Page 53 of Scarred Souls

“What about Luis?” I asked.

“We broke up. I caught him sending dick pics to some skank.”

I jammed one hand on my hip. “That pig.”

“I’m not cut up about it.” Mari shrugged and smiled. “I’ve been texting other guys.”

“Slut.”

“Cousin fucker.”

We laughed, and when I glanced toward Vaughn, I caught him watching us with a stern expression.

Did I mind if Mari slept with him? After what had happened in the casita, I planned on keeping our relationship strictly professional. If Mari wanted to chew Grim up and spit him out the way she did with her other escapades, good luck to her. Still, the thought of my best friend hooking up with Vaughn made an ugly feeling grow inside me.

What stung was that Mari was different from me in all the ways men appreciated. Not only was she beautiful, with a body to rival any glamorous Latina movie star’s, but she also had an infectious smile and a flirtatious personality that drew men in, regularly bringing them to their knees. Literally. At least two guys in town had begged Mari to marry them right here in this restaurant.

I took another glass from the dishwasher. “He’s all yours. Fair warning, though. He’s unstable.”

“You know what they say about the crazy ones.” She gave me a knowing smile.

“Yeah.” I chuckled. “Stay away from them.”

“Don’t be so naive.” She shook her head. “Guys like him”—she flicked her eyes toward Vaughn—“are great in bed. Kinky, you know? They’ll slap your ass, pull your hair, and make you beg for more.” Mari shimmied her tank down until the lacy fringe of her black bra poked above the neckline. “Wish me luck.” She gave me a playful grin, then aimed it at Vaughn.

I…did not like watching this. Not when Mari slunk into the chair beside him, her short skirt riding up her shapely thighs. Not when she brushed her long, wavy hair from her shoulder and laughed at something he said. And especially not when she leaned her elbows on the table and gave him an eyeful of her bulging cleavage.

After they shared a brief conversation, Vaughn locked eyes with me, and I had the unfortunate realization that I was scowling while strangling the life out of a dishcloth. It shouldn’t have surprised me when the shithead smirked. It also shouldn’t have surprised me when he held my stare and said something to Mari that left her so stunned she rose from the table and hotfooted it back to the bar.

As she reached me, she scrunched her face up. “Your cousin’s disgusting.”

I clicked my tongue and tried to hide my smile. “I warned you.” I was going to hell for rejoicing in her rejection. But then curiosity got the better of me, and I asked, “What did he say?”

Mari picked up her phone as though she needed an urgent injection of confidence-boosting messages from her harem of suitors. “He told me I’m not his type, and when I asked what his type is”—her eyes lifted from the phone to meet mine—“he said he prefers keeping it in the family.”

My jaw dropped. “He said that?” What the hell was wrong with him?

“Word for word.” Mari gave me a skeptical look. “Keep telling yourself your cousin doesn’t want to rail you until your pussy catches fire.”

I relaxed my hold on the dishcloth. “You know he’s not really my cousin.”

“I figured. Maybe one day you’ll tell me who he really is.” Mari leaned her hip against the bar. “I know you have secrets, Hope. If you ever feel like sharing them, they’re safe with me.”

19

VAUGHN

Imight be shit at dealing with people, but there was one part of this job I could do well—protecting Hope.

From age five, Owen and I had trained in boxing and martial arts at our father’s insistence. Dad had also taught us how to handle guns and knives, and how to survive in the wilderness. He’d pushed us hard. Harder than any parent ought to, while never being satisfied with our efforts, and it still pissed me off to this day.

As a navy pilot, I’d rarely needed those skills. It wasn’t until Team Zulu headhunted me that my practical upbringing had proven helpful. But Zulu required every member to multitask at an elite level, and if I was going to be useful in the field for anything other than flying, I needed to up my game. So my teammates had thrown me in the deep end by giving me an intense crash course on how to be an operator. Nowadays, I was as lethal as any of my brothers, which made me more than qualified to keep Hope safe.

I’d meant what I’d said about not letting her out of my sight, so the table in the back corner of the restaurant was my new office. Occasionally, I took a walk around the perimeter, but otherwise I stationed myself inside to keep close tabs on my ward as well as the half dozen sleazebags who hadn’t stopped staring at Hope’s tits since her shift had started.

Like the jackass at the table next to mine. Balding. Midforties. He reminded me of a Mexican Homer Simpson, especially the way his dirty T-shirt rode high on his pudgy gut. I swore I could smell his hairy belly button from here. He’d had the gall to return Hope’s smile, even using perfect manners when she’d laid his dinner on the table, only to stare at her ass and lick his lips like a mangy, starving hyena as she walked back to the bar.

It was one thing to be a dirtbag and own it. It was another to pretend you were a gentleman while imagining bending your server over the counter and hiking her skirt up.

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