Page 52 of Dirty Lyrics
just you inside me, breaking my heart.”
Tell me that’s not fire.
Tell me the world won’t go fucking insane when they hear me sing her words.
And the thought of laying them down on a track, of her sitting there in the booth, headphones on, watching me pour it all out?
Yeah, that’s the future.
Our future.
And as I make plans inside my head for how I want this song to go down, I think maybe I need another tattoo—her name right over my heart. Inspired by her lyrics.
Yeah. I’m gonna get that done. Gonna wear her name proudly for the whole world to see.
“Ready?” Maya asks, her amber eyes lit with that fire that always inspires me.
“Yeah, Mami, I’m ready,” I murmur, cupping her cheek and pressing my lips to hers, soft but sure.
I guide her inside, glaring at the bodyguards Chuy hired for today.
The Sigma guys will be here soon, but we figured this place was off the radar.
Private. Safe.
I was so fucking wrong.
Half an hour into our session, the fucking doors burst open.
A tall man with mismatched eyes and power pulsating around him like a fucking strobe light strides in, flanked by a wall of professional muscle.
The kind of presence that makes even seasoned security freeze for half a beat.
My blood turns to ice.
I’m not a criminal. I’m a singer.
But if anyone—anyone—ever tried to hurt my Maya, I’d become a goddamn animal.
Rip them apart with my bare hands if I had to.
My chair scrapes back hard. I’m already moving before I can think.
“What the fuck? Who the hell are you? Maya!”
Her name tears out of me. All my focus narrows to where she sits—pale, wide-eyed, clutching her belly.
I run to her.
The man tilts his head, cool and unbothered.
His mismatched eyes glint like a predator’s.
“You’re not seriously interested in her, are you?” he asks, voice low but carrying.
Rage spikes in me, pure and white-hot. “Interested? She’s my wife. And she’s pregnant. Por favor, don’t hurt mi esposa.”
My words tumble out in a mess of English and Spanish, frantic, raw.
