Page 29 of Ruthless Temptation
“What is it, papa?” I ask, urging him on. “Tell me what is on your mind.”
He moves closer into the frame. “It’s convenient,morrita.” He’s whispering. “That he would die this way. Ever since I found out what he did to you, I wanted to kill him in much the same fashion.” His eyes grow hard. “Someone beat me to it.”
“I must not have been his only victim,” I say, but even I don’t believe my words. There’s nobody in Colombia who would dare kill Nico. “Do you have any leads?”
My father shakes his head. “It was a clean hit. Nobody even knows what Nico was doing out in those backwoods by himself. He even ditched his security detail.” He runs a hand over his chin. “We had yet to tell anyone about your engagement. That’s the only thing keeping the suspicion off us.”
I take in a shaky breath. My heart is beating so fast it’s all I can hear. This news is more than I can handle because every time I think about it, my mind takes me back to one person—Erik. He couldn’t have. Could he?
It’s a known fact that the lecturers here come from crime families too. But, they are tight-lipped about which, and I never gave it much thought beyond that. If this really was Erik’s doing, then I don’t know him at all.
To pull off a high-level hit like that would put him close to the top of a criminal organization even more dangerous than the one Nico led, the onemy fathernow leads. Even if it was a hired hit, whoever did it knew they could handle the blowback from killing a man like Nico. I can’t even fathom that kind of power.
My father’s voice pulls me out of my spiraling thoughts.
“You’re lucky,” my father says.
I give him a small smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes. “I guess you could call it that.”
“Your mother and I planned to support you in every way we could,” he offers. “If you ended up married to that monster, it was the least we could do.”
I nod, not trusting my voice.
Even with their support, I would still be trapped in a loveless marriage with an abusive tyrant. I’m not sure how far their support would go in a situation like that. The only person who helped me is whoever pulled the trigger.
“I just wanted to give you an update,” he says.
“Thank you, papa.” The screen goes black.
I sit in the attic for a while after the call has ended, replaying our conversation in my mind. Just a few minutes ago, I couldn’t imagine a thing past the next week. I was slowly marching to my death. Now, my life feels purposeful. Meaningful.
I realize I’m crying when a tear falls to my bosom. I wipe it quickly. Unlike all the crying I’ve been doing the past few weeks, these aren’t sad tears. They are tears of joy. When I’ve dried my eyes, I pull out my phone and send Erik a text.
Was it you?I type.
He responds almost instantly.You are my favorite, Tara.
It’s not confirmation, but it makes my heart flutter. I hardly expected him to admit to murder over text. I text back,You are my favorite too.And I mean it.
When the taxi drops me off at the cabin that night, the whole building is lit up. From the road, it looks like every single light in the house is on. That’s never happened before.
I put my key in the lock and open the door cautiously.
I’m not sure what I expected to find—maybe Erik having some sort of manic episode? Probably that would have made more sense to me than what was unfolding before my eyes. I find him in the kitchen, dancing while he tends to something on the stove. The smell of braising meat fills the air, and there’s a half-empty bottle of wine on the counter.
Erik is shirtless and barefoot, dressed only in his slacks.
When he looks up at me, there’s a huge grin on his face. Just the sight of him makes my heart feel whole, even though I have no fucking idea what has made him so happy. I smile back, dropping my bag at the threshold of the kitchen.
“What’s all this?” I ask him, raising my voice over the din of the fire.
“I’m making you dinner,” he says, as if that answers my question. He turns his attention back to the stove for a few moments, flipping the steak with well-practiced movements that I didn’t think him capable of. “We never did make it to that restaurant.” A chuckle escapes him, and it strikes me how his smile makes him look a little younger. He should smile more. “I think I owe you a good time.”
I float over to the counter, climbing onto one of the stools. I make a V with my palms and rest my head there.
“You don’t owe me anything, Erik.” Things are already perfect as they are. “But I guess we do have something to celebrate.”
He turns to me, the glint of mischief in his eye. “Hm? What’s that?”
