Page 28 of When Lies Unfold

1 A white-nosed coati, also known as the coatimundi

13

SANTIAGO

Stridin’ into her cramped livin’ room, I clench and unclench my fists, vyin’ to get my temper under control.

I’m dyin’ to know who the fuck beat on her—and why. Does Lola Arias press my goddamn buttons? Fuck, yeah. Does she piss me off to no end and refuse to follow my rules? Without fail.

Lacin’ my fingers together, I rest them on my head and stare at the rickety wooden table beside the small loveseat.

A single framed photo of her and her friend, Sabrina, looks like it was taken a while ago, judgin’ by the tattoos on Lola’s left arm. In this photograph, the ink on her upper arm is unfinished, still needin’ color.

Even in this photo, it’s like she’s tryin’ to downplay her features. Like she doesn’t want to draw attention to her face by usin’ even the slightest bit of makeup and wearin’ anythin’ that shows off any of her features.

Her smile, though, is what holds my attention most. Here, Lola Arias is even more gorgeous with that smile transformin’ her face. She and her friend have their heads together, grinnin’ at the camera like they’re in on some secret joke.

Lola’s mouth holds a naturally pink hue, and while her smile is wide and happy, there’s no mistakin’ the traces of shadows in her eyes. Tonight, I discovered why.

Somebody fuckin’ beat on her, and I’d bet everythin’ I own that’s how she got those scars on her hand and on her face.

I’m not a good man—I don’t bother pretendin’ I am—but I don’t just go hittin’ on women for no reason.

Have I killed women before? Absolutely. But it’s ’cause they were shady, attemptin’ to set me up to lose everythin’, tryin’ to steal from me, or flat-out tryin’ to kill me.

Every single one of my kills is justified, just like I told Lola.

“Fuck.” I exhale the word under my breath, sightlessly starin’ at that photo.

She’s a liability, and I don’t fuckin’ trust her—and I sure as hell don’t buy her story about sneakin’ out to trek through the jungle—but damn if I don’t want to hunt down whoever hurt her and break every motherfuckin’ bone in their body.

I know what it’s like to be haunted by ghosts from the past. The irreparable damage that you can never seem to undo.

With one final glance at her closed bedroom door, I will my feet to move toward the front door. It feels as though the entire floor is covered with wet cement, urgin’ me to remain in place, which is fuckin’ ridiculous.

I advance toward the door and tug it open with more force than necessary. When I pull it closed behind me, it takes considerable effort to stride toward the vehicle. To not turn back around.

Once I’m inside, Gordo’s smart enough to let silence linger, allowin’ me to gather my thoughts. He puts the SUV in gear and heads down the long, rocky drive and is almost to the road before I speak.

“We gotta dig deeper into her background.”

“On it, boss.” Even though Gordo’s as competent as they come, his quick reply does little to soothe my frayed nerves from my encounter with her.

I stare straight ahead, attemptin’ to get my head right, ’cause fuck this shit.

I refuse to allow a woman to make me reconsider the groundwork I’ve laid for my life—for my goddamn empire.

It happened once, long ago. And although it was brief, I have yet to evict that lingerin’ phantom sensation that I’m missin’ out.

I’ll never let that happen again.

Never.

14

LOLA

Tuesday

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