Page 12 of Tainted Truth

I blink at Rio’s enthusiasm and the fact that this man has four sisters. Four. One, two, three, four. Four! I’m an only child, but holy shit!

Dear God, please don’t make them mean sisters. I’m already confused enough as it is about all this shit.

My eyes wander to Asher. He’s staring out the window, and it takes more effort than I care to admit to not take it personally. Maybe he just likes the scenery and isn’t purposefully keeping his attention as far away from me as possible.

But the probability of that is low.

His disinterest only fuels the anger that started when I looked in Zane’s fucking closet.

Fuck these guys.

I mean, you’ve already fucked one of them.

I internally roll my eyes at the annoying voice in my head that may or may not be correct.

The rest of the drive goes by in silence except for the Latin Pop music lightly streaming from the speakers. Rio had won control of the music in a game of rock, paper, scissors with Zane.

We come to a stop in front of a modest, two-story home with light gray vinyl siding and white shutters. A short, chain link fence marks the property lines, and a few simple brown brick steps lead to the front door. The rose bushes along the fence give the home an extra touch of welcome. I imagine a little Rio with dark hair running around the small front lawn, giving his mother grief and laughing while he does it. I smile at the image.

“I love it when you smile like that, Angel.”

A frown immediately takes over my face, but my protest has the opposite effect when Rio and Zane chuckle. Even Asher is smirking.

Fucking men.

I lean back in my seat, fold my arms over my chest, and ignore the idiots around me.

While I’m stewing in my anger, my door opens, and I’m hauled into a warm firm chest. Horny Spencer swoons, but I keep a scowl on my face even though I’m dying to lean into the solid body. But when I glance up and see blond hair, it’s not that hard to keep the scowl in place.

Asher doesn’t let me pull away. “Calm down, Princess.”

With a tight expression, I retort, “Don’t you know not to tell a woman to calm down? She will always do the opposite.”

The challenging look Asher gives me would probably terrify me if I didn’t know him better. But I do know him . . . kind of.Either way, his “I’m a badass FBI agent” face doesn’t make me cower.

“Vamos, tórtolos,” Rio says in jest.Come on, lovers.“If we don’t go inside, my mom will come out looking for us.”

Another tug and I’m free, but my breath hitches at the loss of his warmth. I follow Rio and Asher up the front steps with Zane trailing behind me. Nice and secure between my captors—also known as my boyfriends—where I’m sure they’ll keep me for the foreseeable future.

When we enter the house I’m overwhelmed with smells of cilantro, cumin, and chili powder. Tears threaten to make an appearance as I’m assaulted with a flood of memories of Abuela making dishes like pozole and chicken enchiladas. I keep my head down, eyes glued to the light wood flooring, hoping no one will notice, because this is not how I want to be introduced to Rio’s family.

Talk about embarrassing.

Before we get through the entryway, Zane snags my hand in a gentle grasp and spins me around. I don’t flinch or try to yank away as he checks me over from my glossy eyes to my sneakers. I don’t know what he’s searching for, but it’s like he gives my heart a hard tug with his attention.

Zane reaches a hand to my face and cradles my cheek in his palm. “Don’t cry, Angel. Everything will be okay. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

I don’t like that he always knows what I need and what to say to make me want to jump into his arms. But then I remember what I found in his closet, and the moment abruptly ends.

Zane’s brows pull together, and his head tilts to the side. “What?—”

“Don’t,” I cut him off in a firm tone and stomp away in the direction I think Asher and Rio went.

I find myself in a simple, updated kitchen with white and gray marble countertops, light gray cabinetry, and signs that say things like “Kiss the Cook,” “I Can Fix Anything but Stupid,” and “Made With Love.” A golden oak table sits by the back window, with matching chairs surrounding it.

Rio stands at the stove, tying on a simple apron. But the words on it are not simple and not what I was expecting. It reads, “Once you put my meat in your mouth, you’re gonna want to swallow,” with a picture of a steak at the bottom.

I belt out a laugh, and Rio laughs along with me. “I’m so happy you like it.”

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