Corrupt

by Elena M. Reyes

  “My father—”

  “Will not be an excuse to hide from me.”

  “Why are you here?” she whispers, eyes shifting toward the door as if expecting it to open at any moment. “What do you want from me?”

  “All will be explained, but not here.” Releasing her chin, I wrap my hand around Solimar’s neck, fingers flexing as she swallows hard—arches against the sink, head tilted back, but doesn’t tell me to move or let go. I skim up her ribs and the side of her breast before curling the ends of her dark hair between the digits of my other hand. One forceful tug and she hisses, the slight sting making her shiver. “You will come to me when I call. You will never deny me your presence.” Her lips part, the rebuttal sitting on the tip of her tongue, but the words don’t come out as I silence her protest with a nip to the corner of her mouth and pull back. Daring her to defy me. “Is that understood?”

  “I’m not a pawn.”

  “And I’m not a patient man.”

  “Be reasonable.”

  “You won’t deny me.”

  “Alejandro, I want no part in your war against my family.”

  A chuckle leaves me and I release her, taking a few steps back. “Follow directions, Preciosa. That’s all you need to do to survive.”

  “I—”

  “Will not disappoint me.” With that, I turn around and walk to the door. Hand on the handle, I turn and look back at her. From head to toe, I memorize her just like this. Like the deceptive angel she is. “Go back out and have fun with your friends, Solimar. Don’t tell anyone. Don’t let them know that I’ll be watching.”

  For a few beats, she doesn’t move, her eyes frozen on mine, and I feel a pang in my chest. I don’t like this emotion bubbling within—her distress hits me in the chest, and all I want to do is comfort her. Pull her against me. Soon.

  Her lips part; there are things she wants to say but thinks better of it and nods. Solimar walks to me, only stopping once her hand lays over mine on the door handle. Those eyes, a gorgeous grey, stare at me for a minute.

  She’s studying me, her sweet little pants fanning across my chin and lips.

  “Go on, Miss Quintero.” Turning the door’s fixture, I open it and leave just enough space for her to pass. “Let’s not make things any more difficult than what they are.”

  “Any more and it might break me,” she whispers under her breath, but I hear it loud and clear as if she shouted it from the rooftops. Our attraction is mutual, a complication neither of us expected. “Goodnight, Mr. Lucas.”

  “Noches, Preciosa.”

  And then she’s gone. Out of the room and following my directions.

  I follow a minute later.

  Close enough to see the sensual sway of her hips and the way every head in the room turns in her direction. Some with envy. Some with lust. Both sets quickly look away once they catch sight of me.

  “Did you find what went missing?” Daniel asks when I retake my seat, his speech slightly slurred. He pours us each a drink, spilling a bit on the table and foregoing Geronimo who’s watching the room closely. The man is quick to handle unwanted visitors with a single shake of his head—make the group of women trying to dance a few feet away back up. “Did she recognize you?”

  “How did you know she’d be here?”

  “Signio likes to talk.” He passes me a drink before throwing his back. “Was all but shouting it to everyone before you arrived…he’s a low-plumage peacock trying to puff out his chest to anyone that would listen. He’s marrying the president’s daughter, fucking the cousin, and everyone knows this.”

  “Her father is aware?” Daniel nods at my question and I close my eyes for a second, breathing in deeply to get a hold of the sudden urges dominating my senses. Ire burns me. Disgust churns in my gut. But more importantly, I have this insatiable need to protect her. “That sick fuck.”

  “Quintero doesn’t care about her or the kind of man Signio is. He’s more preoccupied with passing the legislation that lets him run for another term after the previous president abolished it.”

  “I heard.” Scrubbing my jaw, I flick my eyes toward the precious flower and find her forcing a smile. Ever dutiful, Solimar’s pretending to fit in with those around her but sticks out like the diamond she is. No one sees her discomfort. The need to flee in those expressive eyes while her cousin continues to pull attention her way, relishing in the way the others surround her. I see you, beautiful. As if she heard my thought, her head turns my way and our stares lock.

  Genuine innocence.

  Alluring grace.

  Slowly, her lips curl up and it’s a complete contrast to the previous smile. This one is soft. Sweet. It’s pulling the tail of this predator who’s seconds away from doing something he shouldn’t…yet.

  Hi, she mouths and rolls her eyes toward the group. There’s also a small yawn that escapes.

  Go home, beautiful, I mouth back, and she nods, more than happy to oblige me in this, and I make sure no one stops her. I stand, and this time signal my men to turn with their back to the outside. People look our way, trying to figure out why they’re being blocked, and Solimar takes the opportunity to leave without saying goodbye to anyone in her group.

  I’m sure she’ll send them a text.

  “Geronimo?”

  “Yes, Patron?”

  “Make sure she’s not followed and gets home without incident.”

  “Do I contact—”

  “Yes. She’s to be met at the curb and her night out covered.”

  “As you wish.”

  Goodbye for now, Miss Quintero.

  6

  THIS IS BAD. Really bad.

  So bad, that I don’t know how to react or decipher our stolen moment now that I’m back inside my cousin’s apartment. Now that there’s no haze of attraction clouding my mind. No crazy need dominating my actions.

  And yet, I can’t find it in me to be upset.

  Worried? Yes.

  Scared? A little.

  Sorry that I skipped out on Laura and sent her a text once I was away from Codicia? Not in the least.

  “This can’t happen. I can’t see him again,” I whisper low, dropping my keys in a bowl near the entryway before toeing off my heels. It feels good to be barefoot, and the plush carpet beneath my feet is like heaven after running away from the very man I’ve crushed on since my adolescence.

  Christ, having him so close was both heaven and hell—a dream and reminder of what I can never have because of who my family is. Because of a war that I’ve never been a part of.

  My life’s path has been chosen for me. Love isn’t in the cards.

  Taking a couple of steps toward the kitchen, my knees wobble and I fall back, placing both hands flat against the wall behind me for support. I’ve been a shaky mess since walking out with Alejandro’s permission, luckily with no one following, and getting into an already waiting car.

  I didn’t question why the all-black SUV was waiting.

  I didn’t question why they didn’t accept my payment.

  I didn’t question why my security guard and friend were there to guide me inside without reproach.

  All I wanted at that moment was to get back here and hide from the world. There were traces of my shame mixed with desire and something else that I just didn’t know how to explain. He made me feel alive inside that bathroom. He made every fantasy I’ve had of him since the age of seventeen pale in comparison.

  And while I knew I could never have him, that didn’t stop my daydreams.

  My attraction to him has always been a mixture of forbidden and idiotic, and more so after I stumbled upon an old interview online he’d done for a fashion magazine that crowned him the most eligible bachelor in the world. Those thirty minutes changed me, but it was the glimpse of the accompanying photoshoot—his bare chest glistening with a few strategically placed suds while inside of a claw-foot tub—that ruined my innocence. He left his mark on me without so much as being in the same room.

 
It was right after he made a lucrative deal with an American pharmaceutical company. The proverbial flipping off to my grandfather.

  His fields produced most of the world’s opioids. He’d gone from a criminal to untouchable. From someone my father disliked to an obsession.

  “He’s not the only one who’s obsessed.” A truth I’ll never admit aloud to anyone. Most of all him. Diosito, please help me out of this. My rapid heart calms after a minute or two, and so does the shaking of my limbs. Enough so that I’m able to stand upright and walk to the guest bedroom without incident or getting the bottle of water I originally wanted.

  I’m on autopilot. Lost inside my head while my clothes fall off in a haste.

  One minute I’m trying to remind myself that life isn’t made up of wishful thinking or kismet opportunities, and the next, cold water slides down my heated skin.

  It awakens my senses. Slams back into reality what I let him do to me.

  His touch. His voice. The demands he made that I dutifully followed.

  “Oh God.” It’s a throaty moan, giving in to the feverish sensations that I bit back when his hands gripped me and now I can embrace shamelessly. My hand slips between my thighs, fingers grazing over my clit, and I clench. The sensibility—the pleasure rocks me with one simple touch and I circle the trembling bundle of nerves again. And again.

  I can’t control the movement of my hips. They gyrate without my consent, forcing my fingers lower where they find their place at my entrance. Two slip inside to the first knuckle and I slam my free hand against the marble tile as the water beats down my back. I’m bucking against my hand, riding my fingers, as his earlier words run through my mind.

  Taunting me. Making me crave more. Wishing he was here.

  I will call, and you will come to me.

  The sweetest motherfucking temptation, Preciosa.

  You won’t deny me.

  “Alejandro,” I moan low, gritting my teeth as pulsing waves crash into me and my body slumps against the shower wall. It’s a euphoric high that leaves me panting, heart racing, and with the knowledge that I’ll never be the same again.

  I’ve never come so hard and fast by my hand, and the man responsible isn’t here to take care of me after. He never is. I’m a virgin and deviant all in one. I’ve never let another hand touch me, but I always come with his name on my lips.

  It takes me a few minutes to calm down, to wash away the evidence of my shame, but I manage and then take my tired body to bed. Naked, I crawl under the soft sheets and as I’m settling in, I feel a vibration near my thigh.

  “The hell?” It stops and then starts again. Then again. Reaching down, I come across my wristlet and phone, not recalling when I tossed them here. It vibrates once more in my hold, screen illuminating, and I notice eight missed calls and one text.

  My cousin, and an unknown number. All eight belong to Laura, but it’s the text I’m both terrified and excited about.

  Sweet dreams, Preciosa.

  7

  “PATRON, SHE’S LEAVING her home now. She has two classes today at the university, and then a dancing lesson after.”

  That’s a little tidbit I’ve learned in the last seventy-two hours since Codicia; the little flower is both studious and flexible. A dancer. A bailarina well-versed in both salsa and tango.

  She is poised and sensual, and watching her move fluidly as she practices on my computer screen has been the greatest foreplay. A naughty little gift I’ve given myself.

  Because a little money in the right hand grants you favor. A little persuasion—a gun to the temple—will earn you their fear. Both are useful, and more so while forcing the sale of the dance academy she’s a student of.

  One visit is all it took.

  One choice: money or bullets.

  And because of their smart decision, I’m now the owner without anyone’s knowledge.

  I watch her from the cameras I’ve installed. I’ve fucked my hand while Solimar moves to the rhythm of her chosen session.

  Every gyration is a pump of my fist over my engorged flesh. Every smile when she completes a newly learned step pulls a pearl-like bead to the slit and down my shaft.

  I’ve never wanted to fuck a woman more. To lick the very sweat from her cheek.

  And more so after having her file delivered to me the morning after our heated exchange. I won’t deny that using her to piss off her father has crossed my mind. That it’s one of the reasons I followed her into that bathroom, but one look into those equally hungry eyes up close—the feel of her against my chest—changed that.

  Pissing off Matias Quintero is just a bonus now.

  She’s one of the good ones, and there’s something about her I can’t ignore. A pull. A draw.

  Solimar is beautiful, smart, and never toes a foot out of the line set in place by her father. She’s the dutiful first daughter every second of the day, and I want to break those chains holding her down. I want to set her free just so I can catch her. I want to build her up. Own her.

  Possess every delicious inch of her forbidden fruit.

  “Thank you, Geronimo. Don’t lose sight of her.” At my words, my right-hand, Chiquito, gives me a perplexed look. He’s been away in Barranquilla taking care of a problem with a local dealer—the personal retrieval of a low-level wannabe who’s watched one too many movies to understand his reality. You don’t approach a man’s business associates and undermine his authority without repercussions. “Do you have the package?”

  “Yes, sir. Just give the word, and I’ll deliver it personally.”

  “Good. Await my call.” Ending our conversation, I place my cell atop my desk and sit back, looking at Chiquito. I’m home for the next three days, a private hacienda sitting atop a mountain at the center of farmland privately owned by me. It’s no-mans-land with over two hundred acres of heavily guarded terrain. A location I don’t hide from my enemies, associates, and is the amalgamation of my wealth—the pharmaceutical sale of my poppies and the dealings with the cartels. It’s where I plan to retire one day, and I have every commodity fit for royalty. “Where is he?”

  “Sitting out back by the pool.”

  “Alone?”

  “Having a drink with new friends.” Chiquito’s paramilitary uniform is crisp, not a speck of dirt, and yet his gun holster has a few spots of dried blood. I see the bruising of his knuckles while he’s busy eyeing my phone, his dark brown eyes flicking between my face and the blank screen.

  “Speak up.” Opening the drawer to my right, I pull out a knife and two bullets. That’s all I’ll need for this sit-down. “I only have an hour to meet with Mr. Marin.”

  “Who are you having followed, Alejandro?” he asks, voice hesitant when my jaw ticks. “Is there something I should know?”

  “None of your concern at the moment.” I’m looking at him through narrowed eyes, hand on the blade’s handle. At once, his hands go up in a peaceful motion because he knows better than to question me. It’s not something I accept from my own mother. He has his position because my brother and Daniel have responsibilities that come first: to take care of family. Those that I consider my family. And while I’ve known him for years and trust him, I keep him around because he follows orders without questions. However, one wrong step out of line, and I’ll slit his throat without remorse. “Your curiosity isn’t needed. If and when I decide to explain, it will be at my discretion. Watch yourself, Salazar. Understood?”

  “Yes, Patron. No disrespect meant.”

  “Fresco, it’s just a warning. Remember your place.” Pushing my chair back, I stand and begin to undo the buttons of my linen shirt, letting it slip down my arms before placing it over the back of my desk chair. And while I gather my weapon of choice and the two accompanying bullets, Chiquito is up and over to my office door, opening and standing just outside the entrance.

  No words are spoken as I exit.

  None are needed as I stride toward the backyard with him a few steps behind.

  I welcome the
change in energy flowing through me as I get closer to my guest. My skin—every muscle in my body—vibrates as the blood in my veins thickens. It’s a yearning, a certain need that I’ve developed over the years. Since the day I took my first life.

  Because there’s something therapeutic about the act.

  How meticulous yet artistic the demise of each prey can be. How beautiful the first slice of my knife against pliant flesh feels. How the cries of forgiveness bring forth a calm that nothing else has provided as of yet.

  It’s my vice. A release.

  Laughter meets my ears the closer we get to the covered lanai where Marin is sitting. He doesn’t see me, but my men take notice. The amusement falls from their faces as the idiot, a man with a mouth bigger than his body, continues to spew bullshit on a topic I couldn’t give two shits about.

  Holding a finger to my lips, I shake my head at my soldiers. The action takes less than five seconds, and they return to normal as if nothing’s happened.

  “You need any help at your post, Señor Marin?” the guy to his right asks, and my guest’s head turns. He doesn’t see me when I enter and take a seat in the vacant chair at the head of this seating arrangement. His cockiness will be his downfall. Trusting my men will be the last stupid decision he makes.

  “Are you asking for personal reasons?”

  “Maybe.”

  “At the moment, I could use a few good men to protect my product. Too many thieves in this business...you should know.” He chuckles, completely ignorant of how silent those around him have become. The man isn’t drunk, but it seems that after a few beers, he becomes mouthy, a little too boisterous over his mediocre accomplishments. “I mean, look at Alejandro and his family. A coffee farmer’s son one day and the next, the boss of bosses. He’s feared and wanted by our government, but untouchable due to global connections. You have to be one shrewd animal to go from a culicagado to this level of berraco.”