Felipe is a pain in my ass, but he doesn’t deserve papá’s wrath.
“I’ll call papá.” I reach for my phone, my hands shaking so badly, I nearly knock over my water. “I’ll tell him it was my”—I draw in a sharp breath as the tender flesh beside my hip burns—“my fault,” I finish weakly.
Keeping my eyes lowered, I try to pull up my father’s coded contact in my phone. Why won’t my hands stop shaking?
I’m not afforded another attempt. Santi’s bronzed hand darts across the table and slams on top of mine. “That’s not how it works, and you know it. Actions have consequences, Lola. Unfortunately, Felipe will pay for yours.”
I nod. It makes me sick to my stomach, but he’s right; this is the way of our world, and no amount of pleading will change it.
As the pressure on my hand releases, I jerk my phone to my chest. Bad move. White, hot, pain tears through my body like a greased bobsled.
“Something’s wrong.”
It’s not a question.
“Yeah.” I wince, shifting in my chair. “Our father is about to castrate a man, and I’m about to throw up my spleen. Not a good day for vital organs.”
Awesome, Lola. Crack a joke. That’s always helpful.
He ignores my insolence. “Every time you move, you wince and clench your fists. You’re hurt, Lola. So, I’ll ask again. Where were you last night?” he demands, jabbing a finger at me from across the table. “And don’t fucking lie to me.”
“I sort of had a date.” Technically, it’s not so much a lie as a bent truth. “It didn’t go so well.”
“What does that mean?”
“He gave me a drink, and then it’s all a big blur.”
Santi’s restrained anger explodes, his palms hitting the table at the same time his feet hit the floor. Glasses rattle and tip over onto the floor, shattering into jagged pieces. “You let some asshole roofie you? How fucking stupid do you—?”
The entire restaurant falls silent as eyes shift toward us. Fuck, this is the last thing either of us needs. “Santi,” I plead in a low tone. “Please don’t. Not here.”
His gaze shifts to the left before he slowly sinks back into his seat. But I don’t take my eyes off him. Just because the dragon isn’t roaring, doesn’t mean he’s not still breathing fire.
“Name,” he says flatly.
“Santi…”
“Name, Lola. Don’t make me seek it out myself.” He issues the threat calmly, his nostrils flaring like a raging bull restrained in front of a red flag. “I promise you won’t like what happens.”
I believe him.
“Troy Davis.”
Please forgive me.
Santi pulls out his phone, and within seconds has someone on the line. “It’s Carrera. Find a student named Troy Davis. Bring him to the docks and then wait for me.” Without another word, he disconnects the call and pockets his phone.
“What are you going to do?”
He holds my stare for one too many skipped heartbeats before speaking again. “You’re a fucking Carrera, Lola. You should know better than to let your guard down. Do you know how many assholes in this town would take a blade to you just to get to me? To get to papá?”
I recoil at his words. “I think one already did,” I whisper.
His eyes narrow into deadly slits. “Show me.”
“Here? No!”
“I won’t ask twice. You can show me, or I’ll have Tito show me.” He tilts his head to his left, where my other beast of a bodyguard sits.
So that’s who he was looking at…
“You wouldn’t dare,” I hiss, calling his bluff.
“Try me.”
“You let that man anywhere near me, and papá will shove a gun so far up your ass, you’ll burp bullets.”
His razor-thin lips tip into a disturbing smile. “You think papá won’t sanction my commands? Think again, chaparrita. I’m king of this city. You’re just the insolent child who ditched her guard, went to a Santiago-affiliated party, and got herself roofied.”
“Asshole.” I glare at him, refusing his request, when his words blaze through my mind, leaving a scorched trail of deceit. “Wait, a what party?”
“Exactly,” he scolds, folding his arms, his biceps straining beneath his button-up shirt. “You have no idea the danger you’ve put yourself and this family in.”
His words are like a punch to the chest. “I don’t understand. How?”
Of course, he doesn’t answer my question. He never does. This is Santi Carrera’s world; we just live in it.
“Show me, Lola,” he repeats, his jaw clenched.
Cursing under my breath, I tap the camera icon on my phone with more force than necessary.
“What are you doing?”
“Giving you what you asked for.” As discreetly as possible, I lift the hem of my shirt and lower the elastic waistband on my shorts, quickly snapping a picture. Gritting my teeth, I shove my hand across the table. “They say a picture says a thousand words… Well, how about a letter?” I snort at my own joke as he takes my phone. “That dickhead jock gave me a scarlet one. Carved an S for slut right next to my hip.”
My heart stutters as fire sweeps up my brother’s neck, igniting an all too familiar bloodlust in his dark eyes.
“It’s not that bad,” I whisper, shrinking into my seat. “Once it heals, I’ll get a tattoo over it. It won’t even show.”
“The S is not for slut, Lola,” he says in a clipped tone.
A few precious beats pass.
And then all hell breaks loose.
Santi stands, his expensive dress shoes hitting the tile seconds before a roar rips from his chest. Flipping the table, he sends it flying across the restaurant, and then storms out the door.
What the fuck just happened?
I glance toward Tito, who simply shrugs and pulls a wad of bills from his pocket.
Oh, for fuck’s sake…
It’s not smart or rational, but I run after my brother. It only takes half a block to spot him leaned up against the side of a building, a lit cigarette hanging from his lips.
By the time I reach him, I’m gasping for air and pissed off. “What the hell is wrong with you? And
