Page 38 of Keeping My Captive

Mateo nods as if it’s nothing, as if he didn’t change my life or, hell, the entire world. Constantine was a menace, buying and selling women and children, raping and pilfering his way through this earth, and now his reign is over. Just because Mateo willed it so. He did what always proved impossible before.

I return to my chair on autopilot. Mateo has no idea how much good he has done for so many people. My immediate thought goes to Selina. I wonder if she knows her tormentor of an entire decade is finally dead? I close my eyes, imagining her face when she hears the news. She would be so happy and relieved. No longer having to live in fear of her real-life boogeyman.

Tears spill down over my cheeks, and I don’t even bother to sweep them away. I’m crying for the joy that Selina must be feeling or will be feeling. She can go on and live a normal life now, not constantly looking over her shoulder. And so many women and children won’t have to deal with Constantine’s wrath in the future. So many lives saved. So many virtues that will remain unbroken.

I startle when I feel Mateo’s touch. He hooks a finger under my chin and brings my gaze up to meet his. “Are those sad or happy tears?” he asks, his dark eyes assessing me.

“Happy. Very happy,” I confess.

He growls lowly in his throat before his thumb sweeps over a rivulet of tears running down my cheeks. And then I watch in awe as he brings his thumb to his mouth to taste them. “You’re so pretty when you cry,” he says, his voice deep and guttural.

We stare at each other, both of us barely breathing as this strange magnetic connection keeps us tethered to one another. I can’t explain it, but if Mateo kissed me right now, I wouldn’t pull away.

However, he doesn’t kiss me. Instead, he walks out of the room, leaving me confused and desperate for his affection.

CHAPTER27

Mateo

WHEN I WAKE up in the morning, Aria is in my arms. This has been happening every day this week. Our nights always start out the same way. Aria climbs into bed and situates herself as far away from me as physically possible on the opposite side of the mattress before closing her eyes. But at some point, while she’s sleeping, she gravitates towards me like a magnet and ends up curled in my arms, cuddling with the monster she was desperately trying to avoid.

Even though all of this feels foreign to me, I truly don’t mind it. I could easily push her away or demand she sleep in another bed or another room, for that matter; but for some fucked-up reason, I want her close to me. I could do without the puddle of drool she always leaves behind, though.

I stare down at her as she snores softly against my chest, drool leaking out of her beautiful mouth and onto my skin, and I have to bite back a chuckle. Even the drooling is kind of…cute.

Fuck, I must be losing my goddamn mind.

I know deep down we shouldn’t be doing any of this domestic shit for a million different reasons — not a single one of which comes to mind at this moment.

Aria stirs, her pretty amber eyes blinking open and focusing on me. Our mornings continuously begin this way. At first, she’s surprised and confused to see that she wound up in my arms again. And then, she quickly withdraws from me, like she can’t stand touching me for another single second.

“Sorry,” she whispers as she sits up, moving away from me.

I grind my jaw at her response. I would think she would stop apologizing after doing it for so many mornings, but she’s still trying to hold back from me, still trying to act like she’s not affected by any of this. And it’s driving me insane.

“What are you sorry for? For falling asleep on me or for trying to drown me with all this drool?” I snap.

She turns to me, appalled, clearly offended and embarrassed by the very notion that she could possibly have a flaw. “I do not drool,” she says indignantly.

“I have a lake on my chest that proves it,” I tell her, pointing to the evidence.

Huffing in frustration, she climbs out of bed and goes to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. I can’t hold back the chuckle. Fuck, I love it when she gets mad at me.

I lay in bed, listening to the sound of the shower turning on in the other room. She hogs all the hot water too, but I won’t bring that up. I love when she emerges from a fresh shower or bath, smelling like flowers and honey. Her soft, unique scent drives me crazy, though. It makes me want to taste her, lick her, bite her and fuck her. I don’t even care in what order. I just want to feel her writhing under me as I take what I want.

Biting back a groan, I sit on the edge of the bed, scooping up my cell phone from the nightstand and unlocking it to check my messages since I have time to kill.

I’m halfway through typing out an email when my phone rings. A Bolivian by the name of Cristóbal Espinoza is calling. He’s an older gentleman who throws some of the most lavish parties in the country. He’s been out of the game for a long time; now dedicating his life to more philanthropic adventures.

I answer it on the fourth ring. “Hola?”

“Buenos días, Mateo.” His voice is deep and gruff from fifty plus years of smoking.

“Buenos días,” I respond. Cristóbal only calls when he’s hosting parties or events and needs my presence and money to make a difference. I donate a lot of money to charity. Hell, there’s even a school named after me in the south. But my benevolent side does not make my enemies fear me, so I rarely discuss it with anyone who’s not in my inner circle. Only those closest to me the most know about my humanitarian efforts.

“I’m hosting an event at my house on Friday. I’m only inviting my biggest donors to join me for a special dinner. It’s to benefit the influx of families and orphans that have been recently deported back into our country. Can I expect to see you there?”

“Of course,mi amigo,” I tell him. “I’ll be there with a hefty checkbook.”

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