Page 25 of Brutal Enforcer

“That…did not answer my question at all.”

Too bad. But the soft look on his face was…deceptive. I knew that he would probably use all of this against me at some point, but it was hard to ignore him completely. “Yes, I’m adept with other mediums.”

“Which do you prefer?”

I rounded on him. “Why do youcare? Are you trying to be my friend? You almost killed me yesterday!”

Omar took my shrieking with surprising calm…though there was that dark gleam in his eye that made me tremble. I couldn’t say whether it was from fear or desire.What iswrongwith me?“I’m curious,” he said with a shrug. “You’re…not like the Rojas family members that I’ve met before.”

“Because we’re all such terrible people?” I scoffed. “Madura de una vez. Both of our families have done terrible things to the other, and that isn’t likely to stop anytime soon.”

That dark gleam sparked into true anger.Mierda. “Your father—”

It was too late to back down now. If Omar was going to hurt me, I might as well make myself heard first. “Apá went after your precious brother, I know.” I sneered. “You wiped out aquarterof my family single-handedly. It hardly seems a fair trade from my perspective, and yet, I’m not trying to actively murder you.”

Omar stepped into my space, and it was my pride alone that kept me rooted to the spot, facing him. “My brother is worth a hundred of you Rojas scum,” he spat. Even in the face of his rage, however, I saw how his eyes dipped away from mine. He was looking at my mouth, at the rapid rise and fall of my breasts as I breathed. Hewantedme.

Well, wasn’t that a far cry from “if I actually wanted you, I would have taken you already”? “I may be scum because of the family that I was born into,” I said, dipping my head in acknowledgement, “but you want to kiss me.”

Omar snarled and wrenched back. “I donot.” He was indignant; his expression stole a giggle from my throat. “Who the hell do you think you’re laughing at,conejita?”

He was going for his “threatening” tone, but I just giggled harder. Something about this whole situation struck me as incredibly, maddeningly funny. Maybe it was the knowledge that I was probably going to die before it was all over. Maybe it was the fact that drawing in the sand had been my first taste of peace in far too long.

“I like to paint,” I said instead of answering his question. “Oils, mostly, but I’ll use acrylics if there’s nothing else.” I pointed at the horizon, and its swirling blues and greens. “I wouldloveto get a chance to paint a view like this, but I had to make do with the sand.” I crossed my arms over my chest, tipping my head to one side. “Does that answer your question?”

Omar looked exasperated, but that scary anger was gone. My comment about him wanting to kiss me was forgotten…at least for now.Good, I thought.I should have never said that. “I’m surprised your father allowed you to pursue something like that.”

“Art?” I laughed again, and it had an edge of hysteria in it. “Apá knows nothing about it.”

Omar sat down on the sand and motioned for me to sit down as well, and against all rational sense, I sank down beside him. “My Padre knew everything about our education. He had his hands in whatever we learned. I’m surprised that your father—”

“Apá only cares about what Matteo learns,” I said, cutting off whatever he was going to say. “My mother handled my education until I went to college; she encouraged me to find a passion that wouldn’t interfere with my duties to my family. Art became a refuge of sorts.”

Omar hummed softly beside me, and I hazarded a glance at him. I shouldn’t be talking to him like this. It was incredibly stupid, almost as dumb as my plan to seduce the man. “Padre never cared much for the arts.”

“My mother just wanted me to find something that would keep me busy,” I said with a shrug. “She had no idea that I would fall in love with it.”

“Or that you’d be so good at it.”

Omar said the words absently, like he hadn’t meant to at all, and I could feel the heat rising in my face because of it. “I’m not.”

“Don’t be modest.” He turned his dark eyes to me. They were hard and unreadable, like he couldn’t decide whether he was angry about something or not. “If you’re good, say it. There’s nothing wrong with being good at something.”

I looked at my sand creation. Itwasgood. Not as good as what I could do with paper or canvas, but certainly better than what most people could achieve at the beach. “That’s an okay piece,” I said, pointing. “But I can do better.”

Omar chuckled, and I shivered a little. It was such a warm sound, so unlike his usual cold, sarcastic demeanor. “Oh yeah? What’s the best thing you’ve ever done?”

A smile worked its way onto my face as I recalled the dips and whirls of color that had come together, as if by magic, to become the face of one of my friends who paid for a portrait to be done. “I did a portrait for one of my—” I cut myself off, sinking my teeth into my tongue to stop the words. I’d almost told him the biggest secret that I kept close to my heart.

Of course, Omar caught what I’d said. “You’ve sold pieces, haven’t you?” He let out a low, impressed whistle. “You’re bold,conejita. I’ll give you that.” He looked at me. “Do your parents know?”

The question was so patently absurd that I laughed. “Am I still breathing?” I drew my knees up into my chest. “If my father thought for a moment that I was making money in order to escape….”

The night that I asked to become a nun instead of marrying Felix came to mind. He had never done more than slap me before. But that night, Apá had not held back. I could still hear the ringing of my mother’s screams as she begged my father not to kill me.

I wasn’t allowed out of my room for weeks, not until all of the bruises had faded. Only then had I met my future husband, and I made sure to be just as congenial and sweet as I could be. I’d charmed Felix that day and cemented our impending engagement.

I had new paints that afternoon: a gift from my mother for “doing what needed to be done.”

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