I blink. “Didn’t realize you had family.”
He laughs, soft and dangerous. “What, you think I was born one day from a sniper’s scope? Just—” He makes a gun with his fingers, “—appeared, fully grown, ready to piss off the world?”
I shrug, taking another bite, then chase it with cold beer. “Just figured you were an orphan. Like me.”
He goes still, smile fading a notch. “I didn’t know that.”
I wave him off. “Don’t sweat it. Kenji’s the only other person who does.”
He turns thoughtful. “Your old teacher—Kenji Takahashi, right? Never had the fortune to meet the man.”
A smile tugs at my mouth. “Kenji was…relentless. Hard. Never gave up on me, not once. First person who ever came into my life and stayed there.”
We let the conversation drift, both of us eating slower, talking around old wounds. The music swells, the crowd shifts, and for a moment the world is just the two of us at a battered wooden table, sharing plates and memories.
I break the spell. “Guess as close as we were, we didn’t really know anything about each other.”
He looks at me then—really looks. His eyes darken, slow and intent. He reaches over, callused thumb brushing my cheek, palm warm. “I suppose we didn’t.”
The silence hums, loaded with everything we’ve never said. He holds it a second longer, then breaks away, rising with a sudden breath. “We’re dancing.”
He drains his beer, nods to the bartender for two more, then pulls my chair back, handoutstretched.
“No, we’re not,” I protest, but the words are hollow. There’s no bite to it. He knows it.
“We are. There’s no way we’re leaving before I see that dress move around the dance floor, mi Picarita.”
I sigh, making a show of irritation, but I take his hand all the same. He pulls me up, spins me straight into the current of dancers, and suddenly, I’m not thinking about knives or death or anything but the music and the heat of his hand in mine.
Alejandro dances like he fucks—precise, confident, hands in exactly the right place at exactly the right time. The way he moves makes it easy to let go, to let him lead, and that’s exactly why he’s dangerous. I should be thinking about Guild contracts, assassins, escape routes. But he’s like gravity, and I’m all iron filings.
The music swells and the lights blur, and it’s just us in the center, pressed close, heat rolling off him in waves. His eyes never leave mine, not for a second. He steps in, slow and deliberate, so close our faces almost touch.
“Have you seen anyone…since me?” he asks, voice pitched for me alone. There’s something almost desperate in the way he says it, like he needs the answer to be what he hopes.
I could lie. It’d be easy, would save us both from where this is going. But I don’t. “No,” I say, honest as sin. It makes the air go thick, charged.
His arms slide all the way around my waist, pulling me flush against him. I loop my arms over his shoulders, feeling the tension wind tighter. His mouth hovers over mine—so close I can feel the heat, the promise, but he doesn’t touch.
“Why?” he breathes, voice rough.
There’s that look again. He’s waiting for a truth that will either cut him or set him on fire. I don’t look away. “I didn’t want anyone else.” The words are barely there, but he hears them.
He doesn’t wait another second. He closes the distance, taking my mouth in a kiss that’s slow and deep, one hand sliding down to grip the back of my thigh, pulling me hard against the evidence of just how much he wants me.
I’m breathless when I break the kiss, our bodies still swaying, tangled in the beat. “We said we weren’t itching any more scratches.”
A tray of tequila sweeps past. I grab a shot, tilting my head as Alejandro’s tongue traces the column of my throat, tasting sweat and salt and promise.
“You said that. Not me.” His mouth works up my neck and I tip back, half the tequila burning its way down.
I offer him the rest, holding the glass up. “Want some?”
He nods, mouth brushing mine, tongue sweeping into my mouth as he tastes the tequila straight from my lips. “Delicious,” he murmurs, breath ghosting across my skin.
I push him back with a wicked grin, finish the shot, never breaking eye contact. I step away, slow—one step, then another. “I need the little girls’ room.”
I walk toward the stairs, his eyes tracking every move and I glance back just as I reach the top. There’s a clear moment when he makes a decision, throwing back a shot of his own as I disappear through the bathroom door, heart thundering, already knowing he’s coming after me.
