Sweet Collateral

“So…neutral ground?” I finally say, turning to face him. I hate the butterflies that erupt in my chest whenever I look at him. If anything, he seems even more savagely beautiful than he did before. Maybe it’s that dangerous edge that always lingered just below the surface and is now in full view. He’s no longer just the man who saved me. The blinkers are off, and I see now that he’s every bit the cartel boss I always knew he was, but rarely witnessed.

He takes a pack of cigars from his pants pocket and removes one, holding it between his fingers and staring at it absentmindedly for a few seconds. “This place feels…untainted.” His dark gaze snaps to mine, narrowing against the bright sun. “Ours.”

I swallow heavily, remembering the afternoon that he brought me here as if it were only yesterday. That was the day that I made the conscious decision to trust him wholeheartedly, to stop thinking about all the reasons why it was wrong and embrace how right we were. But he broke that trust and in doing so, changed everything.

“You wanted to talk,” I say dismissively. “So talk.”

He places the cigar to his mouth and I watch his full lips purse around it, the end glowing a bright cherry red. “You need to leave, Anna.” I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t hurt. I’ve been around him for twelve hours, and already my emotions are a jumbled mess where they’ve been very clear for the last month or so.

I fight through the sting and stare back at him. “Trust me, I’m well aware of the fact that you don’t want me here—”

“It has nothing to with what I want.” He cuts me off. “This is necessary.”

Hurt turns to anger, and I glare at him. “I’ll decide what is necessary where my life is concerned. You’re no longer in it, remember?”

He takes an ominous step towards me, his fists tightening right along with his jaw. “So, what, you’re on some kind of vigilante mission now?” He laughs. “Not even a year ago you were a sex slave. A few months with your sister and you think you’re ready to take on a cartel?” His eyes drag over my body cruelly. “You’re still a naive little girl, and Dominges will have you right back on that bed where you started.”

His words have barely sunk in before I’m pulling my elbow back, rage driving my fist right into his jaw. His head snaps to the side and for a second we both freeze. Shock ripples over me as I watch a single drop of blood ooze from his lip and fall onto the sand at his feet. He tosses his cigar to the ground and swipes a hand over his bloody lip, staring at the crimson liquid that now coats his fingertips.

“Well, you can throw a punch. And I deserved that.”

My heart and soul ache for him, and I feel like I’m breaking standing here with him. Fighting him. My gaze drops to the scorched desert ground interspersed with little weeds hopefully reaching for life. “You sent me away—"

“Don’t do that shit, Anna.” He moves closer until his enormous body blocks the sun. “Don’t act like I just didn’t want you. Don’t accuse me of giving up on you.”

“Didn’t you?”

He grips my chin between his thumb and finger. I should pull away, but the look in his eyes freezes me. My mind is running from Rafael, rebelling in every way, but my heart will probably always be his captive.

“Never,” he says quietly, his eyes dropping to my lips. “There are some things you can never walk away from.”

There’s a beat of silence and the mental battle rages in my mind as long seconds pass. The feelings I’ve tried so hard to lock up are rattling against the bars of the cage I’ve forced around them. Closing his eyes, he tugs me close and rests his forehead against mine. Such a simple yet intimate touch and I bask in it, my fragile heart fluttering erratically, begging me to simply fall into the protective warmth of his arms.

“Please,” he whispers, his voice raw and exposed. “Please go back to New York.”

No matter my feeling for him, I’ve always been a slave, and he’s always been a cartel boss. It’s only now that I’m starting to discover who Anna Vasiliev even is, and I know she’s not going to be so easily controlled by a man, even him.

“This was a mistake,” I try to step away, but his arms lock firmly around my waist before I can force more than an inch of space between us. Hot breath rushes over my neck, and I shiver. My lungs falter for air as his lips brush my neck, and my nails dig into his arms. I’m not sure if I’m trying to pull him away or hold him tight. I’ve never been so conflicted. “We’re never a mistake, avecita.”