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CHAPTER SIX
SONIA
Present Time…
Santos watches me with a familiarity in his eyes that infuriates me. Like he’s amusing himself by mentally undressing me. Like he knows what I look like naked. What I look like when I come.
It makes me squirm in the way I used to when he looked at me like that. Back when I wanted him to do it.
Things have changed.
Annoyed, I get up from the couch and begin to pace around the living room he’s brought me to. It’s a big space with dark wooden beams running across the high ceiling and a wrought iron chandelier hanging from the center. The oversized couches sit in front of a massive fireplace that’s flanked by long windows, and the curved staircase rises high to a second floor.
“Big house,” I say, peeking down one of three hallways that branch off from the room. “You’ve come a long way. I guess the life of crime paid off.”
“It did,” he replies unapologetically.
“Where exactly is this place? I mean, where am I?”
“My home in Chihuahua. Las Cruzes.”
Chihuahua? I’m not even in the same state?
Letting that information sink in, I walk to a wall where a flat-screen television has been mounted between shelving units. They’ve been sparsely filled with trinkets and clay sculptures that represent various parts of Mexico. Some are also lined with photographs. That’s where I pause, staring at the unfamiliar pictures. Yet, somehow, I’m in many of them.
There I am with him in front of a restaurant, and in the middle of a garden, and there’s another with us on horseback. But the one that has me gasping is the photo of me in a wedding dress, pressed against him with a smile plastered across my face as if it’s the best day of my life!
Slapping my hands over my eyes, I look away. “This can’t be real. I’ve lost my mind. That has to be it. Why didn’t the doctor send me straight to the hospital? What if I’m having a stroke?”
“Come sit beside me. Let’s talk through this,” Santos says, patting the seat next to him.
Before I can respond with where I’d rather be, two men enter the room. The first, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit and looking like he just stepped off some billionaire magazine cover, nods to me in greeting. “SeñoraCruz. Are you feeling better?”
“I…” I glance at the other man, this one appearing much more like someone I’d imagine being in the employ of Santos. He’s wearing a simple black T-shirt and blue jeans, and has tattooed arms, a huge holstered gun hanging from his hip, and the darkest stare I’ve ever seen. He nods too, his gaze intensifying as he rakes me with it. As if he’s sizing me up, determining if I’m worth the effort to kill.
“Her mind is still fuzzy,” Santos replies for me. He comes to me, taking me by the arm and guiding me to the couch as if I’m some frail woman in the midst of hysteria.
“Stop it!” I slap at his hands, but he’s relentless in keeping his hold on me as we sit.
“See?” he says to his comrades and I roll my eyes. “Sonia, this is Andres, my lieutenant. And this is Montero, mysicario, remember?”
“Dios mio. You don’t even try to hide it,” I say, shaking my head in disbelief.
“What?”
“That you’re a criminal.”
“Why would I? Everyone knows who I am.Youknow who I am. Fuck, you’re wearing my mark!”
I open my mouth to say something but think better of it. Either way, he’s right. Why would he hide who he is? Even before my “accident,” I was well aware of Santos’s status as the leader of the Diablos del Sur cartel. I knew he’d changed his last name from Alvarez to Cruz in honor of the former head of that band of miscreants. Not that I was keeping up with that. Much.
Regardless, it would always come up in conversation. Have you heard about Santos Cruz? He comes from these parts. They say he’s a good bad guy.
What is that even? A good bad guy? You’re either good or you’re bad. There’s no in-between. And Santos definitely falls on the bad side of things as far as I’m concerned.
“Patron,” the mean lookingsicariosays, his eyes still on me, still just as hard. Though a split-second before he turns his full attention to Santos, I see something else. Pitty? “A word.”
Santos squeezes my hand. “I’ll be right back,” he tells me and kisses the tip of my nose.
