Page 41 of Bad Blood
I’ll give it to him; the man is efficient as hell. Not only that, he takes pride in molding even the simplest acts of violence into a work of art.
“Maybe some other time.”Because if Bardi is telling the truth, there will be many more opportunities.“What about the other thing?”
RJ offers a hesitant nod, his fists clenching.Jesus.The man has zero poker face. He wears his disapproval like a cheap suit. If body language had a voice, RJ’s would be a string of obscenities hurled right in my face.
He thinks I’m making a mistake. If anyone should be ready and willing to charge into battle, it should be him. After all, Dante Santiago murdered his birth father in cold blood—a brutal act that left him orphaned at three years old.
RJ Harcourt would probably be dead right now if myTiáAdriana andTíoBrody hadn’t taken him in, eventually “adopting” him. I don’t care that he grew up in Houston. His loyalty is tied to a falsified document buried deep within the Mexican border.
“Wipe the judgment off your face,” I warn. “Your job is to be my second, not my conscience.”
He scoffs. “You don’t have one.”
“Something you should keep in mind,primo.” The stressed “cousin”isn’t a familial term of endearment. It’s a subtle reminder. When he doesn’t respond, I take that as a silent acquiescence. “Good, then I’ll expect everything to go as planned later. I want double the security.” At his raised eyebrow, I palm the back of my neck in frustration. “In case two cold feet try to do something stupid.”
He knows how to read between the lines. There will be no runaway bride today.
Leaving him to handle the details, I turn back toward the front desk, only to collide with a five-foot three tornado, holding a steel crutch like a Samurai Warrior.
Shoving a hand through my hair, I exhale a sigh. “We need to work on your inability to follow instructions.”
“What the hell was that all about?” she demands, jabbing the rubber-tipped end of the crutch into my chest.
I know she heard pieces of our conversation. The real question is, how many, and were they enough to cause a problem. I have no doubts where my sister’s loyalty lies. However, I don’t trust women. I especially don’t trust women with commonalities.
Two cartel princesses.
Two daughters of sin.
Two women whose lives are controlled by the very power that created them.
I’ve already determined it’s best if Lola is introduced to her new sister-in-lawafterthe ink dries on our marriage certificate.
“Business,” I answer curtly. By the way her lip curls, I might as well have told her we were trading DIY tips. I’m both irritated and impressed. She’s acting like a Carrera. Which is exactly the problem.She’s acting like a Carrera—suspicious, ruthless, and relentless in getting what she wants.
“Don’t give me that bullshit ‘cartel king’ rhetoric. I was shot in the leg, not the head.”
I look away to keep from laughing.
“It’s not funny!” The crutch jabs deeper into my sternum. “I’m serious, damn it.”
I am, too. Keeping my impending nuptials from my sister is a strategic move, not a punitive one. Eventually, I’ll have to inform my parents of my actions—and weather the repercussions. It’s safer for Lola if she’s as blindsided as the rest of my family.
My father will condemn my methods. A lethal storm will make its way across the border, and the less of an accessory Lola is to my crime, the less of a chancepapá’slittle girlwill get swept into its path. Besides, she’d only try to talk me out of it—which we both know would be a waste of time. Once I make a decision, I don’t waver. The first domino has been tipped, and the chain reaction is already in play.
There’s no stopping an avalanche once it crests the top of a mountain.
Gripping the steel rod of Lola’s crutch, I calmly push it away from my chest, lowering it between us until balance forces her to drop it onto the floor. “I’m serious too,chaparrita. You’re my secretary, not my business partner. If information is needed to do your job, I’ll tell you.”
It comes out harsher than I intended, butmyjob is to ensure her safety, not to stroke her ego.
“Does this have something to do with Thalia Santiago?” Lola’s matter-of-fact delivery catches me off guard.
“What makes you think that?”
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe common sense? I was there in the control room, remember? I stood right behind you when you saw her face on that surveillance screen. You whispered her name under your breath, for Christ’s sake.”
“Dios mío, Lola!” Pressing my hand to her lower back, I gently but firmly maneuver her toward the elevators.
