Even if I did try to back out, no one’s safety was guaranteed at this point. Daniel was intent on overthrowing Raúl’s boss. My refusal to cooperate wouldn’t change that. All it would accomplish was keeping Carmen locked away, allowing her to suffer because of my cowardice.
I blinked up at Raúl, struggling to see his rough-hewn face one last time before I fled. Tears blurred my vision, but I could still make out his frown.
“I’m sorry.” My soft, anguished apology was barely more than a whisper.
“You don’t need to be afraid,” he promised on a low rumble. “I’ll keep you safe.”
I nodded numbly, not daring to speak again. The thick lump in my throat would’ve rendered me mute, anyway.
Raúl couldn’t keep me safe. Not anymore. Once he realized my betrayal, he’d hate me forever.
Chapter 2
Raúl
The sight of Marisol’s tears knotted something at the center of my chest. Her distress disturbed me in a way that was entirely unfamiliar and deeply unpleasant.
I’d endured weeks of agonizing self-denial, forcing myself to focus solely on her safety rather than succumbing to my physical desires. In that time, protecting her had become my obsession.
She’d become my obsession: pretty, fragile Marisol. The first pretty, fragile thing I’d ever managed to shelter rather than shatter in my rough, greedy hands.
My jaw ticked, and I swallowed a growl. I should’ve killed Daniel for touching her, for scaring her. If she hadn’t soothed the animal in me with her soft sighs and sweet submission, I probably would’ve gone after him and finished the job.
I’d made an oath, issued an edict: No one touches her.
That slimy little bastard had made me break my promise.
I continued tracing her entrancing features with gentle brushes of my fingertips, attempting to calm her. Everything about her was delicate and enticing, from the gentle slope of her nose to the rosebud perfection of her lush lips. Her heart-shaped face and golden skin enhanced her soft beauty, and when she peeked up at me through her thick, dark lashes, her rich chocolate eyes melted something at the center of my chest.
When I’d first been tasked with guarding my meek hostage, I’d watched her closely to make sure no man harassed her. After my first vicious example of what would happen to anyone who dared to defy my protective claim over her—when I’d murdered a man with my bare hands for trying to molest her—no one had approached her.
But I couldn’t stop watching. My skittish captive was beautiful. Tempting.
For the first time in my life, I didn’t simply take what I wanted. My first and only act of goodness was protecting my vulnerable, lost little lamb. I was the person who kept her safe—the only man who could keep her safe.
Honoring my self-tormenting oath, I hadn’t touched her in the darkest ways I craved. To spare myself further frustration, I’d limited contact to an absolute minimum. Although I’d never allowed myself to do more than brush my hand against hers, the gentle touches always brought a small, cautious smile to her sensual lips.
She never smiled for anyone else. Only for me.
My gut tightened with a new, strange hunger that was more than sexual desire. I liked when she looked at me with those warm, melted chocolate eyes; as though she saw a shred of goodness in me.
I hated the sight of her lovely eyes wet with tears. I tried to stem the flow with gentle strokes of my thumbs, but the tender touch that’d made her open for me like a flower didn’t seem to comfort her. If anything, my continued contact was making her cry harder.
My stomach twisted. I definitely didn’t like that.
Daniel. This was all his fault. Marisol was obviously traumatized by his assault, and our intense kiss had happened immediately after that frightening encounter.
I took a breath and forced myself to release her. Judging by her wild, lustful reaction to my domineering hands on her curvy little body, there was no doubt that she’d been just as swept up in our fiery chemistry as I was. She simply needed space to recover from what’d happened with Daniel.
I didn’t want her to think I was like him. I wouldn’t allow her to regret anything that happened between us.
Because now that I’d felt her melt in my arms, there was no going back. Marisol would be mine.
My fists flexed at the thought of Daniel trying to claim what belonged to me. It wasn’t too late to change my mind about killing the bastard. I could still crush the life out of him. More slowly next time.
She shivered in the absence of my embrace, looking so small and breakable that it took every ounce of my limited control to prevent myself from wrapping my arms around her once again.
“I’m sorry,” she repeated, the apology hitching in her throat.
Despite her distress, my tension eased. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” I promised. “You’re safe with me, corderita.”
My little lamb should be terrified of me, but she wasn’t. Against all odds, I’d become her protector. My brutal hands served a purpose that wasn’t simply the selfish destruction of whatever and whoever stood in the way of what I wanted: money, power, security.
I wanted Marisol, but I wouldn’t destroy her. I’d never allow anyone to harm her.
Daniel Vera was as good as dead.
Daniel was late. Or maybe he’d simply decided not to come to the meeting Stefano had called. Maybe the arrogant little shit had finally learned he wasn’t entitled to whatever he wanted.
My fists clenched at the memory of his hands on Marisol, groping and violating. Defiling.
She’d been too distressed for me to murder him in front of her, but I would finish the job somewhere out of her sight; somewhere I could take my time meting out my retribution.
I needed to let Stefano know what I planned before I could act, but I doubted the cartel kingpin would object. Daniel irritated Stefano with his arrogance and stupidity. The kid was already one more insult away from death, anyway.
His family might command money and resources that were valuable to the cartel, but Stefano Duarte hadn’t taken his place as king by allowing slights to go unpunished.
When Carlos Vera died from a heart attack three months ago, Daniel had inherited his father’s wealth. The bastard didn’t yet understand that wealth didn’t necessarily give him power. He’d automatically taken his father’s place at the head of his family, stepping into Stefano Duarte’s inner circle as a matter of birthright.
But Stefano had come from nothing. I’d come from nothing. Power was commanded by ruthless men who took it for themselves. Soft, pampered princes like Daniel either learned that quickly or died.
Stefano let out a calculated sigh. The quiet sound of disappointment immediately captured the attention of every man in the room. “I’d hoped Daniel would come to understand the importance of respect, especially after our recent conversation,” he lamented to no one in particular, swirling the mezcal in his heavy crystal glass. He leaned back in his black leather, wingback armchair, occupying the seat like a throne.
Every nuance of his expressions and mannerisms was carefully crafted to utterly command and control the people around him. He was the scariest fucker I’d ever met. Not because he was physically intimidating, but because he was cleverer and colder than anyone I knew.