“Y qué vas hacer con eso mija?” I laugh.
The blade’s not even two inches, but the thought of her threatening to slit my throat does turn me on a little. Near death experiences make my dick hard.
“Efren? What the fuck are you doing here?” she whispers.
“I’m here to make sure you don’t get murdered,” I whisper back.
“Why would I get—wait, why are we whispering?” she says, her tone returning to normal.
She follows my pointed look to where El Carnicero sits eating his nut rolls. Looking back, her brows pinch together as she searches my face for an answer to the view in front of her. El Carnicero smiles in that creepy way he does.
“He really likes nut rolls.” I shrug.
“Yeah. I can tell. What are you doing here?” she snarls.
“I saw you looking up the address. And I came to do my own investigation.”
“You saw me? How?” She crosses her arms and stares me down. “Wait. Are you stalking me?”
“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘protect,’ Kitten. I’m protecting you.”
“I don’t need you to protect me. And stop calling me that.”
“Whether you need me to or not doesn’t stop me from doing it.”
Turning on her heels, she shakes her head and sifts through the papers on a nearby desk. Whether Alma admits it or not, she feels safer with someone in this house with her. Even if that someone is me. Leaning against the wall adjacent to her, I watch, taking every inch of her in.
“Can I help you with something?”she asks, frustrated.
“You know, the last time I saw you, you were a lot nicer to me. I thought maybe we were bonding.”
“I wasn’t stable then.”
“Ah. A stable is for horses.” I move to stand in front of her.
“Wow. Did you come up with that one on your own? You’re hilarious.” She rolls her eyes.
I wink at her just to watch the flush of pink that rises up her cheeks. A loose curl falls, and I can’t resist. My hand moves of its own accord, tucking it delicately behind her ear.
Before I can press my lips against hers again, a large thud comes from the staircase behind us. Moments later, Ricky comes stumbling down the last few steps. Alma jumps back, and we turn to see Ricky groaning in pain.
“Hija de su chingada madre,” he wails from the bottom of the stairs.
“Ricky?” Alma exclaims before moving toward him.
“Alma? Is that you?” he groans out.
“Oh god, please tell me you aren’t friends with this asshole?” She offers him her hand.
Asshole. That has a nice ring to it. I shoot Ricky a glare. Ifhe dares to touch her hand, I’ll sever his. He scoots back until he’s sitting against the wall and lets out a sigh.
“I’m fine.” He denies her help.
“You two know each other?” I ask
“No.”
“Yes.”
