Page 8 of Hidden While In Sight

“Fucking moan!” Ashford cried, and the slaps quickened before he made a disgusting hiccupping sound and his groan came, long and low.

Diego was glad when the asshole was finally silent, though it didn’t last long.

“Worst orgasm with you yet,” Ashford muttered. He zipped up. Soon after, the slam of a door followed.

Diego’s gaze flicked to where Ashford stalked down the hallway, shirtless. He reached his office, knocking back glass after glass of scotch as he muttered about dry cunts.

Diego’s finger flicked that microphone to mute, his gaze moving to the darkness of one monitor as his ears strained to hear anything. Eventually, the barest shuffling noise drifted into the silence and then the soft click of a shutting door, the sound of the shower starting.

He hadn’t put a camera in the bathroom, not wanting to see anyone take a shit.

Diego wished he could have seen Hannah’s face, even if it wouldn’t tell him a goddamn thing.

The desk chair rolled back as he stood and crossed to the pull-up bar. He already knew he wouldn’t sleep well that night, not with his own demons ready to chase him into his dreams.

Chapter 5

Diego glared at the still-dark screen among all the others. The wife was usually so prissy about everything being neat and organized, yet she left a jacket hanging over her vanity mirror all morning? It was bullshit.

Being mad at Hannah was also ridiculous. She hadn’t put the fucking thing there.

She also hadn’t worked out for as long as usual that morning, wincing as she stepped off the elliptical. He’d caught a pained expression so fleeting there was no reason his brain should continue to remember it. She’d headed to her spot on the den couch to sit and stare in silence, this time pulling the blanket from the back of the couch to wrap around her and cushion her ass. It had to hurt like a bitch after the night before.

Diego studied her face for way too long, searching for another flicker of pain, anger, fear, anything. It was as if she was staring straight at him. Her face was as tight and blank as always. There was no accusation in her expression about him witnessing what happened and doing nothing; that was all in his head.

He didn’t even know for certain whether the rough fucking was rape. Hannah hadn’t ever said ‘no’ or tried to stop it. She hadn’t said ‘yes’ either, though, but she and Ashford had been married for seven years. It’d be ridiculous for a married couple to give clear consent every time they fucked.

Diego had been relieved when Hannah reached for the Bible. He was less drawn to her with her nose buried in a book, especially that book. If God existed, He was a twisted motherfucker. Diego didn’t know one way or the other but had no use for anyone who had no use for him.

So instead he’d looked at that dark screen and debated fixing it himself. It’d be tricky with people in the house. The urge to go over there was almost too strong to ignore.

He had another urge that had been eating him as well, so he reached for his phone.

A voice like sunshine picked up after the first ring. “Rodriguez Security.”

He hated going through the secretary. It was ridiculous for Rodrigo to have hired someone named Summer from the beginning. Diego knew why his friend had hired her, but he still resented him for it because he had to deal with that damn voice. Something about it was vaguely familiar and sent swirls into his stomach every time.

“Diego for Rodriguez,” he said.

“Oh, hello, Diego,” Summer said, sounding like she was smiling. “Mr. Rodriguez is on the other line. Is this important enough to interrupt?”

Diego was contemplating killing a man. Of course, it wasn’t like it was the first time. “It’ll hold. He can call me back.”

“Okay, I’ll have—oh, wait a moment, please. He’s finishing his call now.”

Diego hesitated, ready to hang up if the secretary tried small talk with him to fill the time. His eyes wandered back to the camera in the den, finding Hannah standing and neatly folding the blanket.

“Thank you for waiting. I’m transferring you now,” Summer said, and he was relieved when the elevator music filled the phone.

The music ended as Hannah returned her book to the exact space she’d pulled it from.

“Diego? Problem?”

“I take care of problems,” Diego said with a snort, watching Hannah leave the room.

“Well, yes, but it’s rare for you to call me,” Ramiro reminded him. “I’m assuming there’s a reason for it.”

Hannah moved off-screen, into that same room he had no view of because of a damn tuxedo jacket.

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