Page 79 of Vicious Temptation

“Come on, baby,” I mutter. “Don’t embarrass me. It’s been weeks.”

The engine coughs when I try again, but I hear enough of a difference to know I’m getting closer. I wipe my forehead and can’t help but grin.

This is exactly why I prefer cars to people. Engines make sense. Every problem has a source, and every sound has meaning. People…now, that’s the complicated part.

My brain immediately proves the point by supplying the image of a six-foot-six SWAT officer sprawled across my white couch two nights ago, eating my pizza and smiling at me as if he belonged there.

I slam the hood.

“Nope,” I mutter to myself. “We are not doing that. Dangerous territory, Remi. Dangerous fucking territory.”

Except I’ve been doing exactly that for the last forty-eight hours.

Thinking about Thiago Braga brings back the scent of his cologne and the way he rattled off details about me I didn’t even realize he’d noticed. Then I remember telling him about Ryuji and placing Papá’s ring in his hand—two things I don’t share easily with anyone.

Yet somehow, I trusted him with both.

My thighs clench together when I remember reaching for my vibrator last night, only to shove it back into the drawer the second I realized whose name would’ve fallen from my lips.

Shaking my head hard, I force the thoughts away, slide behind the wheel, turn the ignition, and hold my breath for one agonizing second before my baby finally roars to life.

A triumphant laugh bursts out of me as the engine settles into a smooth, aggressive purr that vibrates through the entire car.

“Yes! Finally.” I slap the steering wheel. “That’s my girl.”

I barely get a chance to celebrate before the side door slams open, echoing through the garage. I jolt, my hand flying to the Glock at my waist before I realize who it is.

“Mamá? What the hell?” Cutting the engine, I climb out.

She stands near the doorway, her arms tightly crossed over her chest, fury radiating from her.

“Is everything...okay?”

I’d be worried someone was hurt, maybe worse, but there’s nothing on her face except for absolute rage.

Growing up, I always knew when I’d fucked up. She never held back when it came to calling me out, and I usually took the punishment, apologized, and we moved on. This time, I have no clue what I supposedly did. Sure, I forget things sometimes, but whatever this is pissed her off enough to storm all the way down here instead of calling or texting first.

Without a word, she stalks over to my speaker and shuts off the music.

Now I’m irritated. I happened to like that song.

“Remi Isabel,” she grits out. “After what happened with your dad, you didn’t think it was important to tell us that someone tried to kill you again?”

Ah. That little detail.

“Look—”

“No,” she cuts me off. “There’s no excuse. You, of all people, should understand what I’ve just been through. If something happened to you...” Her voice trembles. “I can’t even say the words, Remi.”

My frustration fades. I step forward and pull her into a hug, careful not to smear engine grease across her pretty blouse.

“Mamá,” I murmur, “because of what happened, I didn’t want to put this on you too. And I’m okay.”

“It’s not okay.” She pulls back to look at me. “That Lachlan man told me they still haven’t caught everyone involved. And how do you think I felt when I drove by and saw the windows boarded up and police tape still hanging across the parking lot?”

She cups my face between her hands. “Mi amor, you know what’s at stake here. You know there are powerful people out there. That night, it was the tattoo shop. Tomorrow, it could be the range.”

“Well, they’d surely fuck up then, wouldn’t they?”