Page 103 of Unorthodox
“Why do you want me to say it?” she asks, her words low and angry. “Why do you want to make me hate myself?”
My hand slides down her low back, cupping her ass as I pull her even closer. “How you feel about yourself isn’t my concern, Addison.”
Her brow furrows, pain in her eyes.
“But if youarejealous, there are ways I can make you feel better. Or worse, depending on how you behave tonight.”
She swallows, and I feel her throat move beneath my hand. “What am I supposed to do there?” she whispers.
I think of the men who will be watching tonight. The alliance I’ve made with Sinaloa and the position I’ve put myself in with her buyer. The fact that if she fucks this up tonight, my brother might end up dead.
She cannot fuck it up.
“You’re supposed to be seen,” I tell her honestly. “Assurances for your father that you’re alive—”
“Will he be there?” she asks quickly, and it’s not hope in her voice as she stares up at me, her eyes wide. “Is he going to—”
“No.” I trail my hand down her throat, over her collarbone. “He won’t be there, but the message will be sent.”
She says nothing but nods slowly, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. I wonder again at all the ways her father has fucked her.
“Look at me,” I tell her as her gaze starts to wander, thoughts I can’t imagine churning in her head.
She does, still chewing her lip.
“You don’t leave my sight while we’re there. You don’t drink anything I don’t give you. You can look anyone in the eye, so long as you can stomach it. And if anyone touches you...” I trail my hand lower, slip my fingers beneath the silk of her dress, enjoy the way she shivers as I brush my thumb over her nipple. “If anyone touches you, well, I’ll take care of that particular problem for you.”
Her nipple pebbles beneath my finger and her face flushes pink as her body responds to me. “And you?” she presses, trying to ignore what I’m doing to her. “Will you...touchpeople?”
I lean down close to her, angling my head so my mouth is over hers. I wonder if she actually cares if I do. “We’ll see.”
The Maserati jostlesover each cobblestone of his driveway as he pulls toward the tall, iron gates that surround his home. I glance at the stone, two-story affair behind us. There’s a fountain out front, abstract rectangular shapes spouting water as the sun sets behind us.
In the rearview mirror, I see a black SUV trailing us. Evora is in there, Max told me. I have no idea why I’m in the car with him instead, but I don’t question it. And I don’t think about him…fucking her.
“Nervous?” Max asks me, and I shift my gaze from the house to him.
The gun to his head flashes in my mind, the scared look on his face as I approached him, as if he thoughtImight pull the trigger. For a moment, I feel something like sympathy.
Then I think of Dante. I think of Max cornering me in my room. The moment passes.
I force my gaze from him, look straight ahead as he pulls onto the road, the black SUV behind us.
“Yes,” I finally answer him, smoothing down my red dress, trying to tug it to my knees. Even though I’ve worn less in front of men before and despite what we did together, in the car with him, I feel uncomfortable. I’m even sweating, and he’s got the A/C blasting.
Despite my discomfort, I enjoy being in a car, in the front seat. When I was allowed to leave my father’s compound, I was always chauffeured. In the back seat.
I try to focus on that, what I enjoy, like I used to do when I focused on the documentaries that played in my father’s room. I force my mind to something I can stomach, instead of thinking of everything I fucking hate about this.
“Why are you nervous?” Max asks me, bringing me back to the present.
I glance at my nails, painted a matte red. I did that myself, after Mamie brought in some polish before I changed into my dress.
The red reminds me of the playing card Dante picked. Just like that, I hear the gunshot from the woods. Hear Max climbing the fence behind me, when I thought I might get away. I swallow down the lump in my throat, forcing the memories into the box with Danik. Cade. My father.
“Why do you think I’m nervous?” I counter, gritting my teeth.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see his rosy lips pull into a slight smile, but his eyes are still on the road, hands on the wheel. There’s no music playing, and I don’t know if I’ve ever heard music in the house. In the car ride here when I was blindfolded, nothing played.
