16
CARINA
Blinking slowly, a soft smile spreads across my face when Mateo hugs me tighter to him, trying to keep me from getting away from him. So many things have changed from the time I got here until now. So many ups and downs, no person would be able to process it all. Yet, here I am, as sane as can be—considering the circumstances—and, dare I say, loving every moment of our messed-up life.
At least, loving moments like this. Where we have nothing else spoiling our time together, and we can just be. We don’t have to think about tomorrow. Don’t have to worry about the troublesome storm steadily cresting over the hill coming right toward us.
It’s just Mateo and me. No fighting. No push and pull. We’re completely in sync.
He started out as such a condescending asshole when his family took me away from mine. He thrived on pain—loved the knowledge he was mindfucking me into a state of confusion. Yet now, he may still be an asshole, but he’s my asshole. He knows if he goes too far with his quest in pissing me off that I’ll give it back to him. He’s never had that. Never had someone without an ounce of fear going up against him, and that’s exactly what he needed.
It’s exactly what both of us needed.
I’m not going to spout love sonnets or scream to the heavens that I love him more than life itself, because I don’t. No one can fall in love this fast, even if they find someone that matches their crazy to perfection. There’s always going to be bumps in the road, and that’s what we like the most about this.
We know we’re fucked up, but we know no one else would be able to handle us at our worst, let alone our best. We’re comfortable, and maybe, just maybe, one day it could lead to that fairytale people like to call love.
Sighing, I stretch, groaning dreamily at my sore muscles getting the relief they need. Mateo worked me over earlier in the night and still wanted more before sleep claimed both of us as her victims. I have no doubt that just as soon as I wake him, he’ll want to go again, which is good with me. He’s started something that’s going to ruin both of us, but I couldn’t care less. It’s addicting, exhilarating. It’s the only time I’m not fighting the emotions because I can feel everything all at once.
I’ve never felt such raw, undeniable heat. Not even the addicting high I reach when completing a contract, where nothing could ever make me feel as good as that moment, gets me to this level. Mateo regards my body with such covetousness, such reverence, every sensation he causes me to feel seems out of this world.
He doesn’t make me feel as broken as much as I know myself to be. Mateo’s like the people that wield of the art of glassblowing, handling my pieces with such finesse as he slowly pieces me back together under the heat of his touch. It’s different, but not a different that is uncomfortable.
Slowly extracting myself, I get up from the bed, risking a glance over my shoulder to see Mateo in all his sleeping glory. The sheet fell down to just above his waist, giving me a peek of the monster beneath the sheet that’s already hard and ready for more. The sight causes a tingle of awareness to settle between my aching thighs and my heart to skip a beat at how skillful he is in bed as the vivid pictures of our times together replay on repeat through my mind.
Mateo is a skilled lover that is proficient in all things broken, and I’m not scared to see where we both can go once we let go and allow each other.
Another smile blankets my face as I continue toward the bathroom, my bladder demanding relief whereas I couldn’t be bothered with it before. Pushing my way into the bathroom, a cold breeze slicks over my heated skin, causing me to halt in my tracks. Glancing over, I can’t help it when my head cocks to the side, noticing a window above the tub open with the curtain blowing in the frigid winds.
What the fuck? Did Mateo get too hot in here earlier and just forget about closing it?
Treading softly, I step up into the tub, effectively closing the window. I stare at it a few minutes as if to lie in wait for it to open once more. I don’t know why, but a terrible feeling starts swirling in my gut at the sight of that open window. It seems so out of place because if anything, Mateo is compulsive about everything he does. He has to make sure over and over again of something before he deems it right. How could he forget to close the window?
My mind roams over the possibilities as I do my business and wash my hands. My eyes connect with my reflection, and even I can see the doubt resting there. It’s very doubtful that Mateo did this. Especially with the threat resting over our heads from the shooter that took Vinny’s life.
It doesn’t seem right. When my gut settles with the idea I’m right, I make haste out of the bathroom. It’s not a coincidence that it’s Mateo’s window that’s been left open. It’s not a coincidence that the shooter shot Vinny, because he was right beside Mateo when it happened. Anything could cause the debacle of Vinny taking the bullets instead of Mateo. Wind. Degree. Humidity. Fucking anything.
None of this is a goddamn coincidence.
Racing out of the bath, my eyes roam over every inch of the room. First, I spy Mateo still sound asleep on the bed where I left him. Next, I spy all the windows are firmly where I left them before venturing into the bathroom. Nothing is disturbed. Nothing is out of place. Everything is where it should be.
Until my eyes case toward the far end of the room, seeing the ends of shoes resting in front of a lone chair that’s been pushed up against the corner. Until my eyes raise higher, seeing legs attached to those shoes, then higher, to see the chest of a man that can be here for no good. Fuck!
Scouring the room, I see nothing within range for me to use as a weapon. I’m on my own in this. With the fear for Mateo’s life buzzing inside of me, I feel the familiar emotionless haze drift over me. My fight or flight instinct is kicking in, and I’m going to fight to the death. No one is going to take anyone else under my protection away from me.
Settling into my fighting stance, I pay no attention to my nakedness as I face off with the unknown man who dared to venture into my goddamn home uninvited.
“You better hope you’re a friend and not foe, because I’m two seconds from ripping your goddamn throat out,” I seethe, clenching my hands so hard into fists my fingers pop from the pressure.
Silently, I watch as the mysterious man picks up a sheet of paper—a picture—from the table next to him. He tsks, shaking his head, as he tosses it toward me. I watch as it floats down toward the ground, my gasp echoing through the room when I spy the picture of the man resting there with a sly smile on his face. He’s talking with someone—a woman—but I can’t see her face for the life of me. However, I can see his face all too clear. The eyes. Nose. The angular jaw with barely there scruff I know hides a scar just underneath.
“Hmm, and this is what all the fuss is about.” That voice—it’s familiar in ways it shouldn’t be.
“No. It’s not possible.” Shaking my head, my entire body vibrates with disbelief.
“Oh, it’s possible. Of all the people in the world to fall for, I didn’t expect you—the great Reap—to fall for a mark.”
“Luca?” I gasp.
Leaning forward so his face is no longer shrouded in darkness, my heart nearly stops in my chest. He smirks, death swirling in his cold, dead eyes. “In the flesh, baby sis. Did you miss me?”
“A good book has no ending …”
– R.D. Cummings