“You think I’m weak?”
“The fact you’re sitting here in my compound having breakfast with me means you're far from weak. You’re dangerous, but definitely not an assassin.”
“Fine. For the sake of my family. Nothing else.” My crazed heartbeat chases the danger of acceptance.
“Liar.” He chuckles, hellishly close, the richness to his tone velvety like the darkness that covers the many hours of nightfall. “You want this…” Wet lips hover a breath away from mine, threatening a fire of desire so fierce it will destroy me. “Say it... agree to this... to us.”
“I agree... ninety-six hours and not a second longer.”
Tomás moves a little, his exhale controlled, and his expression indecipherable. The hand around my throat releases.
“Good girl,” his voice breaches the space darker than swirling smoke.
To my shock, he kisses my forehead rather than my mouth. It’s gentle and quick, and had I blinked, I would have thought it never happened. But it did. He offered me softness instead of brutality. When the hand on my skin retreats, I unwittingly pat the residual warmth left from his rough touch.
Taking the agreement with him, he strolls to the gas cooktop and sparks up the burner. What was once neatly presented evidence of an unheard of arrangement, goes up in flames. He casually drops the burning document into the stainless steel sink and watches the ink perish. Once he’s content, every trace is obliterated, he washes away the debris.
It’s done.
I must obey him.
The unknown wedges into my chest until it suppresses my appetite. Casually strolling past my seated position, he glances at his designer watch, glittering with gold and a pavé of tiny diamonds. It’s ridiculous how maddeningly handsome he is. How every move is dangerously sexual—how it appeals to me on a cellular level.
He catches my eye. “I have an important message to deliver this morning.”
Then he stalls by the doorway and thumbs his bottom lip. The intensity of that one stare doesn’t weaken my bones with terror. Instead, it melts my uncertainty and spikes it with flames of desire. Our gazes fuse in a temporary moment of recognition or risk. The hunger he projects is breathtakingly sexual and spine-tinglingly erotic.
“Don’t get used to wearing my t-shirts.” He winks and continues to walk away.
It’s too late now.
I’ve sold my soul to the cartel, or more accurately, to the devil king I’m captivated by. He strolls away with the swagger of a sinner who always gets what he wants, by whatever means necessary. I bite my tongue to resist the seething rage begging to escape. Knowing better, I dig my nails into my palms to stop myself from throwing the cereal bowl at his sexy, self-assured gait.
The tanned skin on his sinewy shoulders is flawless, leading to a narrow waist and solid ass cheeks beneath loose fitting shorts. Even the reverse of this man is a sight to behold. I notice a sterile dressing on his bicep, so fresh and unsullied it must have been changed recently.
He’s a hallucination of godliness. Fake perfection spoiled with rotten capabilities.
I hurriedly eat the pulpy flakes drowned in milk. My belly flips in protest, queasy and jittery from the monumental decision I just made. What else could I do? Refuse him and risk my family’s lives in a war they wouldn’t see coming?
I half expected him to take me over the island the second I agreed, not peck my forehead with the gentlest kiss I’ve ever experienced.
He has a way about him. A manipulative method of unsettling the ground beneath me, so I’m unable to anticipate his next move. No doubt it’s a tactic to always keep me guessing. One thing is certain, no matter what happens in the coming days, there will never be anything between us other than animosity.
He has my permission and that’s all. My hopes, dreams, and future—they belong to me. My soul isn’t for hire.
I drop down from the high stool and scrub my face. I’m dressed in his expensive clothes, eating his food, wandering freely through his hillside mansion, and for some reason I’m not uncomfortable in these surroundings.
Shane’s boots scuff the tiles as he enters the airy living room when I’m on the bottom step of the staircase, ready to go upstairs. His damaged features are shaded with a baseball cap and a black handgun is holstered close to his waist, cinching a khaki colored t-shirt.
“You okay, kid?” He strolls into my space and sets his hand on the frameless glass handrail.
I know this man is loyal to a fault. One threat toward his king and he’d eliminate the danger without a second thought. Yet the way he looks at me doesn’t make me uncomfortable, far from it. His usual gruffness is mollified, as if he’s communicating with a little girl. That’s how he sees me—a kid.
“I’m fine,” I reply with a tight smile, not willing to reveal a sliver of ire.
“Good.” He nods once and checks the time. “I hear you’re hanging around for a few days?”
I shrug. “Seems that way.”