Chapter 22
Chapter
Twenty-Two
Alejandro
Icalled Hugo on the way to my hotel and told him to meet me here.
He didn’t ask for clarification and I didn’t offer any.
He’s lucky that fucking my wife this morning has put me in such a good mood.
Because while he might not have touched her, a crime for which he would have surely paid with his life, he lied to me about her whereabouts.
And for that, he will explain himself and pray to god that I’m satisfied with his answer.
I wait for him in my office, while memories of last night play on a loop through my overactive brain. How soft Alana’s body felt under mine. Her smell. Her taste. The way her tight, wet pussy squeezed my cock.
I relive that memory until there’s a knock on my door, and Hugo is shown inside.
He stands before me, his hands clasped in front of him while he waits for me to tell him why I summoned him here.
This man is hard as nails, that’s why I employ him, and I am about to test his mettle and his loyalty to their limits.
Remaining silent, I study him intently. He doesn’t flinch, but he must be wondering if he will walk out of this room under his own steam or be carried out, in a body bag or otherwise.
I have cultivated a reputation as an unforgiving employer. I expect total loyalty from my employees, and if I don’t get it, they are of no use to me.
“Do you have something you’d like to share with me?” I eventually ask.
“Can you be more specific, Boss?”
“Do I have to be? Just how many things are you keeping from me, cabrón?”
“Is this regarding your wife, sir?” he says, his eyes never leaving my face.
He certainly has balls. I have to give him that. “Yes, it’s regarding my wife,” I snarl.
“What exactly would you like to know?”
Is he truly this loyal to Alana—a trait I actually applaud him for—or just plain stupid?
“I suggest you think carefully about what you say next, Hugo, if you want to keep your job and you want your head to remain attached to your shoulders. I want to know everything about what you and my wife do every single fucking day.”
He clears his throat. “I drive her to the O’Malley shelter downtown, sir, and then I wait for her to finish her work before I drive her straight home again.
I wait in her office if she’s alone or meeting donors, but I step outside and wait at the door if one of the shelter residents wants to speak to her privately. ”
“The residents?”
He nods. “Women and children. None of whom pose a threat to her safety.”
“Why did you take her to a place like that? What happened to lunch at the yacht club?”
“She said she didn’t enjoy it, and she looked pretty miserable. Then she asked me to take her to the O’Malley shelter, so that’s what I did. As per your request, sir.”
Rage simmers beneath my skin. “Within fucking reason, asshole. You didn’t think it pertinent to share this development with me?”
“No, sir.”
Loyal or stupid as a bag of rocks? Still can’t tell. “Really?”
“I thought you would have asked me if you wanted to know where she was going, sir. And if you had, of course I would have told you. But I didn’t think you wanted to be bothered by the details of Mrs. Montoya’s comings and goings.”
Bastard has me there. I did tell him not to bother me with her daily routine, but that was when I assumed she was sipping champagne with Amanda Grant every day. That’s beside the point though. “How long has she been going there?”
“Since the day I started working for her.”
“And that’s the only place you two ever go?”
“No, sir. Occasionally, she goes to the grocery store. And I’ve taken her to the beauty salon once too.”
I push my chair back and walk around the desk. “On your knees,” I command.
He side-eyes me, his jaw clenched shut, but he complies. I pull my gun from its holster and press the cold steel to his temple. He still doesn’t flinch, but a bead of sweat rolls down his forehead.
“Do you realize how extremely fucking lucky you are to still be breathing right now? When Amanda Grant told me that Alana hadn’t been to any of her liquid lunches after you and my wife have been disappearing for hours every day, you can imagine what I must have thought.”
His Adam’s apple dips hard. “Yes, sir.”
“Are you fucking my wife, cabrón?” I growl as I press the metal barrel into his skin.
“No, sir.”
“Do you want to?”
“No, sir.”
“You understand that if I had even an ounce of doubt about that, I’d skin you alive and make her wear you as a coat, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
I study him closely while he kneels in front of my desk. His face is filled with anger and defiance, and yes a little fear, but I do have a gun to his head. He has balls of steel, and I admire that about him.
I holster my gun and return to my side of the desk. “Take a seat,” I snap, and he stands, brushes the creases from his suit pants, and sits.
“I’m not sure if I’m impressed by your loyalty to her or completely pissed.
But remember in the future that while you protect my wife, you work for me.
If there is any change to her schedule, anything out of the ordinary, anywhere new she decides to wander off to, you keep me updated. You got that?”
He nods. “Yes, sir.”
“And if you ever keep something like this from me again, I won’t think twice about putting a bullet in your head.”
“I won’t, sir.”
“You’re lucky she thinks so highly of you, or I’d have you on clean-up duty for the rest of your life.”
“I appreciate you not doing that, Boss,” he says, and it’s understood that the matter is dealt with and we won’t speak of it again.
“Good, now get out of here or she’ll be wondering where you are.”
He simply nods and leaves my office, probably wondering if I’m going to call him back and shoot him anyway.
Not so long ago, I probably would have, but then I would have had to see her face when I told her what I’d done.
She’d blame herself, and then she’d probably hate me.
And I can’t stand the thought of that. Six weeks, and she’s already under my skin, changing who I am.
Is she making me weak?
Or am I stronger for having something to lose?