Page 63 of Drawn Blue Lines

“Who are you trying to convince, princesa? Me or yourself?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I think for once in your life, you want to hand over your coveted control and know what it feels like to submit. Only nobody has ever had the balls to make you do it.”

There. I said it, and every word was true whether she wanted to admit it or not. I saw how she responded when I had a gun to her head and my hand around her throat. I understood her better than she thought. Maybe I was the only one who’d ever come close.

Our lives paralleled, forming an extremely warped yin and yang. Adriana grew up in darkness, fighting for respect, blood and death her closest childhood friends. I, on the other hand, grew up in what I thought was the light, freely given respect and adoration, ignorance and justice my most trusted confidants. Somewhere along the way, our worlds imploded and reversed. I fell into darkness while Adriana, whether she saw it or not, desperately sought out the light.

Black and white. Dark and light. Yes and no. Control and submit.

She’d spent her life fighting. I’d spent my whole life giving.

For once, she wanted to surrender. For once, I wanted to take.

Yin and yang.

The sun kept me from seeing her face, but the tension in the car was palpable.

“You’re wrong.”

I’d had enough of this back-and-forth bullshit. Jerking the wheel to the right, I pulled the car over to the side of the road and threw it in park. Unbuckling my seat belt, I pressed one hand against her headrest and the other against the dashboard.

“Am I? Then tell me you wouldn’t have loved it if I’d pressed your hands against the wall and made you watch while I took out my cock and stroked myself. Tell me you wouldn’t have wanted me to grab you by the back of the legs and slam you into the wall so hard it would’ve knocked the breath out of you.”

“Brody…”

Taking a chance, I leaned over the console until there were only inches between us, her breath heavy as I took her face in my hands. “I would’ve stood there making you both fear and want what I would’ve done next, and when you were about to break, I would’ve driven into you so hard, you would’ve screamed mine and God’s name until you cried. It would’ve been rough and brutal until we both came harder than we’d ever come in our lives.”

Her eyes fluttered closed, and her tongue darted out to lick her bottom lip. Mesmerized, I brushed my thumb against it. She rewarded me with a whimper, wrapping her hands around my forearms.

“Adriana…” I groaned, my voice rough.

“Yes?”

Grazing my lips across her cheek, I traced them against the shell of her ear before whispering, “I win.”

I pulled back just as her eyes popped open and her jaw dropped. Letting out an almost inhuman growl, she flung herself back into her seat as I put the car back in gear and pulled onto the road wearing a satisfied smirk.

Yin and yang.

* * *

She didn’t talk to me the rest of the way, and by the time we got to the stash house, it was dark, which was a good thing since it was exactly what I expected it to be—a piece of shit. A run-down barnyard red box house. Not the most subtle of colors, but that was what probably why Val picked it. No one in their right mind would think the most feared man in Mexico would paint a bright red bullseye on himself. Which is exactly why he did.

The human instinct was trained to dismiss the obvious.

Adriana’s face puckered as soon as we walked in the door. Granted, the sheets slung over the windows and the stained mattresses on the floor didn’t scream hygiene, but unless she wanted to sleep in the back seat of the Toyota, we didn’t have many options.

Of course, saying the words out loud probably wasn’t the best idea. After growling at me, she stomped into the shoebox of a bedroom and slammed the door.

An hour later, she still hadn’t opened it.

Not that I’d tried to see what she was doing. I had enough on my mind without wasting time trying to decode her hot and cold routine. Grabbing a bottle of scotch from my backpack, I kicked one of the splintered chairs away from the rickety kitchen table and sat down, not even giving a shit when the bottom rung snapped in half.

Fuck it. If I fell, I fell.

Unscrewing the cap, I tipped the bottle back, draining a good four shot’s worth before taking a breath. My throat ignited, and my eyes watered, but I welcomed the burn. I knew from experience it was only temporary. A few more like that, and I’d feel nothing. Numb and sedated. Just the way I liked it.

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