Page 19 of Hidden While In Sight

Diego let his hand drop and backed away. “I’d never hurt you either, mami.”

Her eyes flicked to his, but in a twitching way, like a butterfly hesitating to land. Then she really did scamper off, like the scared rabbit she was.

Diego was back to wanting to break something. He placed his tools back in the box, being harder on them than they deserved, and went in to tell Naz his fucking bike was fixed and to get the hell out. Then Diego could stare at Hannah through the cameras in peace.

That was safer for them both. Much safer than what he wanted to do.

Chapter 10

When Diego was young, he daydreamed about family dinners gathered around a dining room table. He couldn’t remember any from before he was on the streets, and after he didn’t have a home, scrounging anything to eat at all was difficult.

Nino Zeta had called the team of sicarios he’d built from nothing but street scum a family, but the term meant shared blood spilled and loyalty to him. Zeta sure as hell didn’t gather them for dinner, though he did provide more food than Diego had been used to as well as shelter from the elements, if not from the other boys.

The Zetas respected toughness, and the stronger, bigger sicarios didn’t let up on the weaker ones until they died or tried to get out, which led to death. Either you were a bully, or you were dead. And you didn’t snitch if you saw one of your brothers get beaten to death, or that would also lead to blood.

Despite all that, the fairy tale in Diego’s head, the one of a loving family eating together as they talked about their day, lingered. It was prissy bullshit he should have let go of long ago.

The Ashford’s family dinner that night cured him of the fairy tale once and for all.

Connor barely ate in his father’s presence at any meal together, but it was even worse that night. Regret had piled on top of regret for the boy as he waited, his dread of what was to come curling inside him.

The bitch of a nanny looked intent on snitching on the kid. She opened that sulky mouth of hers, saying, “Mr. Ashford, sir,” in a breathless voice that made Diego want to vomit. The nanny fucking deserved to be left needy and aching.

Hannah’s eyes narrowed on the nanny as her fork stabbed into the unbreaded, unappetizing boiled chicken on her plate.

“What is it, Ms. Clemmon?” Ashford asked, lifting his eyes from his phone.

Hannah lifted the whole slab of chicken to her mouth and took the biggest bite she could manage.

“Hannah!” Ashford snapped, his gaze snapping to her. “Put it down.”

Diego’s fingers brushed over the screen where the side of her face refused to obey. He watched her swallow the wad of chicken that she’d barely chewed before ripping into the chicken breast again with her teeth, her eyes fixed on her husband.

Ashford pushed up from the table hard enough for his chair to fall back. “Stop that right now, Hannah,” he warned.

She chewed, her eyes watering from the volume of chicken in her mouth.

Connor began to cry, silent tears that slid down his face as his father told the nanny to take the kids from the room even as he stalked over to his wife. The door hadn’t yet shut on the kids’ frightened faces when he gripped her jaw, forcing it forward while he pushed her cheeks in.

Hannah gagged as the chicken was forced back out of her mouth, landing on her plate in a disgusting pile of half-chewed sludge.

“I should make you eat it, you fat pig!” Ashford roared, making the privacy of the closed dining room doors pointless. He stuck his fingers down his wife’s throat, forcing her to purge the rest of what she’d eaten.

Fury filled Diego as Hannah retched all over the table and herself, though she aimed for Ashford’s arm, causing him to jerk away from her. She braced her hands against the table until there was nothing left to purge. Her eyes locked onto Ashford as she struggled to draw a full breath and waited, not even bothering to wipe at the vomit that clung to the side of her mouth.

It should have been disgusting. It wasn’t. It was beautiful defiance.

Diego couldn’t take his eyes off her.

Ashford didn’t approach his wife. His hands curled into fists at his sides and shook with his urge to use them. His nostrils flared as he moved farther away.

“You’re disgusting, Hannah. You’ll always be disgusting.” He turned for the door. “Clean up your fucking mess.”

When he slammed it behind him, Hannah closed her eyes and focused on controlling her panicked breathing. When her heaving chest slowed, she let out the gasp of a laugh that had been haunting Diego all day. She reached for the cloth napkin, wiping the wet chunks of vomit off her face.

Her blank mask was in place as she cleaned up the dining room, though there was a hardness to her eyes.

She showered before heading to the kids’ rooms to tuck them in. The nanny had already put them to bed, and Emma was asleep when her mother leaned close, brushing a hand over her hair and leaving as quietly as she had entered.

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