Chapter 13 Rafael Santos
THIRTEEN
RAFAEL SANTOS
“Let’s play a game.”
Valentina shakes her head instantly. I knew she’d be harder to convince. I pin Faith with my flirtiest grin—although I can’t tell if she’s interested in me or interested in annoying Valentina, she bites, “I like games.”
“Kill me,” Valentina hisses, nursing what I’ve noticed is straight tequila blanco, on the rocks. How true her words ring—but I don’t so much as flinch.
“Twenty questions?” I ask, swirling my own glass—water with a lime, because I have to blend in but remain sharp—and Valentina’s expression sours further.
“What if I don’t want you to know things about me?”
I shrug. “What do you have to hide?”
Valentina glares, for so long, I’m afraid she won’t answer. And then, she tips her glass back, draining the contents before saying, “What if I’m not as interesting as you think?”
I pause. She sounds almost insecure, which doesn’t make sense for the egotistical woman I know her to be. My stomach curdles at the realization she’s fishing for compliments.
Desperate whore.
“Fine,” I bite out behind a forced smile. “If you don’t want to answer, you don’t have to, but you have to take a shot.”
I wink at Shannon, the world’s least subtle bartender, as she sets down the shot glasses. I carefully arrange them within Valentina’s reach, and she eyes them like she can’t wait to make the liquid disappear.
Getting her drunk and digging for secrets is going to be easier than I thought.
“Oh! Me first.” Faith bounces in her seat, and I have to nod along, like I’m not secretly annoyed she’s here at all.
I don’t know where she came from or how she can stand to be around Valentina, but whenever I seem to have Valentina to myself, Faith shows up—a ballerina-shaped barrier.
“Are you interested in our friend Valentina?”
Valentina’s elbow darts toward Faith’s ribs, but to my surprise, the girl’s quick, dodging the blow with a childlike giggle. I raise my brows at her—she’s as lethal as a cat, and then she giggles like a school girl.
It’s slightly creepy.
“Well, sure.” I smile over the rim of my glass, darting my eyes away to hide the repulsion that fills me. I’m interested in her alright—interested in destroying her entire fucking life.
“Your turn.” Faith pushes Valentina’s shoulder, and she groans in response.
“Fine. Did you follow me here?”
I meet her gaze. “No.” Yes.
She watches me shrewdly, and if I didn’t hate her so much, I’d applaud her for not being half as stupid as she looks. Of course I followed her. I’ve made it my mission to know where she is at all times; that way, I can figure out the best time to attack.
Like tonight, once she’s drunk and vulnerable. Although, her hostility towards me is new, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s related to how downright pissy McCrae was when I left.
Trouble in paradise?
“My turn.” I twirl my glass, making a show of thinking up a question when I’ve known what I want to ask all along.
I purse my lips together, and Valentina grunts in annoyance—what I wouldn’t give to piss her off all day, every day.
The way she’s always pissing me off. “The first night we met, you said your brother took everything from you. Why would he do that?”
Valentina’s haughty mask melts into blatant rage, her gaze going from confused to murderous in the span of blink.
Without breaking eye contact, she raises a shot of tequila, downing it so quickly, several drops spill past her full, red lips, racing down her long neck to the valley between her breasts.
I watch the droplets, my faux interest in her allowing me to make a show of it. Bile crawls up my throat as the tequila disappears beneath blue lace.
I wait, the tension palpable.
Will she hit me?
Instead, I watch her fingers, trembling slightly, grip another shot, slamming it back too.
Breaking the silence, Faith says, “Okay, then.” She gazes at me shrewdly, and it takes everything in me not to squirm. I didn’t account for someone else being here when I integrated Valentina, especially this viper in a kitten’s body.
But I won’t stop now. I refuse to give up my chance at revenge.
“Valentina, have you ever had a threesome?” I snort water, the liquid burning my nose.
Few people surprise me, but Faith? I’ve been nothing but surprised since I met her.
“Faith, you’ve the dirtiest mind of anyone I’ve ever met. Is it always sex to you?” Valentina asks. I’m inclined to agree, uncomfortable with the questions even if I’m secretly curious of the answers.
Faith’s cheeks pinken at the comment, but she doesn’t back down. “Shot or answer.” She pushes the last tequila shot toward Valentina, expecting her to take it.
But to both of our surprises, Valentina shrugs. “More than three, if that counts.”
My jaw nearly reverberates off the floor before I can snap it shut, teeth clanking together. Instead of acting smug about it, though, shame creeps into her voice, and Valentina shifts uncomfortably in her seat.
I file that away for another time. Asking now feels like a good way to kill the game all together.
“Your turn,” I say, but the words come out far breathier than I intend, and I cough to cover it up. Valentina doesn’t notice, lost to her thoughts, but it doesn’t escape Faith, her green eyes watching me over Valentina’s shoulder.
I get the feeling very little escapes Faith’s notice.
“I don’t want to ask anything,” Valentina whispers before slamming back the tequila shot.
We continue to toss questions around, and Faith and I make an unspoken effort to keep them lighter. Despite our attempts, though, Valentina’s mood only continues to sour, going from quiet to bitter to downright depressed.
And not for the first time tonight, I’m surprised by Valentina Reyes.
This is the woman who ran a multi-million dollar casino in stilettos and has never once been known to say sorry about anything to anyone.
But now, she seems especially sorry—sorry to be here, maybe, but it feels like more than that. Like she’s sorry to be alive.
After several more tequila shots and a trip to the bathroom that left her smelling a lot like weed, Valentina Reyes has become a shell of her normal self.
She’s weak and vulnerable.
I watch her whisper something to Faith, who’s face is soft and kind as she nods back. I don’t bother trying to hear what they’re talking about.
Instead, I focus on the hum filling my own brain, and the buzz of anger and fear I keep pulled tight over my skin like a cloak. I want to destroy her—I need to.
But when she’s like this, it feels a lot more like lighting a sick puppy on fire than taking down a lying, murderous, evil bitch.
Regardless of her shit mood, I remind myself I came here for a reason.
I motion to the girls as the bartender walks over. “I’ll pay for their tab. I think they should head home now.”
“You don’t need to do that,” Valentina snaps, and I wave her off with a wink.
“I want to. I just need to go use the pisser, and then I’ll follow you home. I saw that shiny new truck out front when I got here—wouldn’t want anything to happen to it between here and your house.”
I try to hide the disdain in my voice, and when Valentina’s shoulders slump, I beeline for the back door, only pausing to look over my shoulder for a split second before slipping outside.
Faith’s got her arm slung over Valentina’s stiff shoulders, oblivious to how hollow and cold the woman’s become.
Faith talks animatedly, her free hand waving wildly.
I slip outside, the night air thick with the scent of rain and salt as the breeze blows from the south.
Bugs buzz in the thick air, filling my ears with a loud hum.
Without missing a step, I move confidently toward the black Dodge, the new car tag still on the window, and step to the driver door, yanking it open using the keys I lifted out of Valentina’s purse when she was in the restroom.
In the dark, I make quick work of my plan, in and out of the truck in less than five minutes, and walk swiftly back through the back door without so much as a sideways glance from anyone.
When I slide back up to the bar, I catch the tail end of an argument between the girls and pause.
“You really shouldn’t drive, Valentina.”
“I haven’t even drank that much. You’re not my mom.”
“You could get hurt.”
“You could get hurt,” Valentina mimics Faith, her voice high pitched and whiny. Things are unraveling fast, and I don’t know why the overwhelming need to step in consumes me.
“I can drive you.”
I bite my tongue. What am I saying? I’ll drive her? The whole fucking point was for her to drive and fucking wreck her truck. I’ll drive her?
Marco would be disgusted.
Valentina slowly turns to look at me, her golden eyes filled with a dark fire, and I shiver beneath their intensity. “If I wanted your fucking help, I’d ask. Now, both of you, back the fuck off.”
Faith shakes her head, and despite feeling grateful to have dodged the bullet of my own stupidity, I feel the tiniest shred of hesitancy.
Instead of acting on it—Marco’s hateful voice rattling in my head—I slap my card down on the bar.
Both girls track the motion, and I slip the truck keys back into Valentina’s enormous designer bag.
Seeing the wealth she so blatantly flaunts, in a dive bar, of all places—designer heels, gold jewelry and a giant designer bag to match—I’m renewed in my disdain for her.
I’m doing the right thing. Valentina Reyes must be brought down.
We stand to leave, Faith watching Valentina like she’s contemplating tackling her, when a man approaches, his blond hair slicked back, face freshly shaven. His arm slides up the bar until he’s only inches behind Faith, and I watch her go from confused to downright furious.
Before I can intervene, she whirls on the man. “Get. Away.”
I watch on in surprise. Maybe Faith has some bite after all. The man looks stricken, tortured, hurting, and I can’t help but feel sorry for him.
“Faith, when are we going to talk?” he pleads, like no one else in the room exists.
She shakes her head, chuckling. “How about never?”
“Everything okay?” Valentina questions, eyeing the stranger.
“If I want to talk to you, I’ll find you.” Faith tries to walk past him, pushing his arm off the bar, but he remains frozen, his face growing frantic.
“You’ll have to talk to me eventually. You know you will. I’ve tried to be nice, I’ve tried to give you space and do it your way. But you’ll have to, like it or not.”
“Out. of. My. way.”
I should stay out of it, steer clear of whatever drama’s unfolding, but I can’t. I’ve always been a sucker for a damsel in distress, and something about this guy’s starting to send warning flags popping in my head.
“Hey, how about you do this another time?” I step around Valentina to stand shoulder to shoulder with Faith.
“I don’t need your help, Santos,” Faith hisses and then pins the man with another withering glare. “I’m no damsel, and you’d damn well better remember that, Nathan.”