Sweet Collateral

“Office, I think.”

“Thanks.”

I get up and head toward the office, but Rafael isn’t there. I’m on my way back to the kitchen when I catch sight of Samuel leaving through the front door. It closes behind him, but through one of the living room windows I see him cutting around the side of the house to the gardens. Where is he going?

Slipping through the front door, I ignore the guards posted there, hoping they don’t try and stop me. They don’t. I jog through the gardens until I see Samuel entering a small outbuilding. It’s nestled against the surrounding property wall and is barely visible beneath all the vines that have grown up the walls and over the roof.

What is he doing in a shed? Curiosity has me following him, stepping up to the front door and pressing my ear to the heavy wood. I can’t hear anything. Instinct tells me to hurry away so I don’t get caught, but what is he going to do? None of them will hurt me. It’s not like he didn’t walk right out the front door for anyone to see. After a few moments of deliberation, curiosity gets the better of me. Lifting my hand, I knock on the door. It opens, and I’m staring down the barrel of a gun, attached to Samuel’s hand.

He releases a long breath and tucks the gun into the back of his pants. “What the fuck are you doing out here?”

“Following you.” He raises a brow. “I’m looking for Rafe. Obviously.”

“Let her in, Sam,” Rafael’s deep, distinctive voice comes from within the shed.

Samuel hesitates for a moment before reluctantly opening the door wider. The second I step into the dingy building, the scent of mildew and the coppery tang of blood assault me. My eyes adjust to the dim light, and I see Rafael standing in the shadows of the far wall. He’s shirtless, his thick arms folded over his chest. Streaks of blood taint the black ink of his tattoos in large smudges. A low groan has me tearing my attention from Rafael to the man in the middle of the room. He’s on his side in the fetal position, blood pooling beneath him. I can feel Rafe’s gaze on me as though assessing my reaction. Am I supposed to have one? I know deep down I should, but I don’t. The room is so small that it’s difficult to move around the guy, so I step over his legs, avoiding any blood. A smile ghosts over Rafael’s face as I go to him.

“Avecita.”

I place a hand against his bare stomach, feeling the burning heat of his skin against my palm. “I need to talk to you.”

“Can it wait?” I can see the bloodlust in his eyes—the beast is unleashed. It should probably scare me, but I identify with this side of Rafael just as much as the man who holds me and tells me he loves me.

“Well, I didn’t come into your little death hut to discuss the weather.”

“Okay, then talk.” He reaches out, almost absentmindedly and wraps a strand of my hair around his bloodstained finger.

“Um, maybe privately.” I eye the beaten man who seems to be in a semi-conscious state.

“No matter. He’ll be dead soon.” Okay then.

“Una called,” I say. He stills, his eyes snapping to mine, that bloodlust rages to the surface until he looks positively murderous.

“What did she want?”

“I’m not really sure. I didn’t want to speak to her. But she asked that you contact Nero. Apparently, he’s been trying to get hold of you.”

“I’ve been busy,” he mumbles under his breath.

“Well, call him.”

His hand wraps around the back of my neck, and I can feel the stickiness of the blood on his fingers. “Is that what you want?”

I stare into those near black eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Una must be working with him again if she called you on his behalf.” He takes my hand, brushing his thumb over the spot where my little finger once was. I don’t bother covering it anymore. I have to come to terms with it at some point, though I’m not there yet.

“I don’t want you to be forced to deal with her.”

“It’s just business,” Of course, it’s not just business. It’s so much more complicated and deeply engrained than that.

Pulling me closer, he presses his lips to my forehead, and I close my eyes, inhaling the scent of cigar smoke and blood. I absorb his warmth, that impregnable feeling of safety that only he can provide.

“She’s your sister, little warrior. She’s not just business.”

“She chose her side, Rafe.”

“So ruthless, avecita.” He places his lips against mine. As the months have passed, his kisses have become far more than warm and comforting. Even the most innocent of brushes is like a drug to me: addictive, calming, exciting. He makes me feel things and want things that I never thought I would desire, and I don’t think I ever could from anyone but him. For a moment, the world disappears, and it’s just him and I in our little bubble. The blood, the danger, business, and family…it all becomes meaningless for just a few seconds.