Page 92 of Bad Blood
“God, that’s disgusting.”
“There’s a Coke in the refrigerator, if you’d prefer.”
“All the better to drown you with, you patronizing asshole,” I say, my temper flaring.
“It’s called gratitude, Colombianprincesa.”
We glare at each other as our war within a war spills out into early morning.
“Fucking fearless,” he muses eventually.
“Prince of Darkness,” I retort.
He barks out a laugh. “That’s a new one.” He considers me for a moment. “You have a fire inside you, Thalia Carrera, and it’s too goddamn distracting. Was this your plan all along? To infiltrate my kingdom and implode it? My father wants to murder me, my mother is a close second, and my sister… Fuck!”
“Edierdidn’tplant those bodies, Santi,” I say softly. “The same way my father didn’t storm this casino and he didn’t fire those bullets—”
“Don’t be so naïve.” He yanks his tie off and chucks it across the room.
“Don’t be so short-sighted! I know you want this battle, but what if we’re not the only sides playing?”
“Did Grayson put you up to this?”
“No.”
“Do you really want to change the world, or just make it more palatable?” he says, changing the subject.
“Is that a serious question?”
“I liked it when you came on my face earlier.” He drops his feet and leans forward over his desk. “My benevolent, little virgin.”
I grab the bourbon again. It’s a reflex action. This time my sip is enough to make my eyes water.
“My virginity seems to be a bigger deal to you than it is to me, Santi.”
The atmosphere in the room recharges with something other than liquor fumes.
“That’s because I’m going to be the one to break you. My wife. My pussy.”
I blush again. “You can’t claim ownership of everything, Santi.”
“Says the woman who hasn’t fucked me yet.”
I roll my eyes in mock disgust. “How does your ego even fit in thedoor?”
“Turns out I have a big penthouse.” I watch him pull out a sheet of white paper from his drawer and a pen. “New deal terms,” he announces, and I watch him write a sentence in a jagged, inelegant scrawl. “Let’s expedite this shit. One night with me, and you get your fucking money in the morning.”
“That’s not fair,” I whisper, the blood draining from my face. “You’d be an even crueler man than I thought if you made me make that choice.”
A beat later, he’s balling up the paper and throwing it in the trash.
“You’re right. Stupid idea.”
He looks like he wants to say something else, but he stops himself in time.
“You could just give me the money now,” I say hopefully.
“And have a chorus of slammed doors ten seconds later as you hightail it back to New York?”
