“I don’t care what deal you made with this asshole, Benito.” Marisol squares her shoulders. “I’m ninety-nine percent sure she was spooked by him, and there’s no way I’m throwing her back to him.”
Smoke draws in a deep breath. “When she’s better, we find out the truth, then we take action.”
“My girl and her well-being come first,” Marisol insists.
I let Smoke and Marisol argue it out ‘cause I’m still in shock at Martina knowing Benito. It just seems so random and out of the box. How the hell would a twenty-two-year-old from California know a Mexican cartel kingpin in Tijuana?
Nothing can be settled tonight, but tomorrow I’d getanswers about this past of hers and all her secrets because, in the outlaw world, secrets can get you killed.
The others leave, and I lay my head against the couch cushions. Shit, life just got a whole lot more complicated. My biggest concern earlier was me being too old for Martina and not being good enough for her. Now, I have to figure out how, what and why she is connected to the cartel, and if it would affect us and the club.
I turn toward the bedroom and shake my head. Another fucked-up scenario with this beautiful woman in my apartment again, wearing one of my t-shirts again, and we’re still not in the same bed. The first time she slept on the couch, and tonight I’d be sleeping on the couch.
Yep, another fucked-up scenario concerning a woman. When would I ever learn?
MARTINA
I wake up once during the night and startle, then remember—Diesel’s bedroom and I’m safe—for now. I lie still and listen. Mostly quiet except for the noise from the street. A light from the hall casts a shadow over the dim room, and I glance at the nightstand for my phone, but it’s not there.
My mouth is so dry, I can’t swallow. Thank you, tequila and the panic attack from hell. I look down at myself in an oversized t-shirt, probably Diesel’s. Then I wonder who changed me out of my dress.
Interesting.
I roll from the bed, slowly massaging my stiff shoulder. I must’ve hit there first when I collapsed. I gently explore the back of my skull, and luckily, no bumps, but my shoulder would probably be bruised in the morning.
I’d experienced panic attacks before, but mostly I was able to manage them with deep breaths and visualization. I’d never been so overcome to the point of fainting, then the debilitatingexhaustion that followed. Big surprise after the craziness I call a life.
I pad into Diesel’s adjoining bathroom, turn on the water in the sink, cup my hands, and bring the cool liquid to my lips. It tastes delicious, but I need more. Like a whole bottle of water more. I exit the bathroom and look on the dresser, but no phone.
A low light in the hallway guides me to the living room. I smile at Diesel’s big body sprawled over the too-small-for-him couch. He’d removed his shirt, loosened his belt, and, yes, even in the dim light, his muscled chest and swirling tattoos stand out. Along with his day-old scruff. One arm is flung behind his head, with his legs hanging over the edge, exposing his bare, sexy feet.
Like he didn’t look sexy enough before. Not good when I even think a man’s feet are sexy. Diesel is the whole package, and if my rattled brain remembers correctly, his voice earlier held concern and worry about my welfare. A tone I wouldn’t have expected from such a rough, scarred man.
Such a shame my secrets would keep us apart, because tomorrow I will be gone. I can’t risk Benito showing up again, and I have no intentions of telling anyone my secrets or setting up the Bastards or the Harlots. I’d led Eduardo to think otherwise, but even though things didn’t work out with me and Diesel, I wouldn’t knowingly steal from him or betray the Harlots after all they’ve done for me. None of them know my connection to Benito or Eduardo, and that’s how I intend to keep it.
I assume Eduardo still has my passport, and I know his address, so I’d be paying him a visit first thing in the morning. I’d demand he give me my passport, then I’d leave Tijuana and forget all about my time in Mexico. Some parts were drastically bad and others amazingly good—but both would be a part of my past.
I quietly open up the fridge and find a line of bottled waters. I grab two, twist the cap off one, put the bottle to my lips and drink deep, gulping half of the refreshing liquid. I take a breath and finish off the rest before uncapping the second bottle and drinking that one a bit slower, sighing in pleasure.
“Thirsty, huh?”
I startle, nearly dropping the water bottle on the tile floor.
“Geez, you scared me.” I press the bottle to my forehead.
“How do you feel?”
“Better.”
“You scared the shit outta me before.” Diesel places his palm on the small of my back and leads me to the couch.
I perch on the edge. “Did I wake you up?”
“Nah, I’m a light sleeper. It’s an outlaw thing.” He makes a goofy face, but it’s probably true.
“Yeah, I don’t know what happened.” I have to play this out right. “One minute I was fine at the bar, and the next I didn’t feel good.” I motion to the couch. “I’m sorry I put you out.” Then I lower my head. “It’s embarrassing that a few margaritas would affect me like that.”
That sounded good and very convincing.
