Serafina

I shiver as Eagle’s heated gaze travels over my body. The man I used to know didn’t miss anything. So why doesn’t he recognize me? My voice is still the same, my smile, and my broken heart. Not because of anything he did. I made a conscious decision . . .

He’s wearing those custom made Tony Lama boots I love and a gold neck chain thicker than my thumb. A loaded gun is hidden underneath his vest. He offers me another wine cooler and I grab it. Hell, I’d drink a bottle of cheap tequila to settle my nerves. When he sits down again, I look into his blue eyes, fringed by dark lashes that match his black hair. He’s lean and tall, well over six feet. His jaw is dusted with stubble and I can see thick chest hair where his shirt is unbuttoned. Time hasn’t changed him. By the way my heart responds to his nearness, neither have my feelings.

How did I end up in a cabana with the one man I never expected to see again? Didn’t want to see. Old fears surface, followed by regret. Caleb Laramie rescued me from a living hell back then—and again today. That’s what my life has always been. But he can’t find out I’m alive. Not now, not ever. Never mind how much I want to kiss him, to feel those soft lips on mine, to remember what it felt like having his strong arms around me.

“I want to go home.”

He shakes his head. “Not now, darlin’. I want you to stay here for a while. Let things cool down before we head outside.”

“But Tony will worry. He’ll tear this house apart to find me.”

“Is that your escort?” He looks pissed. Maybe Eagle thinks I’m sleeping with Tony. Not that it should matter to him. I’m a perfect stranger, something I need to keep reminding myself of. Eagle doesn’t see Angel sitting in front of him—he sees me, the new me.

I nod.

“He’s an idiot,” he observes bitterly as he takes a swig of beer. “If you were with me . . .” He doesn’t finish the thought, and I wonder why.

I raise an eyebrow, hopelessly curious. “What?”

“If I was your escort, you’d be safe, not fucking exposed to assholes like Tito.”

I nod, knowing perfectly well what Eagle would have done to any man who tried to hurt me when I was with him. “Anything else?”

“If you were mine, you wouldn’t be doing this.”

He’s right. Eagle didn’t share. He didn’t even like other men to look at me fully dressed. “Judgmental much?”

“Sure am,” he admits. “I can afford to be.” He stares unblinking. “So can you.”

“That’s the misstatement of the year. How do you know what I can afford?”

He sets his beer on the coffee table between us, then drapes his arm across the back of his chair like he doesn’t have a care in the world. “Obligations?” he asks.

If he means mounting debt . . . “Hell yes.”

“Tell me about your life, Serafina.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

He exhales loudly. “Oh, I think there is.”

I glance up. My limbs melt under the weight of his stare. I stifle a nervous laugh. “I’m a part time student who strips on the weekends. End of story.”

He stretches his long legs out. “What’s your major?”

“Psychology.”

He nods. “Where’s your family?”

I dislike how personal and one-sided this conversation is. “Where’s your family?” I counter.

“Everywhere.”

“Omnipresence? That’s a superpower.”

That elicits the Eagle laugh I remember too well, the one that liquefies my insides.

“You’re gorgeous.”

My cheeks flush. Another reason I need to get out of here—the Caleb charm is starting to take hold. I’ll buy a ticket for the next Greyhound going to Arkansas if he’ll let me leave.

“Can you do me a favor?” he asks.

“Sure.”

“Put your clothes on.”

As I slip into my skirt and top, he stands and moves closer. I pretend not to notice, fighting my instinct to tell him who I really am. But to Eagle, I’m dead. Murdered and cremated, my ashes interred at the local cemetery.

“There’s a bruise where Tito slapped you.” He caresses my cheek with the back of his hand. The light touch of his knuckles makes me shiver.

“You came all the way over here to point out a blemish on my face?”

He tilts my chin upward. “Because I wanted to touch you.”

I can barely swallow. He’s so sexy and intimidating. The old me is jealous. I never wanted to think about what it would be like seeing Eagle with another woman. Being that other woman is surreal. Honestly, I don’t want him to stop touching me, but I jerk away. “Bruises heal.”

His jaw clenches. “Don’t play badass with me.”

“Sorry.” I know he’s trying to be nice. But tonight is a nightmare, full of bad memories and heartache. I need to go. “Is there any ice in the fridge?”

“No,” he says.

“Can you grab me some?” I ask. “I want to keep the swelling down if I can.”

He considers it. “Promise to stay put?”

Our eyes meet. “I promise.”

Without a word, he opens the door and steps outside.

Eagle

I’m a sucker for a damsel in distress—especially Serafina. And though I’m taking a chance leaving her alone, I know she can’t go far. I trudge to the main house. The show is in full swing, but Lazaro is back at the bar.

He takes one look at me and says, “What the hell happened to you?”

“Nothing,” I lie.

He cocks his head. “Really, bro?”

I don’t want to ruin his night. If he finds out what Tito did, he’ll snap. Maybe put a bullet in his mule’s head. Mendozas don’t tolerate unnecessary brutality; it’s one of the reasons his family has thrived on this side of the border. “Tell me, goddamn it.”

There’s no way to avoid it; I’d expect the same courtesy. I give him the details.

“Fuck.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Where’s the girl?”

“In the cabana.”

“Is she all right?”

“Shaken up, but fine.”

“Good. Take me to her.”

Lazaro follows me outside. Serafina handled herself like a pro—that’s why I gave her a chance to win my trust. Normal women don’t throw fuck yous around when there’s a loaded gun pointed at their heads. But as I open the door to the cabana, suddenly part of me doesn’t expect to find her in the chair.

Why would she stay?

We search the room just in case she’s hiding. The only evidence she left behind is her pair of gold-tipped stilettos. I stare at them, clenching my hands at my sides.

“Take me to Tito,” Lazaro growls.

When we enter the guest house, it goes dead silent. Tito glares at me, then his boss.

Lazaro stalks forward, all rage and cool confidence. That’s a warning sign for people who know him. Something big is going to happen.

“There’s a time for celebration,” Lazaro starts. “Always a reason for violence. And always a purpose for elimination.”

Tito is shaking. Lazaro is in full character now—not the friend I grew up with, but the man who runs a cartel.

“Those girls are my guests,” Lazaro says. “What does that mean, Tito?”

“They’re under your protection.”

Lazaro nods. “The moment I turn my back and you get a little whiskey and coke in your fucking system, you let your dick do the thinking. What happened to you, Tito? A year ago you were nothing, begging me for a chance to prove yourself. And now, because you’ve tasted a little power, you abuse your position? Threaten a woman with a gun? Take advantage of my hospitality?”

“I wasn’t going to hurt her.”

“No?” Lazaro asks, then eyeballs me.

One scene plays out in my head over and over again—the gun aimed at Serafina. Lazaro and I live by different rules, grew up in very different families. He’s Mexicano and I’m white. My father is a popular state senator and his papa is a federal fugitive living in Mexico. But some beliefs are universal. Innocent women are off limits.

Tito knows he’s in trouble. “I’m sorry Mr. Mendoza, it won’t happen again.”

“Get up,” Lazaro barks.

Tito staggers to his feet.

“Give me your pistol.”

Tito lifts the hem of his button-up shirt, revealing his weapon tucked carelessly inside the front of his pants. He surrenders it.

“Who do you trust most?” Lazaro asks.

“Juan,” Tito answers without hesitation.

“Juan Flores,” Lazaro calls. “Come here.”

Juan is a twenty-year-old with a scruffy beard and a shaven head. A winged Satan is tattooed on his skull. Lazaro hands Juan the handgun, whispers in his ear, then signals for me to follow him outside. Before we clear the doorway, a shot goes off. I turn. Tito screams. He’s holding his mangled hand against his chest.

I grin. Lazaro is getting soft—in the old days, he would’ve ordered Tito’s execution. But tonight is his bachelor party, so maybe he’s more inclined to exercise restraint.

“Where’s the girl?” Lazaro asks me again.

“Gone.”

“Do you want to find her?”

“I’d like to get my hands on her escort first.”

Lazaro knows what I’m thinking. “I’ll take care of Tony.” He digs in his front pocket. “Here.” He dangles the key to his Mercedes in front of me. “Your car is blocked. Go.”

Serafina

I don’t know why I shared any personal information with Eagle. When he left me alone in the cabana I changed into my jeans and tennis shoes, determined to get away without ever seeing him again. He makes me weak. Our past tempts me to revert to the girl I used to be. And being in our hometown makes it that much easier to slip.

Now I’m walking aimlessly up the Gulf Beach Highway in the middle of the night without a jacket, hoping Ben will fire me when I get home. I’m already on his shit list. Tonight confirms my complete distaste for this job. Once I was locked into the contract I tried to make the best of things. I make good money, but not enough to entertain drug lords and gang members.

I’ve lived through that kind of savagery before. Seen firsthand what kind of violence happens when you keep company with soulless men.

Sixteen years ago on a Friday night my father came into the living room with a bowl of popcorn. Mom had a girl’s night out once a month, so Dad and I made it a habit to watch a movie together . . .

“Ready, kid?” he asks. He plops down next to me on the sofa.

“Let me guess,” I say. “Star Wars or Revenge of the Nerds?”

He grins. “Wrong on both counts.”

“Return of the Jedi?” Dad never outgrew the Star Wars craze—he just handed it down to the next generation.

“Bambi,” he says.

I nearly choke from laughing so hard. “Really?”

“It’s your favorite.”

A loud bang stops our conversation. Dad sets the bowl of popcorn down, rises slowly, and tells me to be quiet. “Get in the closet.”

I hesitate, I don’t want him to leave me alone. “Daddy . . .”

He turns. “Do. It. Now. Baby girl.”

It’s a tiny space covered by a drape. I sneak inside it, arranging the curtain carefully. I peek out, but he’s gone already. I hear loud voices in the kitchen. I creep to the doorway. Pop. Pop. Two shots, no three. I rush into the kitchen. The front door slams shut. My father is on the floor, bleeding from his nose and mouth. I scream, throw myself on top of him. “Daddy . . . Daddy . . .”

A cold wind brings me back to the present.

A truck zips by and I hear a whistle. Assholes. Guys have one thing on their minds. I’m not the girl to give it to them. I have enough shit going on inside my head. That’s why I’m studying to be a psychotherapist. Forget providing therapy for all the other fucked up people out there. I need serious help, and the only place I’m going to find it is inside me.

A black Mercedes SLK stops a few feet ahead of me on the shoulder. A tremor shoots down my body. Some hard dick looking for fun, really? The car door opens and I see a black boot hit the pavement. I do a 180 and start walking as fast as I can in the opposite direction.

“Serafina.”

I freeze. Oh my God, it’s Eagle. What does he want? How did he know where to find me?

“What?” I ask without stopping. I hear his heavy footsteps following me, closing the gap between us.

The next thing I feel is his jacket slipping over my shoulders. “I didn’t ask for your help.” I quit walking then, pulling the soft leather tighter around me. It smells like him—that citrusy cologne I miss.

“You didn’t have to,” he says gently. “You’re shivering.”

I loathe the good ol’ southern boy bullshit that most men in Louisiana use to seduce women. All manners on the surface, but underneath, they just want to fuck me. Not Eagle—he wants all of me. He’s genuine, like a treasured piece in a museum. Born in the wrong century and just trying to deal with it. I twist around. “What do you want?”

“Stop fighting me,” he says. “We have more important things to do right now.”

I laugh. “We are done. I met you at a bachelor party, you helped me out of a sticky situation, and I thanked you. End of story.”

“Didn’t your mother raise you better? Where’s that southern charm?” he chides.

“I left it in Arkansas.”

A moment of uncomfortable silence passes between us before he speaks again. “You’re not walking alone on the highway in the middle of the night. Besides,” he says, “you’re going the wrong way.” He points. “Unless you want to visit the Rockefeller State Wildlife Refuge?”

“Listen, biker boy . . .”

“Me?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” I gaze at his patches. “Iron Norsemen MC?”

He chuckles. “We can argue later, darlin’. Get in the car.”

I look around nervously. It’s me against the world, has been for a long time, so I’ll risk the road if it means getting away from Eagle. I pull his jacket off, fold it in half, and then offer it to him. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

His eyes narrow. “I’m trying to be a gentleman, Serafina.”

“And I’m trying to be a lady, Eagle. Fuck off.” I drop his coat on the road and turn around. Before I can think, he lifts me from behind and throws me over his shoulder. “Put me down!”

A car whizzes by and honks.

In any other state they’d stop to see if I was okay, not in Louisiana—there’s all kinds of crazy-ass people in the country. I kick my feet, but he holds on tighter. Then he bends at the knees and scoops his jacket off the ground.

“You’re a handful, darlin’,” is all he says as he heads for the car.

“I’ll call the cops.”

“Want to use my cell phone?”

He opens the door and drops me sideways on the driver’s seat. I clip him in the chest with my right foot. He growls. I’m wedged between him and the hard center console. It hurts my back. But not more than his angry gaze; those eyes threaten me in every way.

His full lips are mere inches above mine. “Kick me again and I’ll hogtie you. Understand?”

Overpowered, I give up and nod.

“Good,” he says. “Now get your sweet little ass in the passenger seat—or do you need my help?”

Somehow, I manage to roll over the console. I cross my arms over my chest and stare out the windshield.

“Seatbelt,” he commands.

I don’t move.

“All right.” I hear him shuffling around. Next thing I know, he reaches across and connects my belt. His arm grazes my breast. I feel his body tighten on contact. “My God . . .” That’s all he says as he gets comfortable in the driver’s seat.

He does a U-turn and heads back to the house.

“I’m not going inside.”

“You will.”

“I won’t,” I say defiantly. “Why are you doing this?”

“Principles.”

I laugh bitterly. “You hang out with drug dealers and principles are your excuse for kidnapping me and taking me back to a place I was assaulted? That’s priceless.”

“I didn’t kidnap you.” He stares at me. “I’m performing a civic duty.”

The shit keeps getting deeper. “Really?”

“I saved your life,” he offers with a dreamy smile. “Twice.” He pulls into the driveway. “Shall I carry you?”

“Right.”

He gets out, struts around the car, and opens my door. “The best choice is walking on your own.”