Where Loyalties Lie: A Standalone Romantic Suspense

by Jill Ramsower

  “Do you have any way to identify this guy, aside from his name?” he asked between bites.

  “No, and I’m wishing I had. How the hell am I supposed to meet up with someone without knowing anything about them?”

  Within minutes of our exchange, a lanky white guy with dreadlocks gave me a chin lift from across the dining area. He was holding a plastic grocery sack full of stuff and chewing on a fingernail.

  I mouthed his name with a questioning look, but instead of coming over, he just glared at Tamir.

  “Um, I’ll be right back.”

  Tamir watched me warily but didn’t stop me.

  I approached the man as if he were a lost child looking for his mother. “Are you Reggie?” I asked with a smile.

  “Steph gave me your description; she didn’t say anything about a dude. He looks way too serious for my taste.” He looked and sounded like a southern California surfer who’d taken one too many hits off the bong, hopped on the wrong bus, and ended up thousands of miles from home without a way to get back.

  “She didn’t know I’d be traveling with anyone. He’s fine, I promise. You want to come sit with us?”

  “No, brah. That’s how dudes like me get locked up.” He glanced around nervously. “I know what I’ll do. I’m gonna hit the little boys’ room. You get me?” He flashed a smile, then spun around and disappeared into the bathroom hallway.

  Was he expecting me to follow him? I glanced at Tamir, who admittedly, looked ready to interrogate Reggie, and shrugged. When I turned back, my paranoid contact exited the bathroom less than a minute after entering, the bag no longer in hand.

  It hit me that the Bob Marley wannabe was worried it was a setup. He didn’t want to be caught handing over anything incriminating, so he’d left it for me out of sight.

  I hurried back to the men’s restroom and retrieved the sack that was waiting for me on the counter. Without chancing a peek at its contents in public, I went directly back to Tamir.

  “Did you open it yet?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Good. Finish eating and we’ll have a look in the car.”

  Once we were safe from prying eyes, I sorted through the bag’s contents, one item at a time. A woman’s sweater and a pair of joggers. One disposable phone. A visa debit card with one hundred dollars on it. A sudoku puzzle book and a hardback book—The Path Made Clear: Discovering Your Life’s Direction and Purpose by Oprah Winfrey.

  “That’s it?” he asked, brow furrowed.

  “You can see it just as well as I can. There’s nothing else in there.”

  “What about the books?”

  I flipped through the pages, keeping the new driver’s license and birth certificate tucked safely out of his view. Knowing what Reggie would be giving me, I had guessed the documents were in the book. I was glad Reggie was just as paranoid as me and hadn’t handed them over in a manila envelope. That would have made things complicated.

  Something kept me from telling Tamir the purpose of my meetup. He’d done nothing but help me, and a small part of me was starting to trust him, but some troublesome questions about him still lurked in the back of my mind. Those shadowy doubts kept me from fully relaxing around him.

  “You saw how he was. I’m pretty sure his elevator no longer goes to the top floor. It’s fine. I hadn’t expected much. Let’s go back to the room, and we can figure out what to do from there.”

  He put the car in reverse and directed us toward the motel without a comment.

  “You know what?” I blurted. “There was a liquor store around the corner from the motel. Stop there first.”

  He quirked a brow.

  “Don’t judge me. It’s been the week from hell.”

  Now that I had my new identity, it was time for me to get away from Tamir. I couldn’t allow him to tag along forever, no matter how much I dreaded the idea of leaving him behind. In part, I was hesitant to be alone, period. But the majority of my reluctance was founded in an unwillingness to admit I’d never see Tamir again. The thought of leaving him had been the true inspiration for my impulse stop at the liquor store. Being found and having to go on the run had sucked, but the booze would be nursing a fresh, much more sensitive wound. The anticipated loss of someone who was quickly finding a home in my subconscious. Regardless of my doubts about him, I would miss Tamir.

  Fifteen minutes later, we were back at the room with my good friend, Señor Patrón, and a bag of limes. Drinking with Tamir nearby wasn’t the smartest idea I’d ever had, but I trusted myself when it came to tequila. I knew where to draw the line, and I certainly wasn’t novice enough to be giving up secrets just because the burn of liquor warmed my belly. In my mind, I would be toasting to our final night together. Then I would have the strength to find a way to disappear.

  “I didn’t think about glasses, so we’re stuck with plastic coffee cups.”

  “We? It’s two in the afternoon.”

  I ignored his comment and set out two clear plastic cups on the half-circle table and poured two fingers of tequila in each. “Do you have a knife?” I glanced back at where he watched me from across the room. “Dumb question, huh?”

  Tamir smirked and went to his black duffel that I hadn’t seen him open yet and pulled out a switchblade from the side pocket. My blade that I normally kept with me had been left at home in my haste to get to class the night of my attack. I loved having that knife on me. I would have to replace it. It wasn’t foolproof, but it gave me a degree of security.

  I set one of the limes I’d purchased on the table, then sliced it into wedges with Tamir’s knife. I secured a wedge on the rim of each glass, sat back in the metal chair, and raised my glass to Tamir. “Let’s drink.”

  He towered over me and stared with equal parts wariness and amusement. “You really think drinking is a good idea?”

  “It’s as good an idea as any other. It’s not like we have anywhere to be.”

  “No, but it might be a good idea to have the use of our faculties should something unexpected happen.”

  “I thought you said I was perfectly safe here with you?” This time, I did the smirking.

  In a full display of silent protest, Tamir slowly lowered himself into the small chair and lifted his cup. “Salud.”

  “Look at you with your Spanish toast,” I teased.

  “My father was a Spaniard, if you’ll recall.”

  We clinked our glasses, tapped them on the table, and downed the tequila. Tamir handled his well, refraining from wincing or coughing from the burn. I let my head fall backward as I savored the warmth trailing down my throat.

  “This stuff is too good to shoot, but I needed that,” I said, bringing my gaze back to his.

  “You handle tequila like a pro.”

  “When we had family gatherings, there was beer and tequila, so I grew up on the stuff.”

  “Where did your family originate?”

  “My dad was from Mexico originally. Never knew my mom—she died in childbirth. What about you? Tell me about your family.” I refilled our glasses and anxiously awaited his response. It hadn’t slipped my attention that I knew almost nothing about him. I was hoping a little tequila might fix that problem. There wasn’t much point if I was leaving, but I was still insanely curious.

  “I had a pretty standard, happy childhood. Two parents, a sister, and a cat.”

  My brow furrowed, and I looked him up and down. “So, what went wrong?”

  My question drew a chuckle from him. “The military changes everyone, and my parents dying in a car crash was rough, but it was my sister’s death that derailed things entirely.”

  “Oh, shit. What happened?” His admission took me aback. I hadn’t expected him to be so forthcoming.

  He smiled, helping to keep the mood light. “It’s a long story, but the result was me leaving the military and being dishonorably discharged.”

  “Damn, that had to hurt.” I sipped from my cup, and he followed suit.

  “Our lives all
take unexpected turns. I would have loved to have had my sister back, but aside from that, I wouldn’t change what happened.”

  “You going to tell me about it?” I lifted my brows.

  He shook his head with a smirk. “If I told you everything about me, there’d be no mystery left.”

  “I’ve already contemplated that one and decided that mystery is in your blood. You probably even blow your nose mysteriously.” I grumbled the last part.

  “You’ve contemplated me, have you? Any other conclusions I should know about?”

  How did he do that? I was supposed to be learning about him, not the other way around. And I certainly shouldn’t be admitting my thoughts about him. Yet while I wasn’t officially even tipsy, something about the burn of tequila made me want to talk. Probably just habit, but either way, I found myself sharing more than I had expected. Nothing of critical importance but an admission, nonetheless.

  “You’re dangerous. I sensed that from the moment I first saw you. Other instructors at the studio knew how to fight like you, but none of them made me nervous. You, on the other hand, you scare me sometimes.” I tipped back my cup, emptying its contents.

  “You’re perceptive,” he admitted.

  “Are you saying I should be afraid of you?”

  “I’m saying I can be a very dangerous man in the right situations.” He finished his drink before he continued. “We all have parts of ourselves we keep tucked away from view. Things we’re not proud of, or things we think others won’t understand. I happen to have more of those parts than most. Would you like to know what I’ve concluded about you?”

  I poured us a fresh round of drinks. “Of course.”

  “I think you know exactly what I’m talking about. There’s more of you that you keep tucked away than what you show to the world.”

  I swished my cup around, sloshing the tequila to start it spinning in a tiny whirlpool. “I’d say you’re probably right.” I held Tamir’s gaze and lifted my cup. “To all our dirty little secrets.”

  The next hour was a blur.

  I was heavy-handed with the tequila, even for me, and quickly started feeling the effects. Our conversation, thankfully, returned to the shallows, which was where we found ourselves at almost four in the afternoon, arguing over the likelihood of a South American versus European champion in the upcoming World Cup.

  “Spain can do it. I’m telling you. This is going to be their year.” Tamir pointed across the table at me, elbows planted as he leaned into his argument.

  “Don’t be absurd,” I scoffed, a Spanish accent coloring my words. “France is favored to win, but even if they don’t, Brazil will win over Spain.”

  My father was passionate about soccer. We were never particularly close, but we were able to connect over his love of the game. I adored watching games with him, decked out in our Mexico jerseys, regardless of who was playing. Mexico was always our favorite when it came to international teams. Should Mexico be out of the running, we cheered for the Central and South American teams over European. It was a matter of Latin pride.

  “Eh, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” he grumbled, waving his hand flippantly in my direction. He’d had just as much tequila as me, if not more. I gave him props for being able to handle his liquor, but a person could only do so much before the tequila took over.

  “Don’t tell me you’re one of those men who can’t stand to lose to a woman.” I stood from my chair, entirely too unsteady to pull off my desired level of coyness.

  Tamir swiftly rose, looking far more surefooted than he should have been. He slowly closed the distance between us, his wolfish grin making my drunk heart flutter against my ribs. “I wouldn’t know. It’s never happened before.”

  I threw my head back in a fit of laughter and would have ended up on the floor had two strong hands not steadied me. I gasped, and my gaze snapped back to his. All humor had fled from his eyes, leaving unadulterated lust in its wake.

  He walked me backward, hands still fixed around my upper arms, until my back was pressed firmly against the wall.

  “What are you doing?” I didn’t need to ask. A devout nun could have felt the waves of desire rolling off Tamir. But his actions caught me off guard. He was a study in discipline and self-control, but at that moment, he looked almost feral. A man who had surrendered to his basic instincts.

  “I’m crossing that fucking line we’ve been dancing around for days—weeks even. That’s what this was about, wasn’t it? The tequila? You needed something to blame when you let go and gave in to this maddening pull between us.”

  A vicious defense bubbled up in my throat but never made it past my lips. Down in my gut, despite the small reservoir of tequila attempting to drown the truth, I knew he was right. If I was being brutally honest with myself, this was exactly what I’d wanted, needed. To let go of my fears. To set aside my doubts. To stop fighting the magnetic chemistry that popped and sizzled between us.

  But I hated the way it sounded. That I’d used liquor to get him into bed as if I didn’t have the courage on my own. I didn’t want to admit to being so needy. So manipulative or brazen.

  “You’re twisting my intent. I wanted to relax and forget my troubles for an evening. My sole purpose wasn’t to get you in bed.”

  In an instant, he flipped me around to face the wall. My hands came up, pressing flat on either side of me, and a gasp slipped from between my lips.

  His hard body caged me in, and I could feel his engorged length pressing into the curves of my bottom. “So, you weren’t hoping I’d do something like this?” The seductive, quivering heat of his breath danced along my bare neck before his teeth sank in and ignited all of my delicate nerve endings.

  My addled brain attempted to compose an objection, but I could only vocalize a ragged moan. His touch turned me into a willing slave to the sensations he stirred inside me. And when he gently soothed my burning skin with the caress of his lips, my body arched of its own volition, pressing back into his hard length.

  “Look at you.” He groaned, his firm hands digging into my waist, holding me immobile against him. “You’re sex incarnate, dripping seduction to distract a man beyond reason. But then what, my little Venus flytrap? What happens once you have them in your clutches?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” My reply was breathy as I struggled to wade through the thick waters of lust and intoxication.

  His hand slid from my waist up to my breast, massaging and kneading, before pinching my nipple with just the right amount of delicious force. “Don’t play coy. It doesn’t suit you.”

  A rush of anger electrified my blood and briefly burned through the haze fogging my thoughts. I pressed against the wall, launching myself backward and freeing myself from his grasp. “I’m not playing coy, and I don’t know what you’re insinuating. Yes, I was interested in being with you, but not if you’re going to degrade me and suggest I’m something that I’m not.” I retreated until my legs bumped against the bed, but my body still pulsed with awareness for him. My pebbled nipples ached for the return of his touch, and my panties were embarrassingly wet. His provocative touch and god-like body were hard to resist, but I had just enough wherewithal to remember my dignity.

  A normal man would have seen my anger and backed down—offered apologies and fed me banal platitudes—but not Tamir. He wasn’t just a man; he was a predator. With the prowess of a jungle cat, he stalked toward me and invaded my personal space, denying me free thought with his intoxicating presence. When he was close enough that I could breathe in the masculine scent of his skin, he clasped his large hand under my chin and lifted my face to his.

  “You are too fine a work of art to degrade. Would it be degrading to praise a fox for its ability to hunt? You’re just as clever and far more beautiful, and you have the survival instincts to match the most majestic of creatures.” His lips seized mine, possessing me with unabashed hunger.

  The offense I’d felt seconds before disinte
grated beneath the crushing desire he stirred inside me. I willfully surrendered to the electric current that sparked so fiercely between us.

  His velvet tongue danced around mine, licking me and drawing me further into his thrall. When I followed his lead and lost myself to the rhythm, a guttural rumble vibrated up from his chest and stole my remaining breath.

  I could feel his control slipping, and that knowledge was the headiest aphrodisiac imaginable. His hands wandered my body while his kisses devoured me until I had to pull away to fill my burning lungs with air. Both our chests rose and fell in a chaotic struggle for control, drawing my eyes down to the broad expanse of his pectorals.

  My hand rose unbidden, drawn to the contours of the masculine body hinted at beneath his shirt. Needing to feel the dips and valleys for myself, I slipped my hand beneath his shirt, mapping out the sheer perfection of his body as if committing it to memory.

  In a flash, he swept the shirt up and over his head, treating me to an unobstructed view of his perfect torso. He was breathtaking. Even his scars added to his perfection.

  “It should be impossible for something so deadly to be so beautiful,” I mused, feeling his smattering of hair beneath my fingers as they explored his chest.

  “And what about you?” he murmured, reaching for the elastic band in my hair and freeing my long dark locks. “Doesn’t that apply to you as well?”

  I shook my hair, allowing it to cascade around my shoulders. “I think you give me too much credit.”

  “Then what about our toast to dirty little secrets?”

  “Dirty, not deadly,” I whispered, peering up into his midnight eyes. They’d been lit with passion before but suddenly appeared shuttered and closed off. It was the reality check I needed to remind me that I was playing with fire.

  “You don’t have to be deadly to be dangerous.”

  “I’ve never hurt anyone in my life.”

  He lowered his lips to my ear, causing my heart to catch. “Then why the secrets? Secrets are born out of shame. If you’ve never hurt anyone, what is there to be ashamed of?”