“You have to choose differently, V. You hold all the power; you just have to reach out and take it.” Her finger taps against the side of my head.
I know I should pull away from her skin, but I find no threat in her touch, much less her words. There’s a power in them, one I want to bask in.
“I want to have the control,” I confess, not for the first time.
“And control, you will have. We’ll make sure of it.” She’s filled with conviction, and it brings me a small speck of peace.
After several moments, I face her. She’s staring at me, something both warm and sad in her expression. I want to ask her about it, but I still don’t know how—I don’t know the words one uses to be there for someone else, ones that can comfort them the way she’s comforted me.
So instead, I ask, “Did you need something when you came here?”
Her eyes turn to the ceiling, a giant smile raising her rosy cheeks. “Just a friend.”
We’re a hysterical heap of laughter when Santos later finds us. My cheeks ache and tears stream down my face, but for the first time in what feels like my entire adult life, it’s not from sadness or anger.
“I feel left out.” His voice draws my attention away from the penis shape we were just staring at in the knots and lines of the wooden ceiling boards. My laughter instantly dies at the sight of him leaning in the doorway in a fresh grey t-shirt and light washed jeans, his skin slightly pink from hours spent in the sun, the veins bulging beneath. With arms crossed over his chest, his pecs pressed tightly against the fabric, he’s a hard sight not to gawk at.
With the tiny amount of dignity I still have, I raise my gaze to his and wink. Power shoots through me as I’m met with a heated gaze that burns straight to my toes, and I secretly love how much I affect him.
“You are,” I say.
He nods, his smirk growing. And then he drops his arms and raises one above his head, leaning against the top of the doorframe—only a few inches above his head—and his muscles go from bulging to damn near bursting.
My panties instantly go wet.
Any person with eyes would be turned on by him like this, and by his full-watt grin,he knows it.
“Geesh. Leave some sex appeal for the rest of us.” Faith rolls over to her stomach, pushing up to a sitting position. Even though I’m enjoying the sight of Santos and this silent battle of wills we seem to keep finding ourselves in, I hate that he’s ruined this moment for me.
He shrugs, his arm falling to cross back across his chest. “Faith, what brings you by today?”
I don’t know why he asks the question, but something about it doesn’t sit right with me. “Is it so strange I’d have friends, Santos?”
His smile doesn’t so much as falter. “Just seem like more of the loner type. You and McCrae—a couple of outlaws or something.”
Faith cuts into my line of sight right as something bitter and sharp forms on my tongue, and she extends her hand to me. “I like it. I’ll be an outlaw too,” she teases, but there’s no teasing in her voice, only sincerity that makes my anger dissipate as quickly as it formed.
I take her hand. “Too bad you’re a Saint and can’t join the bad side, Santos. It’s more fun.”
I walk past him, pulling Faith behind me. I don’t mean to, but as I pass him, I inhale, sucking in his fresh scent—the smell of horse and dirt still present—and I can’t help but wonder if that’s just part of him now.
I hate that I want to bottle it up and keep it.
“Oh yeah, I’m a Saint alright,” he jokes, following behind us.
“Go away,” I bite out, finding I want to have Faith’s attention all to myself.
“Let him stay,” Faith says, and I face her, already feeling hurt by her betrayal. “What? I enjoy seeing you squirm.”
“I do not squirm!” I hiss, rummaging through the freezer for the tequila.
“Yes, you do. Now pour me one of those—I need it,” McCrae grumbles from the bar, and I jump at his voice.
But I do as he says, pouring us all a glass, and allow myself to enjoy their company more than I know I should—just for tonight.
SEVENTEEN
VALENTINA
