I bite down hard on my jaw, fighting every instinct screaming at me to tear his throat out. The possessive streak in me is rising, ugly and undeniable, and I can’t figure out if it’s because of her or because I just hate the thought of anyone stepping into my territory.
Territory. Jesus Christ. She’s not mine. She’s a job. She’s leverage. That’s it.
I turn my back, force myself to stride away until I’m far enough that she can’t hear me. I lift the phone to my ear.
“Victor,” I answer, voice low.
“How is it going with the girl?” His tone is calm, unbothered, the same as always.
I rake a hand over my head. “She’s secure.”
“Good.” He exhales, and I can almost hear the cigarette between his lips. “Get comfortable. Retrieval of the funds is taking longer than expected. You’ll have to stay the night guarding her.”
Stay the night. Christ.
“Fine,” I mutter. “I’ll handle it.”
“You gotten rid of her car yet?”
My teeth clench. “Not yet.”
“Work on it,” he says sharply. “The last thing we need is someone finding it before we’re ready. Understand?”
“Yeah.” My voice is tight. “I understand.”
The line goes dead.
I lower the phone, staring at the cracked cement beneath my boots. I tell myself I can walk away. I tell myself she doesn’t matter, that my uncle gave the order and that’s the end of the discussion. But every time I picture leaving her in there, tied up, helpless, with that bastard hovering over her like a vulture, my stomach turns.
Possessive. That’s what I am. Possessive and fucked-up, because the bile rises in my throat at the thought of that asshole laying a single hand on her.
I shove the phone back into my pocket and pull it out again almost instantly, scrolling to Jamie’s name. If I can’t leave, I need backup.
The call connects. Loud music bursts through the speaker, thumping bass and rowdy shouts in the background. The Crest. Of course he would be at his family’s bar.
“Yo,” Jamie answers, his voice slightly slurred, amusement dripping from every syllable. “What’s up, brother?”
“I need a favor.”
“Oh?” He laughs. “What kind of favor? The kind that makes me money, or the kind that gets me arrested?”
“Neither.” My voice is curt. “I can’t explain it over the phone.”
“Cryptic as always. Give me something at least.”
“I’ll text you the address,” I say, ignoring his jabs. “And pick up dinner for me and then I will really owe you one. Chipotle, maybe. Get something for yourself too.”
“Chipotle? Damn, you’re spoiling me.” He chuckles, then asks, “What do you want?”
“Chicken bowl. Double meat. Extra guac.” I exhale, picturing it clearly because the normality of it helps ground me. “And a steak burrito. Large chips. Salsa on the side.”
“Done. I can be there in an hour.”
“Good.” I hang up before he can ask more questions.
The silence swallows me again, heavy and suffocating.
I debate going back inside, back to the room where the green-eyed girl won’t fucking shut up, where her fruity scent clings to the air, sweet and maddening, crawling under my skin. Shesmells like peaches or maybe strawberries, something ripe and soft, and the memory of it makes my palms sweat.
