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Seemingly unconcerned by my presence, he busies himself with something on his lap. I crane my neck to make out a computer tablet. He taps it, scrolling through pages of text as if riveted by whatever they convey. I’m regulated to a mere spectator. An afterthought.
Some petty part of me takes solace in that. He wants to be done with me, then so be it. I think ahead and plot my life with Franco in safety. I’ll make Pedro come with us. They are all I need.
* * *
“I wantyou to tell me something,” Jaguar says, a couple hours into our flight.
I shift to face him, startled by his attempt at conversation. Until this point, he’s remained stoically silent, pretending I don’t exist.
“Yes?”
He sets his tablet aside and runs his thumb along his lower jaw. I recognize the gesture—he’s thinking hard, consumed by some mental dilemma. The danger presented by Braulio? Or something else…
“I will only ask you this once,” he says, his voice guttural. I bite back a gasp as I feel the words resonate down my spine. He isn’t playful or mocking—he’s dead serious. “I know that you lied to me about your identity. You had your reasons. We can consider bygones to be bygones, but…”
He inclines his head, fixing me with a penetrating stare.
“I need to know what else you misrepresented in your bid to secure my help.” His face is partly in shadow, obscuring the nuances of his expression. Viewed like this, he is a figure more than worthy of the caution Pedro warned me to take, and it hits me now just how out of my depth I truly am.
“What do you mean?” I ask, fighting to keep my voice level. “I was honest about wanting to protect Franco—”
“Ah, not that. I’m referring to the second part of your offer—that you would be mine alone. Was that a lie?”
I say nothing, choosing to decipher his words in silence. I’ve rarely heard him use that tone. It’s cutting and sharp like a whip, slicing through my fragile resolve. I thought I understood my role in this arrangement, but I was wrong.
He isn’t bored of me yet—he’s frustrated. Resentful. He thinks my heart—and mind—belong to another man. But is he far off?
Yes, I decide, nodding my head. “I wasn’t lying,” I croak.
For a long time, he observes me, his face still bathed in darkness. “I will hold you to that,” he says cryptically. “I am a man who doesn’t share. Even if the toy I want was never mine in the first place.” He lets that ominous warning hang in the air as goosebumps burst to life over my skin.
Not even a minute later, the pilot announces our descent, robbing me of the chance to ask him more. Once we’ve disembarked, we’re met by Horatio, who flew in the cockpit and exited the plane first. He’s waiting near a black SUV that seems overly large for just three people. Inside, Jaguar sits across from me, still engrossed in whatever he’s reading on his tablet. Something important, I suspect. Perhaps preparation for whatever he’s planning when it comes to this little meeting?
I’m curious despite myself. Rather than question him, I text Pedro to no response. That’s not like him. I attempt to call him, but it doesn’t go through. Left with no distraction, I stare from the window and watch the city pass by. I never truly took stock of where he lives before, but it’s secluded, surrounded by rare swaths of untouched wilderness. It’s a beautiful setting in the darkness, especially when his villa appears on the horizon, illuminated with golden light.
A morbid part of me likens the glow to hellfire, awaiting the devil’s return.
Said devil exits the car first the second we come to a stop near the front of the house. To my surprise, he reaches back for me, forcing me to put my phone in my purse.
“Lupe?” he asks as I entwine my fingers with his. “Whohas your attention tonight?” He clips that keyword between his teeth, betraying his irritation.
“P-Pedro.” As he tugs me along, my heart races. Together we head up the walkway and enter the villa, which seems worlds apart from the house in California. Near the front door, my nostrils fill with the smell of cheap perfume, and I almost miss the seclusion.
Until Jaguar brings his mouth to my ear. “Smile, chica. I’m sure one of the bastards here is working with Braulio and his puppet master. He’ll tell them all about how lovely you look tonight. I take it you wore this ensemble just for that? Were all those texts tothem?”
“I was speaking with Pedro,” I insist, caught off guard by the venom in his tone. “Do you need me to show you?” I reach for my purse, and he smirks with amusement.
“Oh, no. After all, I shouldtrustyou, chica.Sí?” He fingers a spaghetti strap and lets it smack against my skin. My throat goes dry at the subtle demonstration of violence. Something is wrong. During our trip here, his anger hasn’t cooled like it normally does. It’s merely simmered, growing into a full-blown inferno that scorches my skin with every breath he exhales against me.
“You do look stunning,” he adds, nudging me forward. “Picture-fucking-perfect. My guests will drool at the sight of you—and perhaps even some men who aren’t in attendance. As you suggested, we’ll let them think you are Tiena. For appearances’ sake. You should have no problem embodying her personality, I think.”
What the hell is that supposed to mean? I’m too chicken to ask. Since the plane, he’s been edgy, lacing every word with biting innuendo. Could he be nervous about this dinner?
Or worse—he is taunting me, because all along, this trap hasn’t been meant to snare his men alone.
He doesn’t care if I’m collateral damage in the aftermath.
As we venture further into the house, my apprehension only grows. It seems he let the party start without us. His luxurious villa brims with activity, and voices of various occupants echo off the walls. As we enter the spacious dining room that overlooks his pool, at least ten men are already seated at the long glass table. The only two places left unclaimed are one at the head of the table and another directly beside it.
