El Pecador (Saint-Sinner 2)

She winced. It was quick, but I saw it. “I don’t want to talk about Mama Rosa. Can you at least respect that?”

“No. Where is she, Amira?”

Her eyes snapped to mine. “Fuck you.” Before I could argue, she pushed off her heels, rushing toward the door.

“Don’t you fucking walk away from me,” I ordered, hauling ass over to her in three long strides. Grabbing ahold of her arm, I turned her attention back to me. Stepping right into her personal space and backing her against the nearest wall. My six-foot-four muscular build looming over her tiny frame, bringing her hard against my chest. She didn’t cower, if anything she stood taller. I cocked my head to the side, sweeping her hair away from her eyes to peer deep into them. Locking her in place in front of me.

“Get your fucking hands off me,” she gritted, trying to jerk her face out of my strong hold. Failing miserably at doing so. Her chest rose and fell with each word that fell off her lips, accentuating her luscious tits in my face.

I held her tighter.

To look at me.

To talk to me.

To listen to me.

To feel me…

She finally met my eyes, spewing, “You know all it would take is for me to scream. One fucking word from my mouth and I would have every one of my men running in here. Hanging you by the balls with a gun down your fucking throat.”

“You really are fucking adorable when you’re mad. Besides, we both know I like it when you scream. It makes my cock so fucking hard.” I rotated my grip on the back of her neck in a possessive act, running my thumb up and down her windpipe. I leaned in close to her lips, my mouth almost touching hers. “I can smell him on you.”

Her breathing hitched and her lips parted when my other hand started lightly grazing her inner thigh. “Damien, stop,” she weakly let out as my fingers inched, higher and higher up her thigh.

“Stop what?”

“Stop torturing yourself.”

“You’re torturing me. Tell me why you didn’t reach out to me when you got to the States, and don’t fucking lie to me,” I urged, never letting up on my insistent assault, up and down her inner thigh.

“What do you want me to say? I’ll say whatever you want to make you leave me alone and stay away from me.”

“Tell me the truth. You had me here, goddamn it. I would’ve been there for you, taken care of you like I always had. Like I still fucking ache to do. You would have never gotten involved in this life and become my worst fucking nightmare. Jesus Christ, Muñeca. Please just give me a chance to make it right. I can’t live without you,” I sincerely expressed, skimming my fingers along the crevice of her panties.

“We both know you can make me come, Damien,” she rasped against my lips. “It’s my body’s natural reaction to you. Any man can make me come and they have. Including Roman.”

I swallowed hard, clenching my jaw and grinding my teeth. Never expecting the next words to come out of her pouty mouth.

“I didn’t reach out to you because as far as I was concerned, you died the day Rosarío did.”

I immediately let her go, staggering backward. “What?”

“It’s why I left Cuba, okay? There.” She pointed at me. “I answered all your questions. Now, please… just leave me alone. Pretend like I don’t exist. It’s easy, trust me. I’ve been pretending you don’t for the last twelve years.”

My resolve broke like a chain that had been stretched to the max. I heard it snap, loud and clear, shattering into a million pieces. Blending into my body along with my demons. With wide eyes, I ran my hands through my hair wanting to tear it the fuck out. Trying to remain calm but becoming defeated with each passing second.

“How did she—” I stopped myself. I couldn’t even say the words, let alone contemplate what she just informed me.

Memories of when I was a boy came crashing back, suffocating me to the point of pure and utter agony. She loved me, took care of me, protected me as if I was her own. Not being blood related didn’t change the fact that she was my mother. She was the only one whoever gave a flying fuck if I was cared for, if I’d eaten, or slept. If I was sad, happy, you name it—she was there for me. In every sense of the words. The silence in the room was deafening, triggering the memories to resurface at rapid speeds.

“I love you, Damien. You’re my beautiful boy.”

“You can do anything you set your mind to. You’re so smart.”

“Damien, you have such a good and kind heart. Don’t let anyone change that.”

“Always walk to the beat of your own drum. Know your own rhythm.”

“I’m so proud of you and the man you’ve become.”

“My son, my handsome boy. You’re my heart and soul, Damien. One day you will grow up to be an exceptional man.”

“I will always be here for you. No matter what.”

“Damien—”

My body lunged itself forward, unleashing the rage, the fury, the craze erupted out of me. Provoking and stirring emotions. I felt every loss of breath, every memory, everything she ever said to me. All of it cluttered my mind, blocking my will to keep going, to push through. I couldn’t keep up with the torment, it clasped onto me like a vice as I stormed around her office, my feet stomping everywhere I stepped, leaving a path of destruction in its wake. Throwing anything and everything I could find. My eyes blurred with nothing but tears. My body twisted with nothing but hate and my desire to fall apart.

“Damien, please stop!”

Hearing the desperation in Amira’s voice halted the chaos inside and all around me. We locked eyes. It was then I noticed she had tears streaming down the sides of her face, and for the first time since we crossed paths, I saw her.

The little girl I saved.

The woman who still loved me.

My beginning and my end.

Neither one of us said a word for I don’t know how long, facing each other, panting profusely. We didn’t need to though. Our eyes spoke for themselves. She let me feel her, truly feel her as if I’d never left her behind. As if we were still back in Cuba where our love and devotion always spoke for itself.

Our connection was present, and she wanted me to see it, giving me the hope I needed to go on.

“Muñeca, I lov—”

Roman barged in like a bat out of hell, bringing both our intense stares over to him. “You alright?” he asked, looking only at her.

I instinctually peered up at the corner of the room, conscious of the camera watching our every move. “If you know anything about me at all, you know what I will do to you if you fucking touch her again,” I vowed, shifting my eyes to him.

“Damien, don’t—”

I crudely yanked her toward me by the nook of her neck, cutting her off from whatever bullshit lie she was about to say. She stumbled on her heels, placing her hands on my chest for balance as I whispered into her ear, “And you know what I will do to him if you let him touch you again. Except, this time, it won’t be just his cock I’ll fucking break,” reminding her of what I did to her last boyfriend.

She slowly pulled away, never removing her deep gaze from mine. I could see it in her eyes, she knew it wasn’t a warning.

“This isn’t over, and that’s far from a fucking threat.” I let her go.

Body-checking Roman at the door, getting the hell out of there. Making sure to nod at the guard who I’d bribed with his brother’s freedom to let me in. Knowing I’d need his help again.

Soon.

Like I told her, this wasn’t over. I wouldn’t go down without a fight. She was mine.

End. Of. Story.

SEVENTEEN

DAMIEN

I tore through file after file in the back of the limousine driving me to a political fundraiser in California. Using the only few minutes I had to spare trying to find something, anything of importance. I’d spent every waking moment for the last two months, digging up skeletons, searching for the goddamn truth. I hadn’t seen Amira in over sixty days, a

nd I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t excruciating torture. She needed space and I needed time to search for answers, answers that were necessary to move forward and to get her back into my life.

For the most part, I knew where she was at all times, but there were a few days here and there I couldn’t track her whereabouts. Like she fucking walked off the grid, disappearing from existence. Making me feel as if I lost her all over again. Those were the days I’d pull all-nighters bustling through government databases, gathering any intel I could. The times I did track her down, I quickly realized she jumped around a lot from state to state, and city to city, never staying in one place for too long. Leaving no trace that she was even there to begin with. Amira was a walking, breathing illusion. If I hadn’t seen her with my own two eyes, I’d think I’d imagined her.

Which, in the long run, made sense. I couldn’t find one thing on her, not even so much as a parking fucking ticket. It explained how she was able to build an empire that’s for damn sure. Not many people could stay out of the line of fire like I could, except apparently Amira. With one bad decision, I sealed her fate, possibly leading her to a life of crime without even knowing it.

Now Roman… he was a completely different story. The motherfucker’s rap sheet was a mile long. He’d even spent some time in prison for drug trafficking nine years ago. Paid his dues in the penitentiary for three years and was sent on his merry fucking way for good behavior. I was dying to find out how she met him. How he came into her life and turned her into the Queen fucking Bee. Those were the answers I couldn’t fucking find for the life of me.

The one thing I hadn’t looked into was Rosarío’s death. I couldn’t bring myself to do it yet. I wish I could tell you out of sight, out of mind, but that wasn’t the case for me.

Amira’s voice haunted my dreams night after night. “I didn’t reach out to you because as far as I was concerned, you died the day Rosarío did.”

Her words played in my mind on constant repeat. Fucking with my emotions as if she hadn’t already done enough of that. It unleashed the deadlock I securely had in place when it came to the only woman I’d ever known as a mother. Allowing more memories to crash into the forefront of my mind like the waves of the ocean, pulling me under and drowning me in the dark depths of the sea.

During these unexpected moments, I found myself thinking about my father for the first time since I left Cuba. He was the only blood tie I had left in this world, and for some reason that I couldn’t fucking fathom, I wanted to finally know how my old man was doing. I even went as far as picking up the phone a few times to reach out, though I always ended the call before the phone even had a chance to ring. Not knowing where to even begin when it came to him.

“Mr. Montero, we’re almost there,” the driver announced, pulling me away from my own private investigation.

I threw the files on the seat next to me, resting my head against the backrest, exhausted from the lack of sleep I’d been dealt lately. I couldn’t stop thinking about Amira, worrying about her now more than ever before. Especially at night, remembering the last evening we spent together at her safe house. Her smell, her touch, her taste, had me fisting my cock at the mere thought of her. I started sending Mariposas to her random houses every other day, just so she’d know I was still there, thinking about her.

Craving her.

Fucking needing her.

The attendant opened my door, once again breaking me away from my thoughts. I stepped out onto the red carpet leading to the entrance of The Ritz-Carlton. I was attending a political campaign fundraiser on behalf of Senator McGorbin and everyone, including myself, was there to show their support, and by that, I mean their checkbooks. I wore a black tuxedo with my hair tied back in a bun, playing the part of District Attorney. The night started off with its usual antics, mingling with everyone I was supposed to, acting as if I gave a shit about what we were discussing. It was an art I had perfected over the years.

We were about midway through the night when I felt something in the atmosphere shift. You could call it a sixth sense, intuition, or just basic instinct, but it was powerful and strong. Someone tapped me on my shoulder and I turned around, recognizing the man immediately. He was a high-profile person in Miami and one of the regulars at my club.

“Montero, good to see you,” he greeted, reaching out his hand.

I smiled and shook it. “Robert. Good to see you too. You’re a little far from home, aren’t you?”

“Well, you know me. I’m the life of the fucking party. Free booze and pussy everywhere.”

I chuckled, tuning him out as my attention wandered from him to gaze around the banquet hall. That’s when my eyes caught something, or should I say, someone from across the room, and I couldn’t turn away.

She was dressed in a fitted lavender strapless gown that was low cut, accentuating each and every delicious curve of her irresistible fucking body. A high slit came up her left thigh, practically exposing her panties. Her hair flowed loosely in large curls framing her face, especially her pouty fuck-me lips. She looked good enough to eat and trust me, I wanted to have her sit on my face to do just that. Ignoring the fact that she was on the arm of Jonathan Kent, a well-known financial contributor to all things ‘kissing ass’ to get ahead in his own agenda to become Senator.

He was a tall, heavier set man but still had the rugged pretty boy looks with his blue eyes, brown hair, and a shit load of money that drove ladies’ wild. His vast reputation with women stemmed from his large bank account. He changed his arm candy like he changed his goddamn boxers. A different set of tits for every event. I wasn’t surprised he’d shown up, what shocked me was Amira was his latest conquest.

I spent the next hour socializing, watching them work the room together like a power couple as if they had something to prove. All I could do was endure his constant caresses on the side of her arm and down the spine of her back. The way he’d lean in a little too close when she was talking to him, making sure to keep his eyes focused on hers when he really wanted to be eyeing her tits on full display. Their interaction wasn’t the only thing that bothered me though. What held me captive the most was how she had every man in the room eating out of the palm of her hand. I wanted to get accustomed to how the new Amira worked in my element.

In my world.

Which was why I fought the urge to make my presence known to her and each man she came in contact with. I watched her every move, from her mannerisms, to the way she flipped her hair when she spoke, getting these men to hang onto every word that left her mouth. Her subtle movements of how she stood and casually swayed her body to the beat of the music from the orchestra. Never once breaking eye contact with who was speaking to her. How she would casually touch their arms or chests, making sure to laugh or smile when she was supposed to. Amira used her sexuality to get what she wanted, the same way she did to get to the States. Proving she was the epitome of perfection—on and off the streets.

She could handle her own in both of my worlds and that had been the hardest pill to swallow.

My will to just study her, shattered when Jonathan pulled her onto the dance floor during a slow song. He was holding her a little too close for comfort, his touch sensual and claiming. I couldn’t watch them for very long, dancing under the twinkling white lights like she was Cinder-fucking-ella and he was Prince Charming. Hell, jealousy was washing over me at a rapid pace. My possessiveness over her spread from across the room and the distance between us. She didn’t even realize I was there, and a huge part of me wanted to catch her off guard. To truly test her self-control and determination to keep up her façade of no longer loving me.

More importantly, I just wanted to fuck with her.

And fuck her.

I walked over to the luscious blonde by the bar who had been eye fucking me all night. Grabbed ahold of her hand and led her to the dance floor. Close enough where Amira would have to see us, see me. She was chatting with Johnathan as he slowly spun them in a circle at the prec

ise moment I pulled the blonde to my chest. Wrapping my arm around her lower back, placing her left arm on my shoulder, and then I entwined our other hands at our sides. She gasped when I unexpectedly brought my right leg in between hers, so she was pretty much straddling my thigh. Hugging her to my chest tight.

Allowing no distance between us.

I locked eyes with the blonde like she was the only woman in the room that mattered, when in reality, that woman was in another man’s arms.

“Aren’t you going to at least ask me my name?” she purred as I moved my lips closer to hers. Close enough to where I could feel her breath against my mouth.

I grinned, lightly pressing my lips against her cheek. Gradually inching my way toward her ear, whispering, “I don’t need your name to dance with you.”

She giggled in that girly way as if I just gave her the best compliment of her life. When the truth was, I didn’t give a fuck who she was. I was using her to prove a point to the woman whose penetrating stare was throwing daggers in our direction. Tiny blades cutting into my skin.

I didn’t pay Amira any mind, stirring her emotions the same way she fucked with mine. I slowly slid my hand down the blonde’s bare back, dipping into the edge of her dress right above her ass, while still provocatively dancing to the soft tune of the music. Knowing Amira was watching our every move, I shifted with the beat, twirling her around the room closer to where Amira was scrutinizing us like a fucking hawk. In an instant, I tugged the blonde back into my torso the second we were a few feet apart from them. Skimming my nose down her neck, I gripped onto the back of it in the same possessive gesture I did with Amira all those nights ago.

I could physically feel Amira’s restraint being stretched to the max. Her collected composure cracked momentarily, knowing her eyes probably turned stormy and her nostrils flared for a split second. I had her exactly where I wanted her all along. That’s when I decided it was time to make it snap. Using my thumb, I glided it along the blonde’s bottom lip. Making Amira think I was reveling in the feel of her velvety skin like I had with her that same night.