Page 23 of Keep Me

Stepping inside, I find my father and his teniente, Ángel, sitting on my couch. Daniel, my father’s soldado and driver, stands next to them. Roan holsters his gun, but Daniel remains holding his, hands crossed in front of his hips, a pointed power move.

“What is this?” I ask my father, catching Roan’s eye. He’s trying to remain passive, keep his face unreadable, but I can tell he’s scrutinizing me trying to see if I knew about this surprise visit.

“Glad to see you safe, mija.” My father stands to greet me in my own fucking home.

“Hola, princesa,” Ángel says warmly with a polite nod in my direction.

“As much as I love surprises, why are you here?” I ask skeptically.

“Someone tried to kill you, Regenia. I’m glad to see Roan has kept you safe, but you can’t fault a father for wanting to make sure his baby girl is okay.” He puts a hand on my shoulder and looks at me with those deep, brown eyes that have always made me feel safe. Even when he came home in a blood-soaked shirt or our house was being torn about by police searching for something to incriminate my father. He’d look at me, and I knew everything would be okay. That’s why it’s so hard to believe he’s behind these murders, but I just don’t have enough proof one way or another, and it makes me feel adrift.

He gives my shoulder a firm squeeze with a faint smile as if trying to reassure me again that it will all be okay. He turns to Roan. “And I have business with your brother. It won’t hurt to do it in person. Let’s meet for dinner after, sí?”

“Sounds good, sir.” Roan holds out a hand. They clasp hands in a sturdy shake, then my father claps him on the back. I can sense Roan tense, clearly not feeling the camaraderie that would make a move like that anything but patronizing.

Daniel gives me a solemn nod on their way out, and I force a warm smile and nod. “Daniel.” I grimace as the door closes behind them all.

Ten years later and it still doesn’t get any easier. If anything, time just drags out the pain more.

I step out of my room, and the wide legs of my red-satin pants sway over my white cowboy boots as I walk down the hallway. I take one last glance down to straighten the matching red top and make sure the skinny straps are lying flat.1

I look up once I reach the living room to Roan clearing his throat. As my eyes raise, I take in his form-fitting black slacks that are spread taut over his strong legs relaxed on the couch. He’s left the top buttons of a black dress shirt undone, showing off the dark swirls of tattoos as he rests his arms out over the back of the couch. Damn, this man cleans up nice.

Shame about the personality though.

My throat bobs as I reach his eyes next, darkened and ravenous. I suddenly feel small, caught under the gaze of a lion as he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and dragging his hand over his mouth. The burning, raw emotion in his eyes makes my skin feel hot, and I fight the urge to curl in on myself.

Instead, I try to play it off like my body isn’t humming at the vision of him in all black, freshly buzzed hair adding a cruel edge to his overall handsomeness. “Are you ready or do you plan to sit there staring at me all night?” Despite my best efforts, there’s no bite in my words and he knows it, a vicious smirk forming on his lips as he stands.

He isn’t shy about the way he lets his hungry gaze rove my body as he rolls up his sleeves, veins tracing over his flexing forearms. He steps up to me, and I freeze as a finger reaches out to swipe a strand of hair out of my face. It’s so light it can barely be considered a touch, never brushing anything but hair. “Relax, Cortez. You look like you’re about to have an aneurysm.”

I huff, swatting his lingering hand away as he laughs roughly, the sound vibrating in my lower stomach. Damn him. We head out together, but the idea of sitting in a car with him feels suffocating.

“Let’s walk,” I blurt out.

He lifts a brow. “It’s nearly two miles. Can you do that in those shoes?”

“Let me worry about my shoes, Fox.” And before he can protest, I pass the door to the garage and head straight to the elevator to take us down to the street.

By the time we reach The Fox’s Den, the dinner crowd is already pouring in. As soon as we walk in, though, the hostess recognizes Roan and leads us straight back to a long table. My father, Ángel, and—

“Santi!” I shout. My brother stands up from the booth to wrap me in a giant hug. “Now, this is a surprise I don’t mind. Papá didn’t tell me you were in town too.”

“I was occupied earlier today.” He gives me a look that I know means we’ll talk later, and I nod in understanding. He turns to Roan, hand outstretched. “Santiago Cortez. Thanks for keeping my little sister safe.” He shoots me a teasing side eye. “I’m sure she doesn’t make it easy on you.”

Roan doesn’t take the bait. “It’s my pleasure.” He slightly lifts his chin and squares his shoulders. Subtle shifts that I may not have noticed if I hadn’t spent so much time with him. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he might even be offended by my brother’s slight dig on my behalf.

A man approaches from behind Roan and wraps his arm around his shoulder, tugging him into his side. He has a wolfish grin and a bit of an uncaged wildness in his eyes despite being clean cut and put together in an expensive suit. “Cash Fox,” he drawls, offering a hand for me to shake.

“Reggie, nice to meet you.” I recognize the name instantly; not many people in June Harbor wouldn’t. Prolific businessman, generous philanthropist, and dangerous crime boss. He has a natural charisma that is both chilling and welcoming. And even though I know he’s the eldest Fox brother, there’s a childlike daringness that makes him appear almost younger than Roan. Or maybe it’s just that Roan carries a weighty layer of burden, a shroud of age-old pain that makes him seem older than he is.

Cash turns to the gathering of people around the long table. “Sit, sit. Business is over, let’s eat! Jewel”—he waves down a server—“pints for the table.”

My father, Ángel, and Santiago sit in the booth against the wall while Cash and Roan pull out chairs on the other side of the table. I feel unexpectedly torn on which side to sit. The decision is made for me when Roan pulls out the seat next to him. I feel my father’s scrutinizing gaze on us, and I don’t know if he’s approving of Roan’s polite gesture or maybe he’s wondering—like me—if this pairing may have been a dangerous idea from the start.

Jewel returns with two pitchers of dark-amber liquid, and another woman walks next to her with a tray of frosted pint glasses. “A chuisle, you’re not supposed to be working.” Cash jumps up from his seat and takes the tray from her, revealing a round baby bump under her black dress.

“Jesus,” Roan groans under his breath and rolls his eyes at his brother’s antics.

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