by LK Farlow
I shoulder my way through the crowd, wishing like hell it would part for me like the Red Sea did for Moses.
“Desi!” I cup my hands around my mouth to amplify my voice. My daughter’s eyes fly to mine before darting to the left. I follow her line of sight, and sure enough, three people back from the entrance is Seraphine, surrounded by a trio of very recognizable dipshits.
As hard as it is, I manage to keep my composure as I approach, bypassing the line entirely. Dipshit numero uno—Jason—sees me first.
“Mateo, my man!” His hand shoots in the air, waving me over. “Como est-ass?” he shouts, butchering my native tongue like the disrespectful little fucker he is.
I nod, acknowledging him while assessing the situation. Seraphine can hardly stand up straight, her pupils are blown wide, and she’s chewing on her inner-cheek something fierce. She’s clearly rolling; meanwhile, dipshits one through three are all far more sober than she is.
“Hijo de puta,” I growl before turning my attention back to the sad excuse of a man standing before me. “Who’s your friend?” I figure I’ll play dumb—for now.
“This little bow-nita is our friend for the night.” He wags his brows. “If you catch my drift.”
I ball my hands into tight fists and grit my teeth. “Does she have a name?”
Jason rolls his eyes. “Yeah, man. It’s… uh…”
Dipshit doesn’t even know her name.
“It’s Serenade,” the one I haven’t met yet says smugly.
“No, it’s not,” dipshit two—Cliff—argues.
“Is, too.”
“Nah, man, it totally is, right, baby?”
As if coming out of a trance, Seraphine blinks and turns to face the idiota. “Sure, I’m whoever you want me to be.”
Her words sound like they’re ants trudging through molasses, slow and heavy.
“Seraphine!” I bite out her name, my tone sharper than I intended for it to be.
Her eyes widen at the sight of me. “Mmmm-Mateo,” she practically moans my name.
“I knew you had it wrong!” Cliff shouts, pulling Seraphine out of his friend’s arms and into his. It takes my all not to throttle him when I see his thumb dip below the waistband of her jeans.
“You know her?” Jason asks, stepping slightly in front of her, like he has some sort of claim to her.
“I do.” I take a step closer. “She’s a friend”—I arrange my lips into a smirk, even though I’m not really feeling it—“a really good friend.” I should feel bad for playing up our relationship, but I don’t. Not even a little, because God only knows what these bastardos have planned.
“Oh, yeah?”
As fast as lightning, I reach out and steal her away from Cliff. She throws her arms around my neck and squeals at the sudden motion. “Whoa!” She looks up at me and tries batting her lashes—though, it looks more like she’s trying to tap out a message in Morse code with her eyes.
“You good, mariposita?”
A little sigh slips past her lips as she leans into me, locking her arms around my middle. “You smell so good.” She presses her face into my chest and breathes in deeply. “Like after a storm and sweaty sex.”
“Ay Dios mio,” I mutter under my breath, trying to stop her roaming hands.
Dipshit number three chuckles. “Looks like our good time just became yours, man.”
Jason elbows his friend, but he keeps talking.
“You gonna baby her like you do our trucks? Or maybe be a little more rou—”
I snap. Well, more accurately, his head snaps back after my fist connects with his jaw. “Tu verga caida pedazo de mierda!” I roar, winding my arm back to hit him again.
“What the fuck?” Cliff shouts, stepping up to me with his chest bowed out, like I won’t knock his ass out, too.
I continue going off, switching between Spanish and English as my emotions get the better of me.
“Jesus Christ, man!” Jason yells, putting himself between me and his friends, knowing good and well I won’t lay a hand on him. “Chill the fuck out and speak fucking English. You’re in America.”
I twist my head down and to the side until my neck cracks. “You want to know what I was saying?”
Seraphine wiggles in my arms, giggling to herself. “So hot, always speak Spanish.”
Ignoring her, I plow straight ahead. “I said you and your friends are pathetic, limp-dicked pieces of shit. You gotta drug a girl to get some action? Pathetic.”
“Now hold on,” Jason says, sounding just like his smooth-talking judge father. “Where on earth did you get the notion that we drugged her? Seems more likely she overindulged, doesn’t it? And take a look at her outfit. Dressed like that, she’s asking for trouble.” He clicks his tongue at me. “If anything, you should thank us for taking such good care of your girl. God only knows what trouble might have befallen her without us.”
While unspoken, the threat in his words is clear. If I lay a finger on him, he’ll call his dad. If I report him and his friends to the authorities, it’ll be my word against his—and the word of tatted-up, brown-skinned mechanic against that of a college-educated, richer than God white boy with a judge for a dad… yeah, the math isn’t too hard.
“Thanks, then.” I grind out the words, wishing like hell I could knock his punk-ass out without a hefty fine and probable jail sentence. “We’ll be on our way.”
I steer Seraphine away from the crowd of onlookers, catching Desi’s eye as we pass her. She nods before she and her group of friends continue on their way.
By the time we make it to the parking lot, Seraphine’s practically rubbing her body against mine like a cat in heat, mumbling God knows what under her breath.
“Did you drive here?” I ask, my voice harsher than I intended.
She releases me from her hold and spins to face me. Her eyes are the size of saucers, and her lips are working a mile a minute. Her lips part as if to answer me, but instead a soft sigh escapes her lips and she reaches a hand up to rub at the scruff on my face.
Gently, I knock her hand away and make a mental note to get her something to chew on so she doesn’t eat her cheeks raw.
“Seraphine, did you drive here?”
She shakes her head back and forth lazily before falling face-first into my chest.
“Let’s get you inside,” I murmur, moving her back to an upright position.
“No, let’s get you inside… me.” Her voice is a lazy drawl that sends shivers up my spine—and not the good kind. To hear her talk like this is unnerving, and the thought of how this night could’ve have ended without Desi’s intervention is downright terrifying.
“Inside the car, mariposita, the car.”
I unlock my truck with my free hand and swing open the passenger side door. She squeals as I pluck her off the ground and swing her up into the cab. “Ooh, dizzy.” She flings herself against the seatback.
“You good?” Despite the flush in her cheeks, she’s looking a little green around the gills.
“Mmm-nun-uh,” she mumbles before buckling over and puking all over my floorboard.
I do my best to smooth her hair away from her face, whispering words of comfort to her, all the while trying not to think about what it’ll take to get the stench of her vomit out of my ride.
After one final heave, Seraphine rights herself, wiping the back of her hand over her mouth as she sits up. “Oh, wow.” She smacks her lips. “That was gross—oh! Mateo, shit. Sorry. About your truck. And stuff.”
She’s talking a mile a minute now.
“Feel better?”
“Soooo much. Like really good. Great.”
It’s going to be a long fucking night is all I can think as I lean into the cab to pull her seat belt across her, trying like hell not to gag. “Good. Let’s get outta here.”
“Where are we going?” she asks, bouncing in the seat like a small child.
“Loca,” I mutter, shaking my head as I close her door and round the front of the
truck to the driver’s side.
Chapter Four
Seraphine
“Wake up, mariposita,” a deep voice whispers in my ear, pulling me away from the most fucked-up dream I’ve had in a while—it involved the fair, frat boys, and Mateo—oh, shit.
I try to ask why he’s in my bed, but nothing more than a croak comes out as pain robs me of my ability to speak.
“Take your time,” he says from his spot beside me.
I roll my lips inward as I let saliva pool in my mouth. The pain is reminiscent of adjusting to braces, only worse. Thankfully, after a few beats, I’m able to get my voice to work, even if it does come out raspy and raw. “Why are you in my bed?”
“I’m not,” he says, grinning. “You’re in mine.”
It’s then I notice the unfamiliar surroundings. Instead of being in my double bed, cocooned in my fluffy white duvet, I’m sprawled out in the middle of a plush, king-sized bed, tucked under the softest gray blanket to ever exist.
“Oh, God. It wasn’t a dream?” It’s a stupid question, because there’s certainly no other reason for me to find myself waking up anywhere near Mateo, much less in his bed.
A quick peek beneath the covers confirms my fears—I’m clad in a pair of should-never-see-the-light-of-day yoga shorts and a threadbare T-shirt, sans bra. Which means, not only has Mateo seen me in this getup, but so has most of the damn town.
“What wasn’t?”
I groan and pull one of the spare pillows over my heated cheeks to hide my shame. “Everything. All of it.”
He pulls my fluffy shield away and gently turns my face toward him. “How do you feel? I’ve got water and Tylenol for you on the nightstand and coffee in the kitchen.”
“Like I got hit by a bus…” I try to recall the details of last night, but I can only grasp bits and pieces. “Or made a lot of bad decisions.”
“Eh.” He shrugs. “Maybe a little bit of both, you know, if you consider going out and getting drugged being hit by a bus.”
“Drugged?” I sit up so fast our foreheads knock together. “Ouch.”
“Mujer cabeza dura.” Mateo rubs at the spot where our skulls collided.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He passes me the bottle of water along with the Tylenol bottle. “Are you okay?”
After hearing I was drugged, the fact that both items are still sealed doesn’t escape my notice. If anything, it makes my heart pitter-patter in my chest a little harder, which is stupid because it’s not like a man like him would ever take notice of me.
Mateo Reyes is a tatted-up, golden-skinned Spanish-speaking devil of a man whose voice alone sends shivers down my spine. I’ve been enamored with him since I was a kid, but he’s never paid much attention to me—except the one time I went psycho on him after he beat my dad in a race. I regretted it instantly, but earlier that morning we found my dad’s health had taken another turn for the worse.
Basically, I needed an outlet for my pain, and he was there.
“Yes… I think so.” I stop and take stock of my body. Aside from the mouth pain and a minor headache, I don’t feel any worse for wear. “Why does the inside of my mouth feel like raw meat?”
“Tachas,” Mateo sighs.
“Huh?”
“Ecstasy, mariposa, I’m pretty sure they slipped you ecstasy.”
A kaleidoscope of scenarios flash through my mind, each one more horrifying than the last. Those guys could have done anything to me—they could have freaking gang-raped me, and I would have been helpless to stop it.
“Hey, shh, you’re okay.” Mateo wraps his strong arms around me and draws me close. “I’ve got you, you’re safe.”
I don’t even realize I’m crying until my tears have soaked through his shirt.
“Sorry,” I offer with a forced grin, swiping at my cheeks.
“Do not apologize.” He nods down to the bottles in my lap. “Take two.”
“Thanks.” My hands tremble, but I do as he says, passing both bottles back to him once I’m finished.
“What do you remember?”
“I was home and sad and drinking. And I was about to go to bed when I realized it was the first night of the fair, so I… yeah.” I expect him to tell me I’m an idiot, for him to lecture me like my own father would have at any moment, but Mateo simply nods for me to continue. “I got a corn dog, and then those guys approached me. I was leery, but they seemed all right. They took turns doing beer runs. It gets a little fuzzy after that.”
“Are you even old enough to drink?” He squints at me, as if he’s mentally doing the math.
I look down at my hands, ashamed. “No,” I whisper.
He reaches over with a tender touch, once again turning my face back to his. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” I ask, my voice barely audible over the sound of my heartbeat whooshing in my ears.
“Don’t blame yourself and don’t think I am judging you.” His eyes lock on to mine in a way that feels like he’s peering into my soul. I squirm under the weight of his dark stare, but Mateo doesn’t relent. “The only people to blame are those low-life assholes who drugged you. I don’t care if you were drinking and wearing revealing clothing. Hell, you could have been butt-ass naked and it still wouldn’t have given them the right. You did not consent to taking drugs, Seraphine, and that’s that.”
“That’s that?” I echo back, doubt still eating away at me. The thought of someone—multiple someones—potentially violating me has my skin crawling and my gut churning.
“Sí.” He says the word with such conviction that I don’t question him any further, even if I’m not so sure I agree. I mean, it’s hard not to let doubt creep in. Day in and day out, girls and women hear about how they shouldn’t have put themselves in the situation or dressed in such a way. Nine times out of ten, the blame falls on the woman, and I can’t help but wonder, if Mateo hadn’t come along, what would my odds have been?
Beneath all of my hurt and fear, I know Mateo’s right. Yes, I acted irresponsibly, and I fully own that. However, that still doesn’t give anyone the right to drug me. Plain and simple.
“Hey, Mateo?” I nibble my lip, torn on whether or not I should ask the question burning the back of my throat.
“Yeah?”
“How did I end up here?”
He mutters in Spanish under his breath before answering me. “Desi saw you, talked to you, and was worried. She called me.”
“You… you came there just for me?” I know I sound like a silly girl with stars in her eyes, but I don’t care. The knowledge that Mateo knew I was in trouble and came for me only serves to fan the flame of the silly crush I’ve always harbored for him.
“Dave would’ve done the same for Desi.”
His words instantly reduce my inferno down to embers, and while it hurts, it’s the reminder I need. I am nothing to this man other than an old friend’s daughter. He’ll never see me as more, and it would serve me well to remember that.
“Right, yeah,” I whisper, trying not to sound as dejected as I feel. Instead of wallowing, I square my shoulders and carry on like my cheeks aren’t burning with shame. “So, anything else I need to know about? Did I do anything totally humiliating?”
Mateo’s eyes flash, and I know I did something, but he simply shakes his head.
“Are you sure?”
“Don’t worry about it. Let’s just get you fed, and home.” He stands and crosses the room to his dresser. “Throw these on and come to the kitchen—down the hall and to the left.”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. In addition to being seen as a child, I’m an inconvenience he can’t wait to rid himself of. Maybe I should skip breakfast, sneak out, and hoof it home?
I’m one leg into the gray sweats he tossed at me when I realize I have no idea where he lives. Knowing my luck, his house is probably clear across town from mine.
Resigned, I finish pulling them on. I’m fairly tall, but the pants still hang off of my hips. I roll
them a few times, finger comb my hair into a semi-presentable state, swish with his mouthwash, and set off in search of the kitchen and the coffee he promised me.
I take my time moving through the house, taking note of the pictures lining the walls. Desi is everywhere—her entire life from birth to now is displayed in this hallway. There are also pictures of what I assume is Mateo’s family, as well as a few of a stunning black woman who is the spitting image of Desi. “Must be her mother,” I murmur to myself.
“It is,” says a feminine voice behind me, causing me to jump.
Whirling around, I find myself face-to-face with Mateo’s daughter. My cheeks heat as she looks me over. I’m not sure if I’m more embarrassed for her to see me in her dad’s clothes or to catch me openly snooping.
At a loss for words, I nod.
“Her name’s Imani. She died when I was little—cancer.”
Tears sting my eyes. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, not knowing what else to say. Hell, there really isn’t anything else. I know good and well words can’t bring back those we loved… nothing can.
Desi shrugs. “Don’t be. I mean, yeah, it sucks and all, but I know she loved me.”
“Right. Yeah.” This girl has me at a total loss for words. “That’s… um…”
She shakes her head at me, a small smile playing on her lips. “C’mon. If we’re lucky, Dad will make huevos revueltos a la Mexicana.”
“Eggs?” I ask lamely.
Desi nods. “Yeah, but better.”
She takes off down the hall, but I hesitate. “Hey,” I call after her.
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.” I shrug, unsure of how to properly thank someone for doing what she did. “For… you know.”
“No worries; us girls gotta stick together, right?”
“Right.” Desi nods, her lips tipped up in a knowing grin. “Good. Now, let’s eat.”
She turns and heads down the hall—presumably toward the kitchen. I take my time following after her, needing a few minutes to get my wits about me before facing Mateo.
I pause just before the threshold at the sound of Mateo’s voice. “What’s got you grinning?” I hear him ask.