Page 3 of Born Free

This night is messing with my head.

Andres Badillo.

I’m the only person in his life that knows Roman’s biggest secret: that he doesn’t remember anything from before his Resurrection.

Not even his own name.

Yet Orlando has dropped it on us like it isn’t earth-shifting news for Roman.

My eyes immediately flick over to him, studying his reaction.

Roman gives none.

“I’m not so sure it’s nice to meet you yet, but, you know,” I shrug, “it’s what you’re supposed to say.” I shake Orlando’s outstretched hand.

He smiles again, a dangerous, sly thing. “I like her, Andres. And it doesn’t surprise me one bit you ended up with her. But I don’t see rings on any fingers. What’s the hold-up?”

“You like beating around the bush and making things awkward, don’t you?” I can’t help but call him out.

He grins again, almost pleased at my candor. “Just feeling out the situation. From the way you two are acting, I’d guess what’s going on between you is new?”

Damn. I don’t like his ability to read the truth this easily.

“So, am I not supposed to ask why the hell you’re shirtless in the middle of winter, brother?” Orlando moves on. “Why there’s blood on your back? And why Antonio is suddenly missing?”

“You said you needed to speak to me,” Roman says, entirely ignoring Orlando’s question. Though, from the look in Orlando’s eyes, he knows exactly what befell Antonio, why Roman is shirtless and bloody. “Tell me what it is you want so we can get you on your way as soon as possible.”

Orlando’s eyes darken with offense, sliding to meet the twins to his own vivid blue eyes. He stands there, evaluating, cold, contempt radiating off of him, for a solid sixty seconds. Finally, he turns abruptly and walks to the living room. Javier follows after him, putting himself between Orlando and Roman.

Orlando takes a seat in one of the white chairs in my living room. There’s something about the way he sits, the way he takes up every bit of space in it, his arms stretched out along the armrests. He isn’t sitting with any insanely perfect posture—in fact, he looks quite relaxed. But the way he sits, you’d think that chair was a throne.

“Why don’t you sit, brother, and we can speak civilly,” he says, not an invitation.

No one, absolutely no one, tells Roman what to do.

So I take the lead. I walk into the living room, which makes Roman move as my shadow. I sink down onto the green velvet couch and, nearly glued to my entire side, wound as tight as a spring, Roman sits beside me.

The man accompanying Orlando chooses to stand, positioned to defend Orlando in a second.

Bodyguard, then. An extremely loyal one.

Orlando’s eyes fix on Roman, and another thirty seconds of evaluation pass without anyone saying a word. I feel the tension building in the room. I feel the danger becoming real. One ticking second at a time.

“You don’t remember a damn thing, do you?” Orlando says, so casual and simple, a statement of fact.

My face goes cold.

Damn. We are going to have to be so, so careful around this man.

“What makes you say that?” Roman asks, playing it cool and casual, though serious as the grave.

A smile pulls on the left side of Orlando’s mouth. He shakes his head, a sign of disbelief. “We might not have seen each other in twenty-four years, Andres, but we were brothers for twenty-six years before that. After our last interaction, after the way we left things…” He shakes his head. “You’re a man of war, Andres. There’s no way you would leave me with all my limbs, even if it was just over a woman.”

The hair on my body stands on end.

I’d once asked Roman if he’d ever been in love. He’d told me no, not that he could remember.

But there’s the simple fact: Roman did indeed have a life before he Resurrected.

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