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Madelena
I don’t have to attend too many of these events, but the ones I do are excruciatingly painful. My father drinks. I guess he and I have that in common tonight. My brother disappears into the flock of women looking to land a De Léon. Someone should tell them they’re out of luck.
Me? With the news of my impending engagement, I’m usually left to my own devices. I guess that’s a win. No man comes near me because they know I’ll be engaged to the Augustine heir, and no one in their right mind wants to fuck with the Augustine family.
But tonight is different. Tonight, it seems someone does want to fuck with them —because the man I just bumped into has a vise-grip on my arm.
“It was an accident, and I apologized. What more can I do? I tell you what, I’ll give you my address so you can send me your dry-cleaning bill,” I tell him, teetering on my heels, the room spinning a little. A consequence of the drinks and pills I’ve had tonight. In my defense, I needed them after what happened. Odin wasn’t home when our father went on his rampage. He can usually calm him down, not always, but often enough. Me not so much.
As much as it hurts, though, I’m glad it was me and not Odin to take it.
Odin’s empty flask is in my clutch, plus a couple of painkillers. It’s nothing too strong, but the combination is what’s amplifying everything.
The man who has hold of me looks me over—my face, my mouth, then the swell of my breasts. What is it with men and boobs?
“I’m not sure that apology was heartfelt. Did you think so, Leo?” he asks his friend, the grinning jackal flanking him.
“I’m thinking it could definitely be more heartfelt,” Leo Cummings says. The two walk me backward. I look to where I just saw Odin, but my view is blocked by the throngs of people. Although we’re in a public place, although there are hundreds of people here, I feel the aggression of these two, and it’s a little worrying.
I breathe deeply, remind myself I can handle men like this. I have before. I will again.
“Why don’t we go up to my place, and she can make things right,” Leo says suggestively, producing a key.
I open my mouth to respond, to tell him when hell freezes over, but before I can get a single word out, a hand lands on each of their shoulders. Hands I know. In fact, I’d know them even without the ring bearing the Augustine insignia of a heart pierced by two swords.
“Is there a problem here?” Santos Augustine’s voice sends a familiar chill along my spine, making me shudder. It’s been a full year since I’ve seen him—a full year, and even so, just the sound of his voice has my body reacting.
Leo and his friend part and turn to look at Santos. When I meet Santos’s eyes, they capture and hold mine. It reminds me of our first meeting, of how he’d looked at me then. It’s a strange sensation, like a cloak draped over my shoulders.
His eyes are a rare shade, dark and endless, like an evergreen forest in winter. He’s wearing a custom-made three-piece-suit. Black on black on black. No tuxedo for him. He doesn’t conform to any rules.
He’s an Augustine. He doesn’t have to.
I swallow hard because I remember other things too—like what he’d said to me the first night. What he’d had me repeat the last time we met.
The spanking he’d threatened me with.
That part sends a flush of heat spreading from my core outward, all the way up my neck to warm my cheeks. I struggle to hold his gaze, afraid he can read my mind
Another man joins us, coming to Santos Augustine’s side. It’s Caius Augustine. He’s two years older than Santos. I haven’t seen Caius since that night in my father’s study, but he hasn’t really changed. They still look so different, dark and light, but I know deep in my heart how dangerous both of the Augustine brothers are.
“Making friends, brother?” Caius asks, voice low and deep, as much a growl as his brother’s.
Santos’s eyes hold mine. He doesn’t answer Caius but when he shifts his gaze to the hand on my arm, I remember what happened to the last person who touched what belonged to Santos Augustine. I get the feeling the man holding onto me now feels the danger emanating from the Augustine brothers, because he drops his hand and steps backward, away from me.
Leo isn’t as smart though.
Santos turns to Leo. “No, not making friends,” he says.
Leo glances at his buddy, I guess for backup. He’s not going to get it.
“Get out of here,” Caius says casually to them.
They nod, but Santos blocks Leo’s path. “What did you say to her?” he asks. “Something about taking her to your place to make things right? What did you mean exactly?” He steps so close that Leo, who is a good head shorter, has to crane his neck to hold eye contact. Aggression is practically vibrating off Santos. I feel the waves of it, know the danger he poses. Is Leo Cummings so oblivious he doesn’t sense it? “How would she make things right exactly?” Santos finishes.
“Brother.” Caius closes a hand over Santos’s arm.
I know I need to defuse this now, before history repeats itself, although I wonder how many other women they’ve cornered like this. Maybe I should let them deal with the consequence that is Santos Augustine. They’re jerks. But the image of Jason Cole the day he returned to school after prom is still so vivid in my memory that I can’t.
