She didn’t, and, of course, it wasn’t. It hadn’t been for years.
I was a criminal trained to ignore emotion. However, a man couldn’t hide from the ghosts inside him, and the mind was a trapdoor just waiting to drop out from under his feet. For four years, every petite woman with hair like wheat and an angelic face sent me crashing into my own personal hell again.
Because of her.
My Star.
“Where the hell is my beer?” I growled, my mood tanking.
At that moment, the waitress turned around and our gazes locked. Warm, golden-brown eyes widened, and for a moment, I wondered if I’d wanted it so bad that I’d conjured her. However, the panic on her face said it all. I hardened my stare without moving. She swallowed, the hand holding the beer shaking as if her veins had been shot full of liquid ice.
My pulse raced so hard, I felt like I’d run a marathon from Nuevo Laredo right into a brick wall. Her breathing hastened, and she lifted a hand to cover her mouth. Unfortunately, it happened to be the one holding my beer. The cantina went silent as thick glass shattered on the cement floor by her feet, suds and shards scattering all around her.
Still, we stared, unable to break a connection, four years overdue.
Brody snorted. “Well, not quite the introduction I was hoping for, but Mateo Cortes, meet my klutzy sister, Leighton Harcourt.”
Leighton.
Lies. All lies.
I wanted to close my eyes and let it sink in how truly fucked I’d been, was, and now am, but I couldn’t. The underboss in me fought to stay in control and show no weakness. Especially not for her.
“Well, Leighton Harcourt,” I said, keeping my voice flat, “you seem to have made somewhat of a mess.”
Double meaning. Aimed and fired on purpose.
Dropping the basket of chips still in her other hand, she reached for the ends of her hair, rolling them between her fingers. The move stirred something feral in me. Years melted away, and a waitressing uniform blended into an expensive yellow dress as bright as the sun. Her shoulder-length hair suddenly tumbled down her back in soft waves that felt forbidden to touch.
Then it all disappeared when she let out a string of curses I’d never heard fall from her lips and turned to grab a rag. Bending down to clean up the mess, she blinked a few times as if banishing her own contaminated memories. “Shit, I’m sorry, Brody. I’ll clean this up.”
I didn’t feel myself move from my chair, but I felt her stiffen the moment I knelt in front of her and took the rag from her hand. “Allow me.”
Her body shook as my hand brushed hers. “It’s fine,” she said, jerking her arm back and diving for one of the larger pieces of glass. “I’ve got it.”
“Do you? I’m not so sure you’ve handled much of anything.”
My words made the muscles in her jaw tick. I enjoyed the sight until her face contorted and she let out a pained cry. She opened her clenched hand, and we both looked down at the small slice the shard of glass left on her palm. Blood seeped from the cut, dripping down her wrist and mixing with the beer still pooling on the floor.
“Why is there always more blood?” she rasped.
The phrase caught me off guard—the pain in her voice as she stared at her hand triggering an instinct in me. One that hadn’t been awakened in a long time.
Keeping my eyes on her, I took her hand in mine and dragged the tip of my index finger through the blood in the center of her palm. Her breath hitched as she met my gaze. Everything around us disappeared, leaving only the collision of past and present sealed by blood. Blood that now coated my skin. Blood that I rubbed between my finger and thumb, staining a promise long broken by betrayal.
It was impulsive and dangerous. I wanted to push her onto the rest of the glass, but I didn't know if it was to shove my tongue in her mouth and claim her or shove my gun in it and kill her. Both cravings developed from the same dark desire. The need to salvage control over the anarchy she caused.
“Hey, are you okay, Lil’ Bit?” Our private moment shattered when Brody appeared between us, squatting down to inspect his sister’s injury.
Flustered, Leighton jerked her hand away from me and stumbled to her feet. “It’s nothing,” she assured him, forcing a smile. “I’d better go get cleaned up—health code violations and all.”
She couldn’t get away fast enough. Brody glared at me while sliding back into his chair, but I never took my eyes off her until she disappeared into the back. As activity resumed in the cantina, I rose to my feet and calmly walked back to my seat. No need to lose control more than I already had.
I’d barely reached for my napkin when Brody slammed his beer down, shaking the cheap table. “What the hell was that all about?”
“What was what all about?” Lifting an eyebrow, I tried for a look somewhere between annoyed and impassive. What I got in return was a scowl that reminded me that Brody had learned well during his time with us.
“I didn’t like the way you were looking at her,” he growled. “She’s already had to deal with being harassed by two cartels. I won’t allow another member of my own to do it too.”
His brazen threats amused me. “Allow me? I outrank you.”
Anger caused his cheeks to flush blood red. “I’m serious, Mateo. Don’t lay a hand on my sister. You have your choice of women to notch your bedpost. My family won’t be one of them.”
Like he had a choice.
“Oh, I won’t lay a hand on her. Trust me.”
“So we’re clear then?”
“Crystal.”
He nodded, and his body relaxed into the flimsy wooden chair as if all had been resolved.
Not even close.
I pushed my own chair back, not bothering to hide my smirk. “If you’ll excuse me.”
Brody’s casual posture stiffened. “Where the hell are you going?”
The dried blood flaked between the pads of my thumb and forefinger as I rubbed them together again. Funny how a past, long dead and buried had felt so alive when it trickled a warm path down my palm.
Shifting a glance, I set my sights toward the hallway where she’d disappeared moments earlier. “Ghost hunting.”
Chapter Seven
Leighton
“Calm down, Leighton. There’s no way that could be him.” Gripping the edge of the porcelain sink with my good hand, I leaned over it, dropped my chin to my chest, and tried to control my erratic breathing.
Clenching the sink harder, I squeezed my eyes shut. No, this was some kind of cruel coincidence. One person couldn’t gamble twice in her life and end up with the same hand. The odds were impossible. The universe didn’t work that way.
I’d put that part of my life behind me. When the memories escaped their confinement, I’d let them hurt, only to remind myself to never allow it to happen again. Until today, I’d never lost my way. Even through the hell of the last twenty-four hours, I’d kept it together under the most extreme of circumstances.
I’d shot and killed a man and kept myself from falling apart. I’d been threatened by government agents with a life behind bars, and I’d stood my ground. I’d learned the man I’d thought was the most honest, upstanding person to ever walk the earth was a criminal. I’d eavesdropped on a high-ranking cartel member, got caught, and lied my way out of it without breaking a sweat.