Taina
SPINELESS TRAITOR CHIC
When the door opens and I see Emiliano standing there, his hands in the pockets of his slacks, my lower belly flips.
Calm down, slut.
He grins as I approach, the officer who escorted me staying behind. He tilts his chin toward them before focusing on me again.
“Are you injured?” The first question out of his mouth has me pausing, as if I don’t know the answer for myself.
But nothing hurts, no. The only thing that pisses me off is my car is totaled.
I knew it once I saw how fucked up the front of it was from the backseat of a second squad car, crumpled like a damn soda can.
They asked questions, but I remained silent, only answering one question:
“Are you by chance related to Congressman de la Matta?”
Of course, I shook my head. I don’t need that bullshit.
“No, but my car is,” I tell him with a sigh. “So that’s great.”
“We’ll check it out,” he reassures me as we head out of the police station. “For now, I’ll take you to grab anything you need from it and then I’ll feed you. ”
It isn’t lost on me that Dr. Greene was right about my landing in prison—well, jail to be exact. That bitch.
The sun greets us in full force, even as the chill in the air punishes my cheeks. He keeps in step with me, an easy gait that makes me think he does shit like this all the time.
It must be nice to have that sort of power.
When I was processed, they took my cellphone and wallet but handed them back on the way out. I can’t think of anything else I need from my car.
“I don’t need anything from my car,” I start, but he shakes his head.
“Call it due diligence, but I’d also like to check the damage myself.”
Heat crawls up my neck as I try to think of excuses not to. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want my roses back. Even if he thinks he’s won points by gifting them to me.
“Funny, I never thought I’d go for a criminal,” he finally says as he leads us to his car, opening the passenger door for me.
“Ha ha,” I toss out as I slip under his arm. Not hard to do with his impressive height. “You’re so funny. How are you single?”
I pause, unsure if he actually is and if this is a line I’m prepared to cross.
“You are single…aren’t you?” I peer up at him as I get in his car.
“Pathetically so.” He grins as he says it, still bracing himself on the passenger door. “Are you?”
I fight the urge to smile at his stupid question. “Don’t you think I would’ve called my boyfriend to help me if I had one?”
The sun has me squinting as clouds disperse. A keen symbolism of how I’m feeling at this moment.
“And instead, you gave me the honor.” He places his free hand over his heart .
“Here I thought I was interrupting your busy day with an annoying request.”
He shakes his head, and his curls shine and sway like ribbons. His scent envelops me, a spicy aroma that nearly tickles my nose like pepper.
It’s intoxicating.
“Why else do you think I leave smoothies on your front step every morning? Annoy me. Please. I look forward to it.”
The words sound so nice coming from his gorgeous mouth. But I know how a man can make you wish you weren’t living in your own body anymore.
And he’s far too close for me to feel comfortable.
But I don’t say anything, and he shuts the passenger door, rounding the front of the car to get in the driver seat.
“Do you know where it is?”
He nods, his eyes on the screen displaying the backup cam view as he backs out of the parking spot. Something about his five o’clock shadow makes me want to run my tongue along his jaw to taste the roughness there. I want to bite his neck, grab his dick?—
“They gave me all the information I needed for my client,” he tells me, glancing at me for a second before looking both ways to make sure it’s safe to pull out of the lot.
He handles the car with the same ease that he maneuvers the situation: like he’s in complete control. The fact that I don’t hate it has my nostrils flaring.
Who the fuck am I?
It’s only a short drive to the junk yard, and we don’t speak the entire time, R&B crooning from the sound system. I’m oddly not surprised.
The Mexican flag hangs on his rearview mirror, and I smile, remembering a time when my parents’ car had the Puerto Rican flag on theirs.
Until they traded in authenticity for whatever aesthetic they’re going for now. Unsympathetic Robot-core? Spineless Traitor Chic?
He parks the car, and I look past the piles of wrecked parts and cars that look like they’re merely rusted frames of what once was. I’m pretty sure you could hide a dead body here and no one would ever know.
Before I can dwell on that, Emiliano exits the car, and I push the passenger door open to follow suit. Before I can get out, he shuts the door right in my face.
Slack jawed, I look at this motherfucker standing there as he shakes his head. He opens the door again and holds out a hand.
“You’ll never open a door, hold a bag, or reach for your wallet in my presence. Understood?”
What do I say to that? What is there to say?
Rather than verbally respond, I take the hand he offers, and he squeezes my fingers as I stand. He releases my hand with ease, not knowing this is the first time I’ve willingly let a man touch me in years. He gave me the option, and I took it.
“Your car is inside,” he informs me, and we walk side-by-side as he gestures toward the building a few yards away. “We’ll assess the damage, grab your personal items, and make a plan from there.”
A plan?
A plan for what?
Before I can ask for clarification, he’s holding open one of the large doors for me. As soon as I’m inside the building, I see my smashed car. Sad little thing.
It smells like paint thinner and oil in here, and everything looks…dirty.
Rather than wait for anyone to speak to us, Emiliano leads us over to the wrecked vehicle and opens the passenger door.
I notice the moment his eyes land on the roses, a smile erupting on his face.
“I figured these ended up in the trash. ”
“I’m sure one of your minions sent footage of me not throwing them away,” I tell him, trying not to roll my eyes.
“First of all, Berto is not my minion, he’s my driver.”
“He does more stalking than driving.”
“He does whatever I pay him to do.”
Gulp.
Perhaps I’m in over my head. That sort of power would make me dizzy.
He leans in and retrieves the bouquet, setting it on top of the car before bending again to look inside the passenger side.
He pulls paperwork out of my glove compartment and places that on top of the car as well.
When he bends down once more, glancing at the backseat, we both see it at the same time.
The bullet hole.
“What’s this?” he asks, his back to me, and carajo , I forgot. He’s got me off my game here, and it pisses me off.
“Nothing,” I rush out, unprepared for once in my life.
I can’t say it’s a burn mark from a joint, because it’s a clean hole.
Even if he weren’t a lawyer who’s likely dealt with many crime scenes, this looks concerning.
A hole right through my passenger seat? Yeah, there are very few things in this world that could do that.
“Taina, let’s not start our relationship”— umm — “off with lies.” He peers back at me, his brow lifted as if he dares me to lie again. “Who the fuck was shooting at your car? Were you in it? Jesus Cristo .”
He runs a thumb over it and looks back at the windshield. It cracked from impact, but even among the splinters, you can see two holes, one right where the bullet went through and the other closer to the center of the windshield.
“I don’t know,” is all I can muster at the moment. Because I don’t know. Even after all of this time harassing and stalking, I’ve never had someone try to kill me so openly. Have they followed me once they noticed me lingering? Yes.
But shooting at me? That’s never happened before.
“Was this today? Is that why you were speeding out of the lot?” His question is soft as he pieces everything together, his hand gripping the headrest with more strength than he likely needs.
I nod, and he’s silent as he reaches into his pocket for his phone. When he stands straight, I notice him typing quickly, as if there’s some sort of emergency happening.
What does he know?
“What’s going on?” Is this somehow connected to him?
He doesn’t speak for a moment, and I’m about to repeat myself when he finally looks up at me.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m gonna bring you to your parents’, you wash up, get changed, and do whatever you need to do to prepare for dinner.” He grabs my things and before I forget, I rush to the backseat to grab my gym bag. There’s nothing else in that car for me.
“Dinner?” I ask as he takes my bag out of my hands.
“That’s what I said. You’re going to dinner with me,” he informs me and walks away, leaving me no choice but to follow him back to his car.
“What makes you think I want to go?” I ask once I catch up to him.
“Because you haven’t said ‘no’ to me yet.”
He’s got me there.