Page 13 of Naughty and Nice
“Tomorrow.” She reached for the door handle.
Opening my door, I rushed to the back of the car, lifting her suitcase from the trunk. “Let me walk you to the door.”
“Are you always so nice?”
“I’m not,” I replied honestly. “I’m a killer for the cartel. Few people would call me nice.”
“Then I guess I’m one of the few people.”
Chapter
Six
Liliana
* * *
I nodded at Javier, the cartel guard at the door.
“Señora Ruiz?” He appeared puzzled by my presence and suitcase.
Feigning a smile wasn’t possible. “It’s José.” The lump in my throat grew. “He’s…” I took a breath. “They believe a heart attack.”
Anguish showed in his stare. “Señora, lo lamento.”
“I’ll be staying here for the next few days until…” I wasn’t certain how to finish that sentence.
“Of course. You’ll be safe here. Señora Pérez?”
I hadn’t thought about where Renata would stay. “I’ll text her and invite her to stay with me.”
Javier was a regular guard for the apartments; however, I knew he did other work for el Patrón and the cartel. I imagined he’d caused deaths as well as seen them. Nevertheless, his remorse at José’s unexpected demise was evident. If I hadn’t lived my entire life within the cartel, I might make assumptions about the men who lived in service of el Patrón.
I had.
I didn’t.
The information would be in my office, but I didn’t need to check it. I knew there were four empty apartments—bedrooms really. During the conversion, twenty apartments, each capable of housing three women were constructed. Each apartment contained a common room and a common bathroom.
We had one completely empty apartment and one with one empty bedroom. I chose the completely empty apartment. If Renata wanted to stay with me, she could. If not, I’d have more privacy. Wandering down the empty hallways, my mind was scrambled with too much information.
Had Nick Ruiz actually proposed marriage?
It wouldn’t be a real marriage but a legal one.
While in my apartment, I felt something akin to passion as Nick stared at me while I was in only my panties, but that didn’t mean I was ready for… I walked past numerous apartment doors. On the nameplates were the resident’s first names. Those women, most if not all of them were currently at the cartel’s club Wanderland. Their job was sex.
I supported their choices yet couldn’t fathom what they did, day after day, night after night. Once, I’d broached the subject with Reina who works in the offices. She shrugged and laughed, saying something about how making noise encourages the men to ejaculate faster. She said she imagines a racetrack, the faster he pumps, the faster the cars were moving. Her noises were her way of cheering for the first-place driver. If she was truly into the race, his speed increased.”
I’d shaken my head in a nonjudgmental way.
My experience was so completely different. My mother’s advice before my marriage was to comply and submit. I’d hoped that Gerardo would have had pity on an inexperienced woman the age of his daughter. He hadn’t.
To be honest, I’d only read about female orgasms. They sounded amazing in romance books. Actors on television made them out to be earth-shaking. As far as I was concerned, they were fables, fake news, or fiction—maybe all three rolled into one.
The library and dining room were dark.
My shoes clipped the floor, the clack echoing off the walls as I went to Apartment 17. Three empty nameplates told me what I already knew. This apartment was currently uninhabited. Pushing the door open, I flipped the light switch. The standard common room came into view. There was a sofa with two chairs facing a big screen television. Behind the sofa was a small rectangular table with four chairs.
