Protector Of Convenience (Rogue Protectors Book 2)

by Victoria Paige

  Married.

  It didn’t make sense, and he should be terrified, but he was strangely looking forward to what their life together would bring.

  The I-5 exit came up and he guided the Escalade Hector lent them toward the off-ramp.

  “Thank God we’re almost there,” Ariana said with relief.

  “You don’t need to pee again, do you?”

  “Not really, but my butt really hurts.” She shifted uncomfortably.

  His glance slid to her before returning to the road. “I can give it a massage.”

  “Oh, you give good butt massages, do you?”

  “I give good massages. Period,” he said.

  A frown crossed Ariana’s face. “Have we discussed your past girlfriends?”

  “You don’t need to know about them because the last steady girl I had was in high school. See right there. I said steady. Gives you an idea how long it’s been since I’ve been in a relationship.”

  He could feel her gaze burn down the side of his face. “But why?”

  Migs took his time to answer and concentrated on merging their SUV in I-5 traffic.

  “Numerous deployments in special forces isn’t exactly conducive to building a relationship. And when I joined the DEA? Forget it. I was undercover in a world of crime and drugs. I didn’t want it to touch my family. I had to stay away from the one I already had because I was at an age where they’d push every proper Mexican girl at me.”

  This time it was Ariana who grew quiet. He slowed down behind a car, noted that they were going to move five yards for every five minutes and glanced at his passenger. “I don’t like that look on your face.”

  “I’m not proper or a high-bred Mexican elitista. I’m the sister of a crime lord who wreaked havoc in LA.” Her voice pitched higher. “Maybe we should call this off.”

  Hell no. “I get it. You’re nervous about meeting my family.”

  “Yes! You’re bringing a mongrel into your home.”

  Migs chuckled. The drama.

  “It’s not funny.”

  “What do you think I am? I’m more of a mixed breed than you are.”

  “That’s not what I meant, and you know it. Your blood is practically blue.”

  Her statement pissed him off. “Fuck that.”

  Her eyes widened at the sharpness of his tone. A car honked behind them as the traffic started to move. It also gave Migs a chance to get over his annoyance with Ari for suggesting he was some kind of royal blood. Far from it. He hated that she was seeing this as an issue, but he had to look at where she was coming from.

  He knew her history before she even told him about it. CIA and DEA had a file on her. Orphan from the age of seven, she had two brothers—Raul and Jose. They lived with an aunt for a while but that didn’t last. Raul, who was already nineteen at that time, took his siblings to Tijuana and raised them. Raul got recruited by a plaza boss. Jose wanted to follow in his footsteps and got killed in a botched border-crossing shootout with the Mexican Federalists.

  Raul uprooted Ariana from Tijuana and joined a rival cartel with connections to a dominant gang in LA and the rest was the crime lord’s colorful history. There wasn’t much about Ariana during her growing-up years, but she said her brother sent her abroad to live in Switzerland for a while. It was probably there that she got immersed in all the vitamin nutrition shit. While she was learning to preserve beauty and life, her brother was its destroyer and wreaked havoc in the LA criminal underworld.

  “Look at me. See this?” He pointed to his earring. “And my tattoos? My grandmother barely lifted a brow when she saw my first sleeve. You’re basing your opinion of my family on Hector. I’ll admit his side of the family is more snobbish, but they sure as hell didn’t get it from the Alcantara side. My dad is a gringo, and yet my Abbi Mena chose to live with us.” He gave her another brief glance as the I-5 traffic slowed to a crawl again. “I can assure you until I’m blue in the face, but I’d rather let you find out for yourself. And I can promise you this—I won’t throw you to the wolves. Got me?”

  “Okay,” she whispered.

  “Now, I can’t say the same about my sisters.” He felt her freeze, but he let loose a brief chuckle. “Hell, even as their brother I don’t understand their moods. Tessa is two years older than I am—she’s thirty-eight. Youngest are the twins and they’re twenty-two. You don’t have to deal with anyone going through puberty. The twins are in college right now, so you’re not getting the full force of the five Marias on day one.”

  “Thank God,” Ariana said, and he was sure she wasn’t saying that out of sarcasm or jest. It was relief. Not that he’d blame her.

  He picked up her left hand, felt her stiffen, and cast her a warning look. She relaxed her arm. He knew it would take her some time to adjust to his affectionate gestures, but he had to prime her for his family because they were an affectionate bunch. He ran a finger over the wedding ring he put on her yesterday.

  They both wore plain bands. He fibbed that he didn’t get her a diamond because they were keeping the cover that he was a mechanic and he was being practical and saving for their house instead, but in reality, he had something else in mind. His family would be horrified because Migs did have a share in the family business even while he wasn’t a part of its running.

  He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the back of her fingers. “Sorry I didn’t get you a diamond.”

  “What you said made sense for your cover to them,” Ariana said. “I don’t think I could look them in the eye if your family gushed over it. It’s for the best.”

  “But you like diamonds?”

  “I do,” she said. “I like well-made jewelry and I certainly wouldn’t buy from a designer store in Las Vegas. I know many artisan jewelers in San Francisco. I’d rather buy from them.” She grinned. “We did good, Miguel.”

  “Just know that my family is going to gripe at me for not getting you a proper ring,” Migs said. Or giving her a proper wedding for that matter. “You’re going to back me up on this, right?”

  “I will.” She glanced out the window. “How much longer until we get there?”

  Migs checked ahead at the flow of cars and then at the clock. “Another twenty minutes.”

  “Okay.”

  He squeezed her hand. Words weren’t needed to show her that he had her.

  She gave his own a squeeze too, telling him she had him.

  Yup, they were in this together.

  8

  From I-5, Migs drove them past his family’s avocado warehouse, showing Ariana the massive facility that spanned an entire block. From there, they took the same road to the ranch, which was a mere five miles out. Turning from the main road into its entrance, the person manning the guardhouse waved them past while giving Migs a friendly salute.

  It was a stretch of a driveway, it could even be classified as a private road.

  “Wow.” Ariana leaned forward in her seat to take in the tree-lined drive of the Alcantara estate. “It’s beautiful.” She marveled at the gently sloping hills as the sunset brushed the color of gold on the green of the landscape, mixing in with the encroaching shadows of the evening. At the end of a driveway was a sprawling Spanish-style one-story structure, which was a cross between a Mediterranean villa and a ranch house. Wrought iron lamps hung on the outside stucco walls and illuminated the entrance.

  Three people stood in front of the house. One, Ariana presumed was Migs’ dad. She knew he had called his father when they exited the interstate.

  “I guess that’s your dad?” she asked about the lone male in the trio that awaited them.

  “Yes. And that’s Mamá and my sister, Bella.” It was hard to discern their features with the lighting and the distance, but she could tell Migs got his height from his dad and his coloring from his mother. Before she could draw any more conclusions, the Escalade stopped next to them.

  They were all smiles, and Ariana couldn’t help returning one of her own.

  When she stepped
out, the older of the women embraced her as if she was a long lost daughter. “I couldn’t believe it when my son said he had found the one!” Ariana was kissed on a cheek and then was turned over to Bella. Miguel’s sister was a beauty. Almost as tall as Ariana, she had the dark eyes, delicate nose, and perfectly formed lips of a true Spanish mestiza highlighting the attractive combination of American and Spanish heritage. After giving her a hug, Bella immediately picked up her left hand, her mouth falling open.

  “Miguel! Where is the ring?” Bella exclaimed.

  Migs disengaged from his mother’s hug and walked to them. “Mind your own business, Bella,” he growled. “C’mere and give your bro a hug.”

  The affection was obvious between the two siblings as Bella squealed and launched herself into Migs’ arms, peppering his cheeks with kisses. “I can’t believe you’re married!” she shouted. “How could you deprive me of my bridesmaid’s dress?”

  “Jesus,” Migs muttered as he set his sister down. “You could deafen a man’s ear. No wonder you’re not married yet.”

  “Don’t say the Lord’s name in vain, Miguelito,” his mother interjected.

  As the two women and Migs traded barbs, his dad came up to her, extending his arm. “I’m the sane one in the family. Drew Walker.” He nodded to his wife and daughter. “And since Migs is slow in introductions, that’s my wife Delia and our daughter Maria Isabel. She also goes by Maribel but decided to change it to Bella after that vampire movie came out.”

  Ariana burst out laughing.

  “Your abuelita and your sisters are busy in the kitchen,” Delia told her son. She turned to Ariana and grabbed her arm. “I hope you’re hungry.” As his mother swept her into the house, Ariana looked back helplessly at Migs who had an amused look on his face and was following at a leisurely pace. Traitor.

  “You can call me Mamá,” Delia said, their feet hustled over red floor tiles. Ariana’s eyes took in the dizzying display of Southwest charm and Mexican architecture as Delia continued. “We’re a mixed-tradition household. The kids call Drew, Pops, while they call me Mamá.” She paused and must have noticed her interest in the interior. “I’ll show you around later. Abbi Mena doesn’t like food getting cold.” They exited into a portico that led into another part of the house. The scent of turned earth filled her nose and her eyes took in the vegetation silhouetted in the fading light.

  “That’s our vegetable garden. Migs or Abbi Mena can show that to you in the morning, too.”

  Migs did say his grandmother was a farm-to-table cook. One of her conditions in moving in with her oldest daughter was that she would be provided an expansive vegetable garden.

  Soon, the most delicious aroma hit her nose and made her mouth water. “Oh my god, what is that?” she couldn’t help saying.

  “I hope you’re hungry.” Delia repeated her earlier statement.

  And from the darkened portico, they walked into the biggest kitchen Ariana had ever seen in a home. High ceilings, wrought-iron light fixtures and a long heavy dark wood table sat in the opposite side of the kitchen in an alcove similar to those chef tables in exclusive restaurants. A farm table stood in front of granite kitchen counters. Between the counters and the stove were three women. The first one had a toddler hanging off her hip and was tasting out of a stock pot almost as big as the child she was carrying. Another woman was making tortillas on a griddle. The third and oldest of them was checking on their work as she wiped her hands on a towel. Over at the farm table a man with salt and pepper hair and mustache over a weather-beaten face was talking to a younger guy with tanned skin and threadbare shirt.

  “Everyone,” Delia addressed the room. Five pairs of eyes shifted to them and Ariana wanted to retreat. “They’re here!”

  From behind her, reassuring hands clamped down on her shoulders, and she instinctively knew it was Migs. He nudged her ahead.

  “Miguelito!” The older woman came forward. Silver hair with a few streaks of black was pulled back loosely into a bun. Spectacles rested on a strong nose, but Ariana was in awe of the serene beauty of Miguel’s eighty-year old grandmother. Very few lines marked her face, even as the light olive skin hinted of time under the sun.

  “Abbi Mena,” Migs said with affection, leaning in and kissing his grandmother on the cheek. Freckled, gnarled hands grasped his jaw, squeezing it. “Mijo, you break this old woman’s heart getting married without my blessing.” The Spanish accent was thick. Those sharp whiskey-colored eyes landed on Ariana. “Introduce me to your bride.”

  “Ariana, my grandmother—Filomena Alcantara. Everyone calls her Abbi Mena.”

  “Nice to meet you,” she squeaked.

  “Mami, no la asustes,” Delia admonished.

  “I’m not scaring her off, but I need to see who has captured my favorite grandson’s heart.”

  Ariana glanced at Migs, the guilt of this fake marriage was weighing heavily on her chest, strangling her throat.

  “She’s joking,” Migs told her. “She says that to all her grandsons.”

  “Bah! You are the most handsome one and strong as an ox,” his grandmother was telling Ariana like she was selling a bull in the market. “You’re very beautiful. You’re Mexican?”

  “I am.”

  “From where?”

  “Sinaloa.”

  “Ah, that would explain your coloring, your eyes. Sinaloans are known for their beauty. It’s the Lebanese blood. You have it, sí?”

  “I think so.”

  The older woman smiled, a satisfied glint reflected in her eyes. “I forgive my grandson for getting married without family around him. You and he will give me beautiful great-grandbabies.”

  Ariana’s cheeks flushed as she kissed her in greeting.

  “Mami, dinner is ready, and you don’t like it when it gets cold.” Delia winked at Ariana, coming to her rescue.

  As Abbi Mena got distracted by her daughter, Migs introduced her to his two sisters and the two other men at the table, but Ariana was already in overload, not sure she remembered their names.

  A flurry of activity ensued as she was led to the dining area in the alcove.

  The table was set, but there was hardly any food yet on its dark walnut-colored surface.

  “Christ, I’m hungry,” Migs growled. “Where’s the food?”

  “Ah …ah … brother,” Bella said as she laid a glazed cast-iron pot on the trivet. “Abbi Mena hears you cursing, she’s going to pinch your ears.”

  “And you wonder why I don’t come home often?” he asked.

  “We know that’s not it.” Bella eyed him slyly and flounced away.

  “I think your family is more astute than you give them credit for.”

  “Jesus, I hope not.”

  “Stop taking the Lord’s name in vain.”

  Migs shook his head and flashed her a charming smile. “Sí, querida.”

  As the family sat down to dinner, more people came in to join them. Ariana tried her best to remember their names and was developing a headache in the process. She wasn’t new to Latino family gatherings. She’d been to many and had seen both sides of the spectrum and the ones in-between. The gangster-style ones had the men wearing wife beaters under long sleeve plaid shirts while the women either wore baggy pants or butt-baring shorts. Heavily kohled eyes were also favored. As for the families on the right side of the law, you had men and women respectably dressed who went to church regularly—their moral values heavily influenced by Catholicism and traditional values of home. And then there were the elitistas.

  Migs family crossed all levels of the spectrum, with Migs of course providing the gangster vibe. There was something to be said about a rough and gruff tattooed guy going all marshmallow sweet—okay, that might be an exaggeration—when interacting with his grandmother.

  “Want me to make you another taco?” Migs asked her.

  Ariana already had two, and judging from the spread on the table, tacos were just an appetizer. “Another carnitas?”

  As Mig
s prepared her another taco, she asked, “Do you always eat this way?”

  It was his married sister Tessa who answered, “No. This is more than a usual evening dinner, but less than a true feast because my little brother here sprung a surprise on us, and we didn’t have time to prepare.” Tessa was the one with the toddler—Gigi. The man beside her was her husband Cesar who was the operations manager of their avocado warehouse. “No, Miguel, you’re preparing it wrong, don’t forget to put the tomatillo.”

  “She doesn’t like tomatillo salsa.”

  “She will like mine,” Abbi Mena said without looking at them, apparently keeping track of several conversations at once. “Put it on the side. If she does not like it, you can eat it for her.” She resumed her conversation with Delia.

  “What am I, the garbage disposal?” Migs muttered.

  “Stop complaining and do it.” His grandmother interjected without missing a beat in her discussion with her daughter.

  “When did I say I hated tomatillo?” Ariana asked.

  “When I took you to the taqueria on our first date, remember?”

  “You took her to a taqueria on your first date!” Bella yelled and all conversation at the dinner table ceased as all pairs of eyes glared at Migs.

  “It was my favorite one.” He transferred a prepared taco on her plate. “And what’s wrong? We’re having tacos tonight, right?”

  “Yes, but we also have roasted snapper,” Lettie, Miguel’s third sister, who was seated beside Bella, said. “And camarones.”

  “Please tell me it was one of those fancy taquerias that use shaved truffles on their tacos.” Tessa turned to Ariana, not willing to let it go.

  “Why the hell would you put truffles in a taco?” Migs grumbled.

  “Hah! I’m surprised you know what a truffle is, gringo.”

  “You’re half-white too. And who wouldn’t know what a truffle is? It’s chocolate,” Migs declared.

  All his sisters’ faces looked horrified and then they realized their brother was teasing.