You cannot possibly want to have children with me. His flat edict played through my mind over and over again. With his eyes hidden in shadows, I hadn’t been able to read his emotions.
But the longer I considered the conversation, obsessively recalling his body language and intonations, the more my initial assessment shifted.
My sudden, crushing grief over my personal loss had shocked me. The unexpected pain had consumed me as I was forced to face everything I’d lost when I’d so recklessly chosen to be with Gehovany.
When I’d left my family behind, I’d known that the life I’d always imagined for myself was nothing more than a dead dream. I would never have my own too-small house in Comitán that was bursting at the seams with love and laughter. I would never take my children to visit their grandparents. My mother would never teach them how to cook her signature mole. My father would never nag them to work a shift at the florist, guilting them into compliance with a stern admonition about the importance of a hard work ethic.
The thought of having a different vision for my future hadn’t yet crossed my mind. I’d already decided to spend my forever with Raúl, but I hadn’t contemplated having children with him. Everything was too new, and his involvement with the cartel complicated things. I hadn’t been remotely ready to make such a huge decision, but the prospect of the birth control shot had forcibly confronted me with things I wasn’t ready to face.
I still didn’t know what I wanted. There was still too much pain and uncertainty to process. This wasn’t a decision I could make after only a few hours of weeping.
This wasn’t a decision I could make alone.
You cannot possibly want to have children with me. You can’t have children with me. Raúl clearly had his own strong feelings about having children. And I suspected that they were far more complicated than simple disinterest in being a father.
The rope around my heart that tethered me to him tugged, pulling me back to him. Talking about this would be hard, but I was sure that we could get through it.
When Raúl held me in his protective arms, I was stronger than I’d ever been. We could take on both our demons. Together.
Chapter 23
Raúl
“Raúl?” Even through the wooden barrier of the door between us, Marisol’s soft voice caressed my skin.
My stomach twisted, but I didn’t respond. It’d taken a few hours and half a bottle of my finest Scotch, but I’d been doing a decent job at not thinking about anything at all. I especially didn’t want to think about Marisol. I didn’t want to remember the horror in her lovely eyes.
You’re not… You’re not going to give me a choice?
No, I hadn’t given her a choice. I’d never given her a choice.
You are an abomination, Raúl. The truth that’d always been embedded in my mind was tinged with the shrill cadence of my mother’s voice. Evil is in your blood.
I knocked back another two shots of whiskey, grimacing around the rasping burn. More alcohol would drown out my thoughts: memories of Marisol’s wide, fearful eyes as she begged for me to release her; flashes of my vicious pleasure when I’d pinned her down in the dirt and subjugated her; an echo of her scream when I’d mercilessly spanked her tender inner thighs until she sobbed and agreed that she was mine.
“Raúl, I’m coming in.”
I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth, wishing I’d locked the door. Wishing that some selfish, disgusting part of me hadn’t been waiting for her to come to me. I’d intentionally left the way open, so she could walk right into my trap.
The soft click of a switch being flipped was followed by a burning wash of light through my closed lids.
“Lights off,” I growled.
I didn’t want to see her face. I didn’t want her anywhere near me.
But I didn’t tell her to leave. Already, her soft warmth pushed past through the frigid darkness that clung to me like icy tendrils. Unable to stop myself, I leaned toward her heat and opened my eyes.
With the overhead lights off, the only illumination came from the decorative lighting along the shelves of my whiskey cabinet. It rendered her a silhouette before me, but even as a shadow, Marisol was breathtaking. Her lush curves tempted me, and the glow that framed her face gave her an otherworldly quality; a pure, good spirit that I’d caged and corrupted for my own sick pleasure.
I grabbed the Scotch from the table beside my armchair, not bothering with a glass anymore. I tipped the bottle back and took a long pull, seeking oblivion.
“Don’t do that.” Even her admonishments were gentle. The scolding was softened with compassion, as though she was worried that I was damaging myself. “I know you’re not comfortable with long conversations, but we should talk. It’s not like you to get drunk.”