2. Amorette
AMORETTE
T he food on the coffee table was steaming hot. Some kind of seasoned rice with juicy shredded pork. Different from the clean-eating Grey fed me. Or the barren cabinets in Lafe’s place.
My stomach was a tangled web of knots, and even though the smell made my mouth water, the richness also made me nauseous.
Somehow, I’d passed back out after the “brother” tried to scare the shit out of me. When I woke up fifteen minutes ago, I was on the couch in a posh living room with only a mild grogginess. The double glass doors were open, and noises from the kitchen floated through the room.
A nasty, unwelcome case of déjà vu hit me square in the chest as my heart refused to listen to reason. No, that useless organ tried to kill me every time voices came close to where I was.
There was someone else here besides that man. The brother.
Maybe a man, but if it was, his voice was high.
When the voices moved farther away, I stuck my head out of the living room and glanced around.
I needed to find a bathroom, or this brother would have another reason to hurt me.
With how clean and new everything seemed, he wouldn’t take kindly to a puddle on the new rug or leather couch.
The space was fairly open, like a receiving area of some sort. Much bigger than the apartments. A door was partially opened across the room; from what I could tell, it had a tile floor. Possibly a bathroom. I darted over and shut the door behind me.
Gently.
I was still in the red dress and my underwear was still intact, thank God.
Pulling my panties down, I started peeing before my ass ever hit the seat. Then I ran into a dilemma. Flush or not. If I did, this brother would know I was awake. If I didn’t, he might be grossed out.
Hell, I went for it. I flushed and went back to the living room.
Which brought me to now. In the few minutes I used the bathroom, splashed water on my face, and had a good long look at myself in the mirror, someone had dropped food off for me.
“I see you’re awake.”
I snapped my gaze to the door. How the hell had he snuck up on me so quietly? The floors were hardwood, the place echoed like a museum, and he was nowhere to be seen when I’d rushed from the bathroom to the living room.
“No words? Cat got your tongue?” A hint of a smile curled his lips, but it did nothing to replace the cold calculation in his eyes.
He was everything I remembered from my drugged state and so like Andre on the surface, maybe too much. Except, there was no warmth to him. Andre burned hot.
This man ran as cold as ice. I half expected my next exhale to fog over.
He had his hair buzzed, even shorter than Parker’s, and his eyes were a brown somewhere in between the deep brown of Andre’s eyes and the black of Parker’s.
I committed as much of him to memory as I could. If the brothers had never mentioned him, there was a reason.
“Who are you?” My voice was rough, scratching up my throat.
A teasing huff escaped him before he pushed into the room. “I can tell from the recognition in your gaze that you remember. What do you think you’ll get by playing dumb?”
“You said you’re their brother, but I don’t believe you. They never mentioned you.” I backed up step for step as he moved forward. But his strides were longer, and by the time my back hit the wall, his chest was inches from my face.
I fucking hated tilting my head back to see him. It made me feel small and powerless. But I wasn’t. I would never be powerless.
“Matías,” he said, the accent thickening over his name.
“Ma-tee-as,” I repeated.
He nodded, the hint of amusement wiping from his face. “I imagine you haven’t heard of me. They don’t claim me as their brother. Not even when we were brats running around the mansion.”
I sucked in my stomach as he pushed forward even closer.
“Why am I here?”
“Because they’ve been playing a very dangerous game, and Vicente—you know who Vicente is, yes?”
“Yes,” I said quietly.
“My father never loses. And he plays with his food before he kills it.”
Was he referring to me? Or the brothers?
We stared each other down, my breathing the only audible sound in the room.
When I didn’t make any attempt to engage him in conversation, he stepped back.
“Eat. The food will be cold soon.” He walked toward the door but stopped just before he crossed the threshold.
“You’re not a prisoner here, but neither are you free.
Don’t leave the house, and let me know if you need anything. ”
Then he was gone, leaving me staring after him dumbfounded.
Shit. Matías could be a hitman, an estranged brother, or an undercover cop. I had nothing to go on. No information to match up against. Except that he was being kind.
At least in the only way these men knew how to be kind. If Vicente was into head games like Matías said, could dropping me here, offering limited freedom and basic comforts, be a ploy?
But what did I matter in the grand scheme of things? I didn’t.
Except as leverage over Grey. The other brothers could probably give two fucks if I lived or died.
I walked back to the food and sat on the couch. I needed to eat. I’d been gone at least twelve hours. When was the last time I ate?
Sucking it up, I picked up the fork and dove in. Flavors burst on my tongue, and even though I knew it was delicious, it still tasted like ash. I made myself eat half before I felt like I’d toss it up.
So many competing thoughts fought for brain space.
Was Matías as bad as Vicente?
Would the brothers ever find me here?
Should I escape? Could I?
I shook my head. I’d promised I'd stop being stupid. This time, I wouldn’t trust someone blindly, not after the last time. I shivered as the memory ghosted down my spine.
But I wouldn’t lie to myself. The possibility of this man sending me home was tempting. Just the hope of seeing Grace again warmed my chest. If Parker could be believed, I would see her again. One day.
I didn’t need this man to let me go.
What I needed was to get back to Grey and his brothers. I at least trusted them to a certain extent.
Voices picked up again, and I stood slowly. My shoes were gone, but I didn’t need them. I crept to the living room door, listening to see where Matías was in the house.
I followed the voices down a hall, passing a sprawling double island kitchen, another guest bathroom, and a few bedrooms. Matías lived very well. From what Lafe had told me, this could be Vicente’s mansion.
Maybe.
Would Matías live with his dad? He was at least in his late twenties.
Spanish fired back and forth between Matías and whoever his guest was. I could pick out his voice even if I couldn’t decipher the words. The door at the end of the long hallway was open a crack, and I stopped just out of eyesight.
A gruff, slender man perched on the edge of a chair tossed his hands up, angry about something. Matías leaned on the desk in front of him with his arms crossed, watching the man with an unimpressed stare.
When the guy paused, he must have expected an answer. Matías gave none. He jumped up out of his seat, and Matías immediately clutched the man’s neck. As Matías stood, the man was lifted to his toes. As his feet left the ground, he started choking and clawing at Matías’ hands.
Matías brought his mouth to the man’s ear and spoke softly.
I couldn’t understand a damn thing! But I’d stopped breathing at the display of sudden violence. I should be used to it by now. I should be. But I wasn’t.
Taking a step back, I froze when a board creaked. Matías glanced my way, then turned back to the man in his grip without even blinking. He didn’t care at all that I witnessed this act of cruelty.
Leave or stay?
Just when I was starting to get comfortable in the apartments, I was thrust here, and now every decision was weighed as if I were playing an entirely new chess game.
“Don’t be shy, Amorette. Come in.” Matías’ accent was thick. Thicker than even Andre’s. Had it been that thick earlier? Or was this a sign of his emotions running high, even if he appeared calm on the outside?
The man tried to look my way, but Matías gave him a shake.
“You don’t have to worry about her. She’s not your concern. If I were you, I’d carefully consider how you’re going to stay alive.”
The man’s face was purple, and spit spilled from his mouth, yet Matías only seemed to be squeezing harder.
Matias ordered me to enter, but I didn't. I couldn’t. I was stuck in a state of shock a-fucking-gain. Just like when Grey beat that man to death. Matías continued to hold him up, and the man continued to struggle.
“Do you have anything you’d like to say? This is your last chance to save your hide.” His droll tone reminded me slightly of Parker, but not quite.
The man was too busy fighting for air to answer. He didn’t react to the words at all.
Then the man just stopped. In slow motion, his body relaxed. First, his hands, then his feet. Limb by limb, he seemed to just…give up.
Finally, Matías tossed him in the corner and grabbed a tissue off the desk, wiping spit, or maybe tears, from his sleeve. He sighed as he threw it in the trashcan next to his desk.
“Cleanup is never fun.” He moved around the desk to take his seat, moving the mouse to wake up the computer.
I hadn’t moved and when he looked at me, blood coursed through my frozen body.
“Surely my brothers haven’t shielded you so much you haven’t seen death?” he asked as if that thought hadn’t actually crossed his mind until then.
I shook my head. That wasn’t it at all. It must be the residual shock from being taken. Or maybe because I was processing what his actions said about him. I wasn’t sure.
“I’ve seen death. I’ve killed too.” The admission tumbled from my lips. I think a part of me wanted him to know I could be dangerous too. He wouldn’t believe it. No one ever did. It was why I was so successful as a junior lawyer. Why I had been successful…
One side of his mouth kicked up. “Cute.” Then it was like I didn’t exist.
The rest of the day, I explored his house, which had to be upwards of ten thousand square feet. It lacked personality. Lacked any warmth. Yet it was as beautifully decorated as any home I’d ever seen.
The way my own footsteps echoed back at me was eerie. I constantly looked over my shoulder, but Matías never joined me. Not that day. And outside of bringing me food, he didn’t talk to me the next day either.
For all the violence trapped under his skin, he didn’t seem to want to direct any of it at me.
Yet, I couldn’t bring myself to be grateful. Not when it felt like he could be set off at any moment.