Page 62 of Shameless in Vegas

Once we’re in the bedroom, I keep my hand on her back as she makes her way into the en suite, and then only let go to start the bath.

Natalia stands stiffly next to one of the large vanities, her arms wrapped around herself and making no move to start undressing. “You can go relax,cariño.I can do this myself.”

After checking the water temperature with my hand, I stand up straight and peer at her. “You sure? I don’t mind.”

She merely nods.

I resist the urge to squint at her.

Maybe she’s just legitimately sick and doesn’t want an audience while she pukes. I totally get that, so I see myself out.

“Holler at me if you need anything.”

“Thank you, Joaquin.”

I offer a nod, and then eyeball her as I pull the French doors shut.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I can’t help trying to decipher the sounds from inside the en suite. It’s pretty much just the faucet running for a long time while the tub fills, but once that shuts off, I hear the faint sound of water swirling like she really is just in the bath, so I recline on the bed and try to relax.

Until…

The phone.

If she’s going to be in there for a while, I should check the secret phone.

Sitting back up, I shove my hand between the mattress and box spring, sweeping it back and forth until I make contact with it. I listen closely for activity from the bath for another few seconds, and then pull out the phone.

Nowthatis fucking strange.

There’s not a single new message or new call in the call history since the ones on the day she totally duped Papá into giving her the info about his investments and then lied to Xavier about it. I have no idea what that means. And what’s more is if there are no new messages, I have no additional information that could help me figure out if she’s reallyjustworking with the cartel, or if she’s embedded with them as a spy, or if she’s trying to turn this assignment against them and get the money herself.

I rack my brain as I scroll through the messages for the umpteenth time trying to find anything that might be a giveaway forsomething. But I’m still just as clueless about thirty minutes later, and then a sound from inside the en suite catches my attention.

A deep, quiet moan.

The kind I have heard Natalia uttera lot. Seems odd, but maybe a little self-pleasure is just what the doctor ordered for this stomachache of hers.

Hey, no judgement here. Treat yo’ self, girl.

But at the same time, the sound of it breathes life into my cock, and I’m feeling a little left out.Also, maybe I can even give her ahand, if you catch my drift.

Smirking to myself, I stash the phone back in its hiding place, once again ignoring the absurdity of my real-life version ofSleeping with the Enemy, and I push off the bed to approach the en suite. There’s another moan as I place my hand on the door knob and push it open, but the sight of Natalia immediately informs me that I one-hundred-percent misinterpreted that moan.

She’s no longer in the tub, and is now standing in front of the mirror, stark naked and turning to one side as she inspects her stomach and back.

Black and blue and sickly purple and red abrasionsall overher torso.

Like someone beat the ever-living shit out of her.

“Holy fuck,” I bark without even thinking, eyes wide as I gape at her, “what the fuck happened to you?”

She sucks in a gasp, whipping around and blindly grabbing a towel to cover herself.“Get out!”

“Fuckthat!” I lunge toward her and jerk the towel away, then grab her shoulders. “What the hell happened to you?”

She wriggles out of my grasp, grabbing the towel and snapping it out of my hands with a surprising amount of force. “Ifell. Getoutof here!”

A quick, inane laugh catapults out of my throat. “Youfell? Like mother fuckingfuck, youfell,Natalia. All ofthatdid not happen because of a fuckingfall, unless you fell down fifty fucking flights of fuckingstairs.” I reach to hold her arms again, but she pivots and leaps across the en suite with the agility of a friggin’ ninja. “Someone fucking beat the hell out of you, sowhat—”

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