Page 4 of His Gilded Cage

She shoved me forward as I managed to button up my pants. “Go. Go. Go,” she said, swatting my behind and pushing me towards a metal ladder.

“What the hell, woman,” I said. “This seems a bit dramatic don’t you think?”

“The man on the other side of that door is my husband and he’ll kill you,” she whispered. “Get the hell out of here, now.”

The pounding grew louder.

“Fuck me,” I said. I climbed up the ladder two rungs at a time and opened the window. It faced the parking lot.

I felt like an idiot. What kind of a bastard screws another man’s wife? I might be a drunk and an ass hat, but I wasn’t an adulterer or a liar.

But this was July, a month when poor decisions came as easily to me as breathing. I felt pathetic and ashamed as I shimmied through that window like a low life criminal.

I landed on my feet into the dirt parking lot. The roar of the surf drowned out the sound of my fall and the approaching footsteps.

“I’ll kill you, you son of a bitch!” Fingertips grazed my arm.

My survival instincts kicked in and I took off running.

“Sorry my brother,” I shouted over my shoulder as I sprinted, arms pumping.

I glanced back to see a mountain of a man chasing after me like an angry shadow. “I didn’t know she was taken!” I shouted.

“Fucking entitled piece of shit.”

He wasn’t wrong.

Dirt and gravel flew as I ran across the parking lot, past my car. It didn’t matter. I was in no shape to drive. My throbbing cock hurt like hell with every step but it was either blue balls or facing a homicidal husband. Some part of my adrenaline-fueled mind was proud of myself for choosing flight over fight. At least I wasn’t throwing punches which was generally my go-to move.

Moonlight lit up the quiet road that led into the outskirts of Sayulita. It would have been peaceful if not for the crazed shouting behind me.

“Kill you . . .Son . . . bitch . . . You better run….” I heard his footsteps pounding behind me and then suddenly nothing.

I glanced over my shoulder. My chaser had stopped running. His hands resting on his knees he’d given up.

“I’ll pay for everything,” I shouted, waving good-bye but not stopping my run. “Sorry brother. I’ll make it right.”

But even I knew that what I’d done couldn’t be made right.

I would call the bar in the morning and work out a generous financial arrangement. Through experience, I knew it was best to face things like this head on and deal with them quickly. I wanted to write a check before anyone smelled the scent of the Amador family fortune.

If they threatened a lawsuit, I would have no choice but to contact my father’s legal team and tell Carmella what I’d done.

Carmella was now my father’s chief of staff. She was responsible for his calendar, his travel plans, and managing the household staff in all his homes. My father, Luis, was the CEO of Amador Industries a multi-billion-dollar international corporation. On the outside he played the role of the benevolent billionaire. Image was very important to him although I now knew the truth about the darker side of his success.

I was used to feeling distant from my father. Feeling shame, well that was a new development.

So, I’d make the call before things got too ugly. I would handle this mess myself.

If Carmella got involved, she would take care of everything and try to pretend she didn’t think I was a piece of shit and I would try to forget that she’d loved me once upon a time.

My Father would pretend not to know of my transgression, and I’d pretend I had respect for his shady business practices and underhanded dealings.

The last time I dined with my father, he’d shared some unsavory details about one of his business ventures. He had partnered with a toy company to export low priced children’s toys. He showed me one of the dolls. It was an ugly little thing with a porcelain head that dissolved in water revealing a small plastic bag of heroin.

This is how he invited me into the family business. He offered me the chance to partner with the Mexican cartel pedaling drugs disguised as a child’s plaything. It made me sick.

I walked out of his house and we hadn’t spoken since.

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