Page 78 of Tainted Blood

“Get out,” he hisses at Sam and Reece who are standing either side of me. “Take the next one. I’d like to speak with my wife in private.”

“You’re still a piece of shit, Carrera,” Sam snarls, taking a threatening step forward. “No matter how many times you saved her life.”

“You can thank me for saving your own life anytime you like,” he snaps back, standing aside to let him exit. “You and I need words too, but I’ll deal with you in a moment.”

“Please, Reece,” I say quietly, turning to my bodyguard. “I’ll come straight back down.”

The Irishman complies with a scowl, shoulder barging Santi on his way out. Santi barely flinches. He’s still devouring me with his dark gaze.

Stepping into the space they left, he lets the doors close behind him. As the carriage starts to rise, he slams his fist against the alarm and the whole thing staggers to a stop. He crowds me against the nearest wall and wraps his fingers around the base of my neck.

“I miss you, muñequita.”

“I miss you too,” I whisper, his nearness sending my senses into a tailspin. The pulse between my thighs is a throbbing live wire.

“I told you I love you. I’ll make it enough for us.”

“I need something for myself first, Santi. I need to feel more than just a victim.”

He slams his other fist into the space above my head. “You’re making me hate you.”

“No, Santi,” I argue. “That’s just love gripping her claws even deeper into you.”

“Tell me you feel the same way,” he demands, brushing his lips against my cheek. “Tell me I’m your salvation. Give me a lie to hold on to, because right now, I’m finding too much comfort at the bottom of a bottle of Añejo.”

“I feel the same way,” I say, tipping my head back as he moves lower with his mouth, toward my collarbone. “That’s not a lie. I loved you in the darkness, Santi Carrera, and I’ll love you in the light.”

“Siempre.”

With a strangled groan, he steps back, and rams his fist against the alarm button.

The carriage continues to rise.

When the doors open, Edier’s already there waiting. He slides a questioning look between us as Santi steps out, without so much as a backward glance at me.

When I make the return journey, it’s with tears of confusion in my eyes.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Santi

I’m in a New York state of mind… Drunk, agitated, and lonely.

Yet again, RJ and I are parked across the street from Thalia’s old apartment, watching a whole lot of nothing, and drinking a whole lot of tequila.

I find perpetual inebriation eases the sting of rejection.

Some people drink to dull their pain. Others drink to wallow in it. Me? I drink to keep the bullets inside my gun and my temper in check. It’s why my inner circle doesn’t bother with an intervention. The drunker I am, the easier their jobs, and less blood stains Legado’s pristine floors.

Which is a good thing considering I’m one lawsuit away from setting fire to the damn thing myself.

Ignoring the side-eye from the driver’s seat, I stare up at Thalia’s apartment, drinking from the half-empty bottle of tequila until my lungs burn. I have no idea what day it is, or how many bottles I’ve had… I lost track somewhere around day five and bottle four. Taking onboard Lola’s advice, I’d agreed to give her time—to let the seeds scatter, or whatever the analogy my sister used—and I was upholding it… Until I saw her in that elevator again, and all my good intentions went to hell.

Now, I’m back at square one, and drinking more than ever. Not that it’s slowing me down. Day after day, I wake up with a hangover and a mission, only to pass out with a dozen false leads and double vision. It’s two steps forward, four steps back, because this motherfucker Zaccaria is like a goddamn chameleon.

The moment we track him somewhere, he blends in and disappears.

Between my obsession with my enemy and my concern for my wife, my blood type has gone from AB to Añejo.

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