Page 78 of For Cowgirls and Kings
STETSON: Mateo has Gus’s older brother employed as his right-hand man. Or something like that. I don’t really know. I haven’t asked him, and Gus won’t speak to or hear him out right now. Gus and his brother have a very bad past.
I stare at the words, my heart already racing. Anger pours through me—anger and frustration at everything and everyone who’s hurt me and let me down the last couple weeks, funneling into one point of rage. It’s irrational, and boiling out of me, but it feels good.
It feels so fucking good to feel something that isn’t fear or defeat. It feels good to feel the burn in my chest, to control who and what I feel it for—to have a purpose, a target, a hit.
With rushed fingers I respond, already walking out of my room.
ME: Thank you for telling me.
“Mateo?” I shout his name, allowing my rage to rush through me unchecked. I feel powerful, having this one grievance to focus my turbulent emotions on. Even if it is irrational—it feels fucking good.
His feet pound up the wooden staircase, taking them two at a time. “What is it? Are you okay?” I hear his breathing before I see him.
When I do see him, another scorching wave of boiling anger washes over me. Anger for how fucking perfect he looks—how put together and pristine.He’s in dark, pressed jeans, the crease taunt and slightly faded, with a white pearl snap tucked into the top of them. His dark hair is perfectly slicked back, only a single piece curling on his tanned forehead. I can see the shadows of his tattoos beneath the fabric of his shirt, and I hate that I acheto see them without the barrier. Does he ever get dirty? Does he ever drop the beautiful mask?
“Dale, what is it? What’s wrong?” There’s real panic in his voice as he rushes toward me, his enormous hands gently wrapping around my biceps. His eyes scour my face, warm and shining with concern.
It all makes me want to scream. Or punch him. Or both.
“Is Gus’s brother working for you?”
His brows pinch together, confusion contorting his face before it melts away, softening into an expression I can’t read.
“Stetson told you. Listen, I wanted to but?—”
“Careful how you finish that sentence Mateo.” I step back, out of his grip, and out of his shadow—tipping my head to glare up at him.
He sighs roughly, the action puffing his chest enough I wonder if the buttons will pop open. They don’t, and part of me—a very deep part of me—is disappointed by that.
“He’s worked for my family long before I knew Gus.”
“What does he do exactly?” I’ve never seen the man in question, but the way Stetson describes him, I imagine him to be some kind of grim reaper.
Mateo stares at me blankly, like he doesn’t want to respond. Or rather, doesn’t know how to without either lying or hurting me.
“What does he do for you Mateo?”
“He works for my family—mostly Valentina, and mostly at the casino.” He acts like that’s enough explanation, and his vagueness only pisses me off more.
“Doing what?” I snarl, and take a small step toward him. He stands taller, but I’m not afraid of him. I’m not afraid of his hard look, his dismissal, or his words. There’s nothing he could do to me that would hurt me more than what I’ve been through.
“He’s a personal guard mostly, and sometimes an enforcer,if the situation calls for it. You know, there’s a lot of shady people when it comes to big money business, and—” He shrugs his shoulders, clearly at a loss for words. The thing is, I don’t know about the shady people, or big money business—a teacher’s salary isn’t exactly something people lie, cheat, or steal for.
But Mateo’s salary is. Might even be worth kidnapping over.I brush the thought aside.
“Are you trying to say he’s a hitman?”
“Fuck Dale. I don’t go around having people killed. I’m not the fucking mafia, although everyone likes to act like I am.”
“So he’s never killed anyone for you?” I cock a brow, and his face hardens.
“He’s never killed anyonefor me.” I hear the rest of what he’s not saying. His sister, his family—McCrae’s killed on their orders then. And for me, I guess. That thought sours in my mouth, my lips twisting up. I don’t like the idea of this man that’s so evil, doing anything for me—especially when everything about him is clearly bad. But then what does that make me? Because killing the guys who held me does nothing for me besides sending a small thrill through my broken heart. They got what they deserved.
Is that how McCrae thinks?Am I just like him?
“Why was he there, when you were looking for me?”
“He helps me keep an eye on things—he saw you get kidnapped—” His face instantly drops.
