Page 74 of South Beach Bodyguards

Olivia didn’t answer and I slammed on my brakes at the gate and turned to her. She had tears in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

Ah, shit. I couldn’t look at her. It killed me to see those glassy eyes wide with emotion. I turned to the guard and rolled my window down. “I’m taking Mrs. Davis home.”

The guard glanced past me and saw Olivia. He nodded. “Have a nice day.”

“Thanks, you too.” Anyone was likely having a better day than me.

I drove through the gate, ignoring the increased throb in my arm, and prepared to face Ricardo. Without letting Olivia know that I fully intended to take Ricardo at gunpoint and deliver him to Benito, the very man who was my former best friend and the reason my girlfriend had died.

She didn’t need to know any of that.

And she didn’t need to know that Benito had clearly let us escape. Which meant the next move in our little chess game was his.

I didn’t want to cry because I had never been a girl who cried. It had always driven my grandmother crazy. Eva would cry when she was sad, when she was happy, when she didn’t get her way, and when she saw babies and puppies. There had been one time at the pet store when we were about six where she had just wailed while holding a kitten and kept saying, “He’s just so cute!” over and over while tears streamed down her face. Me? I had looked at her like she’d grown a third head. I didn’t get it. I never cried. Not when my mother left. Not when my high school boyfriend broke my heart. Not during heartwarming movies. Evil Twin. That was me. Everyone had joked about it, and once I had heard my aunt whisper to my mother that she was afraid I was a sociopath. But no one understood I had feelings. Lots of feelings. I just didn’t want to show them. I had to be strong for Eva, for my grandparents. Besides, I think I was afraid if I started crying, I might never stop.

So it didn’t make a single bit of sense that I had been able to hold tears at bay the night before but now I was in danger of full-on sobbing. But what was confusing as hell to me was why Wester was risking his own life. I had thought about it, sort of, but not really. To hear him say it out loud, clearly angry with me, had shamed me. Made me feel guilty and humble and small. I had given him attitude and the truth was, he could have just watched me get snagged the night before, told Ricardo, and gone about his own business.

He had been shot because of me. I hadn’t thought I was squeamish before either, but seeing his suit darken in a broad swath of blood, I was grateful he was wearing black. If I had to see crimson on white I thought I would probably throw up.

“So why are you helping me?” I asked Wester after we pulled through the gate and headed down the street toward Ricardo’s mansion.

“Because I would be an asshole if I didn’t.”

That should have been an okay response but I wanted more. Sitting there in nothing but a bikini I crossed my legs, feeling exposed. I knew what I wanted and it was stupid. I wanted that moment with Wester the night before to be real. For there to be a me and him. Totally ridiculous because I knew nothing about him. Not a thing. He could be the biggest prick on the planet and yet there I was all googly-eyed over him.

I was so annoyed with myself that I devolved back to snark. “At least you got laid out of the whole thing.”

If I expected him to be offended I was completely wrong. He didn’t look at me but the corner of his mouth turned up.

“That’s true.”

Rolling my eyes, I watched anxiously as we pulled into Ricardo’s compound. My sister must have been worried sick. Or not. Eva was sitting in the kitchen when we came into the house. She had a cup of coffee and an omelet laid out in front of her and she was watching Real Housewives of Somewhere on her iPad. Which another day would have struck me as hugely ironic since she was a real housewife herself, but today only annoyed me further.

“Hey,” she said, giving us a wave and eating a grape off the end of her fork. She was dressed in the world’s silliest pajamas, lots of silk and lace and plunging neckline. It was Barbie meets seventies porn. “What have you two been up to?” She eyed my bikini. “Where did you get that suit? It’s super cute.”

She didn’t know anything about me being gone. That fucker Ricardo had never told her I was gone. “Where’s Ricardo?” I asked, ignoring her question.

“In bed still.” She gave me a look of alarm. “Why? Don’t interrupt him, Liv. He hates being woken up.”

Whatever. Ricardo was twenty-two. He’d get over losing a couple of hours of beauty sleep. “Well, I didn’t enjoy spending the night in a locked room because he can’t pay his debt.”

She wrinkled her nose. “What are you talking about?”

“I was kidnapped last night! They thought I was you!” I wasn’t sure why I was angry at Eva. It wasn’t her fault. But her naïveté annoyed me after my own restless night spent in fear.

Wester was looking a little glassy-eyed, his right arm drooping low. “We should wrap your arm,” I said, even as the thought made me want to vomit. “Take off your coat.”

“It’s fine for now.” The set of his jaw brooked no argument. “Where is Ricardo’s bedroom?”

“I’ll go get him.” If me waking him up was going to make Ricardo salty I could only imagine if Wester stormed in there.

“No. I’m doing it.” He started down the hall.

“You don’t even know where you’re going!” I scrambled after him. “This way.”

I didn’t know what I thought Wester was going to do. Wake up Ricardo and explain the situation? Offer to have the cash courier delivered? I didn’t know. But I didn’t expect him to stride into the bedroom, yank back the covers, and put the barrel of his gun onto Ricardo’s forehead.

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