by Amarie Avant
“Bad habit, my apologies.” I smile at her. “You’re such a cute gordita! Escúchame, Angelica. Like a stuffed teddy bear!”
My gloved hand whisks over her chin, pulling her vision back to my brown eyes. “You may eat dinner. I’m going to check on LeAnna. Once she has seen me, you can. How does that sound?”
“No . . . no.”
“Why?” I grin, though the answer is evident. The more Angelica is aware of my identity, the less chance I’ll let her go. Why is she so naïve as to believe I’d ever let her go? Not in this world. The next is more plausible.
“Send me home after she sees you. Th-then, the two of you, can continue . . . with being happy together.”
“But I’m a man of my word, Angelica. I’ve promised your life.”
“You were angry about me knowing Mr. Alverez. What do you mean by that? How can you pr-promise not to-to kill me, especially if I see you?”
“Good question.” I wink.
Around eleven p.m., I arrive. The roommate, Miranda, leaves a little before that time. This evening, I use the keycard I made for myself instead of climbing from the roof to the terrace. I’d snuck off with LeAnna’s while she was doing a photoshoot a while back. She gets so lost in her work. She never knew it went missing.
On the way up, I slide my cellphone out. From a camera I have set up in LeAnna’s bedroom, I can see they’re in the shower. Together.
My face is despondent beneath my mask, and my shoulders sag. Why is she doing this to herself? She had months of following me—and accidentally following him—to know the man he is.
I enter the bedroom. If they see me, so be it. Dominic will die. I’ll renege on my promise to Angelica by murdering her and leaving LeAnna in her spot until the woman I love gets some sense into her.
LeAnna’s’s mistakes have brought out the worst in me. The impulsivity. The impatience. The need to light another fucking cigarette.
I grab one from the back of my jeans, place it parallel to my nose, and inhale the faint scent of it.
At the foot of the bed is an open bottle of wine. Sighing, I pick it up. My luck had turned for the better. It’s mostly full. Kneeling on the side of the bed, I pull my pill crusher from my utility belt and enough tranquilizers to drop a horse. Eyes ablaze at the opened bathroom door, I watch the shadows in the fogged glass. This entire weekend they’ve been entwined as one.
Clenching my jaw, I pulverize the medication. Tilting the contraption, I let the white dust glide into the wine bottle.
I move toward the archway of the bathroom and stand there, pulling the mask off my face. There’s a hard grimace on my thick lips while I watch. LeAnna’s plastered against the glass wall. Her chocolate nipples are crushed, gliding up and down. All she has to do is open her eyes, and she will see me. Dominic is pounding her from behind. Her fingers clasp the glass; she clutches in desperation. The water drowns out most of her screams.
Faint as it is, I can hear her loud as day, moaning the wrong name—his name, not mine.
Her pretty brown orbs begin to flicker open. I maneuver to the left, shielded by the wall.
Sliding my cigarette out again, my other hand drums at my leg while I inhale the unlit paper.
I move toward the area behind the bed where LeAnna has a home office and sit. I place my Glock on the table then remove my knife. After working the perfect balance over my knuckles, I set it on the table too. Fissures begin to cobweb like a thin layer of ice as LeAnna lets the devil get between us.
Now, he’s encircled her in his arms. The rift continues to breach—patience on a lifeline. Because if I break, or they make me, then my good intentions for LeAnna are thwarted.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Dominic
Good drinks, better head, maybe even fatigue are a few reasons I’ve slept with a woman overnight. Two nights? Never. Aria has a dulce de leche laced pussy and a fierce heart. The former, I crave, the latter is my crux.
My mouth dips into a smile as morning sunlight plays across her naked, brown flesh. Though I can’t quite recall fucking Aria after the shower, my cock swells with pride. I had that. I will conquer my addiction, one day, hopefully soon.
Closing my eyes, I exhale. Dom, conquer your addiction to her, idiota. You’ve crossed the line between sex and intimacy. While some assume the two terms were one and the same, sex is about lust, aggression, feeling. Intimacy is telling a woman, “you’re safe with me.” Letting a woman in.
Aria’s stumbling block is her sister’s disappearance—and presumed death—and El Santo. Though my problems are much simpler from her point of view, I have Dario to consider.
My hermano clings to independence. Watching him fall from his wheelchair, I’d react. Same as Mami. Although, she’s not here to have a punch thrown at her. Dario and I have engaged in more fights since he’s been disabled than when we did as children. I huff, Aria had a point. She’s the first woman who dished out the same shit I’ve offered clingy women. But I have to save her from this innate need to vindicate her twin.
“Penny for your thoughts.” Aria moans, her body curving into an arch, tits planting against me.
“You don’t want to know my thoughts.” I eye her breasts, determined to see how luscious they feel around my dick before I’m done with her.
“Keep your thoughts.” Aria climbs onto my waist, her dazzling brown eyes shining down on me. “What are your fears, Dominic?”
I lift my hips, hard, and the apex of her feels like heaven slamming back down on my cock. “You straddled me . . . to ask about my fears. Fucking tease, mami.”
Her beautiful skin glows as she offers a knowing laugh. “What wine did we drink last night?”
“Same as the night before.”
“Well, last night had a nice kick.” Aria’s thighs squeeze around my waist. Dipping down, she dusts kisses along my chest and up my jawline. I’m about to catch her mouth with my own when she sits up. I reach out to paw her breast, and she swats my hand.
“Back to my question, Dom.”
“What question?” In a second, I lift, suckling her hardened nipple into my mouth and squeezing the curve of it in my fist.
“Dom,” Aria purrs, pussy permeating gushy, wet stamps along my waist. She starts to slide back over when my arms swoop down, locking her on top of me. Smile uncontainable, she threatens, “Hey, I could kick you out. Focus.”
“Fears?” I cock a brow. “You teasing me like you did during our first few encounters, and me never having you. Biggest fear of my life. There you have it, chula. Fuck me.”
“Be real.” Her hands drum across my biceps. I loosen my hold around her. The word intimacy blares in my psyche. Sí, biggest fear ever. Aria settles at my side, one thick thigh over my waist.
The man I was molded into craves sex with her. Plentiful, amazing sex so that I can erase the chula out of my system before she has the chance to return the favor. But I shed the thought. Nope. Nada. This isn’t something I’ll share. “No fears, mami.”
She groans into my bicep. “You have to be afraid of something. What penetrates that ambition and confidence on occasion?”
I blink a few times, then it clicks. Offering Aria my affection didn’t make me restless. The night before last, I told her to fall for me. It was a line; they all are, resorting to words and feigned emotions after sex, which was fucking extraordinary. But when I said that to Aria, it wasn’t my usual line. So, if it’s not intimacy that I’m afraid of, it’s . . . Alejandra. Aria transforming into Alejandra, what a nightmare. Aye, no bueno, I can’t say that. I smile a little. “Cup towels.”
“What?”
“I’m afraid of cup towels.”
She cackles, assaulting me with cute, little punches.
I turn to my side. “Don’t give me that look, Aria. You asked. This is me, a thousand percent transparent.”
“Okay, tell me, Mr. Top Chef in the kitchen, how cup towels of all things scare you.”
I press my lips to her forehead, and I stay there
, my breath on her skin. No part of me is ready to let go. “When I was a chamaco, I was a bad motherfucker. My mami came after me with a cup towel. It got to the point where I knew if bad grades were sent home, I didn’t eat dinner.”
“Ha!”
“Not funny. I was never a little guy, chula. I played soccer, got into my fair share of trouble. Had to be fed.” I pat my abdomen.
“So, you ducked and dodged your mother and her cup towel?” Aria sighs.
“Aye, my mami may have come up to my chin, but she hit me with her zapata, too. Impeccable aim. But there was a difference between the cup towel and her shoe.”
Holding her arms around her waist, Aria chortles. “Eh, I’d be more afraid of getting hit with a shoe.”
“Nah. It took Mami a while to reach down and grab her zapata. By the time she did, I’d be already across the street.”
Shoving her hands through her hair, Aria laughs. She grips her midriff and continues until her eyes are shining. She wipes away tears. “God, I wish I had the chance to meet your mother.”
“Sí? I was her favorite. The bad one. Dario never knew the sting of a wet cup towel or a zapata at the back of his head.”
“You were not the bad . . .? Eh, never mind. I can see a miniature, muscular version of you. I’m sure you had curls for the girls before the phrase became popular. Your mother loved you, no matter what. It tears me to pieces when good people leave this earth.”
Noting the jaded flicker in Aria’s eye, I tangle my hand in her hair. I pepper kisses across her face until the exultant glow falls around her again. I give just enough. Because if I continue, I’ll place myself in the position of having told her the truth the other night—that I’m falling for her. I sigh against her lips. “Chula, speaking of my hermano, I have to check on Dario.”
“Tell me about him.” Her voice tenses. “Crazy world. We both ha-have twins. Were you close before his accident?”
I sit up, leaning against the custom headboard. “Dario was breaking down and rebuilding computers by age ten. We were never close. I had sports. He had this inquisitiveness. But around our familia, we could finish each other’s sentences. That was our greatest twin power.”
“Hmmm.” She leans against me again. “More.”
“He had computer clubs. I had chulas. My hermano was a geek before nerds became popular.”
“The exact opposite.” Aria laced her hands into mine.
“In high school, we grew further away from each other. Dario was shy. I never saw him outside of a classroom—I didn’t take advance classes, either. But I will tell you that I didn’t have to study. He did.”
She laughs a little. “Cocky bastard.”
“Aye, you chulas are a fan of ambition. Our senior year, he switched to a gifted school. My padres were sent home that year.” I grit my teeth a little.
“They couldn’t stay?”
“They hired an immigration attorney. The pendejo charged them retainer after retainer. Strung them along with the notion that as soon as either Dario or I turned eighteen, we could petition to make them legal.”
“How old were you?”
“Mami, the attorney lied. The citizen has to be twenty-one with the financial capacity to care for his or her parent.”
“I’m sorry. Did they see you graduate?”
“High school, no, mami. Dario stuck with the gifted school during that last year. I took night classes. I wouldn’t dream of giving up soccer, not without my mami there to keep me in line. I got a job. Sent them money. Graduated and thought, fuck that attorney, I could do better.”
“Sounds like a happily ever after should’ve been the next step.”
Aria’s tantalizing eyes flit away, and she bites her lip as if deep in thought. I’m torn between biting her lip too or asking her questions. With a hunch she’ll clam up, I continue to open up about myself to her.
“Sí, mami, things changed.” I run my hand along her hip. “I’ll tell you more about them all later. I truly have to go.”
“Alright.” She’s quick to rise. It’s like me in the morning, once I found out I slept with a woman. I clasp her wrist and draw her back toward me. Aria rolls until she plants her chin on my chest. Her ass is like two delicious lumps. I grab one cheek, and it’s malleable in my palms.
“Promise me, no more El Santo. No searching for him, thinking about him, nada.” When she doesn’t respond, I squeeze tight. “Promise, LeAnna.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Aria
I remove my chin from Dominic’s brawny chest, the smile on my face gone in a flash. Seconds ago, I’d visualized his life, coveted it. He had two parents who wanted the best for him. He had his twin. Pressing my hands against his abdomen, I attempt to move. His clutch on my ass cheek is brutal.
“Don’t call me that,” I grit. I could go an entire lifetime not being referred to as LeAnna. Lifting my chin, I bite out, “I changed my name for a reason, Dominic.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t understand. Until I became Aria, I was the girl who fed her sister—her fucking twin—to the wolves! LeAnna let ReAnna down. But Aria means ‘lion of God’ in Hebrew. That’s me now. Not some weak girl who can’t handle her shit.”
Instead of having an epiphany or softening his demeanor, Dominic holds tight to my flesh. “ ‘Lion of God,’ I like that. Now promise me, Aria.”
For a beat, our gazes glue to each other. In the depth of his dark eyes is a single note of sincerity. “You’re no match for a serial killer, chula.”
Though my ass cheek is screaming from Dominic’s savage claiming, I confidently retort. “I’ve researched El—”
“Prometeme—promise me!” He lets go of my derrière. The viciousness of his handprint transforms into a temporary tattoo. Dominic hooks his ankle around mine. I’m manhandled below. The intoxicatingly attractive devil controls me from atop, settling between my naked thighs. My sex approves of him, softening, wetting against his mounds of muscle.
“Dom, you don’t prefer goodbye. Well, I’m anti-promises.”
Anger flashes in his gaze. Soft Spanish words whisper against my skin. I’m the mujer loca, heard it all before.
“So, don’t give a fuck about you, then? Sí, mami?”
The flashes of honey in his smoldering avocado eyes darken. I don’t break my gaze like before. I’m torn between stronger convictions and something delightfully new. Him.
“Listen, I had obligations when you crashed into my life.” I gulp, refusing to mention ReAnna again. “I already made a vow to myself, Dominic. There are women out there being targeted. Almost ten dead! The media has glamorized serial killing because the fucker is smarter than them all.”
“The entire Miami task force is working day and night—”
“Doing a shitty job.”
He starts off me. Though fury flares across my skin, my gaze draws to his body. The physical attraction mesmerizes me momentarily from the disappointment in him.
“You’re a woman, Aria.”
“I’m a woman? Fuck you!” I sit up in bed, pulling the covers over my breasts.
“I’d rather you fuck me than run after danger.” Again, a Spanish melody exits his lips as he shoves his lengthy limbs into his pants. “What if you freeze?”
While making quick work of buttoning his shirt, Dominic skewers me with a hard gaze. Damn, case won. Instead, I say, “Goodbye, Mr. Alvarez.”
“But you do freeze at times, Ms. Jones, correct?”
My teeth grit. The bastard mentioned my triggers were his leverage as an attorney. Thoughts swarm through my head. In the end, I chose the one best suited to help El Santo’s victims.
Three days ago, I had the most incredible time of my life. Then I ruined a good thing.
Sitting on a stool in the art room, I find myself staring at a blank canvas. Time has sifted through my fingers. I never got around to asking Dominic about symbolic or cultural references to butterflies. I doubt he will answer me now. Not that he hasn�
��t reached out.
Lord knows he’s tried.
But I’m the same woman who once thought two outings in the same week crushed my vibe.
I glance over his text messages.
Dominic: Are you honestly not answering me?
Dominic: Mami??
Dominic: You’re reading my messages. Grow up, chula.
The text messages lessened. The attempts to call died yesterday.
I slide my phone back into my jean pocket and situate my apron over my legs again.
Another hour later, I blink at the blank canvas, ears perked.
C’mon, Aria, now is not a good time to wonder if Miranda is home. It’s the middle of the night. Cosmos and couture dresses are what it’s about.
Arising off the stool with a grunt, I step toward the veranda, checking the door. The sliding glass zips back.
“I locked you,” I mumble to myself. Did you, Aria?
A gust of air teases my freshly showered skin as I latch the sliding glass door. The resounding click is amplified in my ears. I close my eyes for a moment, begging the upsurge of hyper-alertness to dive low. With a vengeance, suspicion appears out of nowhere. I zip around and strut into the hallway.
Head cocked, I glance into my bedroom, my brain busy making inferences and assessments. Damn all this extra space. Conscious of every step I make, I start around one side of the bed. My hands skim the nightstand to keep me grounded in this reality, not that nightmare—one that includes ReAnna.
Relief floods the adrenaline in my veins at the sight of my glossy navy-blue table and faux fur desk chair. All the oxygen I’ve deprived myself sifts back into my lungs in a single gasp.
“Dominic was right, mujer loca! You’re not a friggen detective either.” I snatch my cellphone from my pocket and tap a quick text.
Aria: I’ll be at On Demand tomorrow. A tapas bar is on the second floor of the plaza.
Thumbs hovering over the screen, I contemplate. Do I blatantly invite him? I’m not apologizing for my convictions. With a smile, I do the next best thing and tell a Cuban man his lunch will be my treat, ending the message in a wink. Cheesy, yeah. But will Dominic come? Now, that I’m not confident of. Damn, I gave Miranda the alias Messy Miranda. So, what’s my nickname?
