today because you believe you’re getting back at me.”
“Revenge has nothing to do with it. I told you, I don’t trust you.”
“And I don’t trust you either, but I don’t want you hurt.”
We keep going round in circles, and my frayed patience can’t take much more of this.
I decide the strong, silent type is my fresh approach.
I march out of her place, grabbing the keys and my lock picking kit as I pass through the door.
I stop to lock up, and Flora huffs. I offer no comment and keep walking.
I can carry all my cousins, tíos, and father up and down at least five flights of stairs.
I know from practice and necessity, so Flora is like a feather despite her divinely curvy figure.
A true hourglass, like a classic pinup model.
But I won’t risk her fighting me and us both tumbling down the six flights of stairs.
We have to wait for the elevator to arrive.
I remain quiet, and so does she. But she wriggles and tries to kick her feet.
My arms wrap around her legs to keep her immobilized.
When the doors open, she tries to grab one side to keep me from entering.
I reach back and grasp both wrists, fearful the doors will close on them or that she’ll hurt them when my walking forward pulls them from the metal.
I press the button for the ground floor and put her on her feet.
I position myself in front of her as I draw my gun.
Unlike her, I have the safety off before the doors reopen.
She doesn’t give up her attempt to thwart me, but when she moves from side to side, her smaller frame can’t get around my larger one.
She gives in—for now, because I know she hasn’t given up—and waits.
She knows I’m shielding her even if she doesn’t want my help—doesn’t see it as help.
She’s back over my shoulder as we leave the elevator. My driver’s watching for me, so he pulls forward as soon as he spots us stepping out of the building. As a bodyguard, I would normally sit up front with the driver. But I’m worried Flora might try to bolt from the back seat if she’s left alone.
You’re also scared someone might get to her if she’s out of your reach.
There’s that. I want to be close if any threat gets near her. I don’t want her out of my sight or my reach.
Normally, my driver would get out and open the door, but he watches me shake my head. I want him ready to go the second I close the back passenger door. I open it and put Flora on her feet again. I crowd her against the car, catching her between the open door and the car frame.
“Pablo, please, no. Don’t do this.”
Genuine fear laces her words, and I see it in her eyes. They stare into mine for a second before her gaze sweeps the surrounding area.
“Chiquita, if there were another way, I would take it. You aren’t safe anywhere in Bogotá. Go willingly. I don’t enjoy forcing you.”
The hand not holding my gun rests on her waist. It travels up her ribs, then down her back until it reaches her ass. I give it a squeeze then a light tap. A reminder of what I’ll do if she doesn’t obey but not hard enough to cause any pain. Her gaze locks with mine, and something shifts within her.
“You’re really going to protect me, aren’t you?”
“Whether you want me to or not.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re mine, chiquita. Now get in the car, please.”
She stares at me for another moment before ducking in and sliding across the seat.
I follow her and close the door. Once it’s shut, I flip the safety back onto the gun.
I place it on the seat between Flora and me.
She could try to grab it, but she reaches for her seatbelt instead.
After having her in my arms, having her on the other side of the seat with a belt between us feels wrong.
It’s the safest thing for her, but I don’t like it.
My driver must have put up the privacy glass when he realized I wouldn’t be alone back here.
It’s usually up by default. I twist and pluck her from her seat, bringing her to sit on my lap.
She fights me, surprised and unsure of what I’m doing.
I wrap my arms around her, the weight of them heavy, but I’m gentle as I guide her to lean against me.
When my hand strokes her hip and over her ass, and I do nothing else, she sags against me.
Her head rests against my chest, and I kiss her forehead.
“Pablo, all of this is terrifying. You’re scaring me. Where are you taking me?”
“Somewhere safe, chica. I know how frightening this must be for you. I’m terrified one of Humberto’s hired guns will get you. I’m terrified I won’t get you out of town in time.”
I’m terrified you hate me for what I’m doing.
“Will you tell me where you’re taking me? Who am I going to tell? I left my cell phone in my apartment. I don’t have my ID or anything.”
“My family’s home.”
“San Andrés?”
That’s the home people know about. It’s an island known for the best beaches, and it’s a beautiful vacation spot. But I won’t take her somewhere people know about.
“We have another home.” I tilt her chin to make her look up at me. “I’ll protect you because you deserve it as a person sucked into this fucked-up world because of your family’s choices before you were born. I’ll take care of you because you’re you.”
I bring my lips to hers, giving her a chance to reject me.
She turns her face toward me more, making our lips brush together.
A sliver of me worries she’s kissing me back long enough to distract me and reach for my gun.
But her arm caught between us struggles to move, then fists my shirt at my waist while her other hand cradles my jaw.