Page 9 of When Lies Unfold

Those lines fanning from his eyes combined with the dusting of silver at his temples and the unspoken experiences his eyes hold are the main indicators leading me to believe he’s older than me.

With Gordo taking up far more than his allotted space beside me, as much as I try to curl into myself, the bumpy road jostles me. This causes my arm to graze against Santiago’s, and I tense.

His low rumble reaches my ears. “Easy, Miss Arias.” If I didn’t know better, I’d say a trace of amusement laces his words. “No harm done.”

The silent yet lingers between us, as dense as a thick layer of fog covering the mountains most mornings. Though I attempt to shirk off the claws of fear that grip the nape of my neck, I’m not entirely successful.

I’ve done so well in pushing past my debilitating fear of men like him. I refuse to let him upend the life I’ve made here.

If I play along, continue my innocent act, and prove to him I can keep my mouth shut, surely, he’ll move on to killing others?—

“Here we are.” Santiago’s voice drags me from my thoughts a moment before he exits the vehicle. He stands by the door, waiting for me.

Another black SUV is already parked in front of my little casita?1. One man stands stiffly beside it as if he’s been designated as a sentry. I slide across the seat to exit, and the man addresses Santiago.

“All clear inside.”

Of course, he’d sent someone to inspect my home. I’d expect nothing less. As much as I hate the idea of someone pawing through my sparse belongings, I’m relieved I don’t have anything they’d be interested in.

I ease to my feet beside Santiago and… Damn. He’s a fraction less intimidating seated beside me compared to towering over me like this.

Illuminated in the bright moonlight combined with the flickering light outside my front door from a few feet away, he surveys me critically before addressing his men. “I’ll be a minute.” His attention cuts to me, arrogance oozing from his words. “Gotta be a gentleman and see Miss Arias inside.”

I start toward the door of my casita that shines like a beacon of safety. My feet carry me up the three small steps to my door.

“A gentleman.” The muttered words escape me before I realize it, and their derisive quality can’t be missed. He cinches my upper arm in a tight, punishing grip that halts me in my tracks.

Dark and lethal, his tone possesses a danger so tangible it sends a chill straight to the marrow of my bones. “You tryin’ to imply I’m not a gentleman, Miss Arias?”

To lie or not to lie. The thought strikes a split second before I stifle it. Because I’m Lola Arias, and I don’t cower to any man.

I’m not the young, naïve girl I once was. I’m not someone easily pushed around—literally or figuratively.

I made a promise to never suppress my own voice. When I finally broke away from my shitty past, I vowed never again to be the weak, spineless human I’d once been.

I turn and meet his scrutinizing gaze. “Do you want an honest answer?”

“Always.”

“Then, yes.” My tone is curt and no-nonsense. “I was implying you’re not a gentleman, because you don’t strike me as one.”

His grip loosens, but his penetrating stare continues holding me captive. “That so?”

I offer the briefest nod before gesturing toward his hold on me. “Can I go inside now?”

A pregnant beat lingers before he relinquishes his hold and drops his hand at his side. I reach for my door only to stop short, realizing I don’t have my bag with my phone.

When the object itself is thrust in my line of vision, I snatch it without a thank-you and paw through it to ensure everything’s still intact and my phone’s tucked inside.

I reach for the door handle and rush inside without a backward glance. My words spill out in a grumble, because I’m pissed at having my privacy violated and having my life threatened. Not to mention, the stress and exhaustion from the additional cleaning and disinfecting of all the bloodstains has tipped me over the edge.

“Next time you have someone inspect my home, make sure they lock up behind themselves, okay?” I use my foot to shove the door closed behind me, but the sound of a heavy palm slapping against it stops it.

Ignoring the menacing silence that follows as the door closes with a soft click, I toe off my shoes on the mat.

Two skinny floor lamps illuminate the meager interior space as I drop my bag on the small wooden table that wobbles on its uneven legs. Thankfully, my keys are sitting there, delivered by the assholes who entered my home uninvited.

“Nice place you got here.”

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