Corrupt

by Elena M. Reyes

  “This is the last time I’ll ask you to stand,” I hiss out, yanking his head back by the hair until he’s almost on his haunches and the strands rip from his skull. There’s a small bunch in my hand while his scalp is a lovely shade of irritation red. “Quit whining and take a seat. We need to talk.”

  “Oh, God…I-I don’t want to die. I’ll do anything—”

  “Quit crying before I strap you on the Judas myself.” Signio manages to get up without using his hands to propel him, he’s starting to look a mess and lethargic—his legs are shaky—but it’s not enough. Nothing short of his death will be, but not today.

  There’s something I need him to do for me first.

  His mouth will be his demise, and I am counting on the slip.

  Geronimo moved two chairs over from the wall and placed them on opposite ends of the table. I point to the seats, knowing he saw, and walk over to the set of monitors I keep in the building. It’s there to supervise those in my house, and today, I use it to see what Solimar does while I’m not there.

  After entering my private code, I walk back and take a seat—lean back and follow the moving red dot on the screen. She’s out of the room and taking the stairs down to the first floor.

  A few more steps and she’ll have a decision to make. Right or left. My office or the living room.

  The dot stalls at the bottom of the stairs and after a few beats, it turns toward the living room.

  Good girl.

  Her trust in me is appreciated and will be rewarded.

  Signio sits down and groans, pulling my attention from the screen. “Something wrong?”

  “What do I need to do to walk out of here alive?” he says, voice betraying the bit of bravado he’s trying to exude.

  I arch a brow. “Who says you aren’t?”

  “Then why—”

  “Because you’ll be of use to me.”

  “How?” His hands clench and he grimaces. “What do I need to do?”

  “You can start by taking off your shirt and tie,” I ask and wait. His eyes widen and body shakes again, the entire scene becoming too repetitive for my liking, and I slam a hand atop the table. “Take it off and fold it neatly atop the table. Then you are to tell me your side of the story. Every last fucking detail. Understood?”

  “Yes.” Shaking hands follow my order and once it’s off, Geronimo hands over the phone in his hand. “What’s this for?”

  “Call Quintero and tell him you and Solimar are heading out to Santa Marta for the weekend. You’ll have her back bright and early on Monday.”

  “You’re sending her back?”

  “What I do is none of your concern.”

  “Yes, sir.” Grabbing the cell, he dials a number I know by memory and waits. Two rings and someone picks up. “Matias?”

  “Where the fuck are you? You were supposed to call me last night,” Quintero spits out, the sound of a door opening and closing coming through the line as the noise around him dissipates. “Well?”

  “We’re on our way to Santa Marta for the weekend.” Cortez swallows hard, eyes nervously on mine. “I thought it was the perfect opportunity to get to know my bride.”

  “You fucked her? Cause you know that’ll cost your father a pretty penny before the wedding, kid. If she isn’t pure…” So cold. No anger. Instead, his chuckle shows amusement with a slight tinge of curiosity. Sick fuck will pay for how he’s treated her all these years. “Answer me, güevon.”

  “No. I haven’t.”

  “You don’t sound sure.”

  “I haven’t touched her that way.”

  “Yet you continue to fuck Laura every chance you get.” Another laugh: it sounds like he’s drinking from a glass as ice clinks. “That one has no shame or morals.”

  “Easy pussy.”

  “My wife’s family is pathetic, and her father has no control of the women in his life,” Quintero spits out, then the line goes quiet for a few seconds. “I’d shoot my daughter before I let her run around as my niece does.”

  “Then why do you let her spend time with Solimar?”

  “Because it gives you easier access without raising suspicion. No one knows you bend her over, and my daughter’s public image is intact.”

  I’d heard enough and slice a hand across my neck so he ends the call. Signio nods. “Hey, I hear her coming in from the patio. I’ll call you later tonight…just wanted to give you our whereabouts.”

  “Never take this long again.” There’s a knock on the president’s door and he muffles a curse. “Call me when Carlos picks her up. I’m close to closing in on my target and need the family out of sight. It’s bad enough that hijueputa blew up a government building, but if he hurts any of them, I’ll be publicly crucified.”

  “Should we be concerned?”

  “No. I have a finger on the button.” The call disconnects and Signio sits back. His mouth opens and closes a few times, but nothing comes out.

  “He’s watching my mother’s house on the outskirts of Medellin.”

  “You know?”

  “I do.”

  “And what is your plan?”

  “At the moment?” He nods, and I pull out a simple blade from my pocket and place it on the table. His brown eyes are on the all-black matte handle, shifting in his seat as perspiration dots his upper lip. It’s almost comical how someone can go from calm to complete and utter fear within the span of a few seconds. “I’m going to make you count to seven as I repay you for marring Solimar’s skin.”

  “What?” Signio’s voice trembles, eyes shifting around the room. They stay just a few beats longer on my torture chair. “I didn’t…I would never—”

  “So you don’t remember breaking her skin by digging your nails in while at the gala last night? How you manhandled her?”

  “Don’t kill me.”

  “I’m not…” he breathes out a sigh of relief “…yet.” No sooner has the last word passed through my lips when two of my guards grab his arms and force him face down, bent over the wooden top. Signio struggles. Cries. I’m not moved by his pleading. “You didn’t listen.”

  “Please. I’m sorry.”

  “So you do remember?”

  “No.” At his lie, I stand and walk around behind him and place my blade at the base of his spine beneath his neck. “Okay…maybe. It was an accident.” Another lie. Motherfucking idiot.

  Pushing the tip deeper, a small drop of blood appears as I slide lower and pause mid-back. “Is that the version you want to stick with?”

  “Por favor.”

  “The truth,” I spit out through clenched teeth, forcing the blade in a little deeper. “Be a man and confess your sins.”

  “I hate her for not wanting me.” It’s spoken low, almost indiscernible.

  “What was that?” A soft pull and the blade cuts lower, the opening another inch longer.

  “Please stop.”

  “Say it. Why were your hands on her?”

  “Because I hate her for not wanting me!” he yells out, tears slipping from his eyes and onto the tabletop.

  “Thank you.”

  “Will you let me go now?” Signio is shaking, failing at moving away from my blade.

  “No.” Pulling the knife from his back, I lean down close to his ear and smile. “That’s number one.” The second and third cuts are to the left of the original on his spine and aren’t are small. They’re easily five inches long and bleeding profusely, but not deep enough to cause any serious problems. “You ready for number four?”

  “I’ll never go near her again.”

  “That wasn’t my question…” Dragging the tip across to his right side, I slice another jagged line down to the top of his ribs “…parce.”

  “No more.”

  “Count the next one. What number are we on.” Signio doesn’t respond, and I hum. “If you lost count, I could always start again. One?”

  “No! No.” His eyes snap shut and his bottom lip trembles. “Y-you’re on number five of s-seven.
”

  “Good boy.” Number five and six are small and very shallow, just deep enough for a drop or four to pool at the center with the other lacerations. “You ready for the last one?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You are getting off easy, Cortez. Now, thank me for my leniency.”

  “Gracias…fuck!”

  I embed the blade fully to the handle, right between two ribs, and leave it there. “You’re welcome.” Looking over at Geronimo, I nod toward the back exit where the stairs are. “Get him checked and comfortable. He’ll be leaving the premises Monday morning and we don’t want him to be in pain during the ride.”

  “As you wish, Patron.”

  “Hagale.” There’s a small sink near the electronic lift to change the oil of my cars and I walk over without sparing the bleeding man another look. There’s blood on my hands that needs to disappear and a beautiful girl I plan to worship after turning my monitoring system off.

  I miss my beautiful little flower.

  21

  I LOVE HIM.

  I love him.

  I love him.

  I’m screwed.

  Those words continued to run through my mind as we ate the breakfast he prepared and then when I went upstairs to change and encountered another surprise: a closet stocked with everything I’d need and a few things that make me blush.

  “What did you do?” I ask, mouth gaping like a fish as I take in everything this crazy, gorgeous man bought for me. There’s so many pieces of silk, lace, and delicate fabrics; Alejandro chose well and plenty with me in mind. My sizes are right and the fabric soft; I would’ve chosen these items for myself.

  There’s activewear, loungewear, and a few dresses for various occasions. Jeans and simple tops and more shoes than I’ve ever owned in my life. There are also a few things that I’ve been tempted to try on in the past and didn’t have the courage to. I had no one to wear them for.

  Risqué and indecent, the lace bodysuit with cutouts in private places is beautiful. But more than that, I want to wear it for Alejandro and have him rip the delicate fabric with his teeth.

  “With me, you’ll never want for anything. I’ll always take care of you.”

  “Always?”

  “In this life and every single one that follows, I own you and you me.”

  I shiver at those words—the declaration behind his possessiveness—and he kisses the area just below my ear. “You cold?”

  “No,” I say and try to focus on the here and now as I’m given a private tour of his home. He was gone a while this morning, taking care of something I never cared to ask about while I relaxed on his couch. Could I have snooped? Yes. No doubt. However, I don’t want to learn a single private anecdote or personality trait from his belongings.

  I want him to tell me every last secret.

  I want him to show me what makes him happy.

  “You sure?” The landscape in front of me is beautiful—every inch of his land is, and more so when I take it in with his rich timbre whispering in my ear. He’s explained every little thing I’ve seen, his chest vibrating against my back with each word.

  “I am.” My nipples are hard, and I try to contain the whimper fighting to break free. Moreover, a part of me is sad we’re dressed in T-shirts and jeans because I want to feel his skin on mine. Bask in his warmth.

  “Hmm?” It’s a low hum in the back of his throat, and the sound is dangerous. Sexy. “We can always head back and pick up a light jacket.”

  “I’m okay.” More than, but I don’t voice how much his thoughtfulness means to me. The man continues to surprise me at every turn, and I find myself loving every layer I uncover.

  The sweet. The devious. The danger.

  I love him.

  I should be scared and surprised and begging him to take me back home, but I don’t. My attraction to him isn’t new; I’ve hidden this from everyone, buried my desires for so long, but the more time we spend together…

  I’ve fallen.

  I see this side of him that’s sweet and caring. Every interaction—every stolen moment has made me his.

  He’s my person, and I truly don’t care about his business or the fighting with my father; I choose him. I know that deep down, it will always be him.

  “Good girl.” He kisses the back of my head, tapping the horse’s side with his boot. We’re on the north side of his terrain and riding his prized criollo horse, my back nestled tightly to his front. “We’ll be there soon.”

  “Okay.” I’m willing to follow him, no questions asked. However, while he continues to talk, I focus on the feel of his thigh muscles flexing while he directs Azul further into the pasture.

  At first, I didn’t understand why he called this ebony criollo blue, but after taking him out of the paddock and giving him a few nose scratches, I saw it. The stallion’s eyes are like two azure gems: pure and clear. Azul holds a commanding presence that’s drowned in protectiveness for its riders, and I can see why Alejandro favors him.

  He’s gorgeous, just like the owner.

  “We’re almost there, little flower. Are you tired?” His arm around me tightens, pulling me impossibly closer as we reach a large wooden gate. So far, I’ve seen his stables, livestock, and met a few of the ranch hands—noticed the tight security at each stop and the guns in holsters—but there’s still so much more. At least that’s what he said after we left a small creek halfway from the barn and where we are now.

  Throughout the tour, it’s been lush greens and vibrant wildflowers.

  It’s been birds chirping and the sound of hooves meeting the terrain.

  “Not at all. This place is amazing,” I say, leaning my head back against his shoulder. I’m warm and feel safe. Completely enveloped by his earthy scent. “If I lived here, I’d never leave.”

  He nuzzles my hair. “That can be arranged.”

  “Don’t tempt me.”

  “One day you just might find yourself kidnapped.” There’s an edge of danger to his tone, and I shrug with complete nonchalance. “Not afraid?”

  “Not in the least.” Turning my head, I kiss his jaw and then look forward again. “I’d be more than okay with that.”

  “Careful, Solimar. You’re tempting the wrong man.”

  “I know.” Azul stops at the gate and pulls on a thick piece of rope attached and tugs, leading us through the opening without Alejandro giving him instruction. He just trots slowly through the known pathway in the grass that’s wide enough for a truck and stops a few feet in. “Wow.”

  “Welcome to El Jardin de Sara.”

  “You are becoming too perfect in my eyes, Mr. Lucas, and that’s a hazardous thing for my sanity.”

  Alejandro chuckles, thumb rubbing circles on my arm. “Why is that?”

  “Because I love the fact you dedicated a garden to your mother, and more so, that you’re sharing it with me. You’re different with me, Alejandro. You’re not hiding who you are, and I find myself defenseless in your arms.”

  I’m blushing. Can feel the heat as it spreads across my cheeks and then down my throat and across the top of my chest. My confession slams into the forefront once again. How easily I’ve fallen for him. I’m embarrassed, heart almost beating out of my chest, and yet I don’t regret my honest answer.

  Not when his lips quirk up and the sight of Alejandro’s boyish grin makes me feel light and free. Foolish and strong. Unafraid and more than willing.

  Jesus. I look away for a second, needing a moment to collect myself while his heated stare remains on me. It’s there, burning my flesh while his masculine scent infiltrates and dominates my senses.

  This thing between us scares me.

  Makes me feel alive.

  It’ll break me in the end.

  22

  SOONER THAN SHE’S ready, I’ll overwhelm her world more than I already have.

  There’s no avoiding our future and the sacrifices she’ll have to make. Because while my Preciosa claimed to choose me last night, I’m
not sure she understands what life as my queen will entail.

  Who she’d become at my side. What she’d give up.

  With me, there is no in-between. No middle ground.

  Solimar needs to intimately know both sides of my coin: the monster and then man.

  I’m not a saint, but I’ll worship her and always be there. I will kill to protect.

  Because while I’m no good for her, I am selfish enough to never let go. Because one thing is hearing stories on the evening news, and the other is living my reality.

  Pressing my lips to the side of her head, I dismount and offer my hand. “You still trust me, Miss Quintero?”

  “Yes.” Not a single second of hesitation and then her small fingers entwine with mine as I help her off and then step into her personal space. That tight little body slides down over my hardness and her feet touch the ground, a soft sigh escaping those bee-stung lips. “I do trust you.”

  “Good girl.”

  “I love it when you call me that.” She clutches my shirt trying to reach my lips, but I kiss her forehead and step back. Soon, Preciosa.

  “And you call me the dangerous one?” I wink and turn her toward my mother’s garden, not paying attention to the exaggerated pout or the huff she releases. Instead, I walk us to the center of the passion fruit grove. “Come with me. There’s one more thing…”

  “More than this beautiful garden? This place is perfect.”

  “Thank you.” Standing behind her, I kiss the crown of her head and pull her back to my chest. She shivers as one arm wraps around her midsection. My girl lets out a lovely hum when I bring my cheek down next to hers—nuzzling her. “I planted this grove the year my father died so Mom wouldn’t go without. You see, it’s her favorite fruit drink, and he holds the blame for this obsession.” I press my lips to the area just below her ear and smile when she mewls. “It’s the first thing he bought her when they began to date, and their chaperone stopped to buy fresh fruit at a stand. My great grandmother wasn’t an easy woman, but that little detour from their walk in the park changed their lives. She loved it so much and promised to stick by his side as long as he provided a few of these each week.”