Page 80 of Tainted Blood
And it’s a long fucking line, so he’d better bring a chair and some snacks. I’ve managed to alienate three-fourths of my friends and family. At this point, the entire Santi Carrera fan club could fit into the back of the SUV.
Dios mío, I need air.
I’m out of the passenger’s seat before the interior light flashes, slamming the door on RJ’s string of English and Spanish hybrid curses. With the bottle of Añejo still tucked in my hand, I cross the street, my eyes trained on her window.
Where is she?
We’ve been here for three hours. I know because I watched her and her bodyguard walk inside after following them from coffee house to restaurant to, surprisingly, a shooting range. That one, I didn’t mind so much. The idea of my muñequita with her hands wrapped around the grip of a gun, aiming with intent…
Groaning, I turn the bottle up again, hoping like hell it’ll dull my senses and my cock. I’m reaching down to adjust myself and relieve some of the pressure when a shadow flickers across the glass.
It’s her.
Thalia is standing by the window, the sheer curtains doing nothing to hide her body as she pulls her T-shirt over her hand and then reaches behind her to unhook her bra.
Jesus Christ.
I’ve been tortured in many creative ways—cut, burned, shot, one Russian even tried to electrocute me. None of them comes close to the brutal agony of watching Thalia’s unintentional striptease, knowing I can’t do a goddamn thing about it.
So I watch her like the stalker RJ accuses me of being, until she runs her hands down her breasts, stopping to thumb her nipples…
That’s when I lose it.
I fucking lose it.
I’m halfway to her apartment when my phone vibrates in my pocket. Too wrapped up in my own lust, I answer without checking the caller ID, assuming I’m getting an invitation to a private show. Instead, I get an irate Mexican with an American accent.
“Santi, as your second, your cousin, and most of all, your only source of common sense these days, I highly advise against what you’re about to do.”
“Noted,” I say, ending the call.
As expected, when I reach her door, I’m greeted by the Irish pussy patrol.
“She doesn’t want to see you, Carrera,” her bodyguard growls.
“Did she tell you that?”
He scans a stern gaze down to where the bottle swings from my fingers. “You’re drunk.”
“Accurate, but it still doesn’t answer my question.”
It’s obvious he’s not used to being challenged. Clenching his fists, he takes a determined step forward. “Get the fuck out of here!”
“Not until I talk to Thalia.” I meet his stride, because I don’t fucking back down from anyone. I don’t care that we’d take a bullet for the same woman. Right now, he’s in my way.
Just as he goes for his gun, the door swings open.
“Geez, Reece! What’s going on out here? It sounds like—” Her voice trails off as she notices me standing there. A beat later, an eerily familiar smile is turning downward in my direction.
Not exactly how I planned for this to go, but here we are.
“You must be Ella,” I say, extending my hand. “I’m—”
“I know who you are,” she clips. Folding her arms across her chest, she stares at my outstretched fingers as if they’re about to wring her neck.
I know a roadblock when I see one. Lowering my hand, I jump tracks and try again.
“I see my wife has told you all about me.”