Page 51 of Bastard
“Luciana.”
Disappointment sets in. It seems all I’ll be left with from this exchange will be two intense orgasms and my name.
“They’re dead. My man killed them.”
My eyes go wide at his furious tone. Dios, he isn’t unaffected by what his men did. Not at all.
He lifts off me and tugs me up with him, wrapping a towel around me then nudging me toward the door.
“Hayden,” I whisper.
“Get some sleep. We leave at six a.m.”
Back to business, is he? As if the scent of me doesn’t linger on his breath.
I’m unsteady on my feet, drunk on sangria, sex, and the tiniest, slightest bit of hope. With great effort, I push forward. Yet I can’t resist one more look.
I turn to find him standing there, facing me but with eyes off in the distance. Barefoot, in bathing trunks, and shirtless.
It’s the moonlight’s bold rays that help me see it.
A series of loose, black ink spirals circle the left side of his chest. A tornado with a short, slightly curved line reaching upward. A few centimeters to the right are two curves, that together, resemble a heart. A small blotch of ink marks the heart’s center. It’s a beautiful, dark tattoo.
Feminine, I think,except for the upside down tornado.
I’m halfway to my room before my mind sees it more clearly.
Hayden’s tattoo.
Is adancer.
16
“Boss says you’re good with locks.”
I stop in my tracks to look at the man in a group of men surrounding me. We’ve flown by helicopter to a Kenyan wildlife preserve, where we’ll be staying overnight before continuing to Cape Town. The preserve is like something you read about in fancy travel magazines. Steep, winding staircases lead upward to private huts nestled high within the tree line. Bird’s-eye views of the awe-inspiring landscape below can be seen from any room. I’ve arrived at a magazine shoot, complete with muscled men more dangerous than the animals that roam the area.
Despite Hayden’s absence, his men seem to trust me.
“Locks? Yes. What else has he told you?” It’s surprising Hayden’s said anything about me.
“That if anything happens to you, we’ll pay the consequence for it.”
“Will he meet us here or in Cape Town?” My evasive ex esposo didn’t share with me that this many men would accompany us. I assumed it’d be him and me. I also thought he’d be at my side.
“He’s handling last-minute details but is expected to arrive late tonight.”
Disappointment washes over me. Last night was a revelation. The sex. The things he said. That tattoo. Every moment has run on replay within my mind. Yet the rational side of me says to be cautious. To not repeat the same mistakes of the past—specifically, to not allow him to become the focal point of my world.
“Don’t look like that. He’ll be here.”
I grimace, unsure what was written on my expression. I need to not be thinking about him if I’m to succeed in this assignment.
“Boss plans everything out. The job will go smoothly, you’ll see.”
I refrain from commenting about my complicated relationship with their boss or on how I’m well aware of Hayden’s controlling nature.
“Boss is hardcore, but he gets things done. Our work may be ugly, but the world is a better place for it.” The men nod in agreement.
