I spent months tailing Dominic. I want to see the shock flood his hypnotic gaze.
Today, I win!
A block away from the firm, my tires scream. A kid in a hoodie slams a hand onto the bumper of my car then jumps up the curb.
“Jesus,” I gasp.
I shake my head. He sprints through an alley, reaching up toward a brick wall. He’s climbed halfway up when his hand zips to his side. Clambering back down, he drops the hoodie. A mop of slick, dark hair obscures my view of his face as he lowers his head.
“Damn, I know the feeling, kid. All the walls around me are . . .”
My voice trails off. In slow motion, the teen glances back toward me.
“Hey!” I climb out of the car, recalling the smooth, bourgeoning El Santo-in training. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing, mami. ¡Vete!” The kid warns me to “go away,” spins around, and faces the wall. Did I see blood on his blue hoodie?
“Yasiel,” I recall his name. “How old are you? Shouldn’t you be at—”
“I said go, puta!” Yasiel screeches, heading toward the brick wall again.
An arm darkened by a multitude of tattoos wraps around my neck. It yanks me back so swiftly I bite my tongue. Another massive bicep curls around my arms, pinning them down.
“Let me go!”
Yasiel stops climbing up the wall. Head cocked, he seems to contemplate before he jumps down and spins around. Holding a hand to his side, he shouts, “Leave her alone!”
I’d been so focused on Yasiel that I didn’t notice that two SUVs had blocked my car in. More men surround us. Their accents are different, thicker . . . Colombian.
My fingernails chew into the forearms of the man holding me against him. My legs jostle into the air as he tugs me into an alley with Yasiel. While rushing toward me, another assailant slaps Dominic’s friend.
“I said, don’t touch her!” Yasiel snaps.
The kid has more nerve in his pinkie finger than I have in my entire, frozen body. I lack a voice to fight for myself.
The man holding me hisses, “You’re in the wrong neighborhood, puta!”
Yasiel spits, “This is my—”
My eyes widen as the other man slaps Yasiel again. They were chasing him.
“Tell your boss my boss wants his property back!” One guy kneels to an unflinching Yasiel.
Eyes aflame in defiance, the kid spits at him. His gumption revives me. I bite down on the Colombian’s arm. Seconds later, I’m drowning in darkness.
I awaken in a bright orange room, and my vision is blurred. The ceiling fan twirls vigorously, jumping to a rhythm. Worried green eyes come into view above my face. Half my mouth tips into a gnarly grin. My pounding head ruins the first genuine smile I’ve had in a while.
Only a select few people in this world regard me with such concern: Gramps, Siobhan, Shania, and Roslyn too.
Like a camera shutter, sliding into focus, a handsome face appears. I jolt into a seated position, swatting Dominic’s hand as he touches my shoulder. Charismatic—the thought pings into my mind. Serial killers are charming.
“Get away from me!” I growl. In less than a second, my eyes register all of him. Gold-plated chest muscles peek out the opening of his crisp linen shirt. Damn, the rest of the material glides smoothly across his shoulders and thick biceps. Stop it, Ari! Women have died following him.
“Ms. Jones, you were—”
“Assaulted,” I clip the word. “Drug dealers assaulted us.”
“Sí. The cops—”
“Because of you!”
“This is getting out of hand.” Dominic continues to cuss in Spanish beneath his breath, undoing another button. My eyes slink away from his chest. The magnetic pull to watch him starts to dissolve.
He’s also wearing tailored pants and shiny expensive shoes. I tell myself he’s not scrumptious. Hating him comes effortlessly once he calls me the unforgivable word in his native language.
“Call me crazy again. I dare you.”
I stand, and the world tilts, spinning, spiraling out of control. Placing a palm to my forehead, I step toward the bright light. I’ll choose the white light over El Santo.
Dominic growls in my ear, cursing under his breath, again mentioning how I was assaulted. I head toward the white light and bump into the screen door. He touches my arm.
“Wait, the police should be here soon.”
“Good! Tell them about the butterflies!”
“You are loca,” he snarls.
I yank the front door to his firm open and step outside. Stalking along the path toward the parallel parked cars, I argue over my shoulder. “Yeah? I’ll be crazy all the way to the po—”
“Mírame, por favor. Butterflies? Chula, you have a concussion!”
His argument spins me around, near the curb. “No, stop trying to paint me as some deranged, confused woman. And yes, butterflies. You searched my home again and found a photo of swallowtail butterflies.”
“What?”
“You damn sure know where you placed it, too, El Santo!”
Dominic’s gaze sparks with heated intensity. “Be rational, Aria.”
I jump back, out of his reach, a fraction away from falling off the curb. Moving into a wide-legged stance, in my peripheral, I notice cars sailing by. “I’m not arguing with you. I’m leaving.”
“Humor me.” He reaches for me again. Noticing I haven’t lost myself to his beauty, Dominic sighs, lowering his hands. In a deceptively mollified tone, he asks, “How do you know El Santo is Cubano and not another Latin race or white or black?”
“My friend’s, cousin’s ex—”
Dominic laughs. “Gossip!”
“Not gossip.”
“I’m not El—”
“You are. And you also almost got Yasiel murdered. What? Your drug dealer wants his payment?”
“My drug dealers,” he grits out, stepping toward me.
The tune of an ice cream truck turns on, beginning down the street. The melody mingles with the words being whispered in my ears.
“I’m not a stranger anymore, LeAnna. How about you join ReAnna and me for chocolate sundaes? We’re in luck. The truck is right over there. It has all the toppings in the universe. ReAnna said they’re your favorite too!”
I continue to back away, stepping off the curb. The past summons my return. Even in dreams, I’ll wake myself before this part. Pure and innocent, yet I had the intuition not to follow.
In my dreams, there weren’t honking horns. Only the perfect clash of oldies music, laughter, and the ice cream truck’s tune. Where are the horns coming from? My twin skipped away, hand in hand with the stranger, Sarah Beckett. They didn’t stop at the ice cream truck—they kept going.
Chapter Thirteen
Dominic
The attractive, deranged woman steps back. First, off the sidewalk, then Aria continues between two parallel cars. With each move, she’s placing herself in more peril.
“Stop, stop.” My hands are up palms out, in an attempt at peace. A sign I won’t touch her. “Aria!”
The ice cream truck passes, honking at Aria, a mere foot away. A driver in an SUV, who had failed at bypassing the ice cream truck, zips back into the lane. It veers away from oncoming traffic and toward Aria.