Dirty Lyrics (Wrecked #1)

Prologue-Maya

Flashback — Maya

The sheets were tangled around our bodies, the air heavy with the scent of sex and sweat and music that still seemed to hum inside my veins.

Rico lay on his back, chest rising and falling, the tattoos along his ribs slick with a sheen of heat.

His arm curled around me, dragging me over his body like he couldn’t get close enough, his mouth finding the curve of my shoulder.

“ Te amo. I love you, my little Songbird, ” he whispered, his lips brushing the sensitive spot beneath my ear.

My heart stuttered.

I turned my face into the hollow of his throat, breathing him in.

I wanted to believe him so badly.

And in that moment, I did.

Because how could I not?

The way he touched me—like I was fragile and precious, even when he fucked me hard enough to make me scream.

The way he sang the lyrics I wrote? His voice always so rough with emotion.

Like every word was meant only for me.

God, I don’t think I’ll ever get over that.

The way he looked at me when he thought I wasn’t watching? Soft and raw and unguarded.

I felt worshipped.

Wanted.

Loved.

“Say it again,” I whispered.

He did.

“I love you, Maya.”

Over and over.

“Love you so fucking much. Te amo. Te amo. ”

Again and again, until the words blurred with the sound of his heartbeat against my ear.

Until I drifted into sleep, convinced that maybe, against all odds, this was real.

That Rico Véliz— the untouchable El Tigre —was mine.

But reality doesn’t stay quiet for long.

I woke later to the low rumble of voices. The glow of the city lights spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting the penthouse in silver shadows.

I slipped from the bed, tugging on his discarded shirt, and padded barefoot toward the living room.

Rico’s voice carried first— deep, rough, the same voice that told me he loved me only hours ago.

Then another. This one was sharper, slicker.

Daniel Matheson. His manager. A slimeball if I ever saw one.

“She’s perfect,” Daniel said, smug as sin. “The media will eat it up. La Diablita and El Tigre. Reggaeton royalty with Manhattan’s diamond of the season. A true billionaire heiress. It’s a fairytale, Rico. We can’t buy publicity like this.”

I know who he’s talking about the second he says her name.

“I don’t think I’ve ever met her?—”

“She’s Lucy fucking Volkov. Look here, Rico. Is she hot or what?”

“ Si. Fuego. Lucy Vokov, huh?”

Her name hit me like a blade.

I recognize it immediately. I mean, everyone knows her from social media. Lucy is Kardashian famous.

She’s the flawless daughter of the Volkov empire. The face of an angel. The body of a devil.

Just like her father .

She was everything— grace, power, beauty, legacy . Everything I could never compete with.

I pressed a trembling hand to my stomach, right over the secret blooming inside me.

Rico’s baby.

But as I listened, I realized something.

Rico wasn’t arguing with Mr. Matheson when the man suggested he start wooing Lucy Volkov publicly.

He didn’t say, I already have someone.

He didn’t say, I love Maya.

There was only silence.

And his silence said enough.

I was a fool. A silly, lovesick lyricist who thought the rock god had actually fallen in love with her.

So I took my secret— my baby —and I left.

Because whatever “I love you” meant to Rico, it wasn’t enough.

Not for me and not for my baby.