Page 674 of One More Kiss

Chapter3

I’m notsure what’s worse, getting smeared in icky gore or hearing Elias enjoy his breakfast. Schizophrenic asshole.

When a willowy henchman with a short ponytail drops off the cleaning supplies, Tomás scowls at the debris like his stomach is on fire. Then he promptly disappears, his smart dress shoes clipping the tiled floor until the sound can no longer be heard.

He and his goon leave me all alone with his trigger-happy father of death.

While I maneuver on my stiff knees with wrists still secured, Elias is unaccompanied at the head of the table. He sips his morning coffee and peruses the El Tiempo newspaper. The beast sits in freakish silence, unperturbed by the fact a guy’s brain mottles his pristinely plastered walls.

Aside from the swoosh of brown water in a basin, the atmosphere in the sunny room is otherwise serene.

My mind flits to the life I had before all this. How I went under the knife to remove a gross birth mark on my top lip when I was fourteen. Before the rare opportunity to undergo cosmetic surgery had presented itself, I was a troubled teen who hated everyone—or just the sheen of horror and pity they projected when we met.

In the early years, my mother blamed herself for the grotesque blight I was born with. Eventually, she gave up sheltering me from demons, claiming it was character building. And that it was. From the forked tongues on the playground to the internal self-loathing I drowned in.

I was the defective daughter. The ugly child. The cursed girl with zero hopes of ever finding love. My grades slipped and my bedroom became a bunker from the cruel verbal missiles, the name calling—and the beautiful world where I didn’t fit in.

We couldn’t afford the cost of reconstructive surgery, not until I hit rock bottom, and a ghost swooped in to save me. Friendships were a myth I wished to be real, and seclusion turned into a safe haven. Whereas boyfriends—they were something I’d never have.

Once the surgeon at the private jungle Oasis where my brother worked had cut away the growth and subtly plumped my lips with a little filler, he became an ally—an older, wiser man with no ulterior motive other than educating me.

Jackson taught me the art of sewing sutures on unconscious patients and how to prick thin veins with long needles. He trained me to help others at their most vulnerable. I liked knowing they were oblivious to my assistance, that I could be useful without scrutiny.

When I wasn’t playing nurse, I helped the cleaning crew in the medical facility. I took an order and carried out the task without the need for conversation. On the odd day when there were bodily fluid spills, I rolled up my sleeves and sterilized the clinic. It was dirty work, but I enjoyed a mental escape from a life I was trying to repair. It gave me a purpose, a function, and space to consider the future.

El Fantasma, the king of his jungle hideaway and my brother’s employer, gave me the precious gift of ambition. He nudged me out of the darkness and offered tactics on how to survive it.

A stabbing pain spikes through my heart, splicing it with both sadness and anger. The mournful sensation forces me to stop mopping goopy plasma. I inhale slowly and let the emotions wash over me. Nothing good would come from a meltdown in front of Elias Souza, the heartless bastard.

The older man I accidentally befriended gave me a second chance—a satisfying place in the world. And now, absorbing the fact none of them can come for me, presses heavily on my heart with the weight of a thousand sorrows.

This struggle for survival is my own. I’m trapped in a lion's den with only the filthy clothes I was stolen in.

No one is coming to save me.

El Fantasma had warned how hunters wear duplicitous masks. Unbeknown to either of us, his wise words were in preparation for this very day. No matter the hazardous attraction festering in my core, Elias and Tomás are my enemies.

I finally erase all traces of the ghastly murder. It had only taken me thirty-three minutes. I know this because the second Tomás had turned his back on his father’s request to join him at the table, I spied the clock on the mantle.

My nerves are on edge waiting for him to return with those long lean legs and searching dark eyes. How can my dumb character radar be so mangled? Perhaps it’s the after-effects of sedatives, the last dregs of poison distorting this harsh reality.

It doesn't matter if his masculinity makes my heart hammer. He has an agenda, to extract information from me at any cost. After that, no amount of spark can save me from this ruthless family.

“Why are you standing there, girl?” Elias glances over at me, purposefully folding the corner of his paper to see me.

I roll my stiff shoulders. “I’m finished.”

He cocks a skeptical brow. “If my son finds even a drop of remnants, he’ll throw you to my dear old tigers. They'd enjoy an extra femur or two.”

“It’s clean.” I confirm, double checking my hard work with a quick glance.

The tiles might sparkle better than they did before the Mexican hit them, but my clothes are a canvas, steeped in mortality. The thought of it makes me gag.

He glowers at me like I'm the evil in the room, not him. “Well then, you’d better stand there quietly.” Flicking the paper to hide his face, he adds, “Tomás has an inherent skill for extricating information from liars. You won’t survive his talents. When you picked the wrong side to work for, you lost immediately.”

“I’m not on anyone's side. Maria’s men kidnapped me. She’s your enemy, not me.”

Black and white paper crumples in his fingers. “You are my enemy, girl. Don’t think my eldest son will fall victim to your doe-eyed beauty, or your schoolgirl innocence. He was raised better than that. The next time you and I meet, I guarantee it won’t be in the living world—and you’ll be dying first—that’s a promise. Once Tomás learns the truth, everyone you love will die, too.” The promise of his threat slithers over my skeleton, squeezing it tighter around organs. “You come for me. I come for your whole fucking family.”

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