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“They lack what I need,” I go on, speaking above a pained groan that comes from the direction of the arena. At the back of my mind, some moral, logical part of me screams that I’m just feet away from a man most likely breathing his last breath. I’ve gotten good at pushing down that voice over the years.
“I need someone who won’t be held back by moral constraints or fear. I need someone ruthless.”
“You need to explain what the fuck it is you want without the flowery language.” He pulls his hand from me and inclines his head as if to banish me. One small fact keeps me rooted in place—I recognize that the action could double as an impatient cue to speak.
“Not here,” I say, with a wary glance around. Braulio is nowhere near Jaguar’s status, but he still has his allies. I’m sure a few of them are here tonight, wondering why I look so similar to his past side piece. I can’t take the risk of word getting back to him. “We can discuss it after the fight. I’ll make the conversation more than worth your while.”
Pedro warned that I would need to sell that line. Say it with a straight face and as though I meant every word to drip with innuendo. In practice, my voice shakes, robbing my tone of any sensuality or flirtation.
The truth is, up this close, there is no way in hell I could sleep with this man. In the lead-up to this point, I told myself I would do anything, but even reckless bravery won’t help me here.
Jaguar seems interested in something far more intense than fucking. Something dangerous and violent that I might not survive unscathed. Sex with him would be entering a jungle unguarded against the predator lurking inside it. I may be desperate, but I’m not suicidal.
Yet.
Though it seems I misjudged him. His expression remained disinterested until my voice cracked over “while.” The proposition didn’t intrigue him. My unease does.
He flicks those eyes in my direction, and my heart skips a beat.
“After,” he murmurs, but I can’t tell from his tone if that’s a good sign or bad. No one has ever put my people-reading skills to the test like this. Every interaction feels like a game of roulette. Throwing me for another loop, he inclines his head. “You seem to be one lucky woman.”
“Huh?” I don’t understand what he means until a round of deafening cheers go up from the crowd around us. Though, on second appraisal, most of those “cheers” seem to be groans of disappointment. The fight must be over, and as I finally turn to the cage, the MC stands there, holding up the winner’s bloodied fist.
Sporting a swollen nose and a nasty bruised eye, the eventual winner isn’t the beefy fighter who drew the lion’s share of bets. He is the man I picked, looking none too worse for wear as his opponent lies motionless behind him. I won, but the full significance of the moment doesn’t sink in until a guttural voice croons against my ear, “It seems the little wolf has won the lion’s share.”
Won. More money than I even know what to do with—though technically, it’s all Pedro’s.
“Smart girl to get me on your side before taking my money,” Jaguar adds with a low, deceptively playful laugh. “Smart girl. Where to next?”
My mind is reeling. I can’t recall Pedro’s script fast enough, but it seems Jaguar doesn’t intend to wait for an answer.
As if on cue, he snaps his fingers, and his entourage stands and begins to file from the arena.
“Come.” He rises from his chair and inclines his head toward me, but captures my hand in that punishing grip. I’m tethered to his side with little room to maneuver, forced to keep up with his long, quick strides. He’s about a foot taller than me, and I hate how small I feel against his bulk. Fragile.
The curious glances of those we pass don’t help. They don’t seem jealous or even mildly interested. They seem…relieved, especially the women.
What have I gotten myself into?
I feel the need to slow down. Breathe.
“Shouldn’t I collect my winnings first?” I manage to ask.
He chuckles without looking my way. “They’ll credit it to your account, baby. You don’t come here often, do you?”
I say nothing, risking silence over the truth or a lie. Pedro didn’t prepare me for that question. In fact, he gave me little coaching on what to do outside of the basics. Though, his advice has gotten me this far, so I can’t complain too much. Besides, I’m not here for the money.
As Jaguar takes me from the arena to what looks like an underground garage, I pay closer attention to the people around us. His three-piece ensemble of women lurks near his left side, their lips pouty—though again, I get the sense their displeasure is merely an act. It’s both a relief and a terrifying feeling to not be the object of his attention.
Even Tiena tolerated Braulio with simpering smiles and the smugness of a cat that got the mouse whenever he took her out on his arm. When he grew bored of her—and those moments came and went like clockwork—she would seethe in paranoid agony.What will I do if he throws me away?
What she should have been asking is, what will happen to Francisco? To me? How will we pick up the pieces she so carelessly left behind?
Some might pity my sister. I don’t.
“You do this a lot.” Jaguar’s guttural murmur snaps me back to reality with the force of a blow. He isn’t angry—yet. But I suspect he’s inching there, eyeing me with an eyebrow cocked, his eyelids lowered to slice those piercing irises in half.
“W-What?” I ask, genuinely confused.
