Page 47 of Eight Second Hearts

Beau pops a pepperoni in his mouth and grins. “Maybe if you say it enough times, you’ll believe it yourself.”

I throw a packet of parmesan at him. “Pinche puto.”

Chapter 28

Indie

When I show back up to the hotel, I’m surprised to find the guys aren’t even there yet. Scowling at the empty room that somehow feels like an insult, I end up sitting on the bed and scrolling through my emails, checking to see if I already have an email telling me I’m fired. Nothing yet. I don’t think Kim was bluffing. Someone like her won’t let sleeping dogs lie. She feels slighted in some way. I just don’t know if Frank will take my side or hers. She’s been there longer, so it’s best to assume it’ll be hers.

Which means I’ll be back to looking for jobs again.

I groan and am just about to open the job listings app, when the door opens. I could ignore whoever it is that comes in, but that’s not really my style. So, I slowly look up, and blink in surprise to find only Ram standing by the door, his eyes trained on me.

I stare at him, not quite sure what to say, but I certainly am not going to bring up the reason we came here separately. “What?” I ask.

“I searched you up,” he says before carefully removing his hat and hanging it on the hook. “I hadn’t before, past looking at a few articles you wrote, but I did now.”

It’s hard not to react. Anyone who looks me up a little more in depth will see the very shit I’m trying to avoid, so I can guess where this is going.

“I’d really appreciate it if you stop,” I reply, my eyes steady on him. Of all the things these men know about me, this isn’t one of the things I’d like them to. Hell, I’d prefer it disappeared into the past as much as I wish dad would stop calling me from freaking prison. And now apparently sending people to deliver his letters for him when I refuse to answer those calls.

“I have some experience with the gang your dad?—”

“Stop,” I growl. “That’s enough.”

“You can’t run from something like this forever. Clearly?—”

I leap to my feet. “I said I don’t want to talk about it!”

“We need to talk about it!” he growls back. “This is a big fuckin’ deal?—”

“Mind your own goddamned business!” I spit, storming up to him. “I don’t need some cowboy who thinks he knows better discussing my past!”

“You’re being stubborn,” he growls. “It’s unnecessary?—”

I poke him in the chest. “You don’t know anything, Ramiro Mondragon, and I suggest you stop talking right now.”

He glares at me. I glare back at him. We’re toe to toe, like this is a standoff and one of us is going to pull a revolver faster than the other. Which one of us will be shot dead?

“You’re incredibly frustrating,” he growls, following a thick stream of Spanish that I don’t understand. “Stop being difficult.”

I bare my teeth at him, and the words that come out aren’t ones that I consciously think about. They just erupt like word vomit, and I can’t take them back. I’m not sure I’d even want to.

“Make me,” I snarl.

Like this is a game. Fuck. If it is, I’ve already lost the moment his expression darkens. He grabs me roughly, his hand on the back of my neck like a vice as he jerks me against him. I gasp and grab at his arm, my eyes wide at the expression on his face. Gone is the playful expression he often wears. In its place is the desperate hunger of a man pushed to the edge, one who was just issued a challenge.

“With pleasure,” he snarls, just before his lips crash against mine.

The kiss we’d shared before was gentle and unhurried. This one is nothing like that. This one is all violence and barely restrained feral hunger. Ramiro Mondragon kisses me like he’s been waiting to do this his entire life, like he’s yearned for it for decades. We’re both panting with our anger, with the frustration of neither one of us backing down, so the kiss turns into a fight for control. I lose quickly. I can’t hold a candle to the burning flame that is the cowboy in front of me.

Anger is thick in the air between us, which only adds to the heightened emotions as he grips me tightly. The hand on the back on my neck moves up into my hair and fists it, using it as leverage to tilt my head for a better angle. His tongue sweeps inside my mouth, tasting me. Ram isn’t a sloppy kisser. He kisses like a man starved, like this may be the last time he ever gets to taste me, and it’s fucking endearing. I don’t think I’ve ever been kissed like this, like the world is ending and we’re about to burn together at the end of it all. I don’t think I’ll ever know what it’s like to be kissed like this again.

His other hand is on my hip, dragging me against him tight enough that I can feel his erection pressing against me. It serves as evidence of his need for me, of his angry hunger, and fuck if it doesn’t drive me wild to be wanted by this man. I never thought I’d be into cowboys, but there’s something about this one, about the trio that I can’t seem to get out of my head. They’vegotten under my skin, injected themselves into my veins, and that should worry me how easily they’ve done it. I should run screaming for the hills.

Instead, I rip Ram’s shirt open, sending buttons flying in all directions. The shirt is definitely ruined, but I can’t bring myself to care. He certainly doesn’t seem to mind.

My nails scratch at his chest, digging in until I should be worried to draw blood. His fist tightens in my hair, drawing a gasp from my lips that he swallows. Only then does he wrench my head back, breaking the kiss to expose my throat.

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