Page 47 of Drawn Blue Lines

Without another word, Mateo turned away, slamming his hand into the wall on the way out.

Three dents.

What fascination did Carrera men have with destroying drywall?

Flopping down on the bed, I leaned back on my hands. “That guy needs to lighten up, or he’s going to have a stroke before he’s thirty.”

I glanced at Brody discreetly out of the corner of my eye as he fumbled around in his suitcase. Finally, his head popped up, and with his toothbrush in one hand and a bottle of shampoo in the other, he disappeared into the adjoining bathroom. I wasn’t sure whether it was to unpack or get away from me, and the fact I even cared irritated me.

“Back off, Adriana,” he called out over the sound of running water.

I sat up. Surely, he wasn’t taking a shower now. I twisted my fingers around the bedspread, battling the urge to go in and see for myself. A battle I almost lost until he poked his blond head around the corner.

“Just because I defended you doesn’t mean I don’t agree with him. Stay away from my sister and my niece, and this will go a lot smoother.”

I winced. For reasons I didn’t care to explore, Brody standing up for me felt good. Maybe because for a second, I actually let myself believe what he said was true.

I quickly turned my back to him. “Does this have anything to do with San Marcos?”

“I’m not discussing this with you.”

I sighed. I’d let it go for now. “Okay, then tell me why you defended me. You don’t even like me.”

“You’re right, I don’t. But I also don’t like exclusion. I know what it’s like to be the outsider. The top layer of the Carrera empire is like a tightly-woven shield—tied together and almost impossible to get through. I may not trust you, but I hate seeing someone bounced off it without being given a chance.”

“If you don’t trust me, why did you tell me about your sister?”

“I don’t know. I have no basis for it, considering what you’ve threatened me with so far. But something tells me you draw the line at hurting children.”

A sharp pain tore through my chest, and it wasn’t until I glanced down that I realized it came from my own nails.

“Adriana?”

I slowly turned around, expecting to see his messy blond hair still peeking out from behind the bathroom door. But it wasn’t. It was right in front of me, connected to a bare chest leading to trousers popped open at the button. And leading right to that button was a trail of blond hair that disappeared where his zipper started. A zipper playing referee between two prominent slopes that formed a perfect V cutting sharply down to his groin.

I was staring, but I couldn’t help it. I grew up cartel. Every male I’d ever known looked the part—Latino and rough with slivers of bronze skin peeking through a litany of colorful tattoos. Tattoos that meant they’d met certain standards in a life of power, murder, and crime.

But Brody Harcourt was nothing like them.

He was a privileged gringo whose sun-kissed white skin stretched over every taut muscle in his chest. Deep lines defined his pecs and abs, the toned peaks and valleys rolling over a deceptive blank slate. Unstained by ink. A fresh canvas for the sin that dwelled within him.

The perfect contradiction of deceptive boy next door and soulless viper.

“Adriana?”

Blinking, I realized he’d called my name again. “I’m sorry, what?”

The bed dipped as he knelt in front of me and gently pulled my hand away from my chest. “You looked like you were trying to claw your heart out of your chest.”

I was.

His fingers traced the red marks I’d left on my skin, and I flinched. “Hey, what’s going on? Talk to me.”

“Why?”

“Because when I mentioned you’d draw the line at hurting children, you went somewhere else.”

I couldn’t think while he was touching me, so I scooted backward until his hand fell away. “I may have done a lot of things. But I never have, nor will I ever, hurt a child. They’re the only innocent thing in this world. Nothing that happens to them is their fault. Sometimes…” I sucked in a sharp breath. “Sometimes even the people they grow up to be isn’t their fault.”

---