Page 53 of When Lies Unfold

He’s called away moments later, leavin’ me alone in my silent office. The answer to his question continues to evade me while I watch Lola Arias sleep sittin’ upright.

It still taunts me once I finally slide into bed for the night.

Who the fuck is Lola Arias?

I don’t know, but I’m damn sure gonna find out.

24

LOLA

The click of the door’s lock jerks me awake.

Within a split second, I have the metal chair gripped in my hands. My muscles are in that in-between state of tense and fluid—fear and awareness intertwined with the readiness to attack. I’m prepared to use this chair as a weapon, if necessary.

When the door draws open, allowing light to stream in, I blink rapidly in an attempt to focus.

Gordo turns sideways to allow his broad shoulders entry to the room while his asshole boss enters behind him.

They stop in front of me. Gordo stands stiffly, his hands at his sides. Impeccable as always, Santiago’s dressed in tailored slacks and a button-down shirt beneath a suit jacket.

Accompanied by a noxious air of suspicion, his sheer masculinity evokes delicate tremors that roll down my spine. Visceral resentment of my reaction to his mere presence lances through me, and I firmly put my defenses in place.

He slides his hands in his pockets, adopting a casual stance, but it doesn’t fool me. His next words reinforce this.

“Thinkin’ of usin’ that chair on me?” The slightest hint of amusement laces his words.

“Maybe.”

A muscle flickers in his cheek before his gaze lowers to my ankles. “Didn’t get outta those, huh?”

His lack of surprise at finding me in this spot and with my hands free tells me he’s been privy to my every move. Just as I thought when I’d spotted that camera last night.

I’m honestly shocked he let me sleep this long. I figured I’d be woken up for at least another round of interrogation. Because he didn’t, suspicion ravages through me.

Santiago withdraws a hand from his pocket, producing a pocketknife. Flicking out the blade, he approaches, and my body goes rigid, preparing for fight-or-flight mode.

That all-too-perceptive gaze narrows on me. He lowers himself to be at eye level, holding my gaze the entire time. “Figure you want outta those zip ties.”

He says this in a low, almost soothing tone, as if he’s speaking to a spooked wild animal. Who is this man? Whenever I think I have him figured out, he throws me for a loop yet again.

I regard him warily because I’d be stupid to trust someone like him, but I dip my chin in a nod of affirmation.

With a quick, practiced move, he uses the knife to slice through the zip ties, releasing my ankles from their bindings.

I’m already massaging the sore skin by the time the thick plastic hits the floor.

Santiago’s inscrutable gaze rests heavily on me as he straightens and pockets his knife. When he offers me a hand, I ignore it and scramble to my feet.

His jaw tightens in irritation, but he doesn’t address my dismissal of his offer of help. “We got some business to take care of, so we’re gonna drop you off at work and won’t be around until you’re done.”

My body aches and I’m exhausted, but the idea of not having someone continuously watching my every move today has my shoulders relaxing a fraction with relief.

His brows draw together, the crease between them turning cavernous. “Don’t get any idea of doin’ somethin’ stupid.”

I stare back at him, hoping my eyes tell him to go fuck himself. I assume I’m successful, judging by his deepening scowl and those dark eyes flashing with irritation.

His fierce, pissy expression grows more prominent as he grits out, “And that includes stayin’ the fuck away from the cop.”

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