by Cora Kenborn
“How so?”
“Brody, come on,” I said, gesturing toward him. “If this were anyone else, you and your sister would be dust by now.”
“Val doesn’t hurt women.”
“No, Val doesn’t hurt women unnecessarily,” I corrected, stressing the last word. “Your sister murdered one of our men. Remember the code you willingly took?”
He paled. “I remember.”
“Exactly, and although Delgado was a lowlife shit, he was still one of our own. It wasn’t your or your sister’s choice to take him out. Only Val can make a call like that.”
We’d had this conversation on the phone, but it bared repeating.
“He would if he knew what else was at stake.”
I waited for him to explain and when he didn’t, I lost my patience. “If you have something to say, just fucking say it, Brody.”
He slammed his fist on the table, causing silverware to rattle and a few curious eyes to turn our way. “I can’t tell you. I gave my word to Leighton no one would find out.”
“And I gave my word to Val that I would.”
He opened his mouth to speak then closed it as a woman rushed by carrying a tray on her shoulder. I barely noticed her, inhaling slowly, ready to push him until he broke when my mind went blank.
Fresh cut wildflowers.
Senses were a funny thing. Just one scent of fresh cut wildflowers and I was lying on a damp embankment staring up at the night sky again.
“How come you know so much about stars?”
“I like reading about them. They’re just all this crazy stuff held together by gravity.”
“Kind of like you and me.”
“No, Matty, you are my gravity.”
Shaking my head, I tore myself out of the past. However, as agitated as I was, I still couldn’t take my eyes off her. Her familiar form caught my attention, captivating me into silence. She was dressed in cut-off denim shorts so tiny her ass peeked out from under the fringe and a black tank top that stretched over her petite frame.
Before I could stop myself, I’d leaned forward, straining for a closer look at the small but curvy woman buzzing around the cantina as if slinging chips and salsa were a matter of life or death. The swell of her ass cheeks fell out of her shorts even more as she set the tray on the bar and leaned over to hand in a drink order. The move earned her a glare from Emilio’s new bartender, who looked more frantic than friendly as she desperately flipped through a drink manual and measured shot pours.
I’d put money on the fact she’d never mixed a drink in her life.
Yep, Emilio’s fucking her.
Apparently the waitress agreed because she shook her head, grabbed the manual out of the bartender’s hands, turned the page, and handed it back. The scowl she got in return made me smile. I quickly cleared my throat, and ran a hand across my lips, pretending to smooth the hairs of my goatee, although not one was out of place.
“Something amusing?”
I shifted my gaze to see Brody staring at me, his arms crossed over his chest and a stupid smirk on his face. The fucker was sure as hell entertained for a man whose sister had popped her hit cherry on one of our sicarios.
“Looks like the picks from the employment pool came from the shallow end since Eden left,” I said, nodding toward the bartender and turning my attention back to the waitress.
She held a basket of chips and a mug of beer in her hands, her head bowed low so that her shoulder-length blonde hair dusted over her face. It brushed softly over her collarbone, glowing under the muted cantina lighting like silken wheat. All I could do was stare at her, willing her to lift her chin and turn around so I could pretend an insignificant waitress was her.
She didn’t, and, of course, it wasn’t. It hadn’t been for years.
I was a criminal trained to ignore emotion. However, a man couldn’t hide from the ghosts inside him, and the mind was a trapdoor just waiting to drop out from under his feet. For four years, every petite woman with hair like wheat and an angelic face sent me crashing into my own personal hell again.
Because of her.
My Star.
“Where the hell is my beer?” I growled, my mood tanking.
At that moment, the waitress turned around and our gazes locked. Warm, golden-brown eyes widened, and for a moment, I wondered if I’d wanted it so bad that I’d conjured her. However, the panic on her face said it all. I hardened my stare without moving. She swallowed, the hand holding the beer shaking as if her veins had been shot full of liquid ice.
My pulse raced so hard, I felt like I’d run a marathon from Nuevo Laredo right into a brick wall. Her breathing hastened, and she lifted a hand to cover her mouth. Unfortunately, it happened to be the one holding my beer. The cantina went silent as thick glass shattered on the cement floor by her feet, suds and shards scattering all around her.
Still, we stared, unable to break a connection, four years overdue.
Brody snorted. “Well, not quite the introduction I was hoping for, but Mateo Cortes, meet my klutzy sister, Leighton Harcourt.”
Leighton.
Lies. All lies.
I wanted to close my eyes and let it sink in how truly fucked I’d been, was, and now am, but I couldn’t. The underboss in me fought to stay in control and show no weakness. Especially not for her.
“Well, Leighton Harcourt,” I said, keeping my voice flat, “you seem to have made somewhat of a mess.”
Double meaning. Aimed and fired on purpose.
Dropping the basket of chips still in her other hand, she reached for the ends of her hair, rolling them between her fingers. The move stirred something feral in me. Years melted away, and a waitressing uniform blended into an expensive yellow dress as bright as the sun. Her shoulder-length hair suddenly tumbled down her back in soft waves that felt forbidden to touch.
Then it all disappeared when she let out a string of curses I’d never heard fall from her lips and turned to grab a rag. Bending down to clean up the mess, she blinked a few times as if banishing her own contaminated memories. “Shit, I’m sorry, Brody. I’ll clean this up.”
I didn’t feel myself move from my chair, but I felt her stiffen the moment I knelt in front of her and took the rag from her hand. “Allow me.”
Her body shook as my hand brushed hers. “It’s fine,” she said, jerking her arm back and diving for one of the larger pieces of glass. “I’ve got it.”
“Do you? I’m not so sure you’ve handled much of anything.”
My words made the muscles in her jaw tick. I enjoyed the sight until her face contorted and she let out a pained cry. She opened her clenched hand, and we both looked down at the small slice the shard of glass left on her palm. Blood seeped from the cut, dripping down her wrist and mixing with the beer still pooling on the floor.
“Why is there always more blood?” she rasped.
The phrase caught me off guard—the pain in her voice as she stared at her hand triggering an instinct in me. One that hadn’t been awakened in a long time.
Keeping my eyes on her, I took her hand in mine and dragged the tip of my index finger through the blood in the center of her palm. Her breath hitched as she met my gaze. Everything around us disappeared, leaving only the collision of past and present sealed by blood. Blood that now coated my skin. Blood that I rubbed between my finger and thumb, staining a promise long broken by betrayal.
It was impulsive and dangerous. I wanted to push her onto the rest of the glass, but I didn't know if it was to shove my tongue in her mouth and claim her or shove my gun in it and kill her. Both cravings developed from the same dark desire. The need to salvage control over the anarchy she caused.
“Hey, are you okay, Lil’ Bit?” Our private moment shattered when Brody appeared between us, squatting down to inspect his sister’s injury.
Flustered, Leighton jerked her hand away from me and stumbled to her feet. “It’s nothing,” she assured him, forcing a smile. “I’d better go get cleaned up—health cod
e violations and all.”
She couldn’t get away fast enough. Brody glared at me while sliding back into his chair, but I never took my eyes off her until she disappeared into the back. As activity resumed in the cantina, I rose to my feet and calmly walked back to my seat. No need to lose control more than I already had.
I’d barely reached for my napkin when Brody slammed his beer down, shaking the cheap table. “What the hell was that all about?”
“What was what all about?” Lifting an eyebrow, I tried for a look somewhere between annoyed and impassive. What I got in return was a scowl that reminded me that Brody had learned well during his time with us.
“I didn’t like the way you were looking at her,” he growled. “She’s already had to deal with being harassed by two cartels. I won’t allow another member of my own to do it too.”
His brazen threats amused me. “Allow me? I outrank you.”
Anger caused his cheeks to flush blood red. “I’m serious, Mateo. Don’t lay a hand on my sister. You have your choice of women to notch your bedpost. My family won’t be one of them.”
Like he had a choice.
“Oh, I won’t lay a hand on her. Trust me.”
“So we’re clear then?”
“Crystal.”
He nodded, and his body relaxed into the flimsy wooden chair as if all had been resolved.
Not even close.
I pushed my own chair back, not bothering to hide my smirk. “If you’ll excuse me.”
Brody’s casual posture stiffened. “Where the hell are you going?”
The dried blood flaked between the pads of my thumb and forefinger as I rubbed them together again. Funny how a past, long dead and buried had felt so alive when it trickled a warm path down my palm.
Shifting a glance, I set my sights toward the hallway where she’d disappeared moments earlier. “Ghost hunting.”
Seven
Leighton
“Calm down, Leighton. There’s no way that could be him.” Gripping the edges of the porcelain sink with my good hand, I leaned over it, dropped my chin to my chest, and tried to control my erratic breathing.
Clenching the sink harder, I squeezed my eyes shut. No, this was some kind of cruel coincidence. One person couldn’t gamble twice in her life and end up with the same hand. The odds were impossible. The universe didn’t work that way.
I’d put that part of my life behind me. When the memories escaped their confinement, I’d let them hurt, only to remind myself to never allow it to happen again. Until today, I’d never lost my way. Even through the hell of the last twenty-four hours, I’d kept it together under the most extreme of circumstances.
I’d shot and killed a man and kept myself from falling apart. I’d been threatened by government agents with a life behind bars, and I’d stood my ground. I’d learned the man I’d thought was the most honest, upstanding person to ever walk the earth was a criminal. I’d eavesdropped on a high-ranking cartel member, got caught, and lied my way out of it without breaking a sweat.
But nothing could’ve prevented me from coming unraveled the moment I saw him. Four years wasn’t a lot of time in the grand scheme of things, but in a young girl’s memory, it may as well have been twenty.
He’d changed. The shiny, coal black hair that had once grazed his chin, now hung to his shoulders in unruly waves. The sparse dusting of facial hair I used to love to touch now looked thicker, covering his chin and upper lip as if hiding a dangerous secret. He was more muscular, obviously putting hours of effort into building strength and power. I’d felt it in his touch—no longer gentle as much as demanding.
But it was his eyes that held me captive. The same ones that snuck into my dreams in the middle of the night and robbed me of peace. They were smoky, like a freshly-extinguished campfire and just as suffocating. However, unlike the ones from my dreams, the ones today never warmed with a smoldering ember underneath the char.
Today’s version was so cold, I could’ve seen my own breath.
My dad used to tell me that a person’s eyes were the window to their soul.
“A man can change everything about himself, Lil’ Bit, but his eyes will always tell you the truth. They’re the one thing he can’t control or alter. Look long enough into a man’s eyes and you’ll know his real intentions.”
My father was rarely wrong. Also, if that was the case, then Mateo Cortes’s real intentions were worse than anything Luis Delgado or Alex Atwood could ever do, and all the stars in the sky couldn’t save me.
“No,” I repeated, shaking my head harder as my fingers went numb. “I’m just paranoid. That was a long time ago, and it’s not him. It’s definitely not—”
The rest of my affirmation was cut off by a rattle on the bathroom door.
“Just a minute,” I called out, releasing my hold on the sink and shaking the feeling back into my hands. Turning on the faucet, I’d just cupped my hands to clean the blood from my cut when the locked doorknob rattled again. Irritated, I tilted my chin over my shoulder. “I said I’d be out in a minute. Jesus, impatient much?”
My answer was a series of random clicks then one pop. I froze as the knob turned and the door swung open. I should’ve been shocked. I should’ve been offended, pissed, outraged, and whatever other highly emotional adjective applied for such an invasion of privacy. Instead, I felt faint, my peripheral vision darkening until nothing remained but him.
The wicked curve of his lips stole my breath as he closed and locked the door behind him. Stepping backward, he reclined into it with one foot braced against the wood. Moody eyes stared me up and down.
“Hello, Star.”
Even to my own ears, my gasp sounded pathetic. “Do I know you?”
He raised one dark eyebrow. “Once? Yes. Now? No, not at all.”
When I inhaled to show my annoyance, I caught the scent of caramelized leather and almost crumbled. Gripping the sink again, I forced myself to face him with all the conviction I could muster. “I’m sorry, I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else. Besides, I’m sure the owner wouldn’t appreciate his patrons breaking into the ladies’ room.”
He chuckled at my challenge. “Oh, I know exactly who you are, and you know who I am so, cut the shit. And just so you know, I don’t take orders from the owner.”
“Well, don’t we have a high opinion of ourselves.”
“I’ve earned the right.”
Maybe I hadn’t changed as much as he had, but I wasn’t stupid. From his cheap shots and short answers, I knew exactly what he wanted. Even through this new exterior, I could still read him, and the message was loud and clear. He wanted a reaction. Perhaps one that gave him justification for leaving me when I needed him the most. Well, tough shit. He wouldn’t get one. I missed the boy, but I’d be damned if I’d let the man provoke me into opening old wounds.
“Well, I’ll just leave you and your ego to whatever pressing business it is you both have in the ladies’ room and get back to work.” I pushed away from the sink until we stood so close, the top of my head slid right under his chin. “If you’ll excuse me.”
He didn’t touch me. Instead, he took a step forward. Then another one. Then another one. Startled, I moved with him, backing up to counteract his advances.
Step. Shift. Counter. Shuffle. Twist. Dip.
We were poetry in motion, and if I hadn’t forgotten how to breathe, I might have marveled at how quickly we’d fallen in sync. However, the reminder that our fluidity was just an illusion came rushing back as soon as my ass hit the edge of the sink and he blocked me against it, an inked arm on either side.
“Settle down. You’re not going anywhere.”
“Really? Who’s going to stop me? Are you going to manhandle me now too?”
“I don’t have to touch you, Star.” As if reading my own salacious thoughts, he pressed his hips dangerously close to mine. “You’re not going to leave because you don’t want to.” On the last word, his breath fanned across my cheek, blowing my h
air and igniting a firestorm. Shifting his stance, he closed the remaining distance between us, the swell of his bottom lip brushing against the shell of my ear. “Although, leaving is your specialty, isn’t it?”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I snapped, although it came out more like a moan.
He pulled back and stared at me. “Walking away, mi amor. We all have our strengths and weaknesses. Turning your back on those you profess to love is yours. Of course, I suppose Luis found that out firsthand.”
Oh, God, he knew.
How could Brody have told him? Everything I thought I knew just exploded in my face, so I did the only thing I could to cover the pain in my voice. I masked it with rage from opening an old scar.
“Are you insane or just plain cruel? You left me, you selfish dick!”
He tensed as he pulled back, his eyes burning into mine. “Women’s tongues are bathed in lies. I’d watch yours, little lamb, before someone decides to relieve you of it.”
I didn’t pause to think. My hand flew on its own, ready to strike. Inches before my palm connected with his cheek, his fingers wrapped around my wrist and held it with enough pressure to show me he was in control.
A delicate balance of pain and pleasure. So familiar, yet so foreign.
I flinched as he raised his other hand to my face, the lines in his forehead deepening as he studied me. Opening his palm, he ran it down the length of my hair, his fingers stopping at the barrette to release the clasp that held most of it back. As my straight blonde hair tumbled around my shoulders, he hummed his appreciation, continuing his path until he rubbed the ends between his fingers.
“You cut your hair.”
“I had to,” I whispered. “It was just more practical for...” I sighed and shook my head. “...it was just more practical.”
His serious expression faded as a self-indulgent smirk settled across his mouth, he wound a handful around his fist and gave it a tug. “Still enough to grab.”
He had me at his mercy. Words were my only weapon.
