Page 62 of Green Flag
“You want out? There you go,” he said, turning his back on the approaching team. If they weren’t fast approaching, I really would deck him right now. Especially when his eyes glinted with humour over my anger, eyeing my clenched fists with a grin. “That’s his weakness, Luca. His daughter.”
I ignored him, hoping to shove him into the security team and get back to her.
“Fuck her publicly, loudly. It’s all Everly’s good for.”
He was against the wall, my forearm to his throat, my face close to his as I spat, “You fucking dare. You say her name one more time and it’ll be the last thing you say because you’ll be without teeth.”
I’d spent long enough having to watch Everly talk to him, knowing I’d put her in that situation. But I wanted to give her the space to handle it.
She didn’t need a rescue mission.
But I only had so much willpower.
He smirked and I wanted to go through with my threat, smash his head into the wall until one of my team colours was splattered across the white paint.
“Luca,” one of the guards warned and I stepped back, glaring at the scum.
“I mean it. Say her name one more time.”
He shrugged, smile intact, as they walked him out.
13
Chapter 13
Everly
My last interaction with Pedro hadn’t gone well. Though he’d settled down in England because his sister had married, he’d been imprisoned in Spain, where he’d grown up — because that’s where Dad had framed him.
My stomach twisted at the memory.
He’d looked so ill in prison. His mahogany skin was speckled with sweat, his eyes darting across the room, rinsing his hands as if he were drugged up. The six months he’d been in prison had changed him. The man I still loved was in there, somewhere underneath the taut muscles — underneath the new, darker edge to him.
When the warm, brown eyes I’d fallen in love with met mine, they had a sharpness that nearly ran a shiver down my spine. His cocky smile was the same, but it felt out of place.I hated every change within him; I hated what this place had done to him. And how long his sentence would be.
Four years. I’d be twenty-four when he came out. He’d be thirty-seven.
“You look good,” he said, scanning me up and down with appreciative eyes. They looked hungry, like he was trying to undress me. It was silly, but I’d worn the red underwear set he’d bought me years ago. The panties had a big red bow on them, which made them impractical for a lot of outfits, but he said I was like a god-given present. His favourite.
“So do you,” I said, but it was a lie.
He looked downtrodden.
Emotionally scarred.
Sat down, there was a silence between us as he smiled softly at me. “Have you been a good girl?”
“Always,” I told him. “I’ve applied for university. To keep me out of trouble.” To keep me from wasting away with worry for him.
His eyes weren’t just cold. They narrowed as anger flashed through them. “Where?”
“London.”
“London?” he snarled. “So you’ll go and fuck all the lads on your course? Spend your weekends out of your mind and—”
“Excuse me?” I snapped, pushing back my chair an inch. It scraped against the wooden floor. His insecurity when it came to men my own age always made him fidgety, but he’d never spoken to me with such disdain. “I haven’t so much as spoken to a man in the time you’ve been in prison.”
I’d promised him loyalty. I’d promised him daily letters. Nude Polaroids. And I’d fucking delivered.
