Page 79 of Scarred Souls

I leaned my hip against the counter. “Why?”

“Don’t give me that crap. You know why.”

“It doesn’t matter.” I picked at the hem of my tank. “He doesn’t want to be here.”

“He’s as stubborn as you. Talk to him. Make him change his mind.”

“I’ll think about it.” Lately, it was all I could think about.

“Think fast. You’re running out of time.”

I shook my head. “You can’t stop yourself from trying to fix broken things, can you?”

“Neither can you. Now, go get your man.”

I groaned. “He’s not”—Daphne hung up—“my man.”

My chest tightened when I again stared out the window at Vaughn’s lone, dark figure. Set amid the lush greenery of the yard and the shimmering blue ocean beyond, he looked as miserable as I felt.

Why did I have to have these annoying feelings for someone as complicated as him?

Vaughn was an asshole and a hero. Strong and fragile. He was the hottest man I’d ever met, but he thought himself hideous.

And the most troublesome thought of all? He’d be out of my life in a matter of days.

I didn’t want him to go. I wanted him to stay so I could get to know him better. I wanted time to convince him to try desensitization with me again. And most of all, I wanted him to be the one protecting me. Not his brother or anyone else. Because even though Vaughn tried to act like I meant nothing to him, I was almost certain he felt something. I couldn’t be imagining that, could I?

Dee was right. Vaughn was as stubborn as me, so if I didn’t speak up, he’d leave. Maybe he would anyway, but at least I’d have tried.

Decision made, I grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator and drank half to relieve my parched mouth. Asking this of Vaughn made me feel vulnerable. But what was the worst that could happen? He’d reject me again and leave anyway? I had nothing to lose.

When I headed for the sliding door to the yard, Vaughn was gone.

That was weird. Being in bodyguard mode, he rarely ventured out of sight for anything. And if he ever needed a moment to himself, he always let me know where he’d be.

I made my way toward the dogs. Chuck was back in the pen, but no sign of Vaughn. Then I heard his voice and caught a glimpse of him through the garden as he walked to the beach with his phone at his ear.

Did he want privacy? He’d never left the yard to make a call before.

Curiosity piqued, I followed him, keeping my distance and using palm trees to conceal my approach.

Eventually, Vaughn made it to the beach and stopped near a rocky outcrop. I crept between bushes until I was close enough to eavesdrop on his conversation.

He spoke Spanish, which meant he wasn’t talking to Sage or Brandon. It sounded like small talk. Vaughn asked about the caller’s family and offered condolences about a cousin. But then I heard a sentence that made ice shoot up my spine.

“Capitán, Brother, you know I’m always prepared to help la Mano Roja out—for the right price.”

Help la Mano Roja?

Capitán? There was only one person in the Red Hand who went by that name, and he was second-in-command of the organization.

Miguel Torres.

Wait. Why did it sound like Vaughn was negotiating a deal with my father’s henchmen? Carlos had been contracting la Mano Roja as his private security and transportation service for over a decade. As far as I knew, the ruthless militia group was still loyal to the Pacific Coast Cartel.

“You’ve come to the right pilot,” Vaughn said with a nod. “That’s a lot of cargo. But yes, I can deliver it in one shipment. No problem.”

I didn’t want to believe it, but I’d heard him loud and clear. Vaughn was smuggling for la Mano Roja.

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