“I’ve missed you, Preciosa.”
“Missed you…oh, God!” A buck of his hips and he’s inside, stretching me to the point of pain, and it’s a delicious torture. Pleasure overtakes my senses while a sense of home makes me feel light.
I’m his, and he is mine.
I found my person.
“Fuck, little flower. You feel so good,” he grits out while grabbing my thigh and pushing it slightly back and over his leg. I’m open for him like this. His to take and own. “Motherfucking tight, wet heat choking my cock. You’re perfection, Solimar. Made for me.”
“Yours. All yours.” I cry out when his hips tilt and Alejandro presses against the little spot inside that makes my muscles clench and eyes roll back. “Please, Papi. I’m close.”
“Then come on me, Preciosa. Bathe my cock.” Picking up speed, he rides me harder—pinning me in place while pressing a single finger against my clit. He rubs me in time with each thrust, and on the third pump, I shatter.
My orgasm slams into me and my lips part, a silent scream catching in my chest as he grunts behind me. Now he’s using me for his pleasure, and I fist his sheets, needing to hold on to something as the world around me dissolves into a chaotic bliss.
Someone’s crying in the background, and it takes me a moment to realize that it’s me.
I’ve lost myself to him.
Willingly gave my life. My body.
“I’m going to spend the rest of my life worshipping you, beautiful.” Alejandro bottoms out and holds still; I feel him throbbing inside me, and the sensation is enough to throw me into another orgasm. The intensity leaves me breathless and after a few minutes, that euphoric rush turns into exhaustion that lulls me while his velvety voice croons in my ear.
There are words of love, of devotion, but the last thing I remember before the world faded…
Marry me.
The next time I come to, I’m alone and the sound of voices laughing carries up the stairs. It pulls me from the haven of Alejandro’s room after getting dressed in a simple light blue romper, and after following it toward the back terrace, I’m greeted with a few faces I know, and some I don’t.
Nerves overtake me and I stare at my mother, not knowing how to act.
Did I pretend to be perfect? A part of me so deeply ingrained it’s hard to shake. A safety net.
Or do I allow myself to let go and be me? To enjoy meeting the women in his life.
“She’s beautiful, Mijo! Look at that face,” his mother gushes and stands, taking the choice from me while making her way over and pulling me in for a hug. And it’s not just any hug. No. This one’s loving and full of acceptance, not cold or full of pretenses.
It’s the kind that leaves you warm and makes you feel welcomed.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Lucas,” I say after she steps back and I regain a bit of composure. Her easy acceptance has caught me off-guard and so have the smiling faces watching the exchange. Even my mother, who’s been a worrying ball of nerves, seems at ease and happiness.
And yet, it’s her son’s I notice and linger on.
Yes, meeting his family makes me feel special, but nothing compares to the love showing in his eyes.
To the outside world, he might seem serious and unaffected, but the small crinkles at the corner of his eyes tell me otherwise. They smile at me. Show me his true emotions.
“Call me Sara, Solimar. We’re family, and formalities don’t exist in this nucleus.”
“Gracias.” I blush and duck my head a bit, feeling a little overwhelmed by how easily she adds me to the list of people she calls hers. “That means a lot.”
“No need to blush, sweetheart.”
“She’s been doing so all her life,” my mother interjects, giggling into her cup of coffee. “No matter what we did or she tried, it’s uncontrollable.”
What we did means my father hated it and berated me every chance he got. That he paid a lot of money to “experts” to rid me of this habit, and when they all failed, I got punished for being an insolent child.
This is the same man that hasn’t called since we left. Not Mom. Not Carlos. Not me.
“I wouldn’t want her to change a single hair on her head.” At Alejandro’s voice, another breakfast companion giggles, and my eyes turn toward the other young woman in his life: his baby sister. Lourdes Lucas is beautiful, bruised up, and safe where she belongs.
I’m happy to see her.
I also don’t overthink my next move and go with what feels natural, walking over and pulling her into a hug that rivals the one her mother gave me. She trembles a bit in my hold, pulling me in just as hard, and when we pull back silently, there are tears in our eyes.
“I’m so happy to see you,” I whisper low so only she hears. “We’ve all been praying for your safe return.”
“Thank you. It means a lot, and I hope you don’t think badly of…” Lourdes trails off as a sob catches in her chest, and just like I would be in her position, embarrassment floods her posture and she stiffens.
Chairs scrape on the terracotta flooring but I pay them no mind and pull us toward the inside of the home. The only person I take a moment to let know all is okay is Alejandro, and with a simple shake of my head, he holds a hand for everyone else to stand down.
Once inside, I make a beeline for Alejandro’s office and close the door behind us. For a few minutes we stand awkwardly, but I make the first move and take one of the two seats across from where my love sits. “When you’re ready, I’ll listen without judgment.”
“I’m fine.” She doesn’t look me in the eye but fidgets where she stands, wringing her hands and shifting her weight from foot to foot.
“You’re a terrible liar, and that’s not a compliment. As a president’s daughter, I can spot bullshit a mile away.” I keep my expression neutral; she doesn’t need someone to hover or push, but wait. Listen. Do what no one did for me, and that’s allow me to live my life.
Until her brother showed up.
He gave me my identity back, and I’m returning the favor. Lourdes needs someone in her corner, someone to be there, and even though we’re strangers, I’ll step up to fill that void.
“Is that why you’re engaged to Signio Cortez? Same guy your cousin is screwing?”
“Not by choice. Not anymore.”
There’s a bite to my tone, and immediately her eyes become glazed and lips tremble. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. I don’t need you to.”
“Why are you being nice to me? Is it because of Alejandro? You can’t buy—”
“You’re in a tough situation, Lourdes...” I point to the seat beside me “…taken advantage of. Those are two things I’m pretty familiar with, and as someone who’s had her life changed to fit someone else's narrative until your brother showed up, I understand. It’s why I’m not going to judge you. Why I’ll listen and wait and help where I can.”
“Everything’s so messed up.” She finally takes the chair beside mine and slumps, wiping the tears that continue to fall without pause. “There are things that no one knows, and I’m afraid. If they find out—”
“You’re pregnant, Lourdes. Aren’t you?”
“Christ. How?”
“Loose clothing only hides so much, but close contact can’t.”
Lourdes nods, patting the barely visible bump there. “My family is going to kill him.”
“And that bothers you?”
“No. I want him to die for his crimes.”
“Did he force—”
“No. Not with me.” Self-recrimination is heavy and so is her guilt. “His wife took the brunt during our trip through the countryside. He promised me forever and I fell for it, believing I was what he wanted and loved when in reality, I was the final piece in his sick love triangle. I’m the obsession he couldn’t control, and I let myself get dragged down after hearing a few sweet words.”
“You’ve made some mistakes, sweetie. We all do at some point in life.
”
“I willingly slept with a married man. I’m a whore.”
“You’re not,” I hiss out, taking her hands in mine and squeeze. “Yes, it wasn’t your best judgment and I won’t deny it, but this is where you change the course and make amends. Where you grow up and face things head-on.”
“Thank you.” She sniffles and then gives a watery, sad smile. “I’m sorry our first meeting is like this. Please give me the chance to show you I’m not an—”
“Cut it out, Lourdes. He’s a sick man who deserved whatever karma throws his way.”
“And I’m the asshole who’ll collect on the damage, Lourdes.” We pause at Alejandro’s steely voice, the anger in it. “I promise you this.”
“How much did you hear?” his sister asks, face now pale.
“That I’ll be an uncle soon.”
“Are you mad?”
My eyes cut to his, and the look I send dares him to make her feels worse than she already does. He sees and gives me a minute shake and smile, something she misses, and I relax in my seat.
“I’m angry you’ve been hurt. That you didn’t come to me when he approached to verify his bullshit.” At his words, Lourdes jumps from her seat and into his arms. She’s sobbing again, nodding, while he speaks lowly in her ear and rubs her back in a soothing manner.
This is something she needs. To know her family won’t abandon her after the mess she involved herself in.
Knowing they need a few minutes before she comes clean to her mother, I walk past them and to the door, pausing with my hand on the knob. I look back, and our eyes meet. There’s so much gratitude in his, and mine have to show the pure unadulterated love I’m drowning in.
I love you, he mouths over the top of her head and I nod, saying the words back.
There are things we need to discuss—his lowly spoken marriage proposal—plans to make, but for now, this is where our focus will remain. She’s not alone.
Her family is and will be there.
All of them. New and old.
29
I’M IN MIAMI BEACH two weeks later, having set up an exchange with a supplier that comes highly recommended. Malcolm Asher doesn’t do business with just anyone, and being this is a personal friend, I made the trip instead of continuing my search.
Just like he promised, Javier had the contact information in my email within seconds of hanging up, the note attached urging me to call. To trust that it would be worth my while.
Moreover, Thiago Rivera promises a unique experience and while killing Chiquito remains a priority, I’m intrigued by this. By the kind of artillery he traffics.
“You’ll be okay while I’m gone?” I ask Solimar, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. She’s placed the luscious black strand high atop her head in a ponytail, the ends curled and swishing from side to side when she moves.
It’s tempting to wrap the strands around my hand and bend her forward. To fuck her like the depraved animal I am.
“We’re going shopping, Mr. Lucas. What’s the worst that could happen? I chip a nail on a rack?” Her mock annoyance is cute, and I’m tempted to bite her. To take her with me and shield her innocent mind from the world.
Solimar can be naïve, and I love her just like this. Want her to feel safe and never look over her shoulder in fear.
She doesn’t see the bad in people, such as her cousin, who I don’t trust.
Laura called her yesterday while we were out, pretentious and full of it, but I stood back while they spoke briefly. Solimar kept it short while we waited for our lunch to arrive in an outdoor café, and not once did Laura ask her how she was or felt, but instead, filled the five-minute and thirty-second conversation with Signio and his poor, bruised body.
I was more than proud when my little flower hung up and turned off her phone after promising to catch up later.
“A lot of things can go wrong, sweetheart. This is not our native country, and here you’re a tourist with money.” I wrap a curl around my finger and give a small tug. She comes closer, pressing against my chest. “Corruption and crimes are global pandemics. Don’t go out with that vacation mindset that gets others in trouble. Go out, have fun, but be aware and never stray from your guards. Understood?”
“Yes.” It’s breathy and I feel the movement of her chest rising rapidly—her hard little nipples against me. Rubbing. My mouth waters and I groan, causing her to giggle. “Something funny?”
“I love you being all protective and caring.”
“That’s because you’re my heart, Preciosa. My life.”
Rising on the tips of her toes, she pecks my lips and pulls back. Her eyes are a bit teary-eyed. “One day I’m going to marry you, Mr. Lucas.”
“That, my beautiful little flower, was never in question.” I knew she heard me that night but needed to verify I wasn’t running or shying away. I didn’t take it back, nor did my affection for her diminish while playing aloof. “And I’m not waiting a lifetime, either. I want you to take my name, be mine in this life and every single one that follows. My love. My wife.”
“I do.”
“Good girl.” Bending my head, I lay a small kiss on her lips, nose, and finally her forehead before stepping back. “I’ll see you later today.”
“Where are we meeting again?”
Her sassy grin pulls a smirk from me. “I never said, but I’ll always find you. Always.”
The words Special News Bulletin blink across the screen of my phone as I study the latest headline. It’s another story on my brother, the monstrous sibling of empresario Alejandro Lucas, who’s been linked to the destruction of a federal building not too long ago.
Funny enough, I’ve never been arrested or so much as questioned regarding the incident.
No text. No call. No citation to appear before the justice department of Colombia.
And yet, reporters are salivating at the chance to scandalize and draw in viewers by feeding them incorrect bullshit. If they had the facts it would be one thing, but you can’t prove what doesn’t have tracks.
Clicking the link, I skim down the regurgitated and lacking glob of journalism. It’s the same as every other story that broke out, and claims that Emiliano’s in custody and already serving time on what could be a thirty-year sentence.
Little do they know, the tombos at the state penitentiary work for me, and my brother comes and goes as he pleases. That asshole is having a vacation and avoiding a honey-do list a mile long.
He owes me.
“Patron, we’re here.”
“Gracias.” Pocketing my cell, I take in the area we’re in. The warehouse is a little out of the way from our hotel as Hialeah is a neighboring city with a heavily Cuban demographic and heritage. It’s residential meets industrial with 49th street being its central focus.
It travels from the east side and through the west, connecting you to shopping, restaurants, and multiple mom-and-pop shops, providing anything and everything you could need.
Thiago’s warehouse sits surrounded by empty lots that in their prime responded to the heavily growing demand of textiles globally. Now, though, they’re owned by one family: Rivera De Leon.
To an outsider, this would appear to be an average scrap yard, but looks can be deceiving.
Geronimo pulls into the private parking lot along the right side of the building—I get out and my men follow.
They’re armed to the teeth with heavy artillery. Our weapons were ignored by a customs agent for a special one-time donation to her retirement fund and a bag of my personal blend of coffee.
I don’t travel without it. Never have.
Geronimo stands slightly behind me and gives the command to open the large metal doors. They clang against the concrete walls—bouncing hard—as I walk through them and spot Mr. De Leon immediately.
He’s a muscular man with tattoos and whose presence is meant to intimidate. And yet, I’m the focus of attention when his men all stop and stare. They’re waiting. Hands moving toward the g
uns on their bodies.
It’s a mistake, and he’s quick to correct them with a simple shake of the head. They relax when he doesn’t respond, and I admire his command over his workforce.
I’m not alone, though, and he doesn’t show any signs of surprise when my heavily-armed soldiers wearing their camouflage follow me inside a few seconds later.
Their expressions are emotionless and body language robotic. They are trained to fight and kill on command, no matter who the target is.
I walk over, stopping two steps from him, and extend a hand. “Nice to finally meet you, Thiago. I appreciate you meeting me personally and on such short notice.”
Thiago takes my hand, grip firm. “I make it a habit to meet all potential buyers.”
“That is a smart thing to do. A lot of criminals out there.” My men raise their weapons, pointing at him. He might be a friend of Malcolm, and Javier vouches for him, but I’ll never do business with someone that shows fear. Too much can go wrong while dealing with an individual unable to control impulses or pull a trigger if need be. I’m impressed when he chuckles, not so much as a flinch, but I keep my expression even. “Something funny, De Leon?”
“Extremely.”
A quick glance at a man standing close by, his cousin, and forty of his men show themselves—they’re scattered throughout the room and holding the kind of weapons I’m here to buy.
Anything and everything; M1911, M-10, AR-15, Uzi, and the last and most amazing is the military-grade tanker with a functioning missile ready to fire if need be.
At once, my smile grows and then I’m laughing, full on and deep from my gut as I release his hand. “You are one crazy son of a bitch!”
He shrugs. “So I’ve been told.”
“It’s a quality I admire in those I do business with.” My soldiers lower their guns and stand in place, posture rigid and body alert. My eyes shift over to the large case still open with a Mac-10 inside, silently asking if I can take a closer look. He nods. “As you can imagine, a man in my position needs to surround himself with people unafraid to make difficult decisions.” “Understandable.” He takes a step back and his men part like the sea of Moses. “Now, shoot it.”
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