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“Adelita, is that you? Come here, princesa.” I walked into my father’s office. I had just arrived back from shopping with Carmen and wanted to show him the tie I had bought for him to go with his new suit. But when I walked into the room, a strange man was sitting at my father’s desk. That wasn’t new. He always had businessmen coming in and out.
“I didn’t realize you had company, Papa. I’ll leave you alone.” I went to turn, but I crashed into someone behind me. Strong hands steadied me, then immediately let me go. When I looked up, the biggest man I had ever seen was before me, dressed in a white shirt that clung to his muscled body, and blue jeans with black boots. He had tattoos all over his skin, and a shaved head. The tattoos crept up to his neck. It took me a minute to realize what the tattoos were. But their symbology quickly became apparent.
Nazi tattoos.
A stern look of superiority crossed his face. He folded his arms across his chest as he looked down at me.
“Adelita?” My papa’s voice made me turn. “These are our guests. They will be staying in the guest apartments while we conduct some business over the coming months. I expect you to be courteous to them when they are in our household.”
My skin prickled feeling the man’s eyes on me from behind. “This is William and Tanner Ayers. Father and son, from Texas.” I heard the tone in my father’s voice. They were here for business, but he didn’t trust them. If they were staying in the guest apartments and not in a nearby hotel it was so my father’s men could keep an eye on them, not because my father had a sudden need to play host. They were Ku Klux Klan. I had read the name on Tanner’s arm. The reason for my father’s distrust was obvious. The Klan and Nazis hated anyone who wasn’t white.
“You will need to show Tanner around soon, while his father and I talk business.”
My eyes widened. “Can’t Diego—?”
“Diego has gone away for a while. He will be away during most of their stay. He’ll be back toward the end.” On “family business,” no doubt. Something I wasn’t allowed to know anything about.
A warning flashed in my papa’s eyes. “It would be my pleasure,” I said, and gave Señor Ayers a forced smile. I turned, and I was immediately caught in Tanner Ayers’s harsh ice-blue stare. I could almost see the instant dislike for me dripping off him waves.
Tanner Ayers . . . The White Prince of the Ku Klux Klan. And me, Adelita Quintana, princesa of the Quintana cartel . . . this would be interesting . . .
“You’ll be so tight,” Diego said, cutting through the memory of that fated meeting. “And we’ll be married soon . . .” He sucked in a breath. “I’ll get to watch you bleed for me, cariño.”
For once, I let a slither of fear strike me. Because he wouldn’t. I had already given myself to a man—only one. Diego could never find that out.
He suddenly stopped, moved his hand from between my legs, then smacked his hand off the wall above me. “But not yet,” he said tightly. “As much as it frustrates me not to be inside you, I’m going to wait until we are married. I want this to be right, with you.” His hand dropped to my cheek and stroked it gently. “I’ve wanted you for too long not to have you the way you’re meant to be taken.”
Diego crushed his mouth to mine so hard it was almost bruising. He quickly pulled away, then turned and moved for the door. “If I don’t leave now, I’ll fuck you, cariño. I’ll take you to your bed and I’ll fuck you into the mattress.” His lip flicked up in amusement. “And as much as he loves me, I’m sure your father would have me killed for deflowering his little girl before she’s wed. He’s worked incredibly hard to keep you pure.”
He left, the door slamming behind him. I listened to twenty-six footsteps echoing on the marble floor of the hallway before I even dared breathe. I closed my eyes, but I couldn’t erase the feel of him from my body, his scent from my nose, or the taste of him from my mouth. I ran to the bathroom. I brushed my teeth so hard that the water ran red with the blood from my gums.
Turning off the faucet, I looked up at myself in the mirror. My eyeliner—which I always ensured looked perfect—was smeared. My red lipstick was smudged off my lips.
I stared at the woman before me. The woman who was two years without the one she loved. The woman who no longer looked like the innocent girl Tanner Ayers fell in love with. The woman who wasn’t that girl. Just the thought of Tanner made me feel sick. The thought of how his blue eyes would soften when they looked upon me. How he never smiled, but would, just a fraction, for me.
I washed my face until there wasn’t a scrap of makeup left on it. I blinked as I looked at my reflection in the mirror again . . . then I let the tears fall. My shoulders shook as the tears fell harder, the sobs racking my body and loosening my grip on the composure I held so tightly onto. I dropped my head away from my reflection. I wouldn’t see myself cry. I wouldn’t give in. I had made it this far. I could make it further . . . I could . . . I could . . . I must . . .
I stood, gripping the porcelain of the sink until all the tears within me had been shed. I heard the sound of footsteps too late to pull myself together. My papa suddenly appeared in the doorway. Taking a deep breath, I straightened and looked him in the eye. I waited for him to speak. His suit was perfect, as usual, not a wrinkle to be seen in the fabric. Not a hair out of place.
“Princesa,” he said, his voice low. His head tipped to the side in sympathy—well, as much sympathy as I knew he would have for me in this situation.
“I’m fine.” I wiped my tears and cleared my throat. My shoulders straightened and I took a deep breath.
Papa nodded, and gestured for me to follow him out into the sitting area of my suite. I sat on the chair opposite him, smoothed down the silk of my dress, then raised my head high. Papa sat back, relaxed, but watching me closely.
“You could do worse than Diego, princesa.” Papa folded his hands together and placed them on his lap.
“I don’t love him,” I said, trying my hardest not to lose my composure. My father didn’t like, in hi
s words, hysterical women. Women who let emotions rule their actions. It was why he hadn’t a single woman working for him. Why—as much as he loved me—he never truly let me in.
Simply put, Papa believed women were to know their place—below men.
My papa threw up his hands. But it was there, the flash of pain that always burst in his dark eyes when I mentioned love. My mama had died in childbirth, and her death had ruined my papa. Carmen had told me that when my mama was alive, the men around him had said he was happy. Ruthless, but happy with my mama. When she died, they said that the kindness and the friendliness he possessed died too. Only I, his daughter, saw glimpses of the man he had once been. It was why I could never hate him for the way he sometimes treated me. I was the reason my mama was taken from him. I was the reason he suffered.
I was the only family he had.
I had never even seen a picture of my mama. My papa found it too hard to keep them around. I didn’t want to cause him pain, so I quickly learned as a child never to ask to see one. Though Carmen said she was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. Long dark hair, deep chocolate eyes, pretty and strong.
She told me I looked just like her.
“What does love have to do with anything?” Papa said, and the last flicker of hope that he would stop this engagement faded from my heart. Papa glanced out of the window. His mind drifted out of this room and to somewhere else. “It’s better not to love too hard, princesa.” I felt my bottom lip tremble for the pain he was in. His, and my own. Because there was some truth to his words. The love I felt for Tanner . . . Sometimes, in my darkest of moments, I wondered if this level of love, this soul-shattering kind of possession, was worth all the pain and the heartache.
It was like being tethered to the ground by an unyielding rope, when all you wanted to do was let go and float away.
