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As if warning me, he squeezes my hand.Don’t question.
“Seem distracted around a man you’ve worked so damn hard to draw the notice of,” he adds.
Oh.A wave of stiffness runs through my body, and my heart falls to the floor. How much does he know? His face is blank, and I feel like I have been thrown onto a fragile sheet of glass. It only takes one wrong move for everything to shatter.
Luckily, an abrupt change of scenery provides a much-needed distraction. We’ve approached a large, luxury SUV that I presume to be his. A man steps forward and opens the door, but Jaguar grips it and nods his head in a way I assume dismisses the others.
“I ride alone. Miss Lupe and I need to continue our discussion in private.”
Dios mío.Is this a good sign? Bad? Too much about this man unnerves me. As he adjusts his grip on my hand, I feel my stomach twist.
“After you.”
I sit on a spacious leather seat, and he slides in beside me. With a mirrored table and what looks like a mini bar, the back of this vehicle is designed to entertain.
“Alright. I’ve let you play your game,” Jaguar taunts as the driver closes the door, plunging us in darkness. “Now cut to the chase,chica.What do you want?”
“Protection,” I say. Pedro stressed the importance of that—no bullshit—but even if he hadn’t, I doubt I’d be tempted to lie anyway. Deceit seems to be a very dangerous game to play with a man like this.
Honesty may be equally foolish, but at least I don’t have to think so hard to stay one step ahead.
“I need your help,” I add, tilting my head to take him in. Bathed in shadow and the artificial glow of the garage that pierces the tinted windows, he’s a specter of darkness. The literal devil himself, or perhaps something far more unpredictable. A hungry jaguar.
“Keep talking.” His voice has that dangerous tone again.
I rush to speak. “His name is Braulio—”
“Rivera,” Jaguar fills in. “I’ve heard of the man.”
I choke out a sigh. Is this relief flooding my veins? I don’t know. His tone is neutral, though I highly doubt he’s one of Braulio’s allies. No, in fact, I know they aren’t fond of each other in the slightest. In recent years, Braulio has become increasingly hungry for power. He’d stab his own mother for a bigger slice of the city, and Jaguar doesn’t strike me as the friendly type.
“He’s dangerous,” I blurt, forgetting my script. Hell, fuck the polished, rehearsed spiel Pedro had me devise. “I want him out of commission, and it needs to happen soon. Before—”
I break off, though he never says a word. He is angry, his attention is waning. One of his thumbs strokes the wrist bones of my captive hand, but it is a caress that is far from gentle or loving. It’s the way a lumberjack might test a piece of wood before taking the initial swing with an ax.
“You have an awfully big enemy, chica. Did he fuck another bitch on you? Kill your lover?”
The game has shifted again. I’ve gone from entertaining him to boring him. Though, should I be that surprised? After all, how many women has he had come crawling to him in the name of revenge?
My tongue is tingling from fear, but there is no turning back. I hunt for his gaze in the darkness and hold it. One second. Two. After I’m certain he’s seen the serious gleam in my eyes, I continue.
“He has my son.”
I’m surprised by how gritty the words sound. In a way, it doesn’t seem like a lie at all. Maybe it isn’t. I love Franciscomorethan if he were my own. With Tiena for a mother, he needs all the love and then some.
My fear for him keeps me calm long after Jaguar has let go of my hand and turned his focus to the window. We’ve left the garage, driving down some darkened street. I should be worried about our eventual destination, but I can’t be.
A mere taste of Jaguar’s disapproval crumbles my carefully rehearsed ruse, and I become the desperate, pathetic Lupita Sanchez Pedro warned me not to be.
“He’s taking him out of the country tonight,” I say. “I have to stop him. I can’t let… He’s hurting him, Franco. I don’t want him dead, but I want—”
“You think you can come to me with your petty battles and bullshit?”
Ice runs through my veins, and for a second, I stop breathing. I stop thinking. Instinct is my only tether, and I manage to choke out, “It’s not petty—”
“You want me to start a war with Braulio Rivera on the word of some side bitch who wants her brat back?”
He doesn’t laugh, but his mockery doesn’t sting any less. I’m grateful that I can’t see his face clearly. Grateful that he can’t see mine. Tears prickle behind my eyes, and I know they’ll fall eventually.
