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Jaguar takes the former, urging me into the remaining chair.
“Good evening,mi amigos,” he greets his men, who watch his arrival in hushed silence. “I’m glad you all could make it.”
I cast a wary glance around, recognizing only a few guests—mainly from rumors. There’s Hugo Garcia, a man I once considered going to for help before Jaguar, ironically. Luis Romanos and Leo Corleon, both notorious narcos in their own right, are also in attendance. I’m not sure of their exact role in the trade, but together they’ve amassed nearly the same fearful reputation as Jaguar himself.
“Gentlemen, say hello to Tiena Sanchez,” the crime lord in question declares. A feral smile spreads across his face as he places his hand on my shoulder possessively. “Isn’t she beautiful?”
His guests rumble affirmations amongst each other, but I’m not flattered in the slightest. I feel much like I did while trapped in a cage, awaiting his jaguar, Gatita. Like fresh meat.
“We can discuss business later. Now, why don’t we enjoy ourselves? Let’s eat!” Jaguar claps his hands, ushering in a stream of maids who set the table with various dishes and plenty of wine.
I eat woodenly, tasting nothing, as Jaguar and his men discuss people and places I’m not familiar with. While seemingly cordial, their conversations go over my head, and I wonder if this whole show wasn’t put on at their expense butmine. Mainly as a warning. A reminder—I am just a shiny distraction on the periphery of these monsters, all of whom seem barely fazed by my presence.
And, in the end, perhaps my suspicions were wrong. None of these assholes were working with Braulio, even if there was a conspiracy fomenting against him. Or…
I’m too in my own head, letting fear and doubt distract me from the assignment at hand. Inhaling deeply, I refocus.
I was right in thinking that most of these men barely spare me any notice—at least at first glance. On second appraisal, however, half of them cast questioning looks in my direction. Not all are the longing, sexual glares of men used to taking any woman they want, either.
Some of them are…cagey.
One man, in particular, draws my notice. He keeps sipping from his wine as if he’s desperate to calm his nerves, but I don’t sense a jovial mood from him. When his eyes aren’t on me, they stray to Jaguar. Then back. Forth. Back.
It’s as if he’s unsure of our dynamic. Almost as if he thinks I really am Tiena.
“I know that look,” Jaguar murmurs into my ear. “Tell me what’s running through that mind of yours, Lupe.”
I stiffen. Voicing the truth? Out of the question. Thinking fast, I lean over and playfully press my lips to his ear. “Who is the man with the bald head and mustache?”
“So inquisitive tonight.” He cups my cheek, making me face him. “That is Boaz Cortez, chica,” he explains, softly enough for only me to hear. “A very powerful man. Him and his brother—seated beside him—run an operation known to clean up any ‘messes’ that might be made in such a business. Why the interest? Have you found your next mark?”
I shrug off the pointed insult. When I glance over, both men in question are staring at me again. I get chills by the way their eyes are narrowed, gazes inquisitive.
“I think they seem more intrigued by my presence here than they should be,” I whisper in reply.
Jaguar, however, throws his head back for a booming chuckle.
“Excellent,” he says, loudly enough for the whole table to hear. As every head swivels in our direction, Jaguar claps his hands and nods to me. “My friend here thinks we should move this party to somewhere more festive. Who is with me? I give you all free rein of my home, so mingle and enjoy yourselves, gentlemen. After, of course, we get some preliminaries out of the way.”
He stands, prompting the men to do the same. The picture of the perfect host, he waits for his guests to exit first, while I hesitate in his shadow, unsure of whether to follow. Suddenly, Jaguar’s hand lands on my shoulder, his voice gentle against my ear. “You’re invited to this meeting as well, Lupe. Remember to mind your manners. You watch.”
Before I can reply, he takes my hand, guiding me from the dining room and down the hall into a larger, more formal version of his office upstairs. There are enough chairs for every guest to claim a comfortable leather chaise while I find myself pulled along by Jaguar and guided onto his lap.
“Shall we begin?” he asks, leaning back, his head cocked at an inquisitive angle. I can feel his posture stiffen beneath me, betraying that he isn’t quite as relaxed and carefree as he seems. He’s on edge, every bit as alert as I am.
For some reason, knowing that comforts me as his men trade nervous laughter. Only one seems willing to talk first.
“I think I speak for us all when I say that our chatter might bore your guest,jefe.” I recognize the speaker as Leo Corleon. His dark eyes flit my way before returning to Jaguar, and I can’t discern if he believes my false identity or not. “Let her go play with the other pretties you keep.”
Murmurs of agreement go up from the crowd, but Jaguar scoffs, his voice harsh against the back of my neck. “I think she’s just fine right here—” He settles a hand over my thigh to reinforce that sentiment. “Any objections?”
Corleon scowls but sits back in his seat. No one else objects, verbally anyway. Though Jaguar only allows them five seconds before launching into his “business.”
“Good. With that distraction out of the way, we can have a nice long talk, you and I. Specifically… I want to know why none of you motherfuckers thought to inform me about the extracurricular activities of our friend Braulio.”
I stiffen at his harsh tone, but—to their credit—his men don’t visibly flinch.
“His antics put us all in danger,” a man with piercing blue eyes says, his voice harsh. “My men have had to work overtime to cover the gaps in his territory.”
