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CHAPTER TWO
SONIA
A sharp painin my temples pulses with each beat of my heart. Instinctively, I reach up to massage the sore area, wondering what in the hell I could have done to deserve this punishment.
I open one very dry eye, squinting through the brightness of the room. The answer comes into focus slowly. An empty bottle of Merlot is lying on its side on the nightstand, and a large glass with its crimson remnants sits beside it.
Ugh, did I drink that?
Opening my other eye, I stare at the bottle. Then I shift my gaze to the table, the lamp, the window that’s not where I expect there to be one.
The thrumming in my head increases with the racing of my heart as I realize that nothing in this room is familiar.
I’m just about to enter into a state of panic when a large palm slides over my arm, covering my hand, and pulls me back against a hard chest. The sigh of a man, followed by his warm exhale on my neck as he spoons me has me frozen.
Though I remain still, a million questions race through my mind. What happened? How did I end up here? And who the hell is the man holding me so intimately?
Even as I think it, he snuggles into me, pressing his nose in my hair. I force myself to breathe normally, though it’s near impossible when he brings our joined hands under by breasts.
¡Jesucristo!
Carefully, so as to not alert him that I’m awake, I rotate my head on my pillow and face the ceiling. My eyes narrowed to slits, I roll them toward him as far as I can until his features come into view.
He notices I’m awake and smiles lazily. “How did you sleep?”
“¡Puta madre!” In an instant, I’m stumbling out of the bed, immediately realizing the only thing I’m wearing is a scowl. I throw one arm across my chest and the other over my crotch before I grab hold of a blue quilt hanging over the back of a nearby chair and wrap it around myself.
Looking at me quizzically, the man lying beneath the fluffy white comforter chuckles and I clutch the blanket tighter. Fury at seeing him again overrides any sense of trepidation or fear I may have had just a moment ago.
Santos Alvarez.
Many have said he’s as charming as the Devil—and just as deadly. Well, I say he’s the Devil himself.
“Where did you bring me? Where’s my father?!” I demand.
“What?” he asks, sitting on the edge of the mattress and shoving the covers aside to display everything God gave him.
My lips part as I take a step back, plastering myself against the wall behind me. Yet I can’t avert my gaze from him. “Wha—” I glance up to see him grinning. “I demand to know what I’m doing here and what you’ve done with my father.”
“Did you have a bad dream?” He stands now, his large, uh, package, rigidly pointing skyward.
“Don’t come near me!” I scream, holding out my arm as I slide sideways across the wall toward the door.
He stops, his brows pinching together as his smile fades. “Sonia, you’re scaring me.”
I look at the door, then back at him, wondering if I can make it there before he reaches me. “Answer me,” I say.
“Okay.” He extends his hands in a placating way, as if I’m some crazy person he needs to calm. “I’m Santos. You’re Sonia.”
“I know who the fuck I am!” I scream with aggravation at his deliberate evasion of my question. “What am I doing here?”
“You live here.”
His reply stuns me. “The fuck I do!”
I bolt, throwing the door open and slamming it behind me, only to find myself trapped in a massive bathroom.
“Sonia!” he yells from the other side and attempts to open it, but I throw my body against it, locking it before he can try again. “¡Que chingados!”What the fuck!
