Page 30 of When Lies Unfold

His cocky smirk is etched in place, and his eyes aren’t haunted with shadows of what he’s done. Instead, he appears happy and carefree.

Once we’re parked, Gordo and Santiago exit the vehicle while I remain seated, stock-still. It isn’t entirely because I’m reticent to come face to face with the murderer I witnessed.

It’s partly due to the cold trickle of premonition sliding down my spine, telling me this man is far more dangerous than I anticipated.

I know better than to ignore a single gut instinct. I did it once and it almost killed me.

My door swings open to display Santiago haunting the now open space. His perusal of me causes defensiveness to course through me before he extends a hand toward me.

“Let’s go, Miss Arias.”

15

SANTIAGO

Her expression hardens at the sight of my nephew. But when I offer her my hand, I practically witness steel infusin’ her spine. She lifts her chin a notch, ignores my hand, and exits the vehicle.

“The fuck is she doin’ here?” Andro’s accusatory tone grates on my nerves.

I pin him with my scathin’ glare, my tone ripe with warnin’. “What’d I tell you about questionin’ my decisions?”

My nephew scowls like a petulant child instead of the twenty-year-old he is. Words emergin’ disjointed and forced from between gritted teeth, rephrasin’ his response appears to pain him. “Just wonderin’ why she’s here.”

“To talk.”

His mouth parts, no doubt with the intention of probin’ further, but snaps closed once he thinks better of it.

When I place my hand at the base of Miss Arias’s spine to encourage her to move forward, she shrugs me off and sidesteps me.

I grit my teeth, vyin’ for a thread of patience with this woman, and gesture toward the open doors where Gordo waits for us. “After you, Miss Arias.”

With her bag secure to her body, she strides ahead. Her hair’s in its typical low ponytail, gently swayin’ with each determined step.

Wearin’ a simple dark blue T-shirt and matchin’ leggin’s that disappear into her black rubber boots, she shouldn’t look this appealin’. Andro trails me as I follow her inside.

Once she draws to a stop in the expansive foyer, I brush past her and head down the hallway on our left. “Come with me.”

She grumbles somethin’ before mutterin’, “I’m going.”

I enter my office and round my large desk. Pausin’ at the small fridge built into the bookshelves linin’ my office walls, I cast her a questionin’ glance.

“Imperial?”

She stands, paused at the threshold. Suspicion radiates off her as she inspects the interior space. “No, thanks.”

I pull out a beer for myself and twist off the top before lowerin’ myself into my leather desk chair. I don’t say a word; I just watch and wait for her to finally decide to enter.

From her perch in the doorway, her keen inspection sweeps over the multitude of spines in my shelved collection in a caress only a book lover would recognize. Her eyes widen for a moment before she schools her expression.

She doesn’t look my way when she poses the question. “You’ve read all those?”

I take a long drink before answerin’. Mostly to stifle the foreign-as-fuck eagerness risin’ inside me. Eagerness to give her an answer that earns her approval. Which is fucked up, because I don’t need anybody’s approval.

I don’t ask for it and never will.

Maybe I need to get laid. That’s the only reason a random woman would be gettin’ me all twisted like some pathetic fuckboy.

“Of course. Why else would I have ’em on my shelves?”

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