Page 62 of When Lies Unfold

Fire. It feels as though the muscles in my arms have erupted into flames. Beads of sweat line my hairline, and my left hand aches so badly I’m fantasizing about cutting it off at the wrist.

The nighttime breeze has picked up, chilling the dampness that has my tank top clinging to the middle of my lower back.

I’m tempted to weep with relief once I pull myself back over the top of the railing. Leaning against it, I stare down into the dark abyss I just ascended from.

I did it. I really did it.

A potent dose of pride unfurls inside me, because this serves as proof that I’m not the weak, fragile woman I once was. The one who was beaten into submission for far too long.

When another strong breeze blows past me, a shiver rolls down my spine and I reach into my bag for my thin zip-up hoodie. I slide it on beneath my bag’s strap, and the warmth it provides relieves my chilled skin.

I pull the zipper up just beneath my breasts. Wiping the bottoms of my feet on the thick grass, I attempt to eliminate as much of the dirt and mud that may be clinging to me.

At least enough so I won’t end up tracking anything inside and leaving a trail. I can’t afford to give Santiago any reason to question me.

As I inhale a deep lungful of cool air, a faint smile graces my lips at the hint of natural floral sweetness it holds. I allow the tranquility of the evening to envelop me, and it takes a moment before I sense an additional presence. The instant I do, my muscles lock in place.

The faint but familiar scent that catches on the breeze has me relaxing mere seconds before a deep purring reaches my ears. Slowly, I turn to find two glowing eyes, and a jolt of surprise courses through me.

My whispered words seem to echo in the quiet stillness. “Cómo estás, Belleza?” How are you, Beauty?

Her approach is tentative before she rubs her nose against my outer thigh. I stroke behind her ears. “Did you come all this way to check on me?” I murmur quietly. “You’re such a sweet soul.”

She purrs even louder when I stroke along the back of her neck. “You’re the only friend I have these days who isn’t upset or disappointed with me in some way.

“Sabrina doesn’t understand what’s happening, and I can’t tell her, so…” At my dejected sigh, she peers up at me with a soulful gaze that sometimes seems otherworldly. As though she understands what it’s like to be an outcast.

“And now, here I am.” My voice is barely audible, the light breeze carrying most of it away. Sadness clings to my words, along with defeat that I’m too proud to admit to. “I thought I was free”—my pitiful excuse for a laugh sounds hollow—“but all I got was a minor reprieve.”

Throat growing tight with residual fear and exhaustion, bitterness infuses my words. “I’ve traded in one prison for another.”

Because even though I’ve been successful at evading Santiago’s security measures tonight, even though he’s granted me the ability to come and go as I please, it offers little consolation.

No one should be dictating my freedoms except for me. My life shouldn’t be like this. I never did anything to deserve this fate, least of all twice.

As if privy to my melancholy thoughts, Belleza rasps her rough tongue along the top of my hand. The gesture is so sweet and comforting, my chest aches as I struggle against the urge to cry and scream my frustration into the jungle.

In the next instant, her entire body turns rigid, her ears perking up. Her purrs morph, growing louder and possessing a sense of warning. Her breathing picks up pace as she edges forward in a protective stance.

I turn, searching for whatever spooked her, and my eyes settle on the shadowed figure standing a few yards away. I’m grateful for the shroud of darkness cast over me, because there’s no doubt he’d spot my dirty feet in a heartbeat. As it is, Belleza naturally blends in with the night shadows.

“Plottin’ your escape, Miss Arias?” A faint trace of amusement clings to his question.

“More like trying to get some peace without anyone bothering me.”

“Hmm.” A brief pause lingers, his voice shrouded with suspicion. “You always try to ‘get some peace’ wearin’ your bag?”

Shit. My mind scrambles in search of a decent excuse before I fire back hotly, “After the way you’ve uprooted my life and didn’t deliver my belongings right away, I’m feeling more than a little unsettled about leaving my stuff behind.”

His displeasure at my answer is tangible, radiating off him in thick waves. “Try again.”

“I brought my bag to Alma’s room because I had nail polish for her to choose from. We painted nails.”

“That so.” Doubt drenches each word before his voice shifts, becoming more alert.

He steps forward, casting himself in a shaft of light. The instant he comes into view, my breath leaches from my lungs. Clad in only a pair of tailored black pants that mold his muscular thighs, his bare torso puts his tattoos on full display.

The skull adorning his throat extends downward as part of a skeletal body in a robe. One bony hand holds a dagger while the other brandishes a skull dripping with blood. Etched in bold, black ink, the figure spans his entire chest and ends at his waistband. My traitorous fingertips twitch, longing to trace over the artwork.

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