Page 126 of Resisting Isaac
He leans in, lowering his voice. “Because helping the right people make a lot of money without facing the consequences is very rewarding.”
“The right people,” I breathe. “As in criminals?”
The firm Diego works for has always been rumored to have cartel connections. He swore to my family and his when he was hired there that it was just racism, plain and simple.That the competition was spreading rumors because of our heritage.
We believed him. A mistake I now hate myself for.
“Don’t be dramatic, Elena. I prefer to call them businessmen.”
My stomach turns. “You’re disgusting.”
He scoffs. “I’m successful. Wealthier than anyone ever thought I could be.”
“You’re a stereotype.”
His eyes narrow. “I can have any woman I want, Elena. Any woman.”
He’s mostly right. He’s handsome. Charming. The girls we grew up with were always crazy about Diego. But I never saw him that way. Now I can’t help but wonder if that’s why he’s always been so set on having me.
“No. You can’t.”
Fury flares in his gaze.
I should heed the warning signals my body is giving me that this man is not who I thought he was, that he’s dangerous. But I can’t stop my anger from overflowing.
“I’m out trying my damnedest to change how the world views us,” I remind him. “Trying to show both the world and kids who grew up like us that they can be more than background noise, than bodies to be used and tossed. That we aren’t just maids or the help or criminals. Trying to prove we can lead, own companies, make a difference. I’m trying to rewrite narratives. And you—” I shake my head. “You’re a b-villain in a low-budget movie. Sleazy suit. Dirty hands. Big ego.”
His smile dies. “Really? And what narrative were you re-writing when you let that gringo knock you up? Because I’d bet my entire paycheck, he was playing out a Hispanic hooker fantasy?—”
My hand flies before I can stop it, but my palm doesn’t make it to his cheek.
He grabs my wrist mid-air, fingers clamping down hard. So hard it feels like my bones might snap. “I’m going to let that slide because I like you,” he growls. “But you need to come home. For good. Before things get…unpleasant.”
I yank my wrist free, chest heaving. “You’re not special, Diego. You were just spoiled. Your mommy told you rules didn’t apply to you, and now you think you’re untouchable.”
“You can touch me anytime you like.”
“Gross,” I spit at him, taking a step back. “You’re rotten inside. Hollow. I see it now. God, how I used to envy you. The doting, the popularity. The constant praise. Everything seemed to come so easy to you. But now?” I pause to catch my breath then rush on. “I’m grateful. For every scrap I had to fight for. Because it made me someone real. Not someone like you.”
“Someone like me,” he repeats slowly. “Someone that could give you a life. Protect you. Someone with connections.”
“I don’t give a single shit about your connections,” I practically hiss. “And I don’t need you to protect me.”
He chuffs out an amused laugh. “You will. You think I only have connections here? Sweetheart, we’ve got our hands in everything from Montana ranches to DC Courthouses. Trust me when I tell you, your precious Logans will never be safe with you there.”
I swallow hard. “You’re bluffing.”
“I don’t bluff.” He steps into my space, so close I can smell his expensive cologne masking something rank beneath. “You’re right. Everything has come easy for me. Everything except you.”
There it is—the only reason he wants me. Because I neverwanted him. Because I went out and made something of myself and he was supposed to be the only golden child of our tiny town.
He doesn’t care about me at all. All he cares about is snuffing out my fire and adding me to his collection of broken dolls.
“Then you should know by now, Diego. It’s never going to happen.”
“Never say never, Elena.” He eyes my parents’ house then moves toward his SUV. “You walk away from me again, and I make a call. That ranch? Goes up in flames. Cattle poisoned. Bulls disappear. Accidents happen. Maybe your golden cowboy ends up in the hospital. Maybe worse.” He stops, shoves his hands in his pockets. “The best part? I won’t have to lift a finger.”
When I don’t respond, because I’m busy mentally calculating suspicious events I now wonder if Diego played a role in. Like the missing girls. So many girls have gone missing from our area—way more than makes sense for the small population. Always to be found later dead, badly abused, addicted to drugs, or trafficked into prostitution.
