Page 36 of Miguel

“Tell your lady love to pack her shit so we can go.” Loco made a rushing gesture with his finger.

“And Desiree?”

Mayan’s nostrils flared at my question, and his eyes strayed over my shoulder and to the woman in question. Loco caught on as well and snickered.

“Bring her too, I guess. Shit, Ink, Migue, and Mayan? Pussy-whipped.”

Ignoring his teasing, I turned and went over to Lorena, who still appeared to be quietly consoling her friend with softer, sweeping gestures of her hands. She froze when she spotted me.

“Hey, can we talk for a sec?”

“What’s up?” she asked when we were a little ways off to the side.

“Nena, you need to pack a bag. You’re coming to the clubhouse with me.”

Her brows furrowed, and I prepared myself for a fight I figured was coming. In my experience, women didn’t like to be told what to do unless they were club putas. Lorena was far from that. And I wasn’t sure if she was one to take orders well.

“To the clubhouse?” she repeated. “Why?”

“Nena, your house is in fuckin’ shambles. Whoever did this has a grudge against one of you.” I left out the part where it could be tied to me and the club. She didn’t need to be scared off like that. Besides, club business was club business. She wasn’t going to be finding that out at all. “You can’t stay here like this. What if they come back?”

Her shoulders slumped and she ran her palms over her face. “We could get a motel.”

“No, nena. You’ll be safer with me.”

Her big, watery eyes snagged on my cut and the Diablos symbol stitched there. She knew I was right, even if she chewed her bottom lip as if to avoid voicing it. She was safe with me. And I knew that I called to her as much as she called to me. It was unavoidable. Fate was like that. Why else would she explain the fact that she dialed me and not the cops? It meant I was on her mind. That I’d ensnared her as much as she had weaved her spell around me.

“Should we call the cops?”

“No cops, nena.” She still had a lot to learn. “You see, Diablos take care of their own. We will protect you and Desiree.”

“Why would you go through all that trouble for us? I’m just your son’s teacher.”

I smirked and leaned forward. So close that our lips almost touched. So close that she could remember the feel of my lips on hers when I wasn’t there. “Oh, nena. You’re so much fucking more than that.” I pressed a kiss to the side of her mouth. “Now tell your friend she’s coming too. Pack a bag.”

Chapter Fourteen

Lorena

Mymamáhadalwayswarned me about malandros. About bad men who did bad things. People like Miguel and his hermanos. Men who so obviously stepped outside of the law to get what they wanted. I was taught to fear them, to be wary of them.

But it wasn’t fear overtaking my gut as Miguel pressed a kiss to the corner of my mouth. It wasn’t fear that blossomed in my belly as he swiped away an errant lock of hair from my cheek and looked at me with a heated expression, one that contrasted to the sweeping tenderness of his touch against my skin.

I shivered against the onslaught of sensations his hands provoked and tried not to wonder what it would be like to have his attention on the rest of my body. Would he be tender like his touch suggested, or would he be brutal like his gaze promised?

I shouldn’t have been filled with anticipation and the gripping urge to find out.

His thumb ran a line across my bottom lip, pulling it slightly. “Pack a bag,” he urged once again, though his eyes were entranced on my mouth and when he finally tore his gaze away, he offered me a smile. “Go, nena.”

I all but floated back to Desiree. Seeing my best friend’s stricken expression sobered me, washing away the desire like a bucket of cold water to the face.

She’d been through something traumatic, and here I was daydreaming about Miguel and all the pleasure he could wring from my body. It was selfish of me, and I was assaulted with immediate guilt as I reached her, touching her arm for attention.

I expected her to argue and prepared my own counterarguments in my head. The truth was, Miguel was right. Our place was in shambles. If we went to a motel we’d be alone, and who was to say that whoever did this wouldn’t go looking for us?

At least at the Diablos compound we would be safe. With their high walls, barbed wire, and guard dogs. With dozens of men with guns and wearing leather vests standing between us and danger.

Miguel was offering protection in whatever capacity and veiled promises he could.

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