“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
He doesn’t say anything, and we hear the unmistakable sound of his cell phone vibrating. I watch as he pulls the phone from his pocket, and when he glances at the screen, visible tension builds in his expression. Instead of answering the call, he repockets the phone.
“Have you slept?” I ask quietly.
“I will later.” His eyes scan my face, but his expression gives nothing away as to what he’s thinking. “There are decisions that need to be made, and they can’t wait.”
“About my father,” I guess.
“Yes,” he says simply. He briefly pauses, and something flickers in his eyes. “About last night…”
I wait to see what he has to say.
We hear his phone vibrate again, and his expression shuts down. “We’ll have to talk later.”
“Okay.”
He rises to his feet and glances at the white bag still in my hand. “Take that,” he orders.
“I will,” I assure.
* * *
I probably shouldn’t be doing this, but it’s late afternoon, and I’m bored. The estate is still like a ghost town, or else everyone is up on the second floor. I suppose that makes sense since that’s where Nikolas’s office and bedroom are located. After what had gone down last night, I’m certain there’s a lot to be discussed. My father openly attacked the cartel, there’s going to be consequences.
Mavis wasn’t in the kitchen when I’d gone in search of lunch, but the meal she’d prepared was still in warmers on the counter. After I’d eaten, I’d roamed the first floor out of boredom before figuring out which room Santos is in.
After an hour of debating whether I dare see him or not, I’ve decided to take my chances. I could see in Nikolas’s eyes how much Santos means to him, so that makes me more curious about the man. Besides, they’d sedated me my first day after being shot, so I’m betting Santos is so doped up that he won’t even know I’m there.
I silently slip into the room, carefully closing the door behind me. He’s asleep, just as I’d suspected. There’s a chair beside the bed, and I walk over and sink down onto it, smelling faint traces of Nikolas’s cologne. He’d probably sat here all night.
I take my time studying Santos. His dark blond hair is messier than before, and flat on one side from sleep. I’d noted his deep tan the other day in the office, but today, he looks pale—which is understandable. Whiskers cover his strong jaw, and about the only thing that looks remotely soft on him are his eyelashes. Even in sleep, he looks dangerous.
That day I’d stormed into his office, he’d come off as a jerk, but I see him differently now. Nikolas is one of the most loyal men out there. That loyalty works both ways, because Santos was willing to give his life to make certain Nikolas escaped with his intact. There must be more than just business between them, because I sense there’s a strong bond there.
I’m also beginning to realize just how much pressure Nikolas is dealing with. These men, they’re here to keep him protected and the cartel running smoothly. With Nikolas at the helm, I’m certain he feels responsible for each and every one of his men.
I wonder what drove him to become the man he is today. How did he get here? How did Santos become so important to him? These are things that I genuinely would like to know about him. Nikolas is such a mystery to me, and at times, I wish he wasn’t.
Santos shifts in his sleep, his brow furrowing. “Manny,” he mumbles, his rough voice sounding troubled.
Wanting to offer comfort, I rise from the chair and ease closer to him. His face is twisted as if in pain, and I reach for his hand, touching it. When it doesn’t pull away, I curve my hand around his big one and watch as his eyebrow smooths back into place while his breathing calms. “I think Nikolas might be a good man after all, and maybe you too, Santos,” I whisper.
His brow twitches in his sleep.
“Sorry I was such a bitch the other day,” I add. Then, I figure I’d better beat a hasty retreat. I’m in the midst of releasing his hand when his fingers clamp around mine, drawing a startled yelp from me.
His eyes have flown open, and his grip tightens as he stares up at me, eyes momentarily confused until they harden. “You’re not good for him,” he says in a thick voice.
Well, damn. He wasn’t supposed to wake up. This is really awkward. “I believe it’s the other way around,” I joke lightly, trying to pull my fingers from his.
His eyes narrow as his hand tightens, causing me to wince. “He’s too good for you.”
The amusement fades. “He’s not the man I thought him to be,” I agree. “Can you please release me? I didn’t mean to bother you.”
He releases my hand as his hazel eyes turn to ice. “Get out.”
I’m quick to take a full step back so that I’m out of his reach. “Bossy even in bed, aren’t you?” I can’t help but say with exasperation.
“You have no idea. Now go.”
“I’m only leaving because I have things to do,” I tease, throwing back similar words that he’d used on me during our confrontation in his office.
Santos groans, and then winces. “Out.”
I walk to the door and open it before casting him a look over my shoulder. “Later, Santos,” I say, unable to resist baiting him further.
“I hope not,” he says through clenched teeth.
I close the door with a smirk on my face.
Twenty-two
Nikolas
Late that evening, I stop by the guest room that I have Santos in. There was absolutely no way we were going to chance carrying him up to his room in the state he’d been in last night. He can remain on the first floor until his bedrest is over.
I’m quiet when I enter his room, and just as I’d expected, he’s asleep. I sink down onto the chair beside the bed, scrubbing a hand over my face. I’m so fucking tired, but the adrenaline from so much happening in such a short amount of time is still keeping me going.
Plenty of decisions had been made today, and now that the day is winding down, I find that I have time to dwell on other things. Like Catalina. I sit back in the chair and release a silent sigh. I don’t regret having sex with her. I’d been wanting to bury myself between her thighs for a long time. Now that it’s happened, I can’t help but think it was a hell of a lot better than I’d ever imagined. Fucking her again would be so damned easy—and extremely pleasurable—but if I go down that road, it’ll lead to nothing but trouble.
I’m accustomed to feeling nothing for the women I sleep with, it’s easier to walk away afterwards. Catalina isn’t someone you walk away from. Not only that, I respect her more than I can recall ever respecting a woman. She’s not someone I could screw when it was convenient, and then put aside until the mood hits again. I’m finding that I enjoy being around her. She says what’s on her mind, and she calls me out on my bullshit. I didn’t realize I needed someone to challenge me until she came along, and hell if I don’t like every moment of it.
“Tell Mavis to stop drugging my food,” Santos says with aggravation as his voice interrupts my thoughts.
I focus on him, pleased that he’s awake but knowing full well this conversation is going to end on a bad note. He has to know though, and the longer I put it off, the worse the outcome will be. “She’s been ordered to. We all know it’s the only way you’ll stay in bed.”
Santos glares at me.
“The rest will be good for you,” I add.
“Not when I wake up and find Catalina Herrera hovering over me,” he practically spats.
My eyebrows shoot upwards. “Catalina was in here?”
His expression darkens. “In the flesh,” he growls.
Now I’m certainly curious. “What did she want?”
“To torture me with her mere presence.”
I highly doubt that. Catalina can be quite the handful, but she wouldn’t deliberately go out of her way to make an injured man more miserable than he already is.
Santos’s eyes narrow on m
e. “You like her,” he says accusingly.
Christ, he can’t just let it go, can he. My face hardens. “I’m not going there with you.”
His eyes are more alert than they were moments earlier. “You don’t have to. We’ve been tight for a long time, and I can tell that you’ve let her get to you.”
“Santos,” I warn.
“She’s a Herrera,” he retorts before wincing with pain. “She can’t be in your life, Nikolas.”
I remind myself that he’s injured and not thinking clearly, so I give him a pass and remain calm. “I never said I wanted her to be,” I say patiently.
“She already is!”
“This is not up for discussion,” I say brusquely.
He glares for a moment longer before his expression shifts, and he fixes me with a different look. “We lose anyone?” he asks grimly.
“No, none of our men. Gary made it through surgery but is still critical. Winslow and Demetrius are dead, though,” I tell him. Most importantly, they were good men that I enjoyed being around, but it’s also a blow to the cartel. Winslow was helping us launder money, and Demetrius had contacts over in Mexico that were incredibly useful.
“Fuck,” Santos says softly.
I agree, and we’re both quiet as I let him process the news.
He studies me intently, and then asks the dreaded question, “What’s the plan?”
This is where the conversation is going to take a nosedive, but I’m prepared. “I’m taking care of Herrera.”
Santos’s eyes sharpen with anticipation. “When?”
“I already sent out a team, Tomàs is heading it,” I say calmly.
“Mother fucker!” he roars, sitting upright and wincing while at the same time trying to yank back the bedsheets. His face has gone deathly white from the strain he’s putting on his body.
Moving quickly, I grip his biceps and force him back down onto the mattress. He tries to fight me, but with his injuries, he’s no match. Sweat breaks out across his forehead until he gives up and glares at me.
“Keep your ass in bed or you’ll tear your stitches,” I clip out as I release him. When I’m certain he’s not going to try anything foolish, I reclaim the chair next to the bed.
He looks at me furiously as a muscle pulses in his jaw. “You know I’m supposed to be heading that operation.”
My lips tighten as I feel the full force of his anger. It isn’t something I’m accustomed to, and it eats at my soul that I put him in that bed. “I fucked up, and now I’m fixing it. Deal with it.”
The anger slowly fades from his eyes. “It wasn’t your fault. We never anticipated that Herrera would make such a public move.”
I give him a look. “Desperate men do desperate things. I never should have attended that game.”
“It happened, deal with it,” Santos says, tossing my words back at me that I’d just used moments before.
I gaze at him, still agonizing over the fact that I’d almost lost him to Herrera of all people. “He’s to be brought back here alive, everyone else dies,” I tell him, referring to Herrera.
“What about Navarez?” he questions.
A smirk forms on my lips. “He started pussying out and distancing himself from Herrera when things began falling apart. I doubt he’ll be a problem—at least not yet.”
“I want to see that fucker suffer,” Santos says thickly, thinking of Manny.
“You and me both.”
Twenty-three
Catalina
As I make my way down to the basement in search of the weight room, I tell myself that I have a valid reason for searching Nikolas out. He’d mentioned earlier today that decisions needed to be made where my father is concerned, and I need to know that this is all coming to an end. I can’t handle witnessing any further violence or death.
I’m also aware that I want to see him. After our conversation earlier in the study, I’d found myself thinking about him throughout the day. I’ve never seen him so…worn down. Almost resigned. I think he’s beating himself up over not taking care of my father from the beginning instead of playing this game that he’s set in motion. I know there has to be a reason why Nikolas has taken this road with my father, and I wish he would tell me.
It’s late, so when I’d asked Tomàs where Nikolas was, I’d half expected to hear that he’d retired for the night. Instead, I’d learned that he’s down in the weight room. Tomàs had given me directions upon request, which tells me Nikolas had given orders that I’m allowed to know his whereabouts when he’s home.
When I reach the weight room, I hesitate just outside the closed door. What if he’s displeased that I’ve interrupted him? Maybe he doesn’t want to talk about my father. If it hadn’t been for the sex, I’d simply walk in and demand answers. But the intimacy between us changed things. It’s no longer about proving I am independent and that I’m not subservient to him. None of that matters. I just want to see him—plain and simple.
Well, I’m certainly not going to get any answers standing out here. I push open the door and step into the weight room. It’s large with plenty of weight lifting equipment scattered throughout. It looks like a private gym, and even has a door in the back of the room that says ‘showers/sauna.’ I bet this gets a lot of use, and not just from Nikolas.
Speaking of, Nikolas is currently pummeling a punching bag in the corner of the room. He’s wearing just a pair of gym shorts, and his upper body is bare and slick with sweat as he angrily punches the bag with force.
He’s beautiful.
I know beautiful isn’t typically a word that one would associate with men, but Nikolas is just…perfect. His body, his face… He’s flawlessly sculpted. Without even being aware of it, my feet carry me towards him.
Nikolas, sensing he’s no longer alone, swiftly swings around. His eyes are annoyed until they widen slightly when he sees me. Slowly, his taped fists lower to his sides as his chest rises and falls while he catches his breath.
“I hope this is okay that I came down here,” I say cautiously, trying to ignore how my hormones have perked up.
He uses the back of his hand to wipe sweat from his brow. “It’s fine. Did you need something?” he asks almost absently.
Yeah, you.
I didn’t fully understand it until right this second. There’s something inside me that wants to soothe his anger, his guilt… I don’t know where the hell these feelings suddenly came from, but they’re there, and there’s no ignoring them.
This is where I’m supposed to ask about my father. Instead, I ask, “Have you caught up on sleep?”
He shakes his head. “I will later.”
A heavy silence falls over us, and I feel like an invisible wall has been placed between us. Back in the study, I’d felt like he was on the verge of opening up to me. Now, he appears guarded.
Wanting to eliminate the physical distance, I approach him until I’m standing directly in front of him. He looks down at me, his beautiful blue eyes completely unreadable. Luckily, I’m a confident woman. A drop of sweat trickles down from his temple, and I automatically reach up and use my thumb to brush it aside. His skin is warm to the touch, and I reluctantly pull my hand back. I look up and hold his gaze. “This isn’t your fault,” I tell him. “My father is a monster, and he doesn’t care who gets caught in the crossfire.”
Something in his gaze shifts, and then he releases a weary sigh. “I drew this out way too long.”
My eyes search his. “Why?” I ask softly.
He lifts his hands and rakes both of them through his hair, and I can’t help but watch his abdominal muscles flex. Nikolas, oblivious to my rapt attention, turns away and walks over to a nearby bench press, sitting down and rubbing the sweat from his face.
Of course, I follow. “May I?” I ask, motioning to the other side of the bench.
He nods.
I sit down beside him and remain quiet. There’s a lot on his mind, and I hope he’s going to trust me for once.
He r
ests his elbows on his knees, letting his hands dangle between his legs as he gazes moodily at some unseen spot on the floor. “I grew up in a group home in New York and was tight with another kid, Manny. We were close, like brothers, and watched out for one another.” His lip quirks in the corner. “I can’t even begin to tell you how many scrapes and bruises that cost us. In our teens, we began to spend more time on the streets.” He turns his head and looks at me. “What else were we supposed to do?” He shrugs. “The group home was providing us shelter because the state payed for it, but that’s about all we could count on. All we had were each other, but we also needed to make a living somehow. We needed new clothes and all that shit as growth spurts hit. Long story short, we got involved in a gang.”
I nod to let him know that I’m listening—quite avidly.
He goes back to gazing broodingly across the gym. “The gang became our family. You know, once you’re in, you’re in. There is no getting out. It was a tight group, and Manny and I got caught up in dealing drugs. That’s how we met Santos,” he explains.
Ah, I was wondering when Santos would make an appearance. I had assumed they had a personal history, and I was right.
His eyes shift back to mine, and now they’re grim. “Your father decided to expand his territory, so his men moved in to wipe out all the competition.” His jaw hardens. “We couldn’t stand up to an organized group like that, and everyone got taken down. Manny died during a drive-by, and I barely escaped by the skin of my teeth, by playing dead. When it was clear, I knew I had to get out of the area immediately. I barely had a chance to say my goodbyes to Manny, and then I booked it,” he says, his tone laced with bitterness.
I can see he’s still torn up over the memory, and I can’t help but touch his arm, trying to show my support.
“Somehow, Santos and I crossed paths as we were trying to get out of the area. He and I were the only ones to escape with our lives, and he’s been with me ever since.” His lips form a flat line before he speaks again. “We vowed we’d make your father pay, because it was by his order that we lost everyone we cared about. We had the kind of drive that others didn’t, and we worked our way up the ladder, and here we are.”
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