“¡No!” he screams. “¡Ay!”
Rico spins around and slams his hand against the table.
The cage rattles violently.
Disco flutters inside, terrified, crest slicked down now, body tight and shaking.
I lunge forward.
“Don’t you touch him!”
Rico grabs the cage door and yanks it halfway open.
My heart stops.
“Try me,” he says softly.
Disco scrambles backward, wings fluttering in panic.
“If you don’t help me,” Rico continues in a whisper, “I’ll snap his neck and have rotisserie.”
My vision flashes red.
“You’re sick,” I breathe.
“Maybe,” he says calmly. “But I’m not stupid.”
He reaches out suddenly and grabs my wrist.
Hard.
My breath catches.
Old memories rush back. Fingers digging into skin. The ache in my ribs. His voice telling me I was lucky he wanted me.
“Let me go,” I say evenly.
“You still care about him?” Rico asks, leaning closer. His breath smells like beer. “You still spread your legs for that biker?”
The words hit like filth.
My stomach turns, and beneath the disgust a flicker of memory sparks anyway. Diablo’s hands at my waist. His voice in my ear. The way my body still reacts when I don’t want it to.
Rico smiles like he can smell it on me.
I stay silent.
His grip tightens.
“You think he’d choose you over his little princess?” he sneers. “You’re just la sancha with a sob story.”
Heat floods my face.
“You were never my side chick, Ana… Darling. I think you liked it when I hit you. I know you liked it when I slapped your pussy.”
I yank my wrist free and shove him hard.
Rico stumbles back a step, surprise flashing across his face.
