Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
NINE DAYS (AND AN ALMOST RUINED PARTNERSHIP) AFTER
He left me here.
I squint, watching as Rafael approaches the man, who tosses his cigarette so they can shake hands and pat each other on the back. I don’t know why I’m surprised that Rafael’s friendly with shady types. I should be surprised they’re not sharing a smoke.
The man opens the door, and Rafael disappears inside, the door shutting with a bang that makes me startle. Sasquatch Soprano resumes his post beside the door, lights another cigarette, and blows out the smoke directly toward the truck.
On instinct, I duck. My heart hammers. When I peek over the dash, he’s staring at his phone, distracted—my cue to move.
I rush out of the truck and race past him, into the building, ignoring the unnatural sensation of moving through metal and concrete. Whatever Rafael thinks is so important that we have to pause our mission of figuring me out, I should know. Especially if it involves manila envelopes and hush money.
The hallway is dimly lit, faint music playing from somewhere up ahead. I follow it. Closed doors line the hallway, but one of them is cracked. Tentatively, I peek inside.
An empty industrial kitchen greets me. Stainless steel appliances gleam pristine and unused. Boxes of condiments line the steel shelves. A massive metal counter cuts down the middle like an operating table.
Ohmygod.
We’ve stopped at a restaurant.
Furious, I bolt out of the kitchen, determined to find Rafael and have a long discussion about priorities. Starting with their definition. And how stopping for a snack after he just ate isn’t one of them.
I stomp down the hallway, where doors lead into a sleek, moody restaurant.
Exposed brick and metal pipes stretch across a black ceiling. Plush leather chairs curve around tables and booths. A massive white skeleton—a bony finger held up to its mouth—is painted onto the farthest wall above the words La Clandestina Taco & Tequila Bar.
The logo is vaguely familiar, but my gaze snags on the expansive bar at the center of the restaurant. Or rather, the man leaning against it, his back to me.
It’s bad enough he needed a taco, but a drink too?
Anger propels me forward.
“It wasn’t the only thing.” A female voice has me digging in my heels.
A woman stands opposite Rafael, the bar separating them. She’s tall, tanned, and has curves that make you want to take Pilates. A sleeve of tattoos covers one arm, and her dark curls swish as she shakes the envelope in a menacing way.
I find I’m intrigued.
“I was ready to kill you,” she says.
Very intrigued.
Keeping out of Rafael’s line of sight, I lean in.
“You can’t do that to me.” She swats his shoulder with the envelope before he can shield himself.
“I said I was sorry,” he says, ducking when she tries to swat at him again. She switches to Spanish briefly, her voice sharp. Rafael tenses.
I can’t help but wonder if he’s lost his touch with the female species.
He holds up his hands in surrender. “It won’t happen again.”
“It better not.” Her hazel eyes narrow.
“I promise.” He flashes a smile, all charm.
There’s a pause. A collectively held breath.
“Okay,” she says, lowering the envelope.
And just like that, the tempest passes.
For a minute, I thought Rafael had met his match—someone immune to The Vela Effect?. But nope. Of course not. He has an arsenal. A lopsided grin. A clever quip. Stupidly deceiving puppy eyes. And bam—he’s bending and twisting you to his will …
And—ohmygod—I’m thinking about his naked body and tangled bedsheets.
Diapers. Eggs. Octogenarians.
“How long do I have you for?” she asks, sliding the envelope beneath the bar. “There’s some stuff I’d like your eyes on.”
“No time, L.”
Her face contorts with disappointment.
“Way to go, Raffy Taffy,” I mutter. A knee-jerk reaction I kick myself for. Conditions.
Rafael’s shoulders stiffen, but he doesn’t glance my way.
“Right,” she says, her movements tense as she starts to wipe the bar.
“I’m sorry, but I have a problem I need to take care of.” Rafael projects his voice in my direction.
“A problem?” I squeak.
“Conditions.” Rafael coughs into his shoulder.
“Conditions?” The woman stops midwipe.
Rafael scratches his chin. “Yes. The air conditioning in my apartment is down.”
“Hmmm. Shit time for that to happen. It’s like ninety degrees out there.” She resumes cleaning the counter. Rafael shoots me a warning glare.
I return it and say, “You dropped off your super-secret Mafia payout. Let’s go.”
His jaw locks up, swallowing words I imagine he desperately wants to say.
“What are you looking at?” She sees him stare at nothing.
Rafael swiftly shifts his attention to her. “Nothing. Thought I heard something.”
“Probably Owen. He’s in and out all day. I told him I didn’t need him around, but he insists on standing out there.” She shakes her head. “Stubborn-ass men all around me.”
Rafael chuckles. “I promise I’ll be less stubborn once I deal with my problem.” I don’t appreciate the emphasis on the word. “And you might be able to help.”
“With the AC shit?”
“No. My other problem.”
She drops the rag and leans her elbows on the counter. “Something else broke?”
“Yes, like your ability to define priorities,” I say, enjoying the way Rafael tenses. “And unless she has a solution for fixing me, we should go.”
Rafael shifts his body away from me. “So, you remember that medium you were telling me about? Can you give me her address?”
“A medium? For you? Raffi, I don’t think you can—”
“It’s for a friend.”
The woman appears to be considering the truth of his words, then says, “I’ll text you the address and give her a heads-up.” She digs into her fitted jeans and pulls out a phone. “When do you think you’ll finally be ready to—”
“Soon.” He cuts her off, his tone abrupt.
“I know it’s tough for you, but I need you too.” She sets the phone down and reaches over, despite his harsh tone. Her hand covers his, her thumb brushing his skin in an easy, familiar way. My breath catches. Something in my chest feels icky.
“I missed you,” she says.
“She’s your girlfriend?” The words fly out before I can stop them. My hand jumps to my mouth.
Rafael’s head snaps in my direction, his expression shifting to one of horror. “Fuck no.”
Her brows jump at the same time as his, only her horror is directed at him. “Who are you talking to?” she asks, narrowing her eyes.
“Um. Myself.” His answer sounds more like a question. If this non-girlfriend knows him like I do, she can detect the lie from a mile away.
“It didn’t sound like you were talking to yourself.” She dips under the bar and emerges on the other side, beside him. Her eyes scan the restaurant. “Are you seeing something?”
Rafael chuckles like she’s told him a joke. “Nothing more than what you’d get with good old twenty-twenty vision.”
She doesn’t return his smile. “Is that why you need a medium? Because you’re seeing something that’s not there?”
“Shit. I told you it’s for a friend, Lupe,” he says.
Lupe.
She has a name.
Lupe doesn’t seem appeased. Her gaze is fixated on Rafael like she’s about to dissect him.
“Anyway, I should get going. I’m tired.” Rafael stretches his arms over his head and feigns a yawn. The movement hikes his shirt, revealing the waistband of his briefs and the strip of skin above it. I snap my gaze away, feeling several degrees warmer.
“Tired, huh? That must be why you’re talking to yourself,” she says, cutting off his escape.
“I think she might want to kill you,” I whisper, because I’m not sure what she is to him, but dangerous is coming to mind.
“Sí,” Rafael agrees. I’m not sure if he’s talking to her or me.
She’s close now, her eyes sharp and hawklike and not at all like the doe-eyed women he usually goes for. I don’t know if I should be impressed or scared.
Lupe crosses her arms. “Are you drunk?”
“Surprisingly, no.” The words slip out of my lips. Rafael repeats this. I groan beside him.
He shakes his head quickly. “No! I meant no. I haven’t had a drink in … days.”
“You’re acting very strange, Raffi.”
“Like I said, super tired. Should be getting home.” He leans in, closing the distance between them. My chest feels suddenly too tight, but I can’t look away—not as his arms wrap around her, his mouth moving toward her.
He kisses her.
On the cheek.
“I’ll call you later, cuz.”
Cuz?
They’re cousins.
The tightness doesn’t loosen up as I look between them. I’m not sure how I didn’t see the similarities before. The same full lips. The intense eyes. The confident stance. Oblivious me.
Rafael steps around Lupe. I follow, torn between feeling a strange sense of relief but also concern because she has the same expression Rafael gets when he’s up to something … and I’ve sat across from him long enough to feel uneasy.
He takes three steps.
“We don’t lie to each other. Ever,” Lupe says, voice cool.
Rafael halts. I keep walking until I’m beside him. “No lies needed if we go,” I whisper, sensing things are about to take a bad turn if we don’t.
“Who were you talking to?” Lupe asks.
“You can lie,” I tell him. Because the alternative is telling the truth, and I’d rather spend a month in my former basement apartment than have another Vela involved. “So lie.”
“I was reacting to the skeleton—the logo.” Rafael gestures to the wall behind Lupe. “It seems off-center. Which is why I was like fuck no!”
Lupe doesn’t even bother turning. “Skully is perfectly centered.” Her tone is almost predatory. Even her lips press into the same firm line I’ve seen Rafael wear countless times. “The truth?”
“Let’s go,” I instruct, my tone edged with warning. Rafael’s eyes flick to mine.
“Raffi?” Lupe hedges.
His gaze asks for something that makes my stomach twist. “Rafael,” I warn. His jaw works. “Do not bring her into this.”
“I can’t lie to her, E.” His shoulders sag.
“No, no, no.” I whip around him, into his line of sight. “You can certainly lie!”
“It’s too late,” he says. “She’s like a CIA-trained hound.”