Corrupt

by Elena M. Reyes

  It’s not a secret. The pompous jerk doesn’t hide it. My father’s given him immunity, and he’s using it to his full advantage.

  However, the closer we get, the more I’m tempted to.

  There’s a pulsing energy that grips me.

  A near overwhelming presence that makes my skin hyperaware. Sensitive. And I find myself near floating and not understanding the why.

  Each step I take feels as though I am being pulled closer by an invisible tether, a connection that’s making my pulse race and knees feel weak. What’s wrong with me? What was in that shot I had back at Laura’s?

  “Hurry up, Solimar,” my cousin calls out and my head snaps up; I’ve frozen in place a good ten steps from them. “My Signio saved us the best seat in the house, and it’s an open-bar night for our group. He’s the best!”

  My Signio isn’t meant to be a personal jab at me, but to others, it comes across that way, and the few snickers that follow are proof of that.

  She doesn’t think.

  She’s too impulsive.

  She forgets that our engagement has already been announced and the media is counting down the days to my demise. That if her secret gets out, my father’s wrath will destroy us both.

  “Go on,” I say with more bite in my tone than I intend, and at once, the smile drops from her face. Her expression is contrite, and she mouths perdoname. And while I know she’s sorry, that it’s not intentional, the urge to choke her is near maddening. I want to make her understand that this isn’t a game, but I don’t. Instead, I force another fake smile—one I’ve become the master of hiding behind—and avoid making a spectacle that could end up in the tabloid section of our newspaper. The president’s daughter can never be anything less than perfect. “I’ll be right behind you.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah.” Just like I know coming out tonight was a mistake. Just like I know this—your mess—will burn me in the end.

  With one more apologetic look thrown my way, she turns, and the others follow. The six of them head toward our area and I let out a long, tired sigh. I take those few extra seconds to gather my emotions and breathe. To close my eyes and pray.

  Papa Dios, please grant me the patience I don’t feel blessed with tonight. Please don’t let us get busted or into any kind of trouble…amen.

  It’s then that I feel eyes on me. More than one set, and I look around.

  The people around the dance floor and small tables littered throughout stare. They recognize me, and the whispers begin. It’s somewhat subtle at first, but then it’s always the same:

  What’s the president’s daughter doing here?

  How do I get close?

  Not giving anyone the chance to be brave and intercept me, I rush toward our table. Because while I believe Signio isn’t stupid enough to leave us unprotected and have anything fall back on him, my security isn’t here. We’re stupidly out alone while everyone believes we’re at Laura’s highly-secured apartment, a twenty-floor building where only the affluent enter and whose lobby and entrances have armed guards standing at their post.

  It’s also where the trackers once inside my phone are now pinging from, thanks to an acquaintance of hers, an ex-intelligence officer who helped us out of the building for some extra platica and a kiss on the cheek from my cousin.

  “This place is so berraco, Lau. He’s a keeper and deserves a woman like you.” I catch the words, the thinly veiled insult my way, but roll my eyes. None of these women matter to me, and the one speaking is her oldest friend, a jealous idiot from a banking family who’s as narcissistic as my father, but it goes to show that Laura’s words have clout. That rumors will spread because of her idiocy.

  My cousin glares at her. “Watch it, Penelope. I won’t warn you again.”

  “What did I do?” Don’t punch her in that overdone smug mouth, Sol.

  “Quit your nastiness.” Laura comes to my side and entwines our fingers to show solidarity, while I give the girl a bored look. Because you never let them see your weakness. She wants to get a rise out of me and will fail; I know better than to give in. “You’ll never be her.”

  “Laura, how can you just—”

  “Ladies, cut it out. We’re here to get drunk, not fight,” another chick interjects, handing out shots that I decline. Laura and Penelope don’t move at first, but eventually back down and take the offered drink. And while they toss it back and grimace, I move away a bit and let the music playing be my reprieve for a while.

  I’m not here to get wasted or sleep with the first guy who pays attention to me. Tonight’s about forgetting:

  My family. My obligations. My future.

  The man I will never be with and who would doom me if our paths ever cross.

  This nightmare that I can’t find an out from as the clock ticks and the weight on my shoulders becomes heavier—the noose on my neck tighter. Moreover, the sole reason we’re not married yet is my schooling, but how much longer will that hold?

  It’s part of the contract. A clause. This holy grail of a stipulation added at the very last minute by my mother to a literal contract that shouldn’t exist. She’s on my side, trying to help me find a loophole, and by demanding that I earn my degree in political science first, the inevitable has been delayed.

  It was all my father would agree to.

  Let it go for tonight, Sol. Just dance and be free.

  Closing my eyes, I let the pulsing rhythm coming through the speakers flow through me. My hips sway to the island beat, this dance-hall-like flow that makes me gyrate, smile as the stress begins to dissipate.

  The girls around me laugh and I open my eyes, catching sight of Laura doing her version of a running man. It’s the one place my cousin has no grace, and a giggle escapes as she looks like a choking chicken while flipping me the bird.

  I try to help her. Show her how to move her hips from side to side, but dancing is something that you either can or can’t do, and unfortunately, she’s horrible. Simply has no rhythm.

  “Prima, like this!”

  “I’m doing it!”

  The others are laughing, imbibing in the free spirits, while I try to show her how to gyrate her hips while turning. And then try again. But on the fifth time, I give up and let her do her thing, my eyes going around the room once and then of their own accord, they stop across from our group.

  On a handsome man.

  On a dangerous man.

  On a man who’s starred in every fantasy I’ve ever had while simultaneously being my destruction, and I have bigger problems than simply sneaking out to a rooftop bar.

  I know who he is. There’s no mistaking his face.

  Alejandro Lucas is an enemy of my father and a known killer. Someone with no scruples.

  He’s also looking at me in a way that sets my body ablaze, and I feel weak. Trapped. Engulfed by his heated stare that lingers over areas that no man has touched.

  Turn around and leave…

  He licks his bottom lip, and my thighs tremble.

  He slowly rubs two fingers over his lips, and my mouth becomes dry.

  He’s a predator and I’m the innocent lamb caught in his trap, afraid to so much as breathe for fear that he’ll pounce.

  My father and grandfather have always warned me about him. About his family. About the threat they pose to the citizens of this country and abroad—the many lives lost due to their greed and corruption—but he failed to warn me about this man’s natural ability to turn women into willing victims without uttering a single word.

  Across the VIP section and sitting in a chair fit for a king, Alejandro owns the room. Owns my attention, and looking away isn’t an option. I just can’t; he takes me in, and I do the same.

  I’m memorizing his handsome face with a sharp jaw, the perfect five o’clock shadow, and an inviting mouth—those eyes the color of cognac that seems to glow in the low lighting and ensnare me. Alejandro says something, his head tilting a bit to the side, but not once does he look away.
>
  There’s a back and forth, his facial features becoming hard the more he listens to whoever is answering him. At the same time, someone beside me laughs, their arm bumping into mine, but I ignore them. They tap my shoulder to gain my attention, but I simply hold a hand up to where a second or two later, they place a shot glass between my fingers. I grab it tightly. My fingers molding around the small object and I blindly throw back its contents without asking what it is.

  Who cares at this point. I welcome the automatic burn that builds and then settles into a warming embrace. It doesn’t calm my racing heart or the thoughts in my head that can’t ever be—curiosity killed the cat and I refuse to travel down that road, no matter how much my body awakens beneath his perusal.

  There’s no denying he disarms me. Always has.

  He’s been my crush for years, a secret that no one, not even Laura, knows about.

  My saving grace has always been that my fascination never deviated from something I did behind a screen. Googling him. His appearances. His ties to the mob and roles he plays in the opioid crisis around the globe; the good, bad, and why he’s untouchable as of now.

  Pharmaceutical companies hold clout in places other than just the US.

  Alejandro’s lips thin, and he hisses out something I can’t make out from where I stand. I’m so busy watching his lips move that it takes me a minute to notice the gun in his hand and the barrel pointing at the chest of another man with him. He’s demanding something, the expression on his face now murderous, and finally, he looks away from me.

  His hand holding the gun doesn’t waver.

  His eyes narrow at the man who holds two hands up.

  I can’t watch this. He’s going to kill him.

  I’m moving before anyone can ask me where I’m going, my feet rushing toward the elevator as my lungs fight for air. It’s on the other side of the floor and I see people waiting for the cart, and just as I plan to join and blend in, someone close says his name.

  I dart past the now opening doors, making my way through a sea of bodies dancing, doing things that shouldn’t be permitted out in public, and dart inside the women’s bathroom in an alcove-sized hallway that’s only big enough to fit three people max.

  I’m lucky no one’s standing there or waiting to use the facilities, and once inside with the door closed behind me, I let out the breath I’ve been holding. I knew coming here was a bad idea.

  Opening the faucet, I let the cool water run before grabbing a few paper towels and dipping them beneath the stream. I’m hot and my heart’s racing and I can’t allow myself anywhere near him. To see if his lips taste like heavenly danger.

  He’s a criminal, Solimar. He tried to kill your abuelo—Alejandro Lucas is the reason we left Colombia to protect you, your mother, and abuela.

  Dad’s words ring in my ears as I rub the damp napkin across the back of my neck. They are a mantra I can’t ignore. The look on his face as he said them matched the pure venom each syllable was coated in.

  Our families don’t mix.

  Our families are enemies.

  “I’m going back to Laura’s apartment. I shouldn’t be here.” With the tips of the paper towel, I swipe across my forehead and then down my cheek before tossing them aside. Looking in the mirror doesn’t help my predicament, and the cool water did nothing to help me look less affected.

  My light eyes show excitement with just a hint of fear.

  My skin is flushed, and goose bumps sweep across my sensitive flesh.

  My lips are curling up at the corner and into a tiny smile as I apply a bit of gloss over them.

  “This is not good. Really not good.” I push away from the sink, my wristlet falling to my side as I close my eyes and breathe. I need a plan out of here, and asking Signio or the ladies I’m here with is out of the question.

  They’d ask too many questions. Some hold no qualms in selling me out either.

  “Enough time has passed.” I’m closing my eyes as I say this and taking in a very deep inhale. “Count to twenty and walk out, get on that elevator, and call Laura from a cab. You can do this.” Another inhale and I mumble out numbers one through ten slowly. I’m trembling. Breathing hard. “Christ, I beg you to help a girl out here.” There’s the creak of a door and I freeze, but the two male voices are coming from outside and I sigh because it’s the men’s bathroom. “I promise to go to mass this week.”

  The voices fade as the door closes, and I wait another few seconds before continuing with my counting. I’m on number fourteen when my phone vibrates inside my wristlet. My brows furrow as it stops, only to start up again. Has to be Laura wondering where I ran to.

  “Aren’t you going to answer that?” a voice says from behind me. It’s masculine and rich and my eyes snap open, meeting an amused pair of cognac ones in the mirror above the sink. “Well?”

  “You.” That’s all I say. It’s all I can get out.

  “Me.” Alejandro takes the few steps between us, stopping when his chest presses against my back. His arms cage me in. His hands grip the counter’s edge beside my own as he sweeps his lips over the shell of my ear, releasing a rough exhale against my skin. “And it’s very nice to meet you, too, Miss Quintero.”

  5

  HER LIPS PART, but no words come out.

  Instead, she’s watching me through the mirror, her expressive eyes saying everything that she can’t:

  She’s afraid.

  She’s curious.

  She’s confused.

  This little flower is wondering how the fuck she’s found herself within the grasp of her father’s enemy. Staring at a man she should be running from, and yet, Solimar Quintero won’t.

  Miss Quintero is drawn to me. She’s proven as much while watching me from her area of the VIP section, smiling and licking her lips—unconsciously taking a few steps in my direction.

  Nothing made her look away until she saw my gun.

  She’ll soon learn that running from me is unacceptable. You don’t hide. You don’t leave my sight.

  “How did you...” She swallows hard as I press closer, the feel of her curves against my harsher planes burning me as I anchor her to the modern countertop. “You shouldn’t be in here.”

  “And yet I am.”

  “Why?” The million-dollar question. Why am I here?

  The truth is that I’m intrigued by this member of the Quintero family, and where the usual reaction is anger, with her it’s the opposite. She’s set off a different kind of desire, and those eyes, a unique shade of grey, make my pulse race as they watch me. She’s made me hungry for a taste of her soft, tanned skin and cherry lips.

  There’s something about her that’s drawing me in, and I want to figure out the why.

  I need to decipher why her beauty has been physically hidden from the media. From me.

  I want to own her. Ruin her. Take her innocence and corrupt her.

  “We need to talk, Miss Quintero.” Shivers rush down her spine as my lips leave an open-mouthed kiss on her neck. “You need to explain a few things.”

  “There’s nothing we need to discuss.” The last word leaves her on a hiss as I nip her ear. “Our families—”

  “Have history than runs deep, and I want my pound of flesh, Preciosa.” At my words, goose bumps rise across soft flesh and her thighs clench, a minute movement I feel, and I fight back a smile. Instead, my lips hover over her pulse point. “I will call, and you will come to me.”

  “I can’t.”

  “You will.”

  Her eyes narrow, and my cock jerks behind my zipper. “No.”

  It’s the wrong thing to say to a man like me. Her denial only enhances my fascination. The need to bend her to my will is a heady pulse flowing through my limbs.

  “You’re a dangerous little thing, aren’t you?” My lids lower and I watch her through narrow slits, a groan slipping past my lips when her nipples tighten. The stiff little peaks make my mouth water. They’re pressing against the thin fabric of her dress,
demanding my attention, and the soft blush on her cheeks is the icing on this taboo cake. “The sweetest motherfucking temptation, Preciosa.”

  “You shouldn’t be in here.” It’s a whine that emits a desperate plea. That causes a few beads of pre-come to slide from the head of my cock and down the underside.

  “But I am.” One hand releases the marble and I grip her hip, my eyes flashing open just as she bites down on her lip to hold back the moan fighting to break free. It doesn’t work. The most delicious little mewl slips through, and I follow the tremble of her mouth. My hunger is unhidden, and I lick my own while tightening my hold. “I’m here, and cornering the daughter of Colombia’s president inside of a bar owned by her fiancé—”

  “Don’t call him that,” Solimar whimpers, hands shaking while lowering her eyes. Diosito, please get me out of here. Don’t let my attraction control my actions. It’s a whisper under her breath, almost too low to hear, but I do.

  Her confession burns me.

  Those words seal her fate.

  “Is it a lie?” Brow arched, I dig my fingers into her flesh, leaving behind what I know will be a bruise. My mark. The first of many, because Solimar likes my rough and possessive touch—to be manhandled. The way she gasps and slowly gyrates against my hardness shows me as much. “Does he own you?”

  The thought of her belonging to anyone doesn’t sit well with me. It angers me. Turns the blood within my veins into molten lava. What is it about you, Solimar?

  “No, it’s not…” at her words, my jaw ticks but I don’t interrupt “…not all is as it seems.”

  When it comes to her family, it never is.

  “You’re right about that, Miss Quintero.” Grey eyes focus once again on my lips, following their movements. I shouldn’t like the way it makes me feel. The temptation she presents or the adrenaline knowing who she is brings forth. “Many truths hide behind angelic veils.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means you’ll be seeing me again, and soon.”

  “That can’t and won’t happen.”

  Before Solimar’s next intake of breath, I flip her around and tip her face up with two fingers. It’s a firm hold but not painful as my eyes bore into hers, lips a hair’s breadth from hers. “I wasn’t asking, Preciosa. This isn’t a negotiation.”