by Ally Vance
“Dante Santiago,” he bites out between clenched teeth. “My contacts in New York saw him pay a visit to Senator Sanders a few days ago. Care to guess the main topic of conversation?”
My stomach plummets to my feet. “Me?”
He doesn’t confirm or deny. Instead, he paces in front of me, another trait he inherited from our father. The more he paces, the faster he talks. “Your cover is blown, chaparrita. They know María Diaz is an alias. They know who you are, and now they’re going to use you to get to me and papá. We can’t take that chance, so you’re going back to Mexico where the cartel can protect you.”
I can’t stop staring at the dark circles flashing under his eyes every time he passes me. Jesus, it looks like he hasn’t slept in days…maybe weeks. I noticed it at the pizzeria, but in the last week, it’s gotten worse. His obsession with this feud between our family and the Santiagos is consuming him.
“There’s nothing I can do to change your mind?” I ask weakly.
“No.” When he faces me, I recoil. The brother I grew up with, the one who used to laugh with me as we snuck cookies from the kitchen in the middle of the night, disappears behind the hardened mask of a criminal. “You’re in over your head, Lola. You’re fucking drowning, and you don’t even know it.”
A surge of fury courses through me, prompting me to hurl my purse against the wall. “Goddamn it, Santi! I’m eighteen, not eight! You can’t force me to leave the country. I’m just as much of a Carrera as you are. For fuck’s sake, I just punched a guy in the face for trying to get into my pants.”
Which was absolutely the wrong thing to say.
Santi’s dark eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “You what?”
“Focus, please,” I huff, redirecting the conversation. “The point is that you can’t keep ordering me around like this. You’re my brother, not my father.”
He gets deathly quiet. The strained kind of quiet where you know you’ve fucked up. The kind that fills the air with so much static it crackles. “You’re right,” he says calmly. “I’m not.” His jaw tics as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. Without a word, he presses a single button.
“What are you doing?” I whisper.
His narrowed eyes snap to mine. “Proving a point.”
Within seconds Santi is speaking into the phone in rapid Spanish. It’s my native language, so, of course, I understand every word, yet somehow it all gets muddled in my brain, hovering in that space between willful ignorance and denied truth.
Before the fog in my head can clear, he presses another button and holds the phone between us.
“Cielito,” a deep, heavily accented voice rumbles.
Oh fuck.
“Papá?” I have no idea why his name exits my mouth as a question. There’s no mistaking Valentin Carrera’s voice. I’ve witnessed grown men piss themselves at the mere sound of it.
“We had a deal, cielito.”
“I know, papá, but—”
“No buts,” he clips, cutting off my protest. “Your mamá and I allowed you to attend school under the direct supervision and discretion of your brother. Santi has informed me that your alias and safety have been compromised.”
I glare at my brother. Snitch. “But, papá…”
“¡Silencio!” I jump at the harsh command in his tone. My father has never raised his hand to me, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t terrifying. I may be papá’s little girl, but even I know when to shut the fuck up. “I almost lost you once at the hands of Dante Santiago,” he continues. “I will not risk my daughter’s life again. Your brother and I have many enemies, cielito. Enemies who would love nothing more than to see you suffer for our sins. So, you will pack your shit, and you will board my jet with Tito and return to Mexico City immediately.”
Oh goody, a traveling companion.
I don’t know what possesses me to ask, “And if I don’t?”
Dumb, Lola. Dumb, dumb, dumb.
Even Santi lifts an eyebrow.
“Lola…” It’s a grave warning. My father only uses my given name when I’m about to fall out of his good graces. It’s a dark place no one wants to find themselves, whether family, friend, or foe.
I swallow hard. “Sí, papá.”
“Santi,” he growls. “Take me off speaker phone.”
Obeying, my brother disappears into the kitchen to resume his cartel business discussion with our father in an unnecessary hushed tone. He could act out their entire battle strategy in an interpretive dance for all I care. I’m not interested in anything they have to say. I’m too devastated at the blow I’ve just been dealt.
My taste of freedom.
My chance at a normal life.
All gone because of Sam fucking Colton.
I wander around my apartment, soaking in the last moments of normalcy I have left. Sighing, I trail my hand over the white leather couch Santi cursed to hell for over an hour as he carried it up two flights of stairs. I dust my finger along the top of the flat screen TV, still hanging crooked on the wall after Tito refused to use a leveler.
All snapshots of independence soon to be a distant memory…
Stopping next to the window, I move the curtain to gaze out at the empty parking lot, when a flash of color catches my eye, causing my stomach to somersault.
A yellow Post-it Note is stuck to the glass. With a shaking hand, I tear it away and read the familiar slanted handwriting.
When the mouse strays, she gets punished. Slowly, painfully, until she begs for mercy. The hunt is on, chaparrita…
Chapter Seven
Lola
The pulse in my neck beats a furious rhythm. It’s him. He was here, inside my apartment.
But how? When?
When the mouse strays, she gets punished.
Oh God. Lifting my head off the glass, I stare out the window. One that gives a perfect view of the parking lot. Right where Alex’s car was parked.
I fist my hands, the note crumpling in my damp palm as I stumble backward.
He saw us. He saw me.
I should feel violated. Instead, a rush of heat pools between my legs. Thoughts swirl in my head of Sam standing where I am now, watching Alex kiss me. Watching him try to undress me. Watching as I fought back, the Carrera in me surfacing.
Did it infuriate him?
Did his cock harden as he watched?
Images spin through my head faster than I can control them. It’s sick and twisted, but I can’t stop. The more I think about him—his jaw tight, his need strong, and his hate for me, a barrel of gasoline with my taunting a lit match—the wetter I get.
I can’t breathe.
“Lola?”
I jump as my brother’s voice rumbles behind me. “Shit!” Fuck, fuck, fuck. Quickly shoving the note into my bra, I turn around, trying to mask arousal as annoyance. “Stop sneaking up on me like that!” As soon as my heart starts beating again, I shift a nervous glance back at the window. “How long had you been here before I walked in?”
“A few minutes. Why?”
No reason. Just wondering if you crossed paths with my stalker. “Never mind.” With as much dignity as possible, I walk past him toward the bedroom, when he grabs my arm. “What the hell, Santi? Do you or do you not want me to pack?”
He holds out his hand. “Give me your keys.”
“You’re kidding me, right?”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?”
No, he looks like he’s about to throw me over his shoulder and carry me back to Mexico.
There’s no hope in changing his mind. I’ve been a part of this family long enough to know a losing battle when I see one.
Sighing, I gesture toward the far wall where the contents of my purse lay scattered across the floor. “Help yourself.”
Rolling his eyes, he crosses the room and bends down to sift through the strewn contents. After pocketing my keys, he runs a hand through his carefully styled hair. “I have to make arrangements with Tito. I’ll be back in two h
ours. Be ready.”
Once again, I heave out a heavy sigh.
Santi tips my chin with his forefinger, the hard lines in his face softening. “Chaparrita, I’m not doing this to punish you.”
“It doesn’t feel like it.”
“You’re my baby sister, Lola. My responsibility. I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to you.” His hold tightens. “You have to understand that family is everything to me. I’ll kill for you. I’ll die for you. And any man who hurts you will suffer until his last breath.”
Damn it. His fierce loyalty is making it hard to hate him right now. “I know.”
And therein lies the problem. I do know. His words aren’t just idle threats. He won’t rest until Sam Colton pays. Not only for crossing territory lines, but for drawing Carrera blood.
For daring to taint the innocence of Valentin Carrera’s daughter.
The gold flecks in Santi’s brown eyes glitter with affection. “I love you, kid.”
Fucking asshole. “I love you too,” I mumble. It’d be so much easier if I didn’t.
With a final kiss on my forehead, my brother leaves me alone with my wayward thoughts and a ticking timeclock. Closing the door behind him, I turn and slump against it.
Two hours.
Two hours and then it’s goodbye freedom, hello shackles and chains. I love my family with all my heart, but they’re slowly suffocating me.
“You’re in over your head, Lola. You’re fucking drowning, and you don’t even know it.”
How the hell am I supposed to learn to swim if I’m never allowed to sink?
But you did sink, a voice in my head whispers. You sank hard, just like the enemy’s blade did into your skin.
Biting my lip, I reach into my bra and pull out the Post-it Note. Smoothing out the wrinkles, I read the words again, memorizing each slanted line as I wander back across the living room.
When the mouse strays, she gets punished. Slowly, painfully, until she begs for mercy. The hunt is on…
The hunt is on…
What does that even mean? Is he hunting me? Watching me right now?
Before I can stop myself, I wander back to the window. Scraping my teeth over my bottom lip, I lean against the wooden pane and scour the parking lot.
I’m a Carrera. Sam Colton is a Santiago associate. My family’s sworn enemy. I’m meant to hate him and everything he stands for. According to Santi and papá, he wants nothing more than to hurt me.
To kill me.
So, why simply mark me? He had every chance to defile Valentin Carrera’s daughter. To take my virginity and leave me bleeding until I gasped my last breath.
So why didn’t he?
I stared into those intense, dark eyes across the room the night of his party. They weren’t drenched in hate. They didn’t look upon me with malice. They radiated lust.
Brutally raw with unbridled desire…. And something else.
Something far more unsettling.
Obsession.
I know because it coursed through my own veins as I studied every inch of him. His dark hair was wild, a little long around his ears and in the back as if it was as reckless and chaotic as the man himself. Onyx eyes as black as midnight and as cold as the darkest winter night followed me every step I took. Every drink I sipped. Every cigarette I wrapped my lips around.
He was like a silent predator, stalking with beauty and grace and then devouring with the appetite of an entire pack.
He saved me that night from Troy Davis. I know he did. I can’t prove it. I can’t remember it. But he did. And then he marked me.
As if pulled by a magnetic force, my fingers trail down my dress, between my breasts, down my stomach, and hover just inside of my hip. I trace the still tender S with the tip of my finger. Over and over, I trace the brand he gave me, each pass hardening my nipples to stiff peaks.
I wonder if he’s outside this window watching me right now?
“What game are you playing, Sam Colton?” I muse, imagining him standing in the parking lot looking up at me through the window.
When the mouse strays, she gets punished.
Maybe in another lifetime, yes, but in two hours, I’ll be on a plane to Mexico. Our cat and mouse game is over. There will be no punishment… No begging… No hunt…
I’ll never see him again. He’ll never see me again.
Unless I let him see me now.
I don’t know what possesses me to unbutton the first button at the top of my dress, but the moment I do, a rush of heat pools between my legs so unbearably strong, I can’t control myself. I unbutton another…and another…and another…until the entire thing is barely hanging onto my shoulders. I can’t see anything outside the window. It’s too dark, but I feel him. He’s out there watching…waiting.
What I’m doing is dangerous. Tito could have left with Santi, or he could be standing guard right outside cataloging my every move. As my brother’s right-hand man, he wouldn’t hesitate to throw me under the bus.
Electricity sizzles down my spine at the thought of both men watching. One there to protect my purity, the other there to destroy it.
This is what being a Carrera means. Playing with fire. Balancing on the thin wires tracing my name. Risking the fall just to satiate an innate need to shatter society’s perfect ideals.
If I’m going to be convicted, I might as well commit the crime.
My fingers travel up my arm and curl around the strap resting on my shoulder. I’m lightheaded as it slides down my skin, ashamed of my own wantonness, but too far gone to stop. Trailing my hand across my chest, I reach for the strap clinging to my other shoulder, when the faint sound of my phone ringing catches my attention.
Turning, I stare across the room at the cell phone lying face down on the floor by my purse, and my stomach clenches.
I don’t have to look to know it’s Tito. He’s seen me, no doubt calling to warn me of my brother’s impending wrath.
My heavy footsteps carry me across the room, where I pick up my phone, my indiscretion searing the metal into my palm. The screen is blank, save two words.
Unknown Caller.
Of course. My family uses burner phones. Always helpful when avoiding the DEA. Sighing, I hit the accept button. “Tito, come on… I’m already in enough shit. Can we just keep this between—”
A rough breath hisses through the line, licking my ear with its forbidden tongue.
“Tito?”
He doesn’t answer, but the breathing grows heavier…lethal…more insistent. There’s an underlying growl hidden in the silence that ignites my skin.
Sam…
It’s him. I don’t know how I know; I just do. Closing my eyes, I imagine that onyx gaze following my every move as that wicked tongue wets his lips.
“Can you see me, Sam?” I whisper. “Do you want to see your creation?”
Wandering back to the window, I stare into the pitch-black night and push first one, then both straps of my dress off my shoulders. Emboldened by lust, I don’t flinch as the material slips past my waist and pools at my feet. I’m standing in front of my second-floor window in a black lacy bra and thong, breathing as heavily as if he were standing behind me, his lips brushing my neck.
Slowly, I run my fingers along the S puckering my skin, a strange pride filling my chest. “What does this mean?” I ask, placing a hand against the glass. “Am I marked for death? Or am I marked for you?”
As if in response, a bright orange glow ignites in the hazy dark, and then just as quickly, disappears. Startled, I take a few steps back, common sense trying to force its way through whatever wicked spell I’m under.
However, instead of getting dressed as any sane person would do, I lick my lips. “Sam…?” I call out, testing him by slowly dragging a bra strap down my shoulder. “Do you like what you see? Do you want me? Or do you just like to watch?”
The image in my head returns, bringing with it an insatiable ache between my legs. As if commanded, I slide my ot
her strap down, teasing a nipple through the thin lace of my bra. “Did you see me with Alex tonight? What would you have done if I’d let him touch me?” I’m growing delirious with lust, my pussy throbbing at the thought of my father’s enemy watching me…hearing me… “Would you have stopped me? Would you have killed him for it? Do you want to punish me, Sam?”
Fuck, I can’t take it anymore. I slip my hand into my panties, gasping as the tip of my finger finds my clit.
“What if I’d let him fuck me?” I groan, rubbing furious circles. The pleasure is so intense it lifts me onto my toes, forcing me to bow my head. “What would you have done?”
In my mind, it’s no longer my finger torturing my clit. It’s his. Stars burst behind my closed eyes as the fantasy pushes me closer to the edge.
“I’m a v-virgin, you know. Does that get you off? Shit!” The glass fogs as I sink my finger inside my wet heat, pumping just like I know he would do. “I’m leaving, Sam.” My body is shaking with need, words tumbling out of my mouth with reckless abandon. “Your little mouse is being taken away. You could’ve been my f-first. N-now another will take what’s yours. D-does that p-piss you off?”
Letting out a tortured cry, I return to my clit, chasing an orgasm carved in his image.
Pretending my hand is his mouth…his tongue…
“Would you take me hard? Over and over until I bled your name? Until there wasn’t a part of me that didn’t belong to you?” That’s it. The thought of him claiming and dominating me is too much. “Sam!” Collapsing against the window, I come hard, his name a hoarse cry on my lips.
When the euphoria of my orgasm finally fades, I slump against the window, my forehead and breasts pressed against the glass, and my hand still tucked inside my panties.
What’s even more pathetic? The fantasy will never be enough.
Quickly ending the call, I block the unknown number in a panic and push away from the window, staring blankly at my reflection—at my half-naked body and the crude S carved into the inside of my hip.
“You’re in over your head, Lola. You’re fucking drowning, and you don’t even know it.”
My brother is right. I’m drowning. I’m getting myself off in front of a window to the thought of my family’s sworn enemy, for Christ’s sake. The man who desecrated my body in the name of war, not desire.
