Finn caught up with Lars as the man was thumping his way down the stairs with ill grace. They came out in front of the gardens that filled in the inside of the villa, and they both stopped for a few seconds to take it in. Then Lars let out a muttered, “Rich people,” and stormed down the passage.

“Where are you going?” Finn called out after him.

“To find something ridiculously expensive to consume.”

Finn squeezed his eyes shut with his fingertips for a second and then followed. After stopping a harried-looking scullery maid—this one might have worked in the kitchen, if the hairnet was anything to go by—they were directed to the entertainment area.

A few men were playing pool, others crowded around the flat screen television watching a soccer match. There was even a bartender on duty, idly smoking a cigarette behind the richly polished wood bar.

Lars had already ordered when Finn came up to him. The bartender poured a shot of amber liquid into a tumbler for Lars, which the man downed, and then another when he asked for a top up.

“Open bar, right?” Lars asked.

The bartender gave him a quizzical frown and shrugged. “¿Que?”

Lars waved away the question and turned to Finn. “Coffee for you, right? Hey, maybe they have that expensive one that the jungle cats shit out.”

That’s what he’d been going to order. Not kopi luwak, but just a normal coffee. Or maybe an espresso. That way, he could stay alert in case—

In case what? In case Javier’s compound was suddenly attacked? In case someone came and kidnapped Cora like a thief in the goddamn night?

“Captain Morgan, neat.”

“Make that a double,” Lars said happily. Then he clapped Finn on the shoulder. “Good to see you loosening up a little, buddy. You had me worried there.”

Finn made an unhappy sound, but didn’t shrug away Lars’s hand. It had been a few weeks since they’d seen each other last; Lars had been cooped up in a few gigs close to Washington for near to a month. Unsurprisingly, his friend didn’t look the worse for wear. He’d only seen Lars looking frayed once, come to think of it. The day he’d come out of his anesthesia, after the operation where they’d stitched up his throat and repaired his larynx as best he could. That day, Lars had been so twitchy and out of it, he’d thought the guy was on drugs.

“I’m fine,” Finn said. “It’s just been a fuck long week.”

“Yeah…” Lars murmured into his glass. He turned to the glass walls that looked out over the pool. The night lights had come on, turning the pool a brilliant blue. More lights glittered from between the vegetation studding the oasis and fringing the waterfalls feeding into the smaller pools. “Jesus…this place.”

Finn could see silhouettes moving in the far distance. Guards, patrolling. Did Javier have guards patrolling the walls at night, too? He hadn’t noticed electric fencing on the top of that Great Wall of Texas, but perhaps electrifying such a large perimeter wasn’t feasible.

Then again, judging from every stick of lavish furniture inside this place, nothing seemed not feasible to El fucking Guapo.

“Hey, buddy, you guys got some weed around here?”

Finn gave Lars a deadpan stare, but he ignored him as he patiently waited for the bartender to answer him.

“¡Hola, Hector!”

One of the men watching the soccer match turned with an annoyed grimace on his face. “¿Que?”

“¿Churro?” the bartender said, pointing at Lars.

Hector gave Lars and Finn a studious look and then cocked his chin to the bartender. “Si.” He fumbled in a pocket and produced a joint, holding it out for Lars to fetch.

Lars did so with a grin, ducking his head so Hector could light it for him.

“Outside,” Hector said, waving away the joint when Lars offered it to him. Then he turned back to the soccer match.

Lars shrugged, cocking his head to the door as he passed Finn.

Acrid smoke billowed into Finn as Lars exhaled before they reached the door. He waved it away, and took a big draught of the cool evening air when they were standing on the patio.

A couple were busy making out in one of the smaller pools, bodies almost hidden by the fronds of a palm tree.

Lars never offered Finn the joint; he knew how he felt about weed.

Finn sipped at his drink and followed Lars to a pair of loungers a few feet away. Lars sank down with a sigh, nipping the joint with the heel of his shoe before stashing it away in the pocket of his button up shirt. He shrugged when Finn looked at him. “What, it’s not mine.”

The rum coated his mouth like fiery oil.

“So…is she a really good lay or something?” Lars asked quietly as he lay back on his lounger.

Finn squeezed his eyes closed for a second and then let out a long breath. After another sip from his glass, he glanced up at Lars. “She was a virgin.”

Nothing in Lars’s expression changed until he let out a low whistle and gave his head a shake. “Fuck, man.”

Finn lifted his eyebrows, and looked away. The couple in the pool were still kissing, but at least they were still wearing their swimsuits. He squinted. No, not a couple. There was a third person, almost completely obscured by a rock feature. Watching?

“—you didn’t know?”

He turned to Lars. “What?”

“I said, I guess you didn’t know?”

“No.” His voice came out rougher than he’d intended. He took another sip. “You think I’d still have…” he waved a hand. “Come on.”

“Well, someone had to do it,” Lars said.

“Are you fucking smiling?” Finn glared at him.

Lars shrugged. “So you deflowered her. Is that it? That’s what all these…” he waved his hands around, almost spilling his drink “…these feels are about?”

Finn didn’t answer him. How could he? Lars knew nothing but his beast. How it had responded to taking Cora that first time. The blood lust it had filled him with.

No one could ever know.

No one.

“She’s too young.”

“Meh,” Lars said. “Banged a chick ten years younger than me once.”

“It’s not a fucking competition, Lars.”

Lars snorted. “You’ll get over her.”

“Of course,” Finn murmured.

But he wouldn’t, of course. How could he? In his bitter world, she was sweet as candy. Her innocence, her vulnerability…he ached to steal it from her. Perhaps, in some way, he craved what she had. No fucking clue. Not about men, the world, anything.

What would it feel like, that naivety? He’d imagine it would be a kind of freedom. Living in a world where bad things only ever happened to bad people. A world where, if you were good, the good times just kept rolling in.

Finn couldn’t look at Lars anymore. Not until the concern faded from his friend’s eyes.

Instead, he looked at the swimming pool, trying to make out the third person in the tryst. And then he recognized the man, and his stomach twisted.

Javier. The woman? Silvia. And the third? She swam forward as if hearing Finn’s question, slung an arm around Silvia’s shoulders, and whispered something in the woman’s ear.

Ana.

Finn stood. “Where’s Cora?”

“And there he goes,” Lars muttered angrily. “I was so proud of you, Milo. What was that, a whole hour you went without thinking about her?”

“Ana’s supposed to be with her.”

“She is? Wait, who’s Ana?”

Finn turned a glare on Lars, who crooked a smile at him. “If Ana’s over there—” Finn stabbed toward the pool “—then where’s Cora?”

Lars ducked his head to see where Finn was pointing, let out another low whistle and sat back in his lounger. “Jesus, I hope she’s not with them. That would be kinda weird.”

He felt like throwing his tumbler. But that might make Javier turn and see him and Lars.

Fuck knew what would happen then.

He turned on his heel and left the patio, pushing past a pair of men that were heading outside. They murmured something in Spanish that might have been a curse, but he ignored them just as he ignored Lars calling his name.

When he found his way to the gardens, he stared at the floral architecture for the longest time as he slowly walked through the maze-like paths that trailed through it. There were several love seats and small picnic areas scattered throughout. Fountains, pools, even what looked like a small paved labyrinth, the type where you traced the path with your feet.

His glass was long empty when he heard footsteps. At first, he thought it was Lars, but the footfalls were too soft, and too close together.

A maid appeared around the hedged corner of the small alcove he sat in. She dipped her head and murmured, “Dinner is ready, Mr. Finn. Please, follow me.”

Voices filtered out through the partially closed dining room door as they drew near. Then a laugh—one Finn instantly recognized.

Cora.

The maid opened the door and stepped aside so he could walk through.

The dining room was lit by a dozen tiny lights hidden within a massive, glittering chandelier that probably had eighteen-carat fucking diamonds on it. And gold plating. It certainly shone bright enough. There were candles on the table. Each in its own elaborate, golden candle holder.

He’d obviously missed the invitation to the fucking cocktail party.

When he scanned the table, looking for that now-familiar tangle of dark hair, he couldn’t find her. His brain felt fogged up, and the rum was only partially to blame. He was as confused about his feelings for Cora as Lars was. Another slow scan, this time for Cora’s face. He found it under a dark, glossy head of hair that hung in a straight curtain around her face. It made her look years older than she was, as did the slinky dress she wore. And the makeup. It wasn’t blatant, but he couldn’t remember her lips being that shade of muddy red or her brows so perfectly arched.

Her eyes glowed like molten gold.

Javier sat at the head of the table, Cora to his right and Silvia to his left. Ana sat beside Cora, and the two had their heads together. So absorbed were they in their conversation that Finn was busy taking his seat across from her before Cora looked up.

Her eyes locked onto his. The wide smile she’d had for Ana softened into an expression he didn’t know. Expectation?

She sat forward a little, as if waiting for something. For what? For him to compliment her on her transformation from the scruffy, dusty Cora he knew into this…this…

“Christ, you look good enough to eat,” Lars said, scraping back his chair loudly enough to cut through everyone’s conversation. He must have come in just behind Finn. Lars dropped down, and then slapped the back of his hand into Finn’s stomach. “Doesn’t she clean up good?”

Finn grunted, but as soon as he tore his eyes away from Cora’s slowly saddening face, he made sure not to look at her again.

What had made him think Cora would be in danger? This had always been her life; a palace, designer clothes, perfect hair. He’d been the one to drag her through the dust. To tangle her hair.

He’d been ready to drag Cora out of here and demand she tell him what all of this meant. Why he couldn’t get her out of his head.

But all that anger, all that frustration…it eked away the longer he sat in this fancy dining hall with its mesmerizing chandelier. Javier’s voice competed with Silvia’s. Lars would break into laughter every few minutes, and Cora would let out the occasional giggle, belying whatever sophistication her new look had brought.

Finn sat in silence, feeling too big and too rough for this place with its delicate china and paper-thin wine glasses.

After barely touching his food, he pushed away his plate and nudged Lars’s arm with a knuckle.

“Let’s get out of here.”

“What? Now?” Lars pointed to his plate. A second helping, almost as big as the first, was in danger of falling off the rim of his plate. “I’m still—”

“Is there a problem?” Javier called out.

Silence cut through the chatter like a sharpened knife. Finn caught Javier’s eye, held it. The man had long since finished his food, but he still cradled a half-empty wine glass in one hand, the other draped over the glowing white tablecloth in front of him. Silvia had been leaning in to speak to him, and she twisted to watch Finn over the rim of her glass.

Had he really been in the garden long enough for them all to dry and dress? For Cora’s transformation? His head spun. He felt like he was trapped in some fairytale palace, the one where time stood still and no one could leave because of the curse some witch had spun on them.

“We’re leaving,” Finn said, standing in a rush.

Javier shook his head. “This time of night?” He made a wide gesture with his hand. “It is pitch black outside. Like the inside of a cat, I believe the expression is.”

“Are you going to stop me?” Finn asked.

A cold light entered Javier’s eyes, but it vanished a second later. Cora sat forward in a rush, elbows on the table, staring first at Finn and then at Javier. Mouth slowly falling open.

“Tío?”

“It’s Javier, child,” Martin muttered. And then he smiled. Widely, deeply. “Of course I won’t stop you, Mr. Finn. But the guards patrolling my compound just might.” He set his wineglass down and rose slowly, straightening his suit. That dark blue fabric gleamed with hidden textures; it probably cost more than Finn was paid in a year.

“Fuck it,” Lars muttered. “I haven’t even had dessert.”

“We’ll stop for a goddamn vanilla shake,” Finn snapped back, and then wished he hadn’t. He sounded petty, and unnerved, and it was making his beast stir. And with it, a wave of anxiety. The walls slid closer like they were wired to some hidden mechanism he’d triggered by announcing his intention to leave.

“Finn, please. Stay,” came Cora’s voice.

His eyes flickered to her. When she got to her feet, the colors in the rest of the room faded like she’d absorbed their pigments. He’d barely noticed the shape of her while they’d been on the run. There hadn’t been time. But now there was no way not to take her in. Her curves, the glow of her skin.

When he realized he hadn’t inhaled for too long, he swallowed hard and took a step back. Hoping that he could escape from her aura and get his fucking senses back.

It didn’t work.

“You haven’t stopped,” she said.

Was it just his imagination, or had her voice changed too? Growing deeper, huskier. Then he noticed her flushed cheeks. The lights sparkling in her eyes. She was tipsy. Maybe even drunk.

“It’s been a week and you haven’t stopped once.” She lifted a slim hand, taking in the villa. “You’re safe now.” She pressed those fingers to her collar bone. “I’m safe now. Take a day. You deserve it.”

Like he was some kind of sick and needed his boss’s fucking permission for a day’s sick leave.

He knew the thought was irrational, but everything about this place, these people, was getting under his skin. He’d never been good in company. Never good with social etiquette. Give him a rifle—any fucking rifle—and he’d field strip it under fifteen seconds. But this? He didn’t have the experience for this fucking shit.

Finn took another step back. Cora’s face shifted to disappointment, and he felt that like nails dragging through his skin. If Lars hadn’t snatched at him, he would have turned and walked out the door.

“Neither of us should be driving,” Lars said, just loud enough for Finn to hear. “You know that, Milo.”

He did, of course. He still wasn’t right in the head. His thoughts were still insubstantial and flimsy things.

He sank back into his chair. Defeated. Deflated.

And, when he looked at Cora again, when those gold-flecked eyes held his. Perfectly innocent. Utterly naive.

Yes…let’s stay.