Pulling into this shitty motel off the interstate, I throw the gearshift into park and take the package out of the center console. I stare at the door marked one forty-one and grind my teeth in frustration. This is the last swap. I’m not normally down in the weeds like this, but with half our guys incarcerated or dead in the last week, it’s been left to me to handle some of the dirty work. Fuck. I hate this part of the job—this is not what I do. I have a master’s degree, for fuck’s sake.

I want this done fast and error free, which is why I’m here. I make sure my gun is loaded, and I slide it into the waistband of my pants. Then I scan the parking lot for anything suspicious before I exit the car and knock on the door. The flimsy wood door swings open, and Hector greets me.

“Alejandro.” Hector and his guys deal the drugs my family and associates bring across the border. He and my father have been in “business” together for over twenty-five years. And even though my father trusts him, I don’t.

He nods and steps aside to let me enter, eyeing the wrapped package in my hand. Strutting to the dresser, he pulls a fast food paper bag out of the top drawer. “Es todo lo que hay.”

“It’s all in here? All fifty?” I open the paper bag and glance at the neatly bound stacks of cash inside.

“Si.”

I hand him the wrapped package of pure black tar heroin, and he grins. This is twice in two days that I’ve had to swap drugs for cash. Hector’s men stand quietly behind him while keeping a careful eye on me. All it would take is one word, one wrong move, and they wouldn’t hesitate to take me out. The difference between me and Hector and his men is that I stand out like a sore thumb on this side of town in my Range Rover and my designer clothes. I grimace when I see a young girl who looks no older than sixteen or seventeen stumble out of the restroom and sidle up next to Hector.

God, have some fucking respect for yourself.

I’ve seen enough. Not wanting to draw any unneeded attention to myself, or Hector, I decide it’s best to leave quickly. “I have to go. Gracias, Hector.” I shove the bag of cash into the waistband of my pants, next to my gun.

“Mijo, I’m sorry to hear about your father’s situation.” That’s a polite way of acknowledging his incarceration. “Thank you for keeping up your family’s end of the bargain.”

I don’t know if his apology is genuine, or if he’s making a point that our business is weak at the moment. Men like Hector will try to capitalize on my family’s weakness, so I hide my distrust, nodding politely and closing the door behind me.

As I unlock my SUV, something catches my eye across the parking lot. It’s her. The scared girl I saw last night. The one I can’t stop thinking about. She’s walking toward the frontage road that runs alongside the freeway. Damn, she looks good, and she sure as hell shouldn’t be out here. Wearing a short green dress, her long legs extending for miles.

I get in the car and back out, again making sure I’m not being followed—worst part of this job is never knowing who might be lurking in the shadows, ready to take me out. I slow down as I pull up alongside her. I can already tell that something is wrong from the way she carries herself. Her head is dropped forward, and her long hair falls gently into her face, but it’s when she wipes the tears from under her eyes that I know she’s not okay.

Fuck, this isn’t my problem, I think as I pass her slowly. As I pull further away from her, though, something inside me stirs. I step on the brake and watch her through the rearview mirror. Her shoulders are slouched in defeat.

“Fuuuuuccckkkk,” I hiss as I grip the steering wheel and turn the car around. Rolling down my window as I approach her, I try to sound concerned and not like I’m trying to pick her up. “Hey, is everything okay?”

She keeps her head down and continues walking, not acknowledging me. Good girl, keep your defenses up. As she wipes her cheeks, her pace quickens, and I find myself once again doubling back to catch up to her, this time passing her.

Swerving the SUV to the shoulder of the road, I jump out and double back toward her just as she approaches me. Her eyes meet mine briefly, but instantly fall back to her feet. The fear I saw last night has been replaced with sadness.

“Are you going to answer me?” I plant myself directly in her path so that she’ll either stop or run into me.

She stops a short distance back, but still doesn’t look at me. “What do you want?”

“I want to know if you’re okay.”

She remains silent.

“Where are you going? Let me give you ride.” I want her to say yes, although, if she says no, I’d almost be more proud than if she accepts.

She remains planted on the baking asphalt. It has to be at least a hundred and ten degrees already, and the pale skin on her shoulders is tinged a light shade of pink.

“I don’t know,” she whispers, her chin beginning to quiver.

I frown at her. “You don’t know where you’re going?” She shakes her head and wipes her nose with the back of her hand. It doesn’t take me long to react. “Get in the car.”

“I can’t. I don’t know you,” she says as more tears fall from her eyes. Instinctively, I reach out and swipe her cheek with my thumb. Surprisingly, she doesn’t pull away like I expect her to—like she should.

“I’m not going to hurt you. Just get in the car until you figure out where you’re going, and I’ll drive you there.” I wrap my fingers around her wrist, gently tugging her toward me. Finally, she lifts her head and her eyes meet mine. She’s still every bit the stunning woman I remember from last night, but today, she is a beautiful broken girl that I need to help.

She nods once and follows me to my SUV. I don’t release her wrist; instead, I loosen my grip and let my hand fall into hers. Our palms connect, and she tries to pull away, but I hold tight.

Approaching the car, I release her hand and gently pull the strap of her bag off of her shoulder. I open the front passenger door, holding it open for her, and she pauses.

“Why are you helping me? I mean, I met you for two seconds last night.”

It’s a damn good question. One I wish I knew the answer to. “I don’t know. All I know is I can’t leave you out here with nowhere to go.”

She swallows hard and forces a small smile before stepping up into the leather seat.

Opening the back door, I set her bag on the back seat, wondering what’s inside, as it’s so light. “Is this all you have?”

“That’s it,” she says bleakly as she closes the door and settles into the front seat. She adjusts the vents, allowing the air to blow directly on her face, her long hair billowing behind her. Finally, she allows her head to fall back against the headrest, and she momentarily closes her eyes. Her chin still quivers, and I watch the muscles in her neck constrict as she swallows and exhales deeply.

As I slide into my seat, she’s buckling herself in, and I can’t help but notice how thin she is. When did she last eat? I shouldn’t care, but I do. She crosses her legs at her ankles, her pale skin standing out against the black leather seats. I put the car in drive and head toward my downtown condo until she tells me to drive her somewhere else.

“I’m Alex,” I say, keeping my focus on the road and the cars around me. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her turn her head to look at me.

“Emilia.” Her voice is just over a whisper.

Emilia; beautiful Emilia.

She turns her head away from me to stare out the passenger window. I let the silence fill the air between us, choosing to forgo music. I have a million questions, but I don’t want to overwhelm her.

“It’s beautiful here,” she says. “So different from where I’m from.”

I bite at this opportunity to get some questions in, to find out more about her. “Where are you from?”

She folds her hands in her lap, picking at the skin on the side of her thumb until it’s almost raw. “White Lake, Illinois.” She looks at me with eyes full of despair.

“Never heard of it.” But it sounds small, and she seems like a small-town girl.

“Most people haven’t. If you blink while driving through, you’d miss it.” A small laugh escapes her.

“What brought you to Phoenix?”

She swallows and glances out the passenger window again. “I came to find my dad.”

“Did you find him?” I ask curiously.

“Yep. Didn’t go exactly how I envisioned it,” she says, and her voice cracks. Her shoulders begin to shake, and I can tell she’s fighting with herself while trying not to cry—again maintaining control of her emotions.

“Hey, he’ll come around. When’s the last time you saw him?”

“Never.” Her mouth turns into a hard line. “I’ve never met him—until this morning.”

“Really?” I can’t imagine that, never knowing my father.

She nods, that heartbreak in her eyes again. “Yeah. I’ve known of him…heard stories about him, but I never met him until today…” She pauses.

“So, now what? You’re going to go back to your family in Illinois?” I navigate the busy Phoenix streets as we get closer to downtown, being mindful of the cars behind me in the rearview mirror.

“I don’t have any family. My mom died a couple of months ago.” She pauses again, her lip quivering. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.” She presses her lips together when her voice breaks with emotion.

I chance a quick glance at her, but she stares straight ahead, lost in her thoughts. We both remain quiet as we near my condo, and I push the button on the steering wheel, triggering the large metal gate to roll open at the entrance to the parking garage.

“I should get out here,” she says quietly, reaching for the door handle. “I’ll catch a bus to the Greyhound.”

I step on the brake, the car stopping quickly. “You just said you had no one to go home to. Where is the Greyhound going to take you?”

She hesitates before shrugging. “I’m not sure. I have fifty dollars, so wherever that’ll take me, I guess.”

Taking a deep breath, I pull forward into the garage and park in my assigned space. “Fifty dollars isn’t going to get you anywhere you want to go. You’re welcome to stay with me until you figure out what you’re doing, or where you’re going. It’s just me in this enormous condo. I have the space and…I’ve been thinking of getting a roommate, so this works out perfectly.” I have no idea why I offered this invitation to a beautiful stranger, to someone I’ve just met, but something tells me she needs me, and maybe I need her too.

She blinks at me in confusion. “I can’t be your roommate.” She reaches for the door handle. “You don’t even know me. I barely have money for a bus ticket. How can I pay rent?”

I shrug. “I don’t need the money.”

She studies me cautiously, looking for any indication of who I really am. She’ll never know I’m really a monster.

“I can’t do that. I can’t accept that offer.” She seems caught off guard by my concern for her well-being, as she appears to consider my offer.

“And I can’t let you wander the streets alone—headed to a bus station to take a bus to nowhere.” My fingers grip the leather-bound steering wheel in frustration.

“I’ll figure it out,” she says, unbuckling her seatbelt.

“You’ll figure it out while you stay here. End of discussion.” My voice is firm…commanding. She’s too proud to admit that she needs me, and I sure as hell am not letting her walk away.

Her eyes open wide at my orders, and I unlock the car doors, stepping out into the parking garage. I study each car, making sure I recognize them, then I instantly relax when I see Saul peek around the corner and nod at me before his eyes lock on Emilia.

I open the car door for her and she steps down hesitantly. She wobbles on shaky legs, grabbing my arm to balance herself. I reach for her bag in the backseat when she finally steps toward me, catching me off guard.

“Thank you, Alex,” she says. Her voice is quiet, but her eyes are full of sincerity.

“You’re welcome, Emilia.” I love the way her name sounds, rolling off my tongue.

* * *

I carry her bag as we ride the elevator to my penthouse condo on the eleventh floor. Her shoulders are hunched forward and her thin arms wrapped tightly around her waist. I stand behind her, watching her every move. The elevator carries us up the old brick building that was recently converted to condominiums. I purchased the entire top floor and had it custom designed, not that I really give a shit about any of that.

When the elevator opens directly into my foyer, I step around her, holding the doors open as she steps inside. Her eyes immediately widen as she takes in her surroundings, and I feel a swell of satisfaction inside of me. She follows closely behind me as I step through the foyer and down the short hall that leads into the extravagant kitchen—so large, it’s damn near obnoxious. A shame I never use it.

“This kitchen is bigger than our entire trailer,” she says breathily as she runs her hand across the smooth granite countertop. “Your house is beautiful.” Her lips tighten into a small smile. It’s the first time I’ve seen her smile, and it’s stunning; she’s stunning.

“Thank you,” I respond shyly. I’ve never been embarrassed of my wealth, but knowing that she has absolutely nothing and yet she compliments the wealth I’ve inherited entirely illegally, and at the demise of many people, I suddenly feel guilty.

“You can stay in the guest room over here.” I point toward an open door as I walk across the kitchen and down the hall to the spare bedroom that sits just off the main living room. “Except it won’t be a guest room anymore. It’ll be your room.”

I don’t look at her to see her reaction to that statement; I just set her bag at the foot of the bed and glance around the room. The walls are stark white—not much life in here—but it’s fully furnished and has never been used. I don’t even know why I had this room furnished—it’s not like I ever have visitors—but now, I’m suddenly glad I did.

She brushes up against me as she slides through the doorway and into the room. “It’s beautiful, so bright.” She steps over to the large window that overlooks the outside patio.

Not as beautiful as you.

As she stands at the window, the summer sunlight shines down on her. Her dark hair hangs long against her back and her thin legs poke out from her short dress. She looks like a piece of heaven, an angel, against the long white sheer curtains that hang from both sides of the window. Everything about her is innocent, natural—stunning.

“Make yourself at home. I’ll be down the hall in my office, getting some work done.” I gesture down the long hallway. “Feel free to check out the condo.”

“Alex.” She says my name, and I freeze. “Thank you.” Her voice wavers, and I nod at her as I leave and find my way to my office.

I spend the next hour checking emails and fielding calls from my father’s very expensive defense attorneys. Trying to run a fucking criminal organization damn near by myself is beyond stressful. I’ve always just been the money guy. I handle the money, and I purchase real estate. I don’t arrange for fucking shipments of heroin or bundles of weed. I don’t make the deals or deliver the goods. I don’t smuggle people across the border, and I sure as hell don’t murder people. But today, I’ve been fucking arranging all of this.

Sitting back in my leather chair, I lace my fingers behind my head. I feel a headache coming on, and with as much work as I still have to do, I don’t have time for a headache. As my thoughts wander, I find it hard to concentrate. I’m drawn to the beautiful girl down the hall.

Pushing myself away from the large glass-top desk, I head to the kitchen and grab two bottles of water. I half expect to see her in the living room, on the couch watching TV, or find her roaming the condo as she settles in. Instead, I hear sniffles coming from her bedroom. Her door isn’t shut all the way, and I peer inside, finding her curled into a ball in the middle of the large bed. Her dark hair is splayed on the pillow; another pillow is pressed up against her stomach, her arms wrapped tightly around it.

I stand for a moment, unsure what to do. I almost feel like a bastard when I knock softly on the door to get her attention. Maybe I should’ve just stayed out of it, let her cry.

She doesn’t move. “Door’s open,” she says quietly, wiping under her eyes.

“Are you all settled?” I glance around the room and see nothing personal of hers except a leather-bound notebook on the nightstand.

“Yeah, didn’t take long…I don’t have much.” She pushes herself to an upright position on the bed. Her cheeks are flush and the whites of her eyes are pink from crying.

“What can I do to help you, Emilia? What do you need?” I wonder what it is she truly needs, aside from the basics of shelter and food.

“Nothing. You’ve done enough for me already.”

“I haven’t done anything.”

“You’re letting me stay here, which is very kind and, honestly, very unsettling.” She lets out a little laugh. “I don’t know you. I know nothing about you, except your name is Alex. And quite frankly, this entire situation scares me a little bit.” It’s the first time she’s been open with me, and I want to put her fears to rest.

“What do you want to know?” I lean back against the cool brick wall and study her.

She sits cross-legged on the bed, her skirt tucked just inside her knees. “Do you always pick up girls from the side of a road and bring them home?”

“Nope. This was definitely a first.” I chuckle.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-seven.”

“What’s your last name?”

I hesitate, wondering what she’d find if she Googled me. “Estrada.”

“What do you do—your job?”

Shit. My family runs a fucking cartel. We smuggle drugs, people, guns—you know, living the American dream. I barely contain my cringe as I half-lie, “I own real estate and am co-owner of a transportation business.”

That wasn’t so hard.

She eyes me cautiously. “So, you’re rich.” She glances out the open bedroom door into the condo that’s overbearing and way too extravagant for someone my age.

“I have money, enough of it that I’m comfortable, but I’m hardly rich.” I don’t know why I said that, but it’s true. While I have cars, a luxury condo, and more money than I can spend in my lifetime, there are so many things I’m missing. The things that truly make a person rich, I will never have—a nine-to-five job, a normal relationship, a family.

A spark of amusement hits her eyes. “What’s your favorite color?”

I give a small smile. “Blue.”

“Do you have any siblings?” she continues.

My brows furrow at this sudden onslaught of random questions. Before I can answer, she jumps in with the one I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to answer honestly.

“What scares you?”

I hesitate, wondering how to answer. Never show your fears. This is how I was raised. Men don’t show fear and they never talk about what scares them. “Nothing. I mean, I haven’t really thought about that.” I shrug. “Nothing scares me.” Everything scares me. My life scares me. The fact that I have to look over my shoulder every time I step out of my house scares the living shit out of me.

Pushing forward off the exposed brick wall, I come to where she sits on the bed. As I get closer, her eyes drop from mine to her hands that are resting on the pillow in her lap. I stand over her thin body and drink in her beauty.

You scare me, Emilia. The feeling to protect and care for a beautiful stranger that I just met scares the living shit out of me.

“What scares you?” I ask her quietly.

She looks up at me, her bright hazel eyes glistening with tears. “Everything,” she whispers. “Everything scares me.”

I want to run my fingers across her cheek to wipe her tears, but I hold back. “Don’t be scared. I won’t let anything hurt you.”

It’s the first of many lies I will tell Emilia.