They wince.
“You’re a sick fuck, Colton.”
Tell me something I don’t know.
I take the stairs three at a time and head straight for my bedroom. I know the mind games that provocative pricks like Troy Davis like to play. There’s no love lost between us, and he’ll come twice as hard knowing it’s my bed he’s defiling as well.
If he’s fucking touched her already…
Behind the door, it’s a scene from every college chick’s worst nightmare. Lola is passed out on the bed, her black minidress and heels already discarded on the floor. Troy’s standing over her with his jeans around his ankles and his dick in his hand.
He looks up and smirks. “Come to join the party, Colton?”
“Consent’s a tough word to purchase from the comatose, frat boy.” I glance at Lola’s breasts in that black lingerie and feel my own traitorous dick stir. “You sure she’s selling?”
“What’s it to you? Pissed I’m buying first?”
“Wrong answer, asshole. Your libido lost its way, and the rest of you is about to pay.” Reaching into my back pocket, I pull out the silver pocket knife the senator bought me for my eighth birthday. I learned to demand respect long before I learned to drive. I learned it on an island a long way away from a man who I have every intention of working for one day, no matter what my stepfather has to say about it. You can’t keep the bad away from the bad. We’re like fucking magnets.
Troy glances down at my hand, and the blood drains from his face. He yanks up his jeans and backs away from me like I’m the goddamn antichrist.
“What the fuck, Colton? If you want the bitch so bad, you can have her.”
“Did you touch her?” I tap the exposed blade against my lower lip as I saunter deeper into the room.
I find my answer in Troy’s silence.
I press the blade into my lip until I can feel something hot and wet running down my chin. “Did you fucking taste her?”
Troy looks like he’s about to shit himself. “Just a kiss, man. I swear. I-I didn’t know she was your girl.”
Damn right, she is. “Didn’t your mom ever teach you it’s wrong to steal?”
“My mom’s best friend is a vodka bottle. She didn’t teach me nothing!”
“Poor little rich boys of the world unite.” I swipe a hand across my jaw and it comes away red. “Get on your knees.”
A tic jumps to life in his cheek. “Wh-what?”
My foot connects with his thigh, and a dark satisfaction fills my soul as he goes crashing to the floor. Crouching over him, I take his jaw between my fingers as he cringes away. “You fucked up, Troy.” With my other hand, I press the blade against the nervous glide of his throat. “You just violated my property, and that shit has consequences… Lift up your shirt.”
He freezes. “No way.”
“I said, lift up your fucking shirt.”
A trembling hand shoots out and wrenches up his white Moncler Polo. “What the hell, Colton?” he says weakly. “You a fucking queer now?”
“No, Troy. I’m your fucking end game.” Changing my mind at the last second, I drop the knife from his throat and drive it down deep into the web of muscles above his kneecap, twisting as I go, severing a couple of tendons and all his hopes and dreams. Never mind a season on the bench; I’ve just gone and annihilated a promising football career at the age of twenty-one.
I feel nothing about it, though. No guilt. No regret.
Sweet. Fuck. All.
I told you I was ready for the big league, senator.
Troy screams, and I slam my hand across his mouth. “Inhale the pain,” I order, bringing my face in real close to his. “Inhale it until you feel like your lungs are gonna explode, because that’s only a fraction of what María would have felt tomorrow morning if I hadn’t shown up in time.” Flashing him a grin, I pull the knife out, eliciting another muffled scream. “If I were you, Troy Davis, I’d get to a hospital in the next twenty minutes. You’ve had yourself a bad accident. Maybe you shouldn’t drink so much next time. You feeling me?”
He nods, eyes glassy with pain. Compliant as a child.
Maybe he knows the truth about me. Maybe he’s heard about the senator’s reputation.
Removing my hand, I wipe his spit down the front of his polo shirt.
“Go… Get out of here.”
“I-I can’t move.” He starts crying, snot trailing down his face like a well-fucked pussy.
Are they tears of relief or pain? Maybe it’s the realization he’ll never score a touchdown again. Either way, I’ll doubt he’ll be slipping a roofie into another chick’s drink this side of never.
“Then fucking crawl, you asshole. I’ll count to ten, and then I’m introducing my knife to your other knee.”
“Shit! Fuck! Okay!” He starts dragging his bleeding body toward the door, but my focus has already switched to her.
It’s all about her.
I can’t stop staring.
Turns out, I was missing the real masterpiece underneath her clothes.
I want her.
I fucking want her.
My gaze drops to the soft mound barely concealed beneath the black lace. I bet she tastes like peaches and cream...
She moans suddenly, her head falling to one side—hair strewn like dark seaweed across the flawless shores of her cheek.
Focus, Sam. Focus.
She’s the daughter of the enemy. It’s Mexico versus Colombia. It’s the past versus our present. It’s the fact that her daddy, Valentin Carrera, swore an oath years ago to bring death and destruction to the Santiago Cartel, an organization in which my stepfather is so entrenched, even his shit stinks of South America.
There’s bad blood, and then there’s this—a war so dangerous it kills people by seven degrees of fucking separation.
Dante Santiago has no idea Carrera’s daughter is in the US, and up until a month ago, I was the guy who planned on telling him.
I needed a way
