Chapter 19
NINETEEN
RAFAEL SANTOS
I plop down on the couch, not bothering to be careful with the bowl of cereal in my grasp.
Ruining her furniture is the least of my concerns.
Grabbing the remote, I begin flipping through the channels, not really looking for anything, just enjoying the finery and access to quality TV while I still can.
“Do you mind? Fuck,” McCrae hisses, moving to stand between me and the screen.
I take a bite of cereal before answering, not even bothering to meet his gaze. “No, feel free to join me.”
Victory buzzes through my veins at the sound of his teeth grinding.
“You don’t belong here.”
I’m unable to hide my grin at his disdain for having me around. I meet his eyes. “Isn’t hell where we all belong?”
We remain in a stare off for several seconds, and no matter the consequences, I refuse to back down. My grin only grows with each passing second, matching the anger reddening McCrae’s face.
Revenge is so sweet.
The front door slams shut, severing the intensity of the moment, and Faith bounces into the kitchen, an array of bags heavy in her small hands.
She hefts them onto the counters, a smile filling her round face with a brightness that seems out of place in this house.
She shucks off her jacket, revealing a pink, strapless dress more modest than most women her age would wear, even if it does reveal her legs in an appealing way.
She’s a beautiful girl, in a pure and gentle kind of way, but I barely register her—not when the real sight is watching McCrae watch her, his eyes drinking in her every movement.
“Valentina!” Faith shouts down the hallway, and I quickly look away as McCrae looks back at me.
She begins spreading out the contents of the bags, humming an unintelligible tune as she does it, like it’s the happiest day of her life or something.
Not for the first time, I wonder how she got mixed up with these villainous people.
“Valentina, get your ass out here!” she shouts again, lifting on her toes for a set of glasses in the cupboard, and I watch McCrae’s Adam’s apple bob, his eyes never once leaving her. He doesn’t move closer either—seemingly trapped in his own head.
“What the fuck?” V hisses, sauntering into the kitchen, her curls pulled back in a low ponytail, wearing a workout set that clings to her firm curves and sweat-slicked skin. I unashamedly stare at the miles of tanned skin on display.
It’s a reminder of what I caught her doing when she thought no one was around, of how she playfully darted into the spray, her lithe body tanned and glistening, nipples pebbling beneath the icy prick of the water, pierced and perfectly rosy, bouncing as she danced on the balls of her feet.
How her skin had become blush covered as she finger fucked her cunt, her head tipping back as she moaned.
I shift my position on the couch, searching for an invisible relief.
I shouldn’t have watched then, and I shouldn’t admire her now.
It’s a toxic pattern—a habit I’m forming that I’m terrified I won’t be able to kick.
It’s addicting, looking at Valentina without fear of what she thinks of me.
Because it doesn’t matter. It can’t matter.
It really is a shame I have to destroy something so beautiful.
As if pulled from a trance, McCrae walks into the kitchen. “Don’t you have a house of your own?”
“What fun is my house when I can be at yours?” Faith doesn’t even look at him.
“It’s Valentina’s,” McCrae corrects, and I follow his lead, walking toward the bar.
I feel Valentina’s heated gaze on my exposed skin before I see it, her eyes burning a path down my back, and I have to bite my tongue to hide a chuckle. I’d hoped my body would have the same effect on her, as hers does on me.
“Hey Faith, can I have one?” I toss the empty bowl into the sink, knowing how much Valentina hates dishes left unwashed. She doesn’t say anything, and I know it’s a rarity when I look at the confusion on McCrae’s face.
“Sure, I’ll make us all one. Unless it’s past your bed time, old man?” Faith winks at McCrae.
“Make him one. Maybe it’ll lighten his grumpy ass up.” Valentina grabs two more glasses.
McCrae laughs—it’s a gruff sound, catching us all by surprise. “Make mine a double. I could drink you youngins under the table.”
Valentina glares at him. “You’re barely five years older than me.”
“Shit, how old are you, Valentina?” I ask, hoping to poke the bear even more.
“Thirty five, Santos.” She sneers my name like it’s a dirty word. And fuck me, it kind of turns me on.
I roll my eyes up McCrae’s haggard frame. “I guess that makes you like ten years older than me.”
“Wiser, too,” he snaps before turning to Faith. “How old are you, Faith?”
She stares at him, contemplating her answer, no doubt. Finally, she blushes in that way I’ve learned only Faith does—her entire face pinkening, eyes darting away in attempt at hiding, before she says, “Old enough. Age is just a number anyways.”
I almost burst out laughing at her snub.
“You're no fun.” Valentina takes a hesitant sip of her drink before nodding. “But this is strong, so you can stay.”
“Gee, thanks.” Faith watches McCrae, waiting for him to drink, the tension shimmering between them. The question is, can Valentina see it? And does it cut her as badly as I hope it does?
McCrae takes a deep drink. “It’s, uh, refreshing.”
Grinning, I wink at Faith and lean in closer to loudly whisper, “If they’re half as sweet as you, I’ll have the worst fucking hangover tomorrow.” And then, I take a gulp, the heat of more than one glare burning across my skin.
It’s almost too easy, provoking Valentina and McCrae—they like to act like they’re mysterious, but they both wear their hearts on their sleeves.
Valentina wants Faith’s attention, even if she doesn’t know it, and she want’s McCrae’s obsession, even if he refuses to give it.
McCrae wants Valentina’s happiness, even if he can’t be the one to give it to her, and he wants Faith’s…
everything, even if he refuses to admit it.
Me? I want to take them all down, and nothing and no one will get in my way.
So, I drink, savoring the tequila and lime like the promise of another sunny day. When I crawl my way out of this darkness, I’ll find another sunny day.
“Can we sit down? This is fucking weird.” Valentina slumps into the couch, taking another drink as she waits. Faith follows her, her little dress swishing as she does.
I decide to go in for the kill, knowing McCrae’s too much of a coward to do or say anything about it. “You look adorable, by the way, Faith.” I look over at McCrae as he slowly sinks into the chair to the right of her. “Wouldn’t you say, McCrae?”
He shoots me a murderous glare, his knuckles white around his glass.
“McCrae doesn’t give compliments,” Valentina states, her eyes downcast. There’s hurt in her voice, and I feel like I’ve won the fucking lottery. Instead of dropping it like a decent man would, I continue, “Come on, McCrae—”
Faith cuts me off. “Did you guys have any big Friday night plans, or is this it?”
“I was going to have a bath.” Valentina shrugs.
“They’re boring around here. Glad you came along. We needed something exciting to happen.” I wink again.
“Let’s play a game.” Faith sets her glass down, ignoring each of my advances. If I was truly interested, I’d be wounded.
“Not happening,” V groans. “Santos is just going to try and get me drunk again.”
“Don’t hate the player,” I tease, even though she has every reason to hate me.
She just doesn’t know it.
“What are you guys talking about?” McCrae grumbles.
“The night Valentina crashed the truck—” I snap my mouth closed beneath Valentina’s glare.
“How about a different game,” Faith suggests, but I shake my head.
“No way! McCrae didn’t play with us last time, and he owes us some answers.”
“Fine. What is it?”
Delighted by McCrae’s willingness when it comes to Faith, I say, “Twenty questions. We take turns asking someone a question, and if they choose not to answer, they have to drink.”
“I’ll go first.” Faith looks at me in challenge, and I raise my hands. “Okay, McCrae: what’s your favorite childhood memory?”
He chews it over for several moments, his eyes far off as he contemplates.
Then, he leans forward, his elbows resting his knees.
“When I was ten-ish, I think, my brother, my parents, and I went to the beach. It was a favorite spot of theirs, near the Padre Islands, but a little more locals only, if you know what I mean.” He focuses on a spot on the floor.
“Gus’s always been a monster, causing trouble and what not.
He was five then, and went missing, which wasn’t anything new.
He liked attention—still does. The bastard just pretends he doesn’t.
” He takes a sip of his drink. “We found him in the women's locker room of all places, just sitting on the bench, watching all the women change. ‘I wanted to see their butts naked,’ he said, and my mother, bless her, just laughed. She wasn’t the angry type, always patient with us even when we didn’t deserve it. ”
As suddenly as a tidal wave, I’m filled with grief—dark, thick, pungent. It clogs my nose, my throat, my eyes, and I have to blink rapidly to keep from losing it at the memory of my own mother and brothers. His story is far too similar to my own.
I don’t want to see him as anything but the villain I know him to be.
I can’t afford to. Because if I see him as something less than truly evil, I’m likely to lose my motivation all together.
Instead of being swept under, I focus on the memory of their faces, dead and gone.
Rage almost instantly surpasses my grief.
“Cute,” I bite out, trying to keep my voice from quivering. “Valentina, your turn.”
“Can you call me V? Only my brother and mom call me Valentina the way you do.”
The mention of her brother makes my stomach drop. Not seeming to notice, Valentina looks at Faith. “Speaking of Mateo, how are he and Dale?” She sounds hesitant, more like she doesn’t want to seem interested, afraid of acting like she cares.
Selfish bitch. It’s her fault Dale was tortured. I shudder at the memories, knowing that’s not entirely true. It’s my fault as much as hers.
Faith tips her head, her tight bun not budging before she licks the rim of her glass. “Why don’t you call him and ask yourself?”
Valentina glares at Faith. “I’m asking you.”
Faith sighs. “They’re happy—getting their new house close to set up. Mateo’s been working some new horses, and Dale’s back to teaching.” Valentina nods, but I see the pain ripple across her face.
I should ask a question that twists the knife, but something about the sadness makes me bite my tongue.
I know I’ll call myself a coward tomorrow, but for now, I let it go.
“Question for everyone. If you had to kiss one person here, who would it be?” All three eyes brand into my face, but I don’t budge.
I shrug before looking at Faith. “I’d pick Faith.
I’ve always wanted to be someone’s first kiss. ”
She laughs, tipping her head back. “You fucking wish, Santos. I’d pick Valentina—I’ve always been curious about kissing a girl.”
I motion between them. “Please, don’t stop on my account.”
Valentina shakes her head. “Thanks, but I’ve tried, and I prefer men. I’d kiss Santos—as long as I can scrub my mouth out afterward.”
I smile at her, my heart pounding, and I can’t tell why. Is she using me to make McCrae jealous, or does she actually want to kiss me?
McCrae grumbles before making a show of draining his glass.
“I guess we’ll never know,” I tease. Except, we all know—you’d have to be blind not to see it.
McCrae’s arms ripple as he begins to push himself out of the leather chair, leaving this situation behind, but Valentina beats him to it. “Faith, want to—” she tips her head, “blow off some steam with me outside? We’ll come back.”
Faith’s eyes twinkle, and then she leaps up. “I thought you’d never ask.”
They jog out the front, their hushed conversation and laughter fading as the door seals behind them. I watch after them, and it’s when they’re gone that I make my final move for the night.
“Faith’s got some legs on her.”
McCrae leans forward in his chair, his glare scorching. “Listen here, you little pissant.” Pissant, that’s a new one. I smile wider, liking the insult far too much. “You leave any mentions of Faith out of your fucking mouth.” His composure’s slipping, his true intentions bleeding through.
My pleasure only grows, and I lean forward, matching his stance— “Don’t you mean Valentina? Or do you want them both to yourself?”
His mouth flops like a fish as he searches for the words.
“I think you don’t want anyone to be with Valentina, but you don’t want her yourself. I think it’s about protection, not about interest. I think—”
“I didn’t ask what you fucking think. Watch yourself, Santos.” Standing quickly, he stomps from the room.
I chuckle, swirling my glass in victory. “We both know which one you want. You’re just too much of a coward to take her and let the other one go.”