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“Only you,” she whispers, curling her arms around my neck in that sweet, sweet way that I can’t get enough of. There’s an honesty in her embrace. It’s an endless warm lake, and if I had to die today, I’d want to do so by drowning in it. “I tried to date, but it didn’t work out so well. You ruined me for all the others.”
I ruined all the others with my fists, Mi Cielo. Let’s get our facts straight. They never stood a chance because I never let them have one.
“Stop.” She taps my shoulder as we pass the side table in the hallway.“My phone... I need to call Thalia and let her know I’ll be late.”
Afterward, I carry her into the room that used to be her sister’s. There are faded patches on the walls from all the missing pictures, and the smell of stale perfume and emptiness is overpowering. Laying her down on the bed, I’m tempted to fuck her again, but I know that she’ll be sore.
“It’s so cold in here,” she says with a shiver, glancing around the dark bedroom.
She misses Thalia’s effervescent presence. In fact, she misses her whole family. I know because I read her diaries too. Well, I did before she stopped writing them a couple of months ago. She thinks she’s not worthy to be a Santiago, but she’s the strongest of all of them. She broke away. She’s standing on her own two feet, and she’s dealing with her problems with far more dignity and determination than maybe they give her credit for.
I killed the connection with my own family long ago, and any sentiment I have toward them died with it. It’s strictly professional between me and my adoptive father now. As for my mother, contact is reduced to one phone call a year. I didn’t deserve their kindness or shelter when I was a kid, and I sure as fuck don’t deserve their love now.
Kicking the door shut behind me, I take her phone and call Sam.“It’s Grayson. Tell the clean-up crew to work over the whole apartment this evening. Ella’s in the spare room. No one goes in there unless they want a bullet from me. I need Eduardo and Dominic on the door until she departs, and then they won’t be leaving her side in the restaurant. I’m adding them to her permanent security detail, along with Santiago’s men.”
Hanging up, I chuck the phone on the nightstand and catch her staring at me. She’s sitting up, still wrapped in that soft blue throw that makes her eyes burn like sapphires. Those arms I love so much are now wrapped around her knees.
“How did you know my passcode, Edier?”
I frown. “What passcode?”
“My iPhone’s. You didn’t even hesitate. You just tapped it in.”
“Easy. All good girls use their birth dates.” I head for the door, taking it as my cue to leave. “Guess you’re not such a bad one after all.”
“Your Mom’s coming tonight,” she calls out, her words catching up with me as I step into the hallway.
“Don’t.” I spin back around with a snarl. “Don’t speak about it. Don’t even dream it. You can’t fix something that broke a long time ago.”
“We’re all broken, Edier,” she counters. “At least you and I know our flaws, our cracks, our bad news, and our heartbreak. We’ve had time to come to terms with them, or to fix them if we’re lucky. Others don’t have that luxury. For them, it’s already too late.”
“Speak for yourself. I hear that countdown in my head every day.”
“So do I,” she says, her eyes flashing defiantly.
She and I don’t look to the future. We live right here in the present, with me trying to outrun my past, and her health still caught up in a nightmarish web of it.
I stalk toward her busted front door, our parting exchange ringing in my ears. I’m still refusing to acknowledge the fear I felt when I thought she’d been poisoned, or the lingering, ever-present one I have over her disease progression. Men like me don’t recognize that emotion. It’s a bad secret that we hide behind vengeance and violence.
I can’t lose this woman.
Whatever it takes.
Whatever massacres I have to commit.
I’ll burn the whole fucking world down before that happens.
I repeat my orders to my men outside, ignoring their puzzled looks at my appearance. Then, I let myself into the apartment next door, stripping off my wet clothes as I go, as Dog surges forward to greet me, wagging the scrap of fur she calls a tail as I hush her silent when she threatens to bark.
“Fuck off, Dog,” I mutter, pulling on dry black pants and a black shirt, and gently shoving her away with my foot as she tries to lick me dry. She sits down with a sad whine, and guilt has me brushing my palm over her head as a compromise. Only once, mind. She still owes me for saving her, but I don’t want her affection as payment. I don’t want affection from anyone except Ella.
No one gets to touch me except Ella.
Flicking back over the day’s footage in my Black Room, I freeze-frame the moment a man steps into Ella’s bedroom at precisely four p.m., his face and head covered in a hoodie and ski mask. Hitting ‘record’ on a second device, I let the next few minutes play out, watching as he lays out the outfit before lifting his concealed face to the hidden camera in the light fixture. In a fury, I watch him hold his hands up and make the shape of an ‘A’ with his thumbs and forefingers.
El Alquimista is taunting me.
Only two people knew about this camera’s existence. One died two months ago from an unfortunate bullet wound, and the other is standing in this room still very much alive.
