Page 12 of Liar
“Yes. Perhaps more so.”
“What has he said about me? About the Lobos?”
My throat tightens. This man is a cartel boss. As much as I appreciate his help, I hate him taking an interest in my brother. I want our lives to go back to the way things were before Diego decided on this insanity. “He speaks highly of you.” Until tonight, the very idea of Diego becoming a cartel member was as foreign as the American-invented taco salad. It leaves a foul, stale taste in the mouth that’s hard to shake.
Hayden pins me with a stare. “You don’t want him to join me?”
I try not to broadcast my dislike except I’ve never been good at hiding my emotions. Even if I tried, I get the feeling this man would see straight through me. So, I fall back on honesty. “Diego doesn’t have the right temperament for being in a cartel.” I square my shoulders. “And I need him home. With me.”
“Home ... in Loreto?”
I nod. “Where else?”
“How long do you think someone like your brother can survive without being affiliated to one of us?”
My skin warms with a flush as his eyes flicker over me. He’s dangerous, and in an entirely different way than expected. I feel the pull of him, an undeniable magnetism that tempts me in a way I’ve never before been tempted. It speaks to my reckless streak. It makes me consider throwing caution to the wind.
The slight curl of his lips tells me he notices it, too.
It takes every ounce of strength to shake it off. “Promise me you won’t press Diego into joining you.”
“You said so yourself, your brother has a mind of his own.”
He stalks over to a small refrigerator, grabs two Coronas, moves to the couch, and flops down next to me.
“Promise.”
“Sometimes what’s best isn’t what you want. Sometimes it’s best to play the hand you’re dealt. I’ll do what’s necessary, that’s all I can promise you.”
My eyebrows raise. It’s not so much what he’s saying but the underlying frustration within his tone. It makes me wonder if he’s living a life not of his choosing, if he’s living a life where he’s playing the hand he’s been dealt.
“You can do whatever you want.”
“I do what’s necessary. There’s a difference.” He lifts his beer to his lips and drinks deeply.
I resist the temptation to touch his arm, to offer comfort for whatever is bothering him. Instead, I press on. “I don’t understand.”
“Better that you don’t.”
“But you’re the boss. The Bastard, right?”
“No one calls me that to my face.”
“Um, I’ve been calling you Bastard all night.”
“I’m making a lot of exceptions for you.” With a frown, he offers me a beer. “Here.”
“I don’t drink,” I inform him. “Except for an occasional sangria.”
“Might as well make tonight a night of firsts.”
“What do you mean by that?” I murmur, wondering at the irony in his tone.
He sighs. “Take it. We’ll drink while we wait.”
I do as he commands. He has this authoritative way about him that makes one sit up and take notice. If I hadn’t been so busy sitting up and taking notice on everything else about the handsome cartel leader, I might have picked up on who he really is.
But who is he, really?
