Chapter Seven
Adriana
The scotch smelled like Band-Aids soaked in disinfectant. I had no idea how he drank this shit.
Picking up the clear plastic cup, I popped the pills in my hand into my mouth and tossed back what was left, shuddering at the vile taste.
It tasted just as bad.
Crushing the flimsy cup in my hand, I crossed the tiny motel room and dropped it in the trash can. Then again, I was drinking cheap booze out of a plastic cup I found on the bathroom counter. I wasn’t exactly the epitome of class. I might as well have sipped Cristal from a salad bowl.
My father would roll over in his grave if he saw how low I’d sunk.
My father.
The words hit my chest, knocking the breath out of me. My lungs seized as if I’d run full speed into a brick wall. I groped the scalloped neckline of my dress, desperate for something to ground me to this room. Far away from the lies whispered to a little girl or the truth beaten into a defiant woman.
But this was reality, and the truth was, my father wouldn’t care what I’d become. He wouldn’t care because he wasn’t my father. He never had been.
The same numbness started to surface, and I closed my eyes and squeezed my fists by my hips, fighting it with every fiber of my being. I refused to drift in between worlds, hovering in that fragment of space where no light could penetrate.
A void. An abyss.
I squeezed my fists tighter, my nails digging hard into my palms. “No,” I whispered. “I won’t give you power. Not here. Not now.” Opening my eyes, I blinked a few times as the room came back into focus.
I was still here in this crap-ass motel room.
Slowly, I unclenched my fists and glanced down at my phone.
And he was late.
Running a hand down the front of my dress, I straightened the tight lacy material, and a small smile tugged at one corner of my mouth. The royal blue lace overlay hardly masked the body-hugging nude lining. It had better do the trick because I was running out of options.
Grabbing my phone off the stained red and lime green bedspread, I tossed it between my hands a few times and then checked the time.
9:36 p.m.
I had to give Brody points for self-control. After leaving Caliente a little after two o’clock, I would’ve bet money he’d have beaten my door down by at least four. Although, to be fair, the note I left wasn’t exactly inviting. I’d wanted to antagonize him. Maybe push his buttons a little.
I eyed the offensive scotch bottle sitting on the small table as the clock on my phone changed to 9:41 p.m. If he dragged out this pissing contest much longer, I might be tempted to drink more than a sip just to block out the image of the dark ring around the bathtub and the stains on the bed.
God, I missed having money.
I had just grabbed the last plastic cup from the bathroom and filled it with the vile liquid when the sound of repeated fists pounding on my door diverted my attention.
“Adriana! Adriana open this damn door right now, or I swear to God, I’ll break it down.”
For reasons I couldn’t explain, I smiled and swayed my hips, sashaying across the room until I was pressed against the cheap metal. Holding the bandage flavored disinfectant in one hand, I pressed the other against the door. “Who is it?”
“You know damn well who it is. Now open the door.”
I trailed a nail across the metal, and it scratched like nails on a chalkboard. “I’m sorry, I don’t answer the door for strangers. A lady can never be too careful, you know.”
“Adriana,” he warned, the low growl in his voice drawing me closer to the door until I pressed flush against it. “You’re staying in a motel that’s in the heart of a Carrera-run neighborhood. If you don’t open this fucking door by the count of three, I’m going to open fire on this lock and no one will give a shit. Do you understand me?”
My smile faded.
I did understand him, and I wanted to slam my head against the door for being so stupid. Yeah, I didn’t have the extra cash to go to a fancy hotel, but I should’ve remembered the Carreras had a lockdown on this part of town.
He was right. He could empty the gun in the door and me, and no one would bat an eye.
Moving quickly, I opened the door with a scowl. “You’re a real aguafiestas, you know that?”
Brody stood at the threshold with his palms braced against the molding. “Thanks. And you’re one hell of a perra tramposa.”
“I call you a buzzkill, and you have to take it over the line with sneaky bitch?”
“Be grateful,” he gritted through clenched teeth. “That was me censoring myself.”
My scowl deepened, but it didn’t stop me from taking him in. He was still dressed in the same half-destroyed button-up shirt and slacks as earlier but whereas before they just looked disheveled, now they appeared to have survived a three-day bender. One wrinkled sleeve was rolled up past his elbow while the other flapped loosely around his wrist. Only four, maybe five, buttons held the whole damn thing together, the others scattered on a breadcrumb trail from here to Caliente. But his clothes weren’t what tightened my chest and sent my pulse skyrocketing.
It was his face.
Brody clenched his jaw so hard, the muscles in his neck twitched, and a vein running down the center of his forehead throbbed with barely-restrained rage. He was more than pissed off. He was a man whose hands itched to feel the life drain from my body. Chills scattered over my skin, and for a moment, I considered backing off.
Then he opened his mouth.
“Drinking alone?” His lips curled in a smirk, and he nodded his head at the forgotten cup in my hand.
“Well, when in Rome…” I motioned to where he still stood in the doorway.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I assumed all the women who spend time in your company erase the memory with booze.” His face flushed a heated shade of crimson as I swung my hips back toward the table. Lifting the bottle of scotch in the air, I licked my lips and winked. “It’s your favorite, rock bottom scotch. I’m out of cups, but feel free to wrap your lips around the tip and suck.”
Okay, admittedly, maybe I took it too far. Way too far, because Brody stormed through the motel room like a charging bull and caged me against the table. His palms slammed against the wood on either side of my ass, and I fought hard not to breathe in the intoxicating scent of scotch and sage. But not the kind in my hand. I recognized indulgence when I smelled it. Single malt scotch, expensive as hell, and hard to come by. Paired with the rugged earthy sage scent of his cologne, the combined effect knocked me off track for a moment.
“Did you hear me?”
I blinked him back into focus. “Huh?”
He rolled his eyes. “I said, what the fuck did you do with Leo Pinellas?”
“Who?”
Brody shifted forward, the hard planes of his chest crushing my lace bodice. “Don’t play innocent, Adriana. It doesn’t suit you. After I read your little love note, I had one of my men go to the Mexican Embassy to check on him. He never returned from his lunch break, so I told them to check his apartment. I’m sure it comes as no surprise to you he wasn’t there either.”
I set my drink down with a shrug. “Why are you asking me? Isn’t he your stool pigeon?”