Page 89 of Falling for the Enemy

Every word I speak is the truth.

I’ll never let her go.

Not even in death.

TWENTY-THREE

Ari

SIX WEEKS LATER

The Blue Ocean is packed to capacity.

Reminiscent of the night Alejandro and I met, the line is wrapped around the block and loud music spills out onto the street. This time, however, the bouncer manning the door is someone I recognize.

And that I’ve come to admire.

Unexpectedly but greatly so.

“Privyet, Benito,” I say, greeting the man standing behind the rope that barricades the line of hopefuls, some of them already drunk and swaying in place, from entering the club without permission. “How’s the hand?”

Smirking, he flips me off.

“Seems to be working just fine, da?”

When I stop next to him, he maneuvers his body between me and the ever-growing line, shielding me from any unseen threats. He and I may have started off on the wrong foot, but ever since Alejandro and I led the attack on Stefano’s safe house, things have changed.

Now, he respects me. Christian, too.

The feeling is mutual.

Both men may wear the cartel’s brand, but I consider them my soldiers all the same. As I told the kingpin weeks back, if he doesn’t treat them right, then I will. The possessive mudak hadn’t liked my threat very much; the handprint I wore on my ass the day that followed was irrefutable proof of such.

“You’re trying to get someone killed, aren’t you, Jefa?” Benito says, cutting through the delicious memory I’d begun to recall.

I blink innocently. “Care to explain?”

Brow quirked, he nods to the scarlet-colored velvet bodycon dress I wear, its hem falling just below my ass, followed by the crystal-embellished, peep-toe Louboutins covering my feet.

“Jefe is a bomb when it comes to you,” he replies, shaking his head. “If another man so much as looks at you, much less tries to talk to you, he’s going to explode.” His eyes narrow. “And I’m the cabrón that will have to mop up the blood and dispose of the body parts.”

It’s my turn to smirk.

“I’ll send one of my men to help you.”

With a wink, I head into the club, clutch in hand, leaving a scowling Benito behind. Once inside, I take the same path I did that first night, heading for the center of the building, the strobe lights catching the glint of the diamonds I wear on my neck, wrist, and ankle.

On the dance floor, I stop.

The music changes, the heavy beat of the new song flowing through me as I look up at the second-story windows lining the far side of the club.

Alejandro’s gaze singes my skin.

Though I can’t see him behind the tinted glass, I know he’s there, his cock hardening as he takes me in from head to toe, jaw likely clenching.

I give it one minute.

Just one before he’s standing in front of me, his muscular arms crossed over his chest as he stares me down, equal parts lust and anger flaring in his breathtaking eyes.

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