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I rubbed my wrists, as though I could feel the phantom chill of iron cuffs weighing me down.
Desperate to distract myself, I returned to my window shopping. Once I found something I liked, I fully intended to spend a small fortune on new clothes today. Sebastián said I could spend my money however I wanted, so I was going to test the limits of my new cage. My fingers already sparkled with the pink pop of my fresh manicure. I’d selected an intense glitter polish in cheerful defiance of my miserable situation. Rafael hadn’t flinched when I’d stepped into the spa; he’d barged right in at my back and hovered behind me while my nails were buffed and painted.
The activity that I usually found relaxing had turned into a tense, silent stand-off with my guard.
As I perused the dresses in the boutique’s display, I caught the reflection of my massive new shadow in the window. The reminder of my captivity grated on my nerves, and my blood boiled hot enough to sear away my better judgment.
Irritated, I rounded on Rafael. “You don’t have to watch me, you know. I’m out shopping. What do you expect me to do that’s so nefarious when I’m buying new clothes?”
He scowled, his stubble-covered, square jaw ticking. I couldn’t see his hazel eyes behind his aviator sunglasses, but I was sure they were sparking with his own irritation. “Look, I don’t want to be your babysitter, but I’ve been given a job. I’m going to do it.”
The older man was fiercely loyal to the cartel and a personal friend to Sebastián. It was why Sebastián had chosen him to be my warden for the foreseeable future. If Rafael considered watching me a job for the good of the cartel, he’d take it deadly seriously, no matter what he said about not wanting to be my babysitter.
Before I could snap back, he continued on. “If you want to cooperate, that makes my job easy. We don’t even have to speak to one another. Just behave, and we won’t have a problem.”
A pulse of anger burst through my body, and my fists curled at my sides. Behave? Babysitter? I was no longer certain if I was being treated like a captive or like a child.
Don’t you fucking call me your captor. Not ever. Sebastián’s enraged bellow echoed through my mind, making me cringe even though it’d been hours since our altercation over breakfast.
I shook my head slightly. It didn’t matter what had triggered his fury. It wasn’t right that he was having me guarded at all times. No matter what he said—no matter how he wanted to see himself—he was still my captor.
I lifted my chin and tried for my most confident tone. “I’m going into this boutique,” I announced. “You can wait out here.”
Rafael’s nostrils flared, a dangerous, beastly expression I recognized all too well.
I softened my voice to something more conciliatory. I should’ve known better than to boss around a man like him. Being with Sebastián, who’d never struck me once despite his temper, had given me too much bravado around dangerous men.
“I’d like some space. I can’t go anywhere once I’m inside. And I won’t be getting online or anything. I’m just shopping. Please?” I hated having to ask for permission, feeling exactly like a child. I wasn’t sure how long I could withstand this kind of treatment without snapping, but for now, I’d try to be careful with my words. If I wanted some room to breathe, I’d have to be respectful.
After a long, tense moment, he inclined his head. “Fine. I’ll be right out here. Don’t try anything stupid, or I’ll drag your ass home and let Sebastián deal with you.”
I released the breath I’d been holding and pushed open the boutique door before he could change his mind. As soon as I stepped inside, I entered a dream-like world where everything was normal. The owner recognized me from previous extravagant purchases, and she immediately gushed over their latest styles as she offered me an array of glittering gowns.
I forced myself to forget that I was selecting a dress for the party Sebastián had ordered me to plan. The one where we would pretend to be happily married for the benefit of the cartel.
I shoved the shadows from my mind and focused on the simple joy of looking at pretty things, catching on to the excitable energy of the shop owner. She was almost effervescent in her enthusiasm for fashion, and I eagerly lost myself in the familiar pleasure of an indulgent shopping spree.
I was about to go into the dressing room at the back of the shop when a strangely familiar voice said my name. “Isabel Vera. Can I speak with you?”
My stomach dropped to the floor as I turned, my mind registering who was speaking just before my eyes confirmed the awful truth. Francisco Morales, the policeman who’d advised me to make the blog post, was approaching swiftly.
