“In your dreams.” I scoff.
“Every night.” It sounds like there’s sincerity in his voice.But that can’t be.
After several failed attempts at escaping his hold on my arms, my neck, my waist—I snap. “That’s enough.”
Faith crosses her arms, the apples of her cheeks rosy from the alcohol. “Don’t be a quitter.”
“I’m not,” I bite out. There’s not enough tequila in the world to reduce the sting of being as inadequate as I currently feel.
“It takes practice. You’re just learning.”
“I’ll never be able to protect myself. I shouldn’t even need to. McCrae’s job is to protect me.”
“What if he’s not always around?”
I feel the venom barreling to the tip of my tongue before I can stop it. It’s what I do when I feel weak—what I’ve learned to do to protect myself. The alcohol and buzz of adrenaline have done their job, blurring the lines of my painful and pitiful existence, my former insecurities rearing their ugly heads. “You think he’s going to leave me for you, Faith? You think you’re that special? Please.”
I stomp off, tears already burning down my cheeks. The words are bitter, scorching me from the inside out, but I can’t take them back.
I can never take them back, so why even bother?
TWENTY-SEVEN
VALENTINA
September 11th, 2005
“Easy,little girl. Don’t squirm, and it won’t hurt.” His gin-tinged breath fans across my cheek as he leans over me. My heart thunders against my rib cage, and I frantically look around the room for any sign of my father.
He’s not here. He left me, with these men, each one hungrier than the last. They’re all dressed in fine clothes—suit jackets and bland grey ties—with nice faces and grey hairs sprouting at their temples or in their beards. They look so much like my own father, and my heart sinks. They might not be my father,but they’re someone’s.
How could they be dads and still look at me like this? Like I’m some kind of meat to be consumed.
And why would my father allow this? Allow them to touch my legs, unbraid my hair, kiss my neck?Does my mother know?
“Grab her legs, Jerry. Susan’s expecting me home in an hour, and I’d like to see what we’ve traded our services for before I go home to the ole ball and chain.” The oldest looking of the three,with almost all silver combed over hair and tanned, wrinkled skin, smiles at me.
In any other setting, I’d think it’s a nice smile—a kind man giving me a kind smile—attention, and I’d grateful for it. But I don’t want his attention. I don’t want anything from him.
Not when the smile comes with a possessive hand that keeps threatening to climb higher up my skirt.
“P-p-please,” I beg, my tongue leaden in my mouth. I don’t know what I’m begging for, but I know I can’t be here, with them.
“You’re safe, pretty girl.” Another man smiles, his eyes crinkling around the corners. He tips his glass back, draining the amber liquid. He then steps closer, dropping to his knees so we’re eye level where I sit in the cushioned chair. He reaches out a sure hand, running it through my curls, admiring them threaded around his fingers. Leaning forward, he closes his eyes and sniffs my hair, and even though it seems impossible, my heart beats faster. “So beautiful. So innocent too.” He looks over his shoulder, and I don’t miss him wink.
It sends bone-deep dread sinking though me, and, not for the first time, I try to stand.
“Enough. She better be as fucking innocent as she looks. Her father just traded her for a multi-million dollar deal. I think it was a stupid fucking mistake, but you guys wouldn’t listen to me.” The third guy, youngest and meanest looking of the group, sneers at me, and I sink as far back into the chair as possible. “If she’s not innocent, I’ll kill her and then daddy dearest.”
“Shit, Mike. You’re scaring her.”
“Good. And then, I’m going to fuck her.”
November 24th, 2025
ME: Mateo, please answer the phone.
ME: I’d like to talk to you.
