Page 37 of Born Sinner
A surge of fury courses through me, prompting me to hurl my purse against the wall. “Damn it, Santi! I’m eighteen, not eight! You can’t force me to leave the country. I’m just as much of a Carrera as you are. For Christ’s sake, I just punched a guy in the face for trying to get into my pants.”
Which was absolutely the wrong thing to say.
Santi’s dark eyebrows shoot up to his messy hairline. “Youwhat?”
“Focus, please,” I huff, redirecting the conversation. “The point is that you can’t keep ordering me around like this. You’re my brother, not my father.”
He gets deathly quiet. The strained kind of quiet where you know you’ve fucked up. The kind that fills the air with so much static it crackles. “You’re right,” he says calmly. “I’m not.” His jaw tics as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. Without a word, he presses a single button.
“What are you doing?” I whisper.
His narrowed eyes snap to mine. “Proving a point.”
Within seconds, he’s speaking into the phone in rapid Spanish. It’s my native language, so, of course, I understand every word, yet somehow it all gets muddled in my brain, hovering in that space between willful ignorance and denied truth.
Before the fog in my head can clear, he presses another button and holds the phone between us.
“Cielito,” a deep, heavily accented voice rumbles.
Oh fuck.
“Papá?” I have no idea why his name exits my mouth as a question. There’s no mistaking Valentin Carrera’s voice. I’ve witnessed grown men piss themselves at the mere sound of it.
“We had a deal,cielito.”
“I know,papá, but—”
“No buts,” he clips, cutting off my protest. “Yourmamáand I allowed you to attend school under the direct supervision and discretion of your brother. Santi has informed me that your alias and safety have been compromised.”
I glare at my brother.Snitch.“But,papá…”
“¡Silencio!”
I jump at the harsh command in his tone. My father has never raised his hand to me, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t terrifying. I may bepapá’slittle girl, but evenIknow when to shut the hell up.
“I almost lost you once at the hands of Dante Santiago,” he continues. “I will not risk my daughter’s life again. Your brother and I have many enemies,cielito. Enemies who would love nothing more than to see you suffer for our sins. So, youwillpack your shit, and youwillboard my jet with RJ and return to Mexico City immediately.”
Oh great, a traveling companion.
I don’t know what possesses me to ask, “And if I don’t?”
Dumb, Lola. Dumb, dumb, dumb.
Even Santi lifts an eyebrow.
“Lola…” It’s a grave warning. My father only uses my given name when I’m about to fall out of his good graces. It’s a dark place no one wants to find themselves, whether family, friend, or foe.
I swallow hard. “Sí,papá.”
“Santi,” he growls. “Take me off speaker phone.”
Obeying, my brother disappears into the kitchen to discuss cartel business with our father in an unnecessarily hushed tone. He could act out their entire battle strategy in an interpretive dance for all I care. I’m not interested in anything they have to say. I’m too devastated at the blow I’ve just been dealt.
My taste of freedom.
My chance at a normal life.
All gone because of a stupid obsession.
