I go in through the living room and head for the first bathroom I see, open the cupboards, and pull out as many towels as I can carry. I see a small bottle of hand sanitizer while I’m grabbing towels, so I take that with me too. Okay, now I just need something to clamp the umbilical cord. Think. Shit! What the fuck can I use?
I go into the kitchen to grab a knife and open the drawer where we keep some odds and ends. There could be rubber bands or something in here that could work. That’s when I find a pack of zip ties. God, it’s the only thing in this junk drawer that could remotely work. I somehow have a feeling like paperclips won’t do me any good.
With the towels, knife, hand sanitizer, and zip ties in hand I rush back over to her. As I approach, I see she’s no longer sitting down. Instead she’s leaning back with her legs separated and an awful grunting sound is coming from her.
Jesus. I am not ready for this.
But it doesn’t matter. I’m the only fucking thing she has right now. I place the towels at the end of the lounge chair and fumble while trying to open the bottle of sanitizer. Jesus, I need to keep my shit together. The nervousness is evident and I’m sure I’m not helping to ease her worries.
She screams even louder as I’m rubbing my hands together, quick to get rid of any germ this baby could come into contact with. “The baby’s coming!” She grits out, digging her nails into the side of the cushion.
“What?! Already?! Can’t it wait?”
“Does it look like it can fucking wait?!” She roars back, sweat beading over her face. Her hair is sticking to her like it’s glued there at this point.
I kneel down at the bottom of the lounge chair and see a full head of red hair, just like Amara’s. Wow. Holy shit. I’m really about to deliver a baby.
“Okay, you’re doing great. Keep going!” I try to be encouraging as I grab two of the towels. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. Part of me thinks this baby is going to shoot out like a football and land in my arms.
She pushes and half the baby is out at this point. “Fuck you!” She snaps back.
“Keep going, you’re almost done!” I say.
Amara grunts out, turning into loud moans. They sound so agonizing that I can practically hear her exhaustion. The baby is out and I pick it up with the towel, wrapping it up and wiping it off. There’s this nasty looking snotty stuff in its nose, so I use the towel and pinch it out and then realize it’s in its mouth too, so I wipe it away. The baby opens her mouth struggling to cry and I see there’s more, so I don’t even think about it. I don’t have any fucking tool to take whatever this is out, so I press my lips to hers and suck it out, spitting the nastiness away until she screams her little head off.
Fuck, there is a God. This little girl is okay.
I need to keep her warm. My thoughts are so scattered I’m not sure what to do next, so I clean off her body with the one towel and place her in a clean one very carefully. She’s wrapped up and held in my left arm while I fenagle the zip ties about two inches away from the baby’s stomach, in the middle and then a bit out of Amara. I make sure they’re very tight, but I’m not sure how tight they’re supposed to be. I don’t know where the hell I’m supposed to cut the cord so I cut right after the two inches and pray it’s right. The baby seems fine and I look up to Amara who has her head tilted back and is staring up at the starry night.
“Amara, do you want to hold her?”
“No. I can’t. Please, just take her away. Please, Dante. I beg you. Take her away before I selfishly change my mind.” She’s crying her eyes out and all I want to do is reassure her how everything will be okay, however she doesn’t want that right now. I get to my feet and walk past her, head back into the house and spot my cousin Yolanda in the living room.
“Oh my . . . is this her?” Yolanda asks, her eyes filled with such hope. Her husband, Manuel, stands beside her with his hand on her shoulder, looking directly at me with the little one in my arms.
“Yes, she’s . . . perfect.” I stare down at this little girl, who’s suddenly stopped crying. Her eyes are the same color as her mother’s and she has the same red hair. She’s essentially a mini-me of her mother.
I walk up to Yolanda and hand her the child. Manuel and Yolanda’s smiles grow bigger than I’ve ever seen them before. “What can you tell us about her background?” Yolanda asks.
“She’s Latina, with Irish blood as well. I don’t know what her father was, but I’d kill him myself if I could.” I hiss, hating this man for everything he did to Amara . . . even if it resulted in this beautiful baby girl.
Yolanda seems shocked by my words. “I won’t tell you much about her, but her mother was a captive. She was raped repeatedly by her captor. She isn’t giving her child to you because she doesn’t want her, dear cousin. She’s giving her up because she wants her to have a normal life, Yolanda. You and Manuel . . . you can give this to her daughter. You can raise her in a beautiful home with no fears. You see, her mother is like us. She lives a very dangerous life. The only thing she wants for this child is for it not to ever have to worry about her parents’ not coming home one day.”
Manuel clears his throat, “Will you thank her for the incredible gift she’s given us?”
“Of course, and she thanks you for providing such a loving home for her daughter.” I state, my voice cracking half-way through.
“Dante. I need to ask you this. What is her mother’s name?”
“Amara,” I reply.
“Thank you for giving us this precious gift. Our Amara Rosa Diaz-Rodriguez.” Manuel says, giving me a nod of thanks. He rubs his wife’s back and pushes her to head to the doorway.
I watch as they walk through the front door and exit my familia home.
I head back over to Amara and see she has her arms wrapped around herself, crying uncontrollably. “Mi reyna . . . shh, everything will be okay.”
Amara tears her face from how she was shielding it and looks at me. “Tell me this was the right thing to do. Tell me I didn’t just make the biggest mistake of my life.”
I kneel down and pull her into my arms. “You just gave her everything you wanted, mi amor. You gave her a normal life.” She presses her face against my chest and her tears soak through my shirt almost instantly.
I know this will hurt her for a while, but I pray this woman doesn’t have to hurt longer than necessary. I can’t bear seeing her in so much pain.
Chapter Fourteen
Time does not heal all wounds; there are those that remain painfully open
~ Elie Wiesel
Amara
One Month Later . . .
I toss and turn in my bed, pulling my arms up and stretch. It’s part of my typical morning routine. After a few moments of silence, I muster up the motivation to get out of bed and start the day.
I leave my bedroom and head for the shared bathroom in the suite. Opening the door, I grab my comb and pull it through my hair, getting out those nasty tangles that happen overnight. Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I realize the bags under my eyes are growing bigger every night. I’ve been trying to sleep, but I’d be lying if I said it was easy.
I think about her all the time. I wonder if she’s smiled yet, if she can laugh, what her cry sounds like. If I’m not thinking about her when I’m awake, I’m dreaming about her. Do other women who’ve given up their children feel this way as well? Is it natural, or is it some sort of punishment?
I turn on the water and wait a few moments for it to get hot, then splash it on my face to jolt me awake. The water does little to make me feel any different. I leave the bathroom and head over to the espresso machine Francisco put in the suite for me. He’s been so kind, kinder than he should’ve ever been if you ask me. I have the blood of his enemy running through my veins.
He had been away with Eduardo on a trip in Venezuela, but he ended up calling Dante to handle his business. He left the morning after the baby was born and I haven’t seen him since.
A few days after
her birth Francisco had come back here and I was introduced to Angel and Javier. Angel is a very clean-cut man. He wears expensive suits just as his father does, combs his hair back and gels it in the picture-perfect manner. Javier on the other hand, or Javi as he prefers to be called . . . he’s very similar to Dante and I. With one look I could tell the man’s been in prison many times. He has three tear drops on his face, which is either a signifier he’s killed three men, or he’s been in the slammer for that long.
Eduardo has been checking on me every few days. I don’t know why he hasn’t gone back to the States yet, though I’m appreciative of him being here. Part of me thinks he doesn’t want to leave me alone. Hell, he knows I’m not okay. Anyone who looks at me can tell.
The door behind me creaks as I finish making my hazelnut latte. I thought I wanted an espresso at first, but a latte sounds much better. I’m pouring the frothy steamed milk into the cup and hear the distinct sounds of footsteps approaching.
“I didn’t know you were a coffee girl, mi reyna.” His voice comes crashing down like a tree in a storm. I don’t move an inch and I think my breath is caught in my throat while I process Dante’s return.
He’s been gone an entire month, yet he still calls me his queen? He vanished in the middle of the night like he was running from me. When I awoke the next morning, I felt even more alone than I thought I would. If I’m being honest, I felt betrayed. He didn’t even call, not that he should’ve . . . I only assumed he would’ve communicated with me somehow. We aren’t dating. Jesus. What am I even thinking?
“Oh, how I’ve missed you so.” His lips press against the top of my ear while his body folds against mine. He wraps his arms around my body and I close my eyes. I lean into his embrace, craving his touch more than I could ever put into words.
I stay like this for a few moments until he presses chaste kisses against my ear and neck. It causes me to turn around, heated in anger at the audacity he has, how he’s acting like he didn’t just abandon me for an entire month. Before I realize what I’m doing, the coffee cup is mid-air and the latte I just prepared has coated his white dress shirt.
Dante inhales sharply, looking at me with darkness in his eyes. He stares for a moment while he unbuttons his shirt, tossing it on the floor below us. “I appreciate your passion, mi reyna, however I’ve had a very long month and I didn’t anticipate coming home to this.”
“What is it you expected, exactly?” I don’t hide the anger in my tone. “You didn’t even call me, Dante. You made me feel important and then you disappeared in the middle of the night. Fuck, you didn’t even leave a note. I found out from one of the staff. How did you think I’d feel?”
Dante struggles to find words. I knew he would. He’s such a smooth talker and he can’t smooth talk his way out of this. While he’s caught off guard I keep going. “You left and haven’t said a fucking word to me for thirty days. You could’ve called, but you’re the one who chose not to. Now you’ve come back with your charming smile and those sexy eyes of yours and think you can get whatever you want? No. Actually, hell no. I’m angry at you. Not even calling me your reyna or amor can get rid of my anger.” With every word I say, heat rises to my cheeks and I physically feel my outrage making its way through my body.
He sticks his tongue out and grazes it over his top lip, crosses his arms in front of his chest. Dante takes one step toward me, glances directly into my eyes and speaks. “If I could’ve called you, I would’ve. If you thought for one-second I wanted to leave that night, please allow me to tell you just how much I didn’t. The only comfort I had is that my brothers were on their way. I only worried Angel would’ve tried to be Javier’s wingman while I was away. I was on Cartel business, mi amor. Familia business. You understand I can’t say no to these things.”
I shake my head. “And you didn’t even have the common decency to let me know you were leaving. To tell me straight to my face. Do you even realize how awful it was to wake up and find you gone, Dante? After everything we’d . . . everything we’d endured together.” I start to choke up when I get near the last bit and look away, not wanting him to see how much his absence hurt me.
Dante puts his finger under my chin and lifts upward, forcing me to look at him. “Be honest with me, Amara. When you think of me, what is it you feel? I need to know. I have to.”
“I . . . I don’t know how I’m supposed to answer that.” I mutter, trying to think of the word for how he really makes me feel.
Dante moves his fingers from under my chin and cups my cheek. “It’s simple. Right here. Right now. What do you feel with me?”
I blink a couple of times while my lip begins to tremble. I’m terrified to admit this to him, but I’m going to because I know if I don’t, I’ll risk losing this man forever. And quite frankly, I like him far too much for that.
“Safe. You make me feel safe, Dante Lopez. It’s as if all my worries vanish, and it happens every time I look into these eyes of yours.” I bring my hand up and graze my fingertips against his cheekbone. I stare into his eyes and realize this isn’t enough. It’s like everything comes crashing in, every feeling and emotion.
I rise to my tip toes and press my lips against his. I’m quick to wrap my arms around his neck and pull myself closer. His lips are soft and velvety. I’d thought they’d be rough and chapped, but no.
Dante snakes his arm around my waist and holds me in place. I close my eyes and revel in the feeling of us being this close together. His lips brush against mine in a sensual, soft manner but after a short amount of time we both begin to grow rougher with the other. It’s the only thing we need to know we’ve both had this feeling inside us.
He crushes his lips against mine, as if he can’t breathe without me. Our kiss grows with hunger. I push my tongue past his clenched teeth when he rips himself away.
His nostrils flare as he paces back and forth. “You . . . you’re something else, mi reyna. Fuck. Fucking fuck! We can’t do this. Not now. Not when I’ll fucking rip you apart given the slightest opportunity. Is that what you want, to see me for who I really am?”
I’m taken aback by what he’s said. “I already know you for who you are. A good man. You showed me compassion in my moments of turmoil. Dante, you are the good one in this scenario. You’re the beauty. Don’t you see that? I’m the beast. It’s me. I’m the one who ruins everything I touch.” I don’t realize what I’ve replied with until it’s out.
Dante immediately stops pacing, rushes through the distance between us and holds my face in the palm of his hand. “I don’t want you to ever say something like this again. Que no ves Amara? Me tienes captivado por tu belléza y por todo lo que tu erés. Te quiero solamente a tí.” My Spanish is rough, but I know enough of what he just said to put the puzzle pieces together.
“Do you mean that?” I question as tears threaten to slip past the corners of my eyes.
“Why would I lie? Amara . . . I know this seems insane, but even after a month apart I still crave you like I did the first time I saw you. Even coming out of that shack, covered in filth, I knew. The only question is do you want me?”
“Dante . . . I do. I want to try this, to see where it leads. But, please know what you’re getting into bed with.” I murmur.
“A gorgeous woman?” He snickers, flashing those pearly whites.
I shake my head. “No, with a woman who is hated by many and feared by the rest. I’ve told you this many times, but I’ll say it again. I’m not a good woman.”
“And I’m not a good man. If you ask me, we’re the perfect pairing.”
Chapter Fifteen
If you really care for her, then show her. There’s no need to play games with her heart and ruin something that you’ll end up regretting. Remember one of the greatest blessings is having a good woman in your life.
~ Unknown
Dante
Here she is trying to dissuade me, and I shot the smartest reply back at her. Amara may feel like she isn’t enough, that she’s too
horrid of a woman for me, but I’ll tell her every time she says it how she isn’t as horrible as she believes.
“How can you say that and mean it? You showed me kindness from the moment we met, Dante.” Amara hasn’t been privy to how I am when it comes to business. When I’m working for mi familia things are much different. I’m a shark, one who will rip people apart limb from limb.
“Ah, mi reyna . . . there are things you don’t yet know about me. But I promise you, I will show you in time. Mi familia may be known for being better than Rafael ever was, especially when it comes to treating our people . . . although, when it comes to those who are our enemies. Let’s just say I show no mercy.”
“You stand here and essentially say you treat people rather cruelly, yet I don’t see that when I look at you.” She states, craning her neck to the side a bit.
“No, and you won’t. This is why I say we’re a good match. We’re alike more than you know.” I declare, pulling her to me yet again I bring my lips down and crash them onto hers. I know I won’t be able to stop myself after a certain point . . . but we’ve waited so long for this. I only want to taste her. To smell the slight vanilla scent I can only pick up on when we’re this close together.
“Well, it appears you stole my girl.” Angel comments, putting on a show.
I pull my lips from Amara’s and turn to face my cocky brother. “She was never yours in the first place.” I know what Angel is doing, why he’s trying to make himself appear a certain way . . . but we both know he was never interested in Amara in the first place.
Amara (Reapers MC Book 12) Page 7
