Yours (Beautiful Sinner Series Book 4)

by Elena M. Reyes

  This woman looking back at me is everything she’s been taught to be, but behind the ire is a shine in her eyes that hasn’t been there before. For the first time in a long time, she doesn’t feel alone and the small curl to her lips and hint of a blush destroys all notion of the persona she’s let herself hide behind for fear of:

  Love.

  A four-letter word that can destroy even the strongest. That if she embraces, will end her.

  “It’s just dinner with him. Doesn’t need to be anything more.” A lie. Even to myself I lie, and it’s pathetic because a second later when the doorbell rings and I look through the phone app to see who’s at my door, my heart races and that tiny smile grows at the sight of him.

  I know this is fast.

  I know things won’t be perfect.

  It’s a somersault of emotions running rampant through me—a battle between my heart and mind where both agree that no matter the leap, things could end badly and leave me with a broken heart.

  However, I trust the man on the other side of the door wearing a bowtie and a smirk more than those of my flesh and blood. Deep down I know—feel it in my bones—that he wouldn’t deceive nor put me in danger and right now, that’s good enough for me.

  With him, it’s the opposite. Javier would avenge me even against Malcolm if it ever came to that.

  Give him an honest chance. Taking in a deep, cleansing breath, I press the green button on the screen and wait for the crackle to talk. “Be right out. Give me five.”

  “You get three and a half, Muñeca. Not a second more.”

  18

  SHE LOOKS STUNNING and nothing like the happy girl I left a few hours ago. Something is off. The softness I’ve come to crave as much as I love the snark that rolls off her tongue with venomous ease—gone.

  Mariah’s sitting across from me inside of a riverfront restaurant enjoying a glass of Malbec while we wait for our starters to arrive: a crab and corn chowder for her, and bacon-wrapped scallops for me. We’ve made conversation, admired the interior of the steakhouse, but still, I sense that she’s holding back, and I don’t like it.

  I don’t like the lack of eye contact and how the Chicago river outside these windows holds her attention. How she looks at me for a second or two and then turns to find something random to comment on.

  “Those lamps are from…what?” my girl asks with her face scrunched up in false confusion while pretending I’m the one with the issue.

  “I’m waiting for you to tell me.” At my words, she looks away briefly and those rosy pink lips purse. “Talk to me.”

  “Nothing is—”

  “Don’t.” The low hiss makes her look back, and the expression on her face is contrite. Guilty. “There’s nothing I hate more than a liar, Muñeca. Please, just don’t.”

  “Can we talk about it later?”

  “No.” Reaching across the table, I take her hand and entwine our fingers. “Talk to me. What’s eating you up?”

  Emotions fly across her face: contentment, anger, hurt, and the last…confusion. “To be honest, I don’t know where to start, and I also don’t want to ruin our date.”

  “The only thing that could ruin my night is you walking away, Mariah.” And there’s the sweetness I’ve been missing. The way her eyes become soft and her cheeks pull up slightly while those eyes, those beautiful seafoam orbs look at me as if I’m her salvation.

  It’s humbling. Makes me feel like a king.

  “Thank you,” she says lowly, the delicate fingers between mine giving a small squeeze. She’s looking at them, her smile a bit wistful. “Can we talk after dinner, though? All I need right now is to pretend that everything is okay and that decisions with no turning back don’t need to be made.”

  “Mariah.”

  Her head pops up, eyes meeting mine. “Yeah?”

  “You’re not alone, beautiful. Whatever it is, we’ll face it together.” Suddenly, Mariah stands from her seat and before I can ask what’s wrong, she’s in my arms sitting astride my lap. We’re in a private corner with the perfect outside view, and I feel complete when her arms squeeze me to her. The reaction is the complete opposite of what I know of her thus far, but I welcome it and hold her tighter. Give her the comfort she needs without question. “I got you, sweetheart. Whatever it is.”

  “Then I say start sharpening your knives because it seems I have enemies.”

  “Say the word and I’ll kill them all. Lay their corpses at your feet.”

  “I know,” she whispers and lays a tiny kiss just below my Adam’s apple. “You’re so different than what I thought you’d be, and I’ve never been happier to be wrong.” Another kiss and then nip to my chin. “Please don’t ever prove me right.”

  “You have my word.” That pleases her, and she hums a cute little sound at the back of her throat before laying the next kiss on my lips. It’s small. Nothing inappropriate, although I want nothing more than to devour her. To take until there’s nothing left but my imprint on her soul.

  “Thank you.”

  “Never thank me for taking care of what I consider mine.” A throat clears and we look up, finding the waiter holding a large tray with our starters and salad. He smiles at us and I pat her thigh to stand, but before she moves to the opposite side, I pull her chair beside mine with my shoe. “That’s better.”

  Mariah sits, but her amusement is clear and I’m thankful the darkness clouding her has receded. It’s not gone, but she’s getting a reprieve from whatever put her there. “You, Mr. Lucas, are a cheeseball.”

  I wink, and she giggles a bit. “Take that back, Muñeca.”

  “Can’t, Javi.”

  “Why not?”

  “You asked me to never lie.”

  And what’s worse, my glare doesn’t affect her at all. Instead, I’m gifted a cheeky grin full of defiance. “You’re a brat.”

  “Are you complaining?” No. Never. I prefer her happy and at ease; unafraid to call me out and give back just as hard as she receives. My silence is her answer, and she blows me a kiss before grabbing the spoon beside the small bowl now in front of her, dipping it into the creamy soup and bringing some of it to her mouth. The second she closes her lips around the spoon and moans, my pants tighten—cock painfully pressing against the zipper of my slacks. “This is amazing.”

  I’m thankful for the long linens covering me, and I reach below to adjust myself. “Enjoy, beautiful.”

  “Want to try?”

  “No,” I say, and my voice comes out husky, hunger palpable in the one-word response.

  “Behave, Javier. We’re in public.”

  “My lack of decorum is your fault. Not mine.”

  A small snort escapes her then, and I can’t hold in my laughter either. “We have issues.”

  “Normal is boring.” Cutting a piece of my scallop, I bring it to my lips and pause. “Now eat, Muñeca.”

  Her brows furrow then, and I raise a brow in question. “Umm, have you noticed we haven’t put our dinner orders in?”

  “That’s because I called ahead and ordered for the two of us.”

  “You don’t know—”

  “Mariah, I am nothing if not prepared.” I cut another piece of the scallop and offer it to her which she takes, a low moan escaping at the taste. “I’ve planned this for a few days, and a little birdy informed me of your likes and dislikes. I also got her blessing.”

  “Who?” The perplexed expression is adorable.

  “Someone with baby pictures of you and a love for gossip.”

  “You met my aunt?” A delicious blush spreads across her cheeks and lower, causing me to bite back a groan.

  “Maybe.”

  “Whatever she said is a lie.”

  “Eat, baby girl. You have all the time in the world to prove that you’re not a closeted romantic.”

  It’s ten p.m. by the time we make it back to our building, and she looks exhausted. More than, and I know things are weighing heavy on her mind—the truths being uncovered are
cutting deep, but she’s not alone and I’ll gladly bear the brunt of her pain. Of her madness.

  Moreover, when I told her tonight she wasn’t alone, I meant it.

  The good. The bad. The insanity.

  I want it all.

  To help her welcome the rage I see simmering beneath the surface and embrace every emotion tearing her apart. Because if she doesn’t, it will consume her. Eat her from the inside out, and I’ll be fucked before I let that happen.

  Moving to this country, I never expected to meet a woman like her. To care as deeply as I do.

  But I do. This heartbroken woman I’ll put back together owns me.

  Our eyes meet once I’m parked. Her gaze is questioning while mine is expectant, needing her to ask. “It’s late, Javi.”

  “It is.”

  “Then why don’t you use one of my parking spaces? The owner could come back and—”

  “Hush.” Getting out, I come around to her side and pull her out the second the door is open. Then, we’re chest to chest and lips hovering; her scent embeds itself into my DNA while those sinful lips match my grin, a tiny coquettish smirk that says everything we don’t.

  We are crazy.

  She’s my person.

  Insanity feels right.

  Mariah leans in closer and pecks my lips once. “Are you going to walk me up or stay?”

  Goose bumps arise where my fingers touch her warm skin, rubbing soothing circles on her hip where the dress she wore has a small cutout. “It’s getting harder and harder to leave each night.”

  “Then don’t.”

  “That’s a very tempting offer.” My fingers tighten on her hip, and she giggles. “A dangerous one.”

  “I’m not afraid.”

  “That word shouldn’t exist in your vocabulary.”

  Mariah shrugs, her smile fading a bit. “The world is an ugly place.”

  “And yet, you’re the beauty in mine.” At my words, heat rises to her cheeks, and her eyelids flutter closed. “You’re making letting you walk a near impossibility.”

  “Then let me take you home tonight. Let me wake up with you in my arms tomorrow.”

  “Yes.” With the tip of two fingers, she pushes me back and makes the move to slip back into my car, but I press the key fob, locking the door. Her gaze is questioning, but instead of voicing them, she simply places her hand in mine and waits. “Ready when you are.”

  “Thank you.” No further words are exchanged as I pull us inside and head straight toward the elevator. I can feel her stare, wondering why I’m pressing the number two floors down from hers as we ascend, and then more so when it dings a minute later when reaching our destination.

  She’s compliant, though. Putting things together without any signs of outward rage.

  And when I stop at the number that reads 1522 down the hall and to the left of the elevator, the hand not holding mine smacks my arm. “Why doesn’t this surprise me.”

  Not a question, and I don’t treat it as such either. Instead, I smile down at her. “Because you believe in fate as much as I do.”

  Cheeky little criminal arches a brow, lip twitching. “Do I? Or are you just my stalker?”

  “Yes, you—” I’m cut off by a phone ringing inside my pocket, and I freeze. No one in this country knows this number, and those who do in Colombia would only use it if something went wrong.

  “Javi, are you okay?”

  “Take my keys and make yourself comfortable. I need to take this.” Whatever she sees in my face has Mariah nodding and letting us in, not mentioning or questioning my sudden change in demeanor. “I’ll be right back.”

  There’s a balcony across the living room, and I don’t pause my steps until the door is wide open and I’m leaning against the veranda, hitting the redial button. It rings twice and I hear the commotion, the yells in the background of anger and pain.

  “Hola? Javier?” I’ve never heard my cousin sound anything but in control, but right now, he’s angry—hurting—and dread fills my bones.

  “Alejandro, what’s going—”

  “Primo, I need you back on a plane tonight. Your mom—”

  “What happened?” I hiss through clenched teeth, my grip so tight on the plastic in my hand it groans. “Just spit it out.”

  “I’m sorry.” I can just make out the words my aunt screams, and my world crumbles. Blinding pain overtakes my chest and the phone slips, landing on the floor a second before I feel Mariah wrap her warm arms around me. Holding me as the words I heard set in.

  “Talk to me. What’s wrong, baby?” Any other day the term of endearment would’ve made me smile—call out the beauty beside me—but I don’t. Can’t.

  Instead, I repeat the four words that help her understand.

  “My mother’s been shot.”

  19

  HE’S BEEN GONE seventy-two hours, and I miss him. It’s a foreign feeling, this urgency that pushes me out of bed at eight a.m. on a Sunday and toward my closet with only one goal in mind...

  Go to him.

  Javier needs me. I know he does.

  I can feel it. This oppressive force sitting atop my chest that demands I comply and follow my heart.

  It’s been there since yesterday’s phone call. His news broke my heart. His sadness nearly bowled me over as the longing to hold him grew with each hurt-filled word out of his mouth.

  “Javi, baby? How are you? How’s your—”

  “She passed early this morning of complications from a blood clot in her lungs.” His words are monotone, lifeless, and tears prick at my eyes. I can feel his pain as if it were my own. “She’s resting now, Muñeca, and that’s all that matters. I’m just sad she never got to meet you and love…” Javier pauses, and I can hear the shuddering breath escape him, the near desperate sigh he allows to slip through. “I’ll call you later. We’re heading to the funeral home now and then meeting with—”

  “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

  “I miss you, beautiful.”

  The second the line disconnected, I was hit with every emotion in the span of seconds. From anger to sadness to despair to giddiness at him missing me, and then loss. Javier’s mother is dead, and it tore me in two for different reasons: selfishness and understanding.

  Selfishness because I’ll never meet the woman that made him who he is today.

  Understanding because I’ve been where he is now with someone I loved deeply.

  My grandmother was taken from us out of pure selfishness, a hit gone wrong against Malcolm’s dad not knowing that the passenger in the car was old and here for a simple visit.

  One bullet and my Mimi was gone, leaving us here to grieve and later demand the blood of every person involved. From the financial institution’s owner—a competitor trying to force us to sell—to the hired shooter: they paid with their lives and that piece-of-shit company.

  “Alexa, call Malcolm!” I yell out, grabbing items in a rush before stuffing them in my bag. I’m not even sure what’s making the cut, but my goal isn’t organization here; it’s speed.

  The first ring barely finishes when an audible click follows. “What time is your flight?” he says in greeting, not sounding surprised in the least. Not upset either.

  “Haven’t booked it yet.” I grab my passport from a small safe I keep in my closet along with two guns and other important papers. “I’m packing now and just heading—”

  “The jet will be ready when you are. Do you need a ride?”

  My eyes narrow at the speaker. “Why are you being so easy about this?”

  “Because he needs you more than I do at the moment, little cousin.” My eyes tear up, but I blink back those tears. Very few people ever see the softer side to this man, but those closest to him have the privilege. Malcolm shows he cares with actions, and this right here is his way of accepting Javier as family.

  Not just as an employee. Not just as someone I’m casually dating.

  Are we dating? Is he my boyfrie
nd? The title doesn’t sit right with me. Doesn’t describe his place in my life adequately.

  “I’ll still be available for scheduling and meetings through Skype. Refreshments can be catered and—”

  “No.”

  “What do you mean, no?” I pause mid-zip of the carryon luggage, my eyebrows scrunching up in confusion. “You know we can’t have a temp in there. People are nosy, and I’d hate to go to jail this close to my birthday for killing a snitch.”

  “Mom’s covering.” Thank you, Jesus! She held the position before me, helping her husband run Asher Holdings until the day he stepped down. “We’ve already discussed the upcoming week and moved a few things around.” The sound of papers being shuffled comes through the line, followed by the creak of a chair. “So don’t worry about anything.”

  “But when—”

  “Not another word about work.”

  “Thank you,” I breathe out, letting the worry about work melt away. If anyone can run that office better than me, it’s his mother.

  “Just make sure he’s okay and knows we’re here if needed.” With that, he hangs up and I smile. His acceptance of Javier makes me feel at ease—comforted by the knowledge that someone I admire finds him worthy.

  “Welcome to Colombia,” a man greets me with an outstretched hand the second I exit the airport. He’s smiling, dressed all in black while a younger, female version of him stands against a black F350, studying me closely. No smile. No frown. “How was the flight?”

  “Emiliano or Alejandro?” I ask, remembering a photo Javier showed me of his cousins one day while scrolling through his phone. They’d sent it to him and after I accused him of being stuck-up, I was shut down with the snapshot in question. All three were standing side by side with goofy drunk grins, but I was too busy staring at Javi to understand who was whom. He’d been younger in the photograph, but still just as handsome while wearing that grin I hate to love.

  “Emiliano, Miss—”

  “Mariah. Just Mariah.” His grip is firm before dropping my hand and grabbing my bag, motioning with his free hand to get inside. “You want the front or back?” I ask the girl, but she doesn’t answer, choosing instead to climb into the second row and buckling up.