Page 173 of When Lies Unfold

Her brow creases with worry. “I need to go.”

Panic scalds my insides as I straighten, ’cause every fiber in my body is screamin’ for more time with her. “I’ll walk you back.”

“No. It’s fine.” She says this abruptly before her eyes take on a sadness that has my gut twistin’ in knots. Steppin’ closer, she presses a kiss to my cheek. “I’ll remember this night forever.”

The finality of her words puts the bitter taste of regret on my tongue. I give in to the urge to grab her wrist before she can dart away.

“Meet me here again tomorrow night.” The words are out before I realize it.

Fuck. I’ve never sought a woman’s attention, let alone begged her to spend more time with me. It’s not me bein’ cocky—that’s just the truth.

Our eyes hold, and the anguish in hers confuses me.

She eases her wrist from my hold, then plucks one perfect metallic-blue feather from her wings and places it in my palm. Closin’ my fingers around it, she gives my hand a quick squeeze. “In another life.”

With those three words, she’s off, disappearin’ into the crowd that’s only grown thicker with each passin’ minute.

I lose sight of her and those blue wings far quicker than I’d like. But I don’t chase after her, even though every muscle in my body protests.

I can’t. There’s no room in my life for anybody. I’m buildin’ my empire, makin’ a name for myself. Soon, nobody’s gonna associate the name Santiago Hernández with the dirt-poor Tico?1 kid from the worst barrio?2.

Instead, they’ll know that Santiago Hernández is the most powerful narco in not only Costa Rica, but all of Central America. That I’m expandin’ my territory and even makin’ deals throughout South America.

No woman wants to come second to that, and I’ve never been tempted to rethink my goals or reconsider my path.

Until now.

I’d never admit it out loud ’cause it sounds crazy as fuck, but I swear I saw possibilities in her eyes.

Openin’ my hand, I stare at the feather she gave me. It fuckin’ figures. The first woman to shake up my world is one I don’t even have a name for. Nor do I have the time to consider trackin’ her down.

Lightly strokin’ my thumb over the feather’s softness, I mutter to myself, my voice lost in the surroundin’ noise. “In another life.”

Tuckin’ the feather in my pocket, I cast one final glance in the direction she disappeared in before I turn and leave.

Once I reach the outskirts where I parked my vehicle, I toss the mask in a nearby trash can and drive off.

It’s the last Barranquilla Carnival I ever attend.

1 A nickname for a Costa Rican

2 neighborhood

80

SANTIAGO

PRESENT

Grief pummels me like I’ve allowed Gordo free rein over me with his fists, but I push past it to inspect the other pages.

At the top of the first page is a familiar name of a narco up in Guatemala I’ve had a few minor run-ins with.

Hidalgo made notes and listed other information—with highly intimate knowledge of the man. The kind of info that’s powerful enough to be used as blackmail.

“Motherfucker.” The muttered words fall from my lips as I flip to the next page. One by one, my stunned eyes soak up the priceless intel. None of it provokes an unparalleled fury inside me, though—until I get to the last page.

I stare down at it after readin’ it over twice. No fuckin’ way. I blink, confident that I’m too stressed and emotional to be seein’ it right.

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