Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Liliana
I’d made my way around the apartments, stopping in the dining hall and library and walking the resident hallways.
While it seemed that everyone was aware of an incident at Wanderland last night, no one had firsthand experience.
There were more rumors than facts. Each time someone new gave me their opinion, the disturbance was inflated.
This morning, Luz said there were two men from the Cabez?n cartel.
By nearly noon, that number had tripled—six men, all wielding weapons. Even the weapons varied from knives to guns to brass knuckles and chains. My head ached from the lack of factual information. Instead of corroboration, my mission was to ensure the residents’ mental and emotional well-being.
Were they frightened to return to Wanderland?
Were they fearful of encountering Cabez?n clients?
While a few residents offered me condolences for José, his story was not the headline of the day. Each time I thought of him, I thought of Renata. If only I’d had a chance to say goodbye and tell her how much their love, devotion, and support meant to me over the last few years.
Entering the front offices, my steps staggered.
How had I forgotten Nick’s text?
There he was, leaning against the far wall, his arms crossed over his broad chest. His long legs crossed casually at the ankle.
Black combat boots covered his feet. Muscles stretched the armband of his black t-shirt as a swirl of tattooed barbed wire wound around his biceps to his elbow.
His attention was on the ladies behind the counter, yet I didn’t see the intensity in his dark stare that I’d seen last night.
My attention went to Celeste behind the counter; she was smiling from ear to ear. I heard enough of her story to decide she was recounting the harrowing night at Wanderland. “Oh, there you are,” she said to me as I entered.
Nick stood tall, his arms falling to his sides. “How are you doing?”
I scoffed, afraid to answer honestly. “I’ve been talking with the residents about last night. Seems you had quite the scene.”
He tilted his head. “Come back to your office.”
“I-I,” I stammered. “I forgot to get us food. Sorry, my mind is a bit scattered.”
Nick’s lips curled. “I was at el Patrón’s earlier. Viviana sent a picnic lunch.”
“Oh.” The idea of protein enticed me. The sugar from this morning’s muffin was wearing thin.
“No offense to Luz,” Nick said, “but Viviana’s cooking is outstanding.”
“My mouth is watering already.”
Nick’s eyebrows shot upward as he extended his hand. “Let’s eat.”
Ignoring Celeste’s wide eyes at Nick’s invitation, I lifted my hand to his. The warmth of his touch enveloped my fingers as I followed. On the small table near my desk was a bona fide picnic basket. Once inside the office, Nick closed the door.
I spun at the sound of the mechanism. “Do you think that’s wise?”
Nick smirked. “If it keeps Celeste and Reina out, yes.”
“The residents love gossip. Do you want your father to hear about his son Lieutenant Ruiz and his aunt?”
Nick’s smile dimmed. “Stop saying that. You’re not my aunt. You were briefly married to my uncle. That’s a different thing. Besides, you’ve been a widow longer than you were a wife.”
“Over twice as long.”
Nick took a step toward me and reached for my hands. “No more aunt/nephew discussion.” He lifted my hands to his lips and gently kissed my knuckles. “You’re cold.”
The sadness I’d tried to hide from the residents surfaced. My eyes flooded with tears and the giant ball of emotion in my throat came up with a ragged sob. “Renata’s gone too,” I managed to say.
Nick released my hands and stepped closer, wrapping his arms around me, and pulling me closer.
My cheek rested against the soft cotton of his shirt covering his hard chest. The steady beat of his heart hammered in my ear, easing the pounding in my temples.
Uncontrollably, my shoulders quaked as tears for both José and Renata coated my cheeks.
Nick didn’t push or offer platitudes. Instead, he simply held me until my tears ran out.
I pushed away from him and reached for a tissue. “God, I’m sorry, Nick.” At least the pressure behind my temples had lessened.
“For what?”
A snicker bubbled from my throat. “I don’t know, the wet spot on your shirt. Crying like a baby over something I can’t control.” I spun and slapped my hands against my thighs. “For having a breakdown.”
“For being honest with me.” His baritone words reverberated through my thoughts.
Honest.
When was I allowed to be honest?
I was to be strong, comforting, and reliable.
Honest wasn’t an adjective for who I was.
I wiped my eyes and nose. “I’m sure I look like a total mess.”
Nick shook his head. The longer hair on the top of his head swayed. “You’re beautiful. I told you that last night.”
Unable to stay under his intense stare, I turned to the table and opened the picnic basket. “What did Viviana prepare?”
Nick was now behind me, the warmth of his body radiating to my back. “She said there’s a roast beef torta and a ham torta.” He reached around me and pulled two wrapped sandwiches from the basket.
“Do you think she makes her own bolillo?” The crusty white bread looked homemade.
“Viviana?” he replied with a smirk. “I’m sure she doesn’t use store-bought bread for el Patrón.”
We distributed the food. It was as if she’d packed a magic basket the way the food continued to materialize. “I’ll never eat this much.”
“Eat what you can.”
“My father said an appetite on a woman is unbecoming.”
Nick’s forehead furrowed. “I don’t think I’ve met your father, but when I do, I’ll need someone to remind me not to kill him.”
Coughing, I almost choked on the delicious ham, avocado, onion, and cheese torta. “Yeah, if you meet him, please don’t do that.”
“If?”
My pulse suddenly thumped in my ears as I looked up to Nick’s gaze. “It’s okay if you didn’t mean anything we said last night. I’ve had time to think, and I agree, it was a crazy idea.”
Swallowing his bite of torta, Nick shook his head. “I’ve given it some thought too.”
“During the altercation at Wanderland?”
“Before and after.” He laid his torta on the paper. “Cartel shit is going to happen. I’d say every night, but it could be happening now, during the day. It’ll require my attention. But when it isn’t happening, I’d like my attention to go to you.”
“Why?” I laid my torta down and stood. “Why Nick? I’m no one.”
Suddenly, he was standing, all six foot five or more inches of solid muscle. His proximity was close…cornering me—an unmovable wall. My breath caught before I could remind myself that I didn’t fear Nick Ruiz. My body shuddered at the movement of his hand.
Lightly, he cupped my cheek. “Liliana, I’m not my father. I’m not my uncle. I’m not Em or el Patrón. I, however, will not allow you to put down my friend, someone I care about.”
“Your friend?”
“You. You’re not no one. I rearranged my stops today to be here. I sure as fuck wouldn’t have done that for no one.”
“Do you hear what you’re saying?” I asked.
“I’m saying that I like you, being with you, and talking to you.”
I shook my head. “I won’t sentence you to a loveless marriage. I know what that’s like. You deserve—”
Nick seized my shoulders as his strong lips came down on mine.
My body froze.
Releasing my shoulders, he gently ran his hands up and down my arms. “I’m sorry if you hated that. I needed you to stop talking.”
Another snicker. “Do you kiss everyone you want to stop from talking?”
“No, I usually have much more subtle ways, like brandishing my knife.”
I tipped my forehead to his chest. “I’m broken, Nick. It’s not your job to fix me.”
“Look at me.”
Slowly, I obeyed, lifting my chin until our gazes met.
“I have no desire to fix you, Liliana. I want to help you. I want you to help me. I like being with you, you, the way you are now. You’re strong.
You’re a survivor. I recognize that in you.
You don’t need fixing. Maybe all you need is to know that someone is thinking about you. Someone truly cares about you.”
The lump of emotion was back. “I don’t understand.”
“Then let me show you.”
“Isabella invited me to stay with Em’s family.”
Nick laughed. “With Aunt Valentina and Uncle Andrs—sounds like a party.”
“And Mia. She said I could stay with them.”
“Where do you want to be?”
“In my apartment.” My insides twisted. Honesty meant vulnerability. However, staring up at Nick, I chose that unfamiliar path. “With you,” I added softly.