Dalila
After I tell him that I win this round, I grab the lapels of his jacket and urge him closer. “Kiss me again,” I order. My heart is racing. I’m not usually this bold or assertive, but something comes over me. I don’t want to let this moment pass.
We’re in the back of the gardens close to the fields behind our house where nobody can see us.
I’ve kissed a few boys before, but never like this. My knees are weak and my entire body is tingling. This whole kiss started because I wanted to prove my point that he cared for me. I didn’t plan to kiss him, but as soon as he looked down at me with those blazing blue eyes I couldn’t resist.
“We shouldn’t do this,” he says.
I bite my bottom lip. “I know.”
As he leans in and kisses me again with those strong lips and that sexy, experienced tongue, a loud pop pierces the air. Before I can even contemplate what’s happening, Ryan pushes me to the ground and is on top of me. He’s shielding me with his body.
“What’s going on?” I ask in a panic, my entire body shaking.
“Get down! It’s a shooter!” Ryan yells. “Don’t move.”
Another pop echoes in the distance, and I wince. I can’t process this right now. This isn’t happening.
Ryan radios for backup on his walkie-talkie and swiftly informs the other bodyguards there’s a shooter in the field behind our house.
This isn’t my life, not here at La Joya de Sandoval. At least it wasn’t before my father started representing Santiago Vega. I grab the lapels of Ryan’s jacket as tears stream down my face. “My family needs to be safe, Ryan. My family and friends are in the house. We need to warn them!”
“The bodyguards are handling it,” Ryan explains. “I promise. Everyone inside is safe. Your father hired a lot of men to protect your home.”
My mind is freaking out and quickly running through the worst-possible scenarios. “What if there’s a shooter inside?”
Ryan gathers me into his arms and hugs me tightly, a gesture to comfort me. He can’t guarantee there isn’t a shooter inside. “I promise not to leave until you’re safe. Okay?”
“I’m scared,” I tell him, tears welling in my eyes. “Who is it? Who’d want to hurt us?”
“I don’t know.” He brushes stray strands of hair out of my face. “I got you. Don’t panic.”
Ryan’s friend Mateo is rushing toward us with a concerned look on his face. “The house is secure. Which direction were the shots coming from?”
“I don’t know, man,” Ryan says. “Somewhere in the field. Could’ve been any direction.”
Another shot is fired.
“Shit,” Mateo cries out, visibly disturbed, before jumping the wall and running into the line of fire. “I’m going after that pendejo.”
“Why would he run toward the shooter, Ryan?” I ask, my voice trembling. “He’s going to get killed.”
Ryan doesn’t answer. My entire body is frozen in fear as Ryan’s body shields me. “I need to get you into the house. It’s not safe here.”
“I can’t move,” I tell him in a panicked voice. “I’m too scared.”
Another pop pop pop fills the air and I suck in a horrified breath. “Mateo!”
“He knows what he’s doing, Dalila. Hold on to me,” Ryan urges as he swoops me into his arms and heads for the house. Another pop. And another.
I think we’re safely in the house when I hear another pop. Ryan swears under his breath.
“What? What’s wrong?” I ask as he rushes me through the line of bodyguards and into the house, where the guests are eerily quiet as the head bodyguard, Gerardo, tells them to stay calm.
“Nothing’s wrong, Dalila.” He sets me down and steps back. “Go sit with your family.”
I look at the ground and realize it’s not nothing. Fresh blood drops from Ryan’s side onto the floor.
And I scream.
Gerardo rushes the bleeding Ryan into the back hallway away from guests.
“How bad is he hurt?” I blurt out, my lips trembling uncontrollably as I follow them.
My distressed Papá is behind us. “Put him in the bedroom on the first floor while I talk to the police. Dalila, stay with your sisters in the courtyard,” he says in a frosty, clipped tone that makes me want to shrink into myself.
Papá turns to our guests, explaining that the shooter is being pursued by the hired security. I don’t miss the tense look on his face as he focuses his gaze on Don Cruz and Rico as if they’re somehow responsible for this dangerous turn of events.
“Why is this happening?” I frantically ask my father. “Who’d want to hurt us? Is Santiago Vega involved in this?” I follow him to the guest bedroom near the back of our house. I’m still agitated and nervous, which seems to mimic everyone in my house right now. “Are Las Calaveras involved?”
“Don’t say that name in this house, Dalila.”
“Why not?”
“Do as I ask. Go to the courtyard with your sisters,” Papá commands. “We need to act as normal as possible. No more talk of cartels, ever.”
“Normal? Nothing about this is normal,” I cry out. I can’t help but blame him, as if his connections with all of those new clients and colleagues attending my birthday party are the reason we’re in danger.
The reason Ryan is hurt.
“Calm down,” Papá says. “I’ll take care of this.”
His words register, but all I can think about is that Ryan doesn’t have family here to take care of him. And now my family has become a target because of Papá’s associations. A pang of anger enters my heart and settles there.
As I enter our guest room, I see Ryan sitting on the edge of the bed. There’s a lump in my throat as I eye the bloodstained towel he’s holding at his side.
Papá walks up to him. “Thank you for protecting my daughter.”
“It’s my job,” Ryan says.
“Do you need to go to the hospital?” Papá says the words with no emotion, like this is a business meeting.
“No,” Ryan replies. I notice he hasn’t made eye contact with me since I walked into the room. “I’ll be fine, Don Sandoval. It’s a surface wound.”
“Good.” Papá glances at Ryan’s bloodied side, then rubs his hands together as if the situation is under control. “I’ll send in Lola and make sure she bandages you properly. Stay here tonight. I’ll have you driven home in the morning.”
“Thank you, sir, but I’ll be fine,” he says. “As soon as I clean up, I’ll go back to my post. I’ve still got a job to do. Mateo went after the shooter and might be hurt.”
My dad shakes his head. “You’ll stay in this room and sleep here tonight. You’re done for the night.”
“Mateo is accounted for,” Gerardo chimes in.
Ryan tosses the towel aside as if the wound will miraculously heal on its own. “Seriously, Don Sandoval. I can go out there and do my job—”
“Do what my father says, Ryan,” I blurt out from the doorway. “Please.”
“Dalila, you know me. I’m not a quitter,” Ryan says.
Papá furrows his brow, obviously confused that Ryan and I already know each other. “Dalila, te quiero afuera de este cuarto.” When I open my mouth to protest being ordered out of the room, he stands stiffly and says, “Ahorita. Now.”