Page 4 of When Lies Unfold

I straighten my spine while his gun’s muzzle remains flush against my temple. I assume he’s checking for any trace of a listening device, and his touch doesn’t feel predatory or sexual in nature.

He liberates me of my cell phone and connected earbuds before handing them off to someone. His palm then resumes its slow but efficient graze over my skin.

Stay still and let him see that you’re not a threat.

My breath suspends in my lungs as I wait for him to finish checking. His fingers slip beneath the waistband of my jeans, sweeping along my skin as he confirms I’m not hiding anything.

Once he’s satisfied with his search, he drops his hand, the gun still at my temple.

“I don’t make a habit of leavin’ live witnesses behind.” A faint trace of mint hits my nostrils. “Knowin’ that, what do you expect me to do with you?”

I hold myself still, resolutely staring straight ahead. I refuse to let this asshole intimidate me. He’s like all the others—murderous bastards who leave a trail of carnage in their wake, including innocent victims.

I scour my brain for a feasible way out of this—a viable way to get this bastard to back off.

“Look…I’ll clean for you. I’ll make sure there’s no evidence left behind.”

Silence is all I receive in return, and it’s lengthy enough to make me gauge how many steps I might take toward the window before he fires at least one bullet my way. His lingering lack of response compels me to convince him further.

“You won’t have to worry about the cops or anyone finding anything. But I need to do it now before the blood sets in further and soaks into the tile.”

He grunts, a trace of dark amusement coloring his response. “Thought you didn’t see anythin’.”

Shit. I grit my teeth, refusing to back down. “I didn’t…but I did hear something.”

A long beat passes before another man pipes up. “Boss? She checks out. Friendly with a damn cop—Nando. Fuckin’ figures. Seems like he’s sweet on her, but she’s clean. Sent the info to your phone.”

I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until the pressure at my temple eases and the man lowers the gun.

What little solace I’ve gained from not having that weapon against my head is short-lived. That tiny thread of relief disintegrates when he delivers his harsh command, cloaked with pure malevolence.

“All right, Miss Arias. Go ahead. Clean.”

1 Pronounced Ah-rone

4

SANTIAGO HERNÁNDEZ

Motherfuckin’ Andro. If he weren’t blood, there’s a good chance his brains would be scattered right alongside Rafa’s.

While he had no goddamn business goin’ after Rafa, I’m not about to shed a tear for the bastard. Rafa was nothin’ more than a nasty fucker who didn’t hesitate to take what wasn’t his. Drugs. Money. Cars. Women. It was all fair game to him. But the women part I really had an issue with.

No real man rapes women. That shit’s for weak, entitled betas. So, yeah, I’m not heartbroken over his death, and I’d place bets that a bunch of others’ll be toastin’ to him leavin’ this earth.

As if that’s not enough, I’ve been dealin’ with Hidalgo’s retaliation for his business contacts choosin’ me over him. The little bitch has been actin’ like a dictator for too long, and I keep comin’ away with more and more of his associates because of it.

“Uncle Santy, he was a trait—” My nephew’s excuses are cut off when I backhand the fuck out of him.

He stumbles backward, blood tricklin’ from his lip, before he spits and stands up straighter. My nephew’s become a punk who thinks he deserves to be in charge of operations. But he’s made it crystal-fuckin’-clear that I can’t trust him and his ego.

I’ve done my best to allow him the opportunity to prove himself, but all he’s done is show that he needs to be on a short fuckin’ leash.

Andro’s glare threatens to flay me with anger, but I don’t give a shit. He’s fucked up yet again. On top of that, he thought it was a brilliant idea to use one of these secluded, luxury properties to do his dirty work.

A motherfuckin’ property he didn’t have the sense to clear first to ensure there weren’t any goddamn witnesses. At this point, I’m convinced he’s got shit for brains.

“Hand over your weapons.” I hold out my palm.

---