The sands in her hourglass quicken by the minute. Tomorrow is her deadline.
If she doesn’t give me something—anything—by then, she gets sent back home, a lamb to the slaughter.
I’m giving her an opportunity to save herself, but she’s making it difficult.
Lightly grasping the front of her linen shirt, I watch her big brown eyes widen as large as saucers, and I growl in warning, “Time’s almost up, little one. What’s it going to be?”
Her eyes bright, she swallows hard and looks me in the eye, as she states, “You’re just like them.”
My brow furrows. “Like who?”
She takes a step back. “Them.” Then another. “All of them.” Suddenly, a look of pure sadness sweeps her. “You don’t want to help me. You want to help yourself. The only person I can rely on is me.” Her eyes meet mine, and there’s something there. Grief, maybe. “I thought maybe you were different, but you can’t even see what’s right in front of you.”
I take a step toward her, taking both her hands without permission and squeezing them tightly as I implore, “Give me a reason to help you.” I let go of her hand and reach up to cup her cold cheeks. “I’m all ears. Just say the words, baby.”
Her eyes fill with tears, and she shuts them tight before they have a chance to betray her. She sniffs prettily and lets out a hoarse whisper. “I wish I could trust you, Julius.” As she dips her chin, I let go of her, and my hands fall to my sides. She hits me hard with her next softly spoke words. “You seem like the type of guy that a girl would do just about anything to have on her side.” In her voice, I find traces of pensiveness.
And with those words, my chest caves. I want her to stay with me. Permanently.
Shit.
Is this what happened to Twitch with Lexi?
What the fuck was this little sparrow doing to me?
Because I get it now. I get it. And I owe Twitch an apology for all the ribbing I gave him.
As she turns to walk into my bedroom, a feeling of dread passes through me at the realization that I have someone special in my grasp and that I may have to let her go. Knowing this, I panic.
My next offer stuns even me. “What if I said I’d protect you?”
She pauses at the doorway and, without turning back, responds, “I would tell you not to make promises you can’t keep.”
My body rigid with unease, she closes the door behind her, the soft click of the latch echoing in my mind.
“You rang,” Ling utters as she walks into my bathroom.
I don’t exactly feel good about this, but I also don’t have a choice. “You’re up tonight. I have a meeting that I can’t miss.”
Her eyes narrow dangerously. “So you go out and drink with the boys, while I get stuck babysitting the little cunt who likes to backchat?”
Fixing my hair in the mirror, I put no heat into my next comment. “Don’t call her that. And yes, every now and again, you’ll have to do something you don’t want to. It’s called working, Ling.”
“No,” she argues. “This is not working. Working is guns and men in suits and shoot-outs.” She leans her hip against the counter and moves to place her face in my view. “This is bullshit.”
This is the closest to pouting I’ve ever heard Ling get. I glance at her, my brow raised in surprise.
She lowers her face and sneers. “I’m not going to like her just because your cock stands to attention whenever she’s in the room.”
My eyes on her, I lean in, and warn, “I’m getting real tired of this petulant bullshit attitude of yours, Ling. On a five-year-old, it would be cute. On you?” I look her up and down. “Not so much.”
She opens her mouth to fire off another round, but I cut her off with, “I expect I don’t need to tell you that if she’s harmed in any way, there’ll be hell to pay.”
Her mouth set in a grim line, she nods once. “I get it.”
“No, you don’t,” I tell her. “You don’t get it. This shit I’m spouting is serious.” Taking a step closer, I lock her in, me at her front, the vanity to her back. I lower my gruff voice. “If you lay a hand on her, touch a single hair on her head, look at her the wrong way, I swear to you, Ling”—my breath heats the apple of her cheek—“you will be out on your ass without a dime, blacklisted.” My hand comes up to caress her cheek. “Now do you get me?”
A moment’s silence.
“Yeah.” A look of pure hatred shines in her eyes. “I get you.”
“Good.” Dropping my hand, I move to the mirror, looking at myself one last time, and mutter clinically, “That’s real good.”
Julius walks out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom as I continue to clean the healing wound on my heel. He approaches the bed and kneels when he reaches my side. “Still sore?”
I don’t look up at him because I’m afraid he’ll see too much in my eyes, see inside of me, see the anxiousness of knowing he’s leaving me alone with Ling. It’s now with the apprehension I feel that I comprehend how ridiculous I had been to have once felt safer with Ling as a buffer between Julius and me. I realize he wouldn’t leave me with her unless he had to, so I don’t embarrass myself by begging, mainly because I’m sure if I did, he would stay. And that would just confuse things between us even more. “It’s getting better.”
He watches me in quiet as I put my all into my task, doing my best to ignore him.
“I’ll be back late.”
I keep my voice even. “Okay.”
“Look at me.”
I really don’t want to, but his tone is firm and unyielding, and after years of having submission beaten into you, it becomes little more than a reflex. My eyes meet his, stormy and full of concern, and my mouth parts, my breath leaving me in a whoosh. It’s like being run over by a bus, then the bus reversing, and being run down again. My breath hitches and I don’t realize I’m crying until I feel the wetness trail my cheeks.
“Hey,” he starts, reaching out to wipe away a tear with his thumb, running his fingers down my jawline.
And I can’t stop the whispered words from escaping. “Please come back.”
He frowns. “I will.”
“Good,” I mutter, blinking through the torrent of streaming tears, then speak just above a hush. “Because right now, you’re all I have.”
Before I can assess the impact of those words, I am swooped off the bed and lifted into a strong pair of arms. They hold me tight. They are unwavering, and for the first time in a long while, I feel safe.
“Get out,” he barks, and I hear the notorious sound of heels clicking from the doorway of the bathroom, toward the bedroom door, and then out into the hall.
My face buried into his shoulder, he cradles me as if I were the most precious thing in his life, and it leaves a chaotic mess of thoughts in its trail. His large hand slides up my back to the base of my neck, where his warm fingers hold me to him, and I wonder if Julius needs the contact as much as I do.
“Look at me,” he speaks gently. This is not a demand, but a beseeching request.
With a light sniff, I pull back, clutching the material at his sides with everything I have. He searches my face a long moment before leaning in and pressing his warm, full lips to my forehead, softly, with tender regret. I press myself into him and take all that he gives me. When, finally, he pulls away, he lets out a long, weary sigh before glaring at me, but there is no heat behind it. It’s all for show. And to back up my claim, he speaks softly, taking care. “Tomorrow, we’re going to talk, yeah? And we’re not leaving a single stone unturned. ‘Cause things…” He eyes me cautiously, as though I’m a frightened animal set to bolt at any given moment. He finishes his statement. “Things have changed.”
His startling admission has me blinking up at him. How have the tables turned so? And why did his declaration secretly thrill me? Realizing he expected some form of response, I gave him a short nod of agreement.
His soft face turns inflexible when he avows, “You best not play me, Alejandra. I
t wouldn’t end well for you.”
Without a thought, my mouth opens, and I return, “I already tried.”
With that, his face softens once more, and a small smile plays on his lips. “Oh, yeah? How’d that go?”
“Not very well,” I admit quietly, without an ounce of shame.
And the giddiness that whooshes through me as he dips his head, his shoulders bouncing in silent laughter, is priceless. For a short moment, I feel as normal as I possibly can.
Even more so when he lifts his smiling face and shocks me with the brightness of his million-dollar smile. Thrice as much when he leans toward me and presses his full, soft lips to mine in what would essentially be the shortest, most precious kiss of my brief life.
Soft-mouthed. Closed-lipped. And perfect in every possible way. So much that the shock of it makes me want to cry all over again.
My chest aches and a spark flares through me, warming my cold heart. Hope reignites.
Would it truly hurt to confide in Julius, just a little?
It’s not like things can get worse for me.