Page 19 of Savage Hero

Father slumps in relief, his eyes already fluttering closed. As I open the door, a nurse slips inside the bedroom with a bunch of fresh sheets and dressings. I don’t hang around to watch her change Father’s dressings.

I need no reminder of what a toll his health took today. I’ve been in many meetings with him and the cartel dons. He’s never deferred to them like he did today. I don’t know if Doc fed him too many painkillers or what—but Father was barely lucid during that meeting. Ciro could have proposed hiring out our soldiers to the US government, and Father would have agreed.

Which reminds me—I need to get hold of Doc and speak to him in person. Something isn’t right here.

But, first, Nyx.

* * *

I openthe closet door quietly. Slip inside like just another shadow. And then I stand and watch her because she has her back to me and it’s the first time since we met that I’ve had the upper hand.

Nyx rocks a little side-to-side. I assume she’s either feeding the baby or trying to get it to go to sleep. She seems rather good at the whole kid thing—does she have a child of her own at home, or someone she takes care of?

I shouldn’t care, but I do. I want to know all there is to know about this woman who exploded into my life like a car bomb. I want to know where she’s from, where she’s going, why the fuck she thought she could kill my father and get away with it.

It’s late afternoon already. I was bound to the dining hall with the rest of the cartel dons, tradition preventing me from excusing myself early. It’s been a few months since the Cabreras have been on US soil. And since Vito could become a tour guide if cartel life ever stopped being his thing, we spent over an hour discussing local hot spots Ciro and Rafael could visit.

“Smells good,” Nyx says. “Does this mean you’re not going to kill me straight away, or are you fattening me up for your dogs?”

Shit. I’d forgotten about the plates of food I’d left outside.

“No point feeding them a skinny bitch like you,” I say. “Has Princess eaten?” I grit my teeth when I realize I’m using the name Nyx gave the baby.

Nyx stands and turns. “Yeah, but she’s still hungry. Forgot how much these little critters can put away. You wouldn’t happen to have formula in this palace of yours, would you?”

There’s an odd tone to her voice when she says ‘palace’ and her lips twitch like they want to curl up in disgust. But she’s trying to suppress her emotions, guarding her tongue. Perhaps hoping I’ll not go ahead with my earlier threat.

Thankfully for her, I took care of things in the shower when I went to rinse off before lunch. Although it took picturing her naked and doing exactly what I’d almost forced her to do in the elevator to give me the release my body had been craving.

That little gem will remain my secret.

I have so many of them. They just keep stacking up.

Cocking my head toward the room, I step aside so she can pass. I’ve locked the bedroom door as a precaution, but she doesn’t seem interested in running.

When she comes within reach, I take the baby from her.

Her eyes go round and there’s a spark of defiance in them as she tries to hold on to Princess. But then she releases the kid and instead watches warily as I take the baby over to my bed.

I don’t spend much time in my room. I’m a chronic insomniac. I consider four hours of sleep a good night’s rest. I spend more time out on the streets taking care of cartel business than I do on these sheets.

The baby seems cozy enough when I nestle her in the middle of one of the gigantic pillows that our decorator found a need to add to my bed. I usually just toss off enough of them so I can reach the mattress, roll onto my stomach, and pass out. Usually after several drinks and a fat blunt.

Behind me, a knife and fork scrapes against china.

It’s not a master suite, but my room has a lounge area similar to my father’s, as well as a separate study and en-suite bathroom. There are two balconies—a small one off the lounge area that looks out over the grand foyer and its split staircase, and a larger one with a view over the pool.

All the curtains are drawn. The only light comes from a lamp in one corner of the lounge, close to the two-seater table where Nyx is busy consuming her fillet like my dogs when they get a slab of prime rump instead of their usual kibble.

Or the torso of someone who’s pissed off the Family. Bella loves sweetmeats.

Nyx pauses with a fork halfway to her mouth when I come closer. Her eyes flicker up, latching onto me as I slump into the seat opposite her and hack off a chunk of tenderloin from my serving.

“Don’t know how you like your meat done,” I say.

“My meat?” She quirks up an eyebrow. “Usually on a plate in my lap in my own fucking house, without the threat of becoming dog food lingering over my head.” She sits back, pushing her plate away like she lost her ravenous appetite. “Could use some alcohol though. Got a beer, or do you only drink fancy wine and shit?”

Sarcasm drips from her words like the bloody juice leaking from my meat. My lips twitch into a smile, and I use my eyes to point out the mini-bar a few yards away. “Help yourself.”

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