“You lost that the moment you dared to touch what was mine.” He’s maybe five-eight. I have nearly a foot on him and twice the arm span. Slashing with one hand, I relieve him of the fingers he dared touch Saban with. With my other I nearly separate his head from his body.
Blood arcing in a wide spray catches my arm and parts of my chest, getting on my cut.
“Dammit.” Looking down, I ignore the slide of his body to the floor.
“Hey, take this and rinse it before it stains.” Looking over my shoulder, I regard Saban. Hands clutching her throat, eyes wide, she looks from Marco to me and back again.
Shaking her head, she takes a step back again and again. Shuddering, she stops before she bolts out of the door. This is not the first time she’s seen me lay someone down. We’ve been tied in blood since that moment in the jungle.
The only thing that’s changed is I’ve claimed her, as unofficial as it seems. Yet there won’t be any mistaking my intention after the work I put in with Marco.
I keep my hand out, waiting for her to take my cut. Feet dragging, she comes over to me, standing as far away from me as she can, taking my cut out of my hands.
Watching her disappear, I pull my phone out.
“Wassup, Primo?” Rocco says over the den of voices from the club beyond.
“Get Padre and a couple other guys. Marco requested a cleaning service.” I say in a bored voice. Not that I feel anything other than irritation at not being able to take Saban home and find my home in her.
Chapter six
BEING NOSEY (MINDING BUSINESS THAT DON’T PAY YOU)
SABAN
It’s wild that getting what I thought I wanted is turning out to be the absolute opposite of what I hoped for.
Snake is a fucking maniac. The way he killed that guy without even blinking lets me know exactly what I have gotten myself into. Then he flips the script after they clean the mess he made in Angel’s office with an amount of professionalism the CIA would be jealous of.
The club was wiped of any evidence Marc had even been there. Later, he met with the Ghost Rider’s second in command in the very spot he killed his commander, letting him know of Marco’s egregious trespass, telling him he could accept the new normal or join his friend.
I guess Marco didn’t garner the type of loyalty Angel does because the guy took it well and even implied he was open to re-establishing business with el Diablo since they were no longer in the skin trade to which Snake gave a noncommittal “We’ll see.” After which he snapped, “Saban, come,” like I was some errant child, pulling me behind him on his chopper, making me leave my bike in Ellie’s care.
I didn’t even get it back until today — nearly a week later.
As far as our so-called relationship goes, I don’t know what to make of it.
Every time I step to him, he finds a reason not to touch me or take it farther than chaste kisses. It wasn’t until I noticed him eyeing the bruise I got struggling to get away from Marco that I realized the mark bothered him.
He’s acting like I’m some type of fragile flower. Unable to take it anymore, I confronted him about it when he brought my bike back strapped to the back of his truck a little while ago.
“I’m not broken, Hadrián. Didn’t even realize there was a bruise until the next day.” Shrugging, I tapped my foot, irritation bleeding off me in waves.
“I know that. You better believe I know it.” Cutting me a wrathful look, he continues wiping the bike down. Slapping the rag against his thigh. Then storms past me into the house.
“Now, you are acting like all this is my fault.” Coming after him, I square off, stepping wide, planting my hands on my hips. This is a fight we need to have. We always have one after an incident.
“I never said that,” he scoffs, opening the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water, signaling me to leave him the hell alone if his body language is any indication.
“Seems like you’re mad you put Marco down. Mind you, I never asked you to do that.” Crossing my arms over my chest, I watch him slowly turn towards me. We never talk about any of the incidents that have occurred, not even the first one.
“He sealed his fate when touched you.” Taking a long swig of the water, he eyes me before putting the water down with a snap on the counter.
“Because I’m yours now?” My body feels so rigid as I ask the question. It’s like we have this thing hanging over us. Like we areboth waiting for a teetering Jenga tower to fall, but no one has the courage to knock it over and just start over.
“You’ve been mine, little torment.” I could have died right then, and the world wouldn’t owe me a dang thing. Still not good enough though, because why all the rigmarole?
“You have a funny way of showing it.” Rolling my eyes, I meet his sharp gaze with a challenge.
