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Was that fucked?
Yep, absolutely.
Especially given what she’d been through.
The last thing in the world she needed was another man who had less than pure intentions toward her.
So I told myself as we made our way back up to the hotel that I was going to keep a wide berth around her.
I’d been naive as fuck to think that would be enough for me.
Somehow I forgot that staying in a small space like a hotel together created forms of intimacy that I wouldn’t have had otherwise.
And it wasn’t just knowing she was naked a room away when I heard the tub running. No, it was that she was just a few feet away from me, tossing and turning in her sleep so her blankets slipped off. It was hearing her little murmurs as she did said shifting. It was hearing her little scoffs or sighs as she read one of the books she’d picked out. It was her laugh as we watched a movie. It was the way she mumbled to herself when she was frustrated that she couldn’t figure out the loom.
“Ugh. It’s hopeless. I would have made a terrible old-timey woman. I have no skill with yarn,” she declared, tossing the uneven multi-colored scarf she’d been trying to get right for several hours.
“Hey, at least you know that about yourself now,” I said, shrugging.
I’d suspected that Abigail had never really gotten a chance to be a person, if that makes any sense. Her father, then her husband, then that bastard Raúl had always seen her as a possession, as someone they could use to their own benefit. She’d never been allowed to explore things, to figure out who she was, or what she might be into.
Was figuring out if she could make a scarf some sort of monumental self-discovery? No. But at least it was something that she’d attempted, something she’d learned she had no love for.
It was why I’d picked up all that craft shit. Because my plan was to get her out of Raúl’s grips by whatever means necessary. Then after that, she was going to finally be able to have a life on her own terms. It would be nice for her going into that having at least a little sense of self.
No, she didn’t have skills with knitting.
And the thriller book made her anxious.
They were small things, but sometimes small things could be just as important as the big shit. It was slowly helping her build a picture of herself.
I couldn’t help but wonder what she envisioned for her future now that she actually had one of her own. Did she have some secret dream? Did she want to travel the world, or just have a nice, comfy little home to call her own? Did she want animals? Did she want to adopt kids? What did she see herself doing for work?
They were burning questions in my mind, but I tried not to burden her with them too much, figuring she was overwhelmed enough with the changes going on in her life.
Hell, even little shit like experiencing foods she hadn’t had in years was proving difficult for her. Her frail body, so used to surviving on very small, very low-fat and bland foods, hadn’t quite been ready for the greasy pepperoni pizza she’d ordered on the second night, sending her running into the bathroom, and throwing it back up.
She had a lot going on.
I didn’t need to burden her with what six months, a year, or five years down the line might look like for her.
I needed to get a grip anyway.
Because, sooner or later, I needed to figure out how to handle her situation. Which, I had to admit, wasn’t going to be easy.
I’d been in prison with quite a few cartel members. I knew how protected their leaders were. I knew how ruthless their men were.
If Raúl was as upset as Abigail thought he would be about her escaping, then I had no doubt that he would leave no stone unturned. Which meant he was coming. And I was wholly unprepared for him.
Yes, sure, Fallon said I had the backing of the club if I needed them. But I also didn’t want to put all of them in danger. Most of them had wives and kids. The ones who didn’t, had the hope of them in the future. I didn’t want to risk that for them all.
I needed to be smart about this.
But at the end of the day, there was only one way this could go.
Raúl had to die.
As did any of his men who were loyal enough to give a shit about Abigail after he was gone.
I mean, yeah, I’d been a criminal my entire life. But that didn’t mean I was capable of pulling off a plan like that without a huge amount of forethought. And, yeah, I was probably going to need some backup as well.
