He drops his hands, and I take the last two steps to reach him. I grip the back of his neck with both hands and pull him close, pressing my forehead to his. “I’m not going anywhere. Now that I’m this close to having everything I want, I will wait as long as you need for you to meet me the rest of the way, got it?”
He lets out a shuddering sigh, hooking his hands over my biceps, and nods. Heat builds between us, and the look in his eyes is enough for me to tilt my head so our noses brush, readying for the kiss.
My lips graze Leo’s, and he’s angling in for a deeper kiss when footsteps approach, but I ignore them. I don’t give a fuck if J.J. catches us. He didn’t seem surprised by the idea I might’ve been fucking a dude earlier, so now he’ll get the undisputed proof.
“Well, isn’t this a fucking sight,” says a raspy Latino voice that definitely does not belong to my brother. “Why am I not surprised you two are a couple faggots? Grab them!”
Before I can get my bearings, several pairs of hands grab me from behind. Two men have Leo by the arms, and he rips away, rounding on them and landing a punch on one man’s nose so hard blood flies when his head snaps back. The move looks more like trained martial arts than the chaotic street fighting I’d have expected to see from him.
I wrench my arm from the grasp of one of the guys who tried to grab me, and spin around swinging. My fist connects with a jaw and I get my other arm free, using it to aim for another face. But twin spikes of pain spear my back before cold, electric fire slams into me and I go rigid, my body paralyzed. A second later, I collapse, and the world goes dark.
36
Celeste
Evidently, Maddox subsists on coffee, beer, and tequila because there isn’t a whole lot more to speak of in his pantry or fridge. I find a handful of Hot Pockets in his freezer and finally give up and look for his takeout menus, hoping one of them delivers breakfast. After the revelations this morning, food is a necessity to maintain the peace. My phone in hand, I’m starting to dial when an agonized yell echoes up from the garage.
I freeze, and when a second pained yelp rises, I rush to the window and peer out, heart pounding. The pane of glass is too grimy to see clearly, yet there’s no mistaking the two nearly naked figures lying prone on the floor of the garage with several black-clad men hovering around them. But it’s the voice of the figure spitting commands that makes my blood run cold.
Gustavo is alive.
My first instinct is to run out, to yell at Gustavo to stop, and I dart to the door to the catwalk to do just that. But I stop myself with my hand on the knob when heavy footsteps hit the metal steps. I can’t let him find me. Maddox and Leo are tough guys, and they aren’t the kind of ammunition Gustavo would need to get to Papá. I, on the other hand, would be just the prize Gustavo’s looking for. I have a better chance of helping them if I can get out and call Papá.
I flip the lock on the knob to slow Gustavo down and dart back to the other room, where my clothes are still scattered on the floor. Slipping into my heels, I grab my other things and throw on my raincoat over Maddox’s T-shirt without bothering to change. I carry all my things into the elevator and slam the gate shut, pressing the button in a frenzy to get the old machinery to move faster.
I reach the first floor as the crash of breaking glass sounds from above, but I don’t linger long enough to let Gustavo catch up to me. The way I came in last night is not an option, not with the garage full of mercenaries. The front of the shop is closer anyway, so I run through, flip the lock, and keep going out the door. I wince at the sound of the bell jangling overhead, apologizing under my breath that I can’t lock up behind me. I keep moving at a brisk walk, positive that to any outside observer I must look like a desperate woman doing a walk of shame after a one-night stand. At least it’s too early for more than a handful of vagrants to bear witness.
The coffee shop on the corner is open so I slip inside, heading straight to the restroom and locking the door behind me before I pull out my phone and call Papá. He answers on the first ring.
“Mija, where are you? Elena said you and Leo didn’t come home last night. Is something wrong?” His voice is strident and commanding, yet somehow still gentle.
“Gustavo’s alive, Papá. He has Leo and Maddox. I don’t know what he’s going to do with them, but I couldn’t stay . . .” My voice starts to shake and I struggle to keep my shit together.
“Where are you? Tell me and I’ll send Amon to get you.”
“I’m at the coffee shop on the corner by Marcella’s studio.”
“Go to St. Bartholomew’s and wait there. It’s only one block from where you are now.”
“All right,” I say, picturing the grand architecture of the Catholic church we occasionally attended when I was a child.
“Good. I’m conferencing Amon in. Leave the line open for me. As soon as I reach Amon, I’m coming home.”
“Thank you.”
I tuck my phone in my pocket without ending the call and slip out of the restroom, ignoring the irritated looks of the baristas when I leave without buying a coffee.
Back outside, I walk as briskly as I can down the rain-soaked sidewalks and make
