“Hypocrite, are you?”She notched up her chin.
That got him.He dropped his head and spat curses under his breath.Then he arched his eyebrow at her.“The Villegas Cartel has one man overseeing both the brothels and strip clubs, right?”
She bobbed her head.“What are you getting at?”
Frustration crimped his face.“It’s the same with the Lozanos.It’s just business.”
Business?That was always a man’s excuse.But Enrique was supposed to be different.Hewasdifferent.The truth rang in his words, but knowing and accepting it were two different things.
It wasn’t just about the brothels and strip clubs.
It was about trust.
She didn’t know how to do this.How to have a healthy relationship with a man.
“My job is my job, Lourdes.It changes nothing between us.”He grabbed his discarded clothes and kissed her cheek.“Go to bed.Unpack your clothes.Fix up your studio.Do whatever you want, but do not leave the apartment.I probably won’t be home until after dark.”
She blinked fast and nodded.Fix up her studio.Right.As if she knew which room was hers.He hadn’t given her the tour yet.Enrique headed down the hall, his back rigid and head up as though his bombshell hadn’t twisted her inside out.She promptly drew on a pair of panties and a T-shirt.The soft fabric eased the chill of unease marring her skin as she curled up on the sofa and hugged her knees.
The shower ran from another part of the apartment.
She rested her head against her bent legs and closed her eyes.The man she loved oversaw the very brothel where her first husband had taken lovers.
How could she trust the keeper of her heart around all those half-naked women?
****
Lourdes leaned backin her swivel chair and smiled at her new studio, now fully set up.From the sunlight pouring in through the vast windows to her large glass desk and the metal shelving units stocked with art supplies, she couldn’t have picked a better space if she’d tried.Thankfully, she’d found the room easily enough since Enrique and her father’s guards had stored her furniture and supplies there.Only the dozen-plus paintings she’d stacked against the shelves needed a new home—first in a posh gallery exhibit, then in the homes of art lovers everywhere.
“Not so fast, Lourdes,” she admonished with a laugh.Until Enrique and his friends wiped Diego off the map, she wouldn’t rejoin the art community or volunteer at youth centers again.Everything was just too fragile, too dangerous right now.Rolling her stiff shoulders, she turned back to her laptop and finished updating her website portfolio with high-definition, watermarked pictures of her latest work.Then she clicked on an already opened tab for a social media account.
Several notifications popped up.
Over a thousand followers had already liked herI’m Back!andNew Art Coming Soon!posts.Tears pricked her eyes at all the happy emojis, glyphs, and well-wishing comments.
Her phone beeped from its charging stand on her desk.
“Now what?”she grumbled and reached for the cell before drawing back her hand.
She’d answered her mother’s frantic texts and voicemails that morning, but to her chagrin, Edita had ranted about her choice to have a nontraditional wedding instead of verifying for herself that Enrique hadn’t hurt her during his whole abduction scheme.Of course, Enrique would never harm her, but her mother should have at least asked.Lourdes had ended the call with her stomach in knots and sought solace in setting up her studio.
Pushing down her nerves, she picked up the cell and tapped the new text.
A picture popped onto the screen—one of three.
Lourdes gasped.Her chest caved in as though someone had struck her with a mallet.She clicked through the pictures.
In the first image, Enrique smirked at a woman as she pressed her breasts against his chest.A tiny sequined bra barely covered her assets.In the second and third images, another big-breasted woman hung on his arm as he grinned and spoke with a bald, muscular man.Colorful lights pushed back the shadows and sharpened Enrique’s features.
“Fake.They must be fake.”Stomach churning, she checked for faint lines or smudging around the faces or bodies.Then she eyed the light and shadow angles.As far as she could tell, the pictures were real.If Enrique didn’t want the women’s attention, he would scowl at them or push them away.At least, he should.
Another beep.A second message popped up.
—Chicas Asesinas.—
Maldita sea.That was one of the cartel-owned strip clubs.
Cursing, she called the restricted number and clutched the phone so tight her fingers ached.The heavy lull of silence weighed on her chest.Or was her thrashing heart about to burst?No one answered.Big surprise.If only she could give the mystery informant an earful.It had to be Diego.No one else had a reason to try and sabotage her marriage.
