Buried (Hiding From Love #3) (21 page)

My father sits and watches me for a moment. His poker face has been honed over many decades. He has no tells that I can find. No little twitch or habit. I find it hard to imagine what you’d have to do to train yourself to be this cold, this emotionless. But then again, I always had a reputation in the RH for my cold levelheadedness, so maybe it’s in the DNA.

Finally, he stands and leans across the desk with his hand out. “You make me proud, son. You are everything I could have asked for and more. You negotiate like an Ybarra, and you protect what is yours. It is what a man does, what I’ve done for you since I found out where you were when you were seventeen. Your young woman is safe always. Let me make the arrangements to have her taken back to her
familia
. It may take several days to get the plans set.”

“I want to take her—” I see him scowl. “Just to the border. I’ll stay on this side, but I want to see her walk across to where she’s safe. No planes.”

He’s still standing with his hand outstretched to me, and I refuse to shake it until I have everything I can possibly get from him.

“Very well.” He nods.

I reach my hand out, my heart beating like a small bird’s. Something inside of me cracks and it feels like I’ve broken a part that can’t be repaired. It hurts and it leaves a regret in my soul that I know won’t be washed away no matter how many tears I would cry if I were still capable of crying.

Then I shore up my mask, this time the mask of the King Pin, and I shake the devil’s hand.

I spend the afternoon learning about the various Latin American syndicated crime families. The
Santos Mexicanos
are the largest family in Mexico and Central America, but they haven’t made the inroads into Colombia and some of the other South American countries that my father would like. That’s one of the things Miguel wants me to help him with. He feels that, with two of us, we can oversee more operations and more men. He wants to double the amount of product we’re moving into countries south of the Panama Canal over the next year.

Apparently, we manufacture and distribute heroin, but we’ve got several large marijuana farms, and of course we love to sell cocaine, the staple of Latin American drug lords. By the time I’m released for
1
siesta
before we get ready for dinner, I feel like a walking, talking HBO movie. I wonder if I’ll end up being gunned down in some showdown with a Michael Douglas drug czar type, taken out by a dozen American agents in bad polyester suits with Prohibition-style zeal to stop the drug trade.

I make my way back to our suite, anxious to see Beth. When I walk in, she barrels across the room and throws herself on me.

“Whoa,
linda
, it’s okay. Everything’s all right.”

She peppers me with little kisses all over my jaw and neck.

“I mean, not that I’m complaining…”

She stops and smiles up at me. “I’m really happy to see you.”

I laugh. “I got that.” I look down at her, trying to memorize the curve of her cheeks, the sparkle of her eyes. “And I’m really happy to see you too,” I say seriously. “You’re okay? You were treated well?”

“Yes,” she says as she takes my hand and leads me to the sofa to sit down. “Everyone was very nice really. I mean, Ryan the ‘Irish-American
mestizo
’ had to follow me around everywhere, but he’s pretty good at staying out of the way. I visited with Clara in the kitchen for a while and she told me some stories about your mom. Then I laid out by the pool while one of the guys drove into town and picked up some magazines and romance novels for me.” She holds up a book with a picture of a bare-chested man on it.

I laugh. “Wait, I thought you were in women’s studies. Don’t they hate shit like romance novels?”

“Actually”—she bounces up and down a little as the excitement overtakes her—“there have been several scholars who view romance fiction as a symbol of women’s sexual liberation and an outlet for women to create relationships between the genders that are more egalitarian than those found in real life.”

I shake my head and chuckle. “Whatever you say,
linda
.”

“No, seriously. In fact, I was thinking I might be able to do an independent study research project on how romance novels impact the attitudes of women in poverty—” She stops talking suddenly. “Well, I mean, that would have been a good project. It’s okay, I can just read the books without doing some stupid research project on them.”

“Hey,” I say, tipping her chin up with my forefinger so I can see her eyes. They’re dark pools of fear and regret. It makes my heart pinch painfully. “What happened there?”

She sighs. “I just realized that I might not be going back to school anytime soon…or ever. And it’s okay, I just need to get used to doing something different.”

“I have some news for you,” I tell her as I lift her onto my lap and she lays her head against my shoulder. I run my hand down her soft hair. “I talked to Miguel. He’s making the arrangements and we’ll be taking a trip to the border in the next week or so.”

She sits up and turns to face me, her eyes alight. “Do you mean what I think you do?”

“Yes,
linda
. Home.”

“Oh thank God,” she breathes out. “Thank God. How? Why? I can’t believe he’d just give up that easily.”

“Don’t worry about all that right now. I think he wanted to get to know me and he’s getting a chance to do that. Just think about going home and being safe. I told you I’d take care of you,
linda
. I’ll always take care of you.”

“But what about your parole? You broke it. They took your cuff off and everything. And will they link you to the stuff that happened at the RH compound?”

My girl is smart, but she’s also innocent. She doesn’t know what’s possible and what isn’t. It turns my stomach to lie to her, but I have to, and as I say the words, I think,
This is how it starts
—the road to my father’s job.
You lie to the people who mean the most to you
.
You don’t tell them what you do all day. You don’t tell them who you really are. You don’t tell them what’s possible and what isn’t. Until, at some point, lying isn’t lying anymore—it’s just doing business, part of daily life, the way you stay alive.

“My father took care of all of that,” I tell her. “You don’t need to worry.”

“But will you still be on parole? Do you have to get the cuff put back on?”

“Shh,
linda
,” I croon as I dig my fingers into her hair and lean in close to her face. “The details don’t matter right now. I don’t even know all the details—just that I get to take you home where you’ll be safe and happy.”

I smile as she throws her arms around me and squeezes tight. I know I’ll need to tell her what I traded for her freedom, but not now. I just want to enjoy her happiness and the little bit of time we have left before I have to give her up forever. I know it will hurt her, but I also know it’s the only option. She can’t stay here, and I can’t go home. Sometimes life and the world around us don’t allow our hearts what they most want.

I check the expensive watch my father presented to me earlier in the day. It’s six o’clock.

“We’ve got two hours until we have to be downstairs for dinner. Got any ideas about what we can do until then?”

A crafty smile slides across her face as she slips off my lap and kneels on the floor in between my legs.

“Maybe an idea or two,” she says as she unbuttons and unzips my shorts.

I take a strand of her hair in my fingers. “You don’t need to do that, you know.”

“Well, I mean, if you don’t want me to…” She starts to stand up.

“I didn’t say that,” I exclaim, grabbing her wrist to pull her back down.

“I don’t know. If you’re just not into that…” She smirks at me.

“Holy shit,
mujer
. Have you ever met a guy who’s
not
into
that
?”

She runs a fingernail along the seam of my boxer briefs that’s been exposed through the open zipper. I clench up in anticipation.

“Maybe you shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth then, mafia prince.”

I laugh a little desperately as she grasps the waistband of my briefs and pushes them down to bare my cock. “No complaints. I swear. Just uh…ah…yeah, carry on… Oh yeah. That… Do lots of that, baby.”

Her mouth closes on my head and I feel her tongue swirl around the tip. Holy fucking hell, that feels good. Her full lips are slick and wet and her hand is pumping up and down my shaft as she takes me deeper and deeper into her mouth with each stroke.

Finally, she starts to add suction each time she pulls away. I’m lost, my eyes flutter shut, and all I can do is run my fingers through her silky hair as the sensation of utter bliss overtakes me. My head rolls back on the sofa and I moan.

“God, Beth. Jesus that feels good. Don’t stop, baby. Please don’t ever stop.”

I can feel her lips turn up in a smile as she continues to pump me in and out. Just when I think I might die from the pleasure, her other hand sneaks in and she cups my balls, rubbing them lightly with her thumb. I feel the muscles in my legs and groin tighten up and my balls grow rock hard.

“Beth,” I manage to pant out, “I’m going to…” I tug lightly on her hair, but she doesn’t stop, and I come hard.

After the haze clears, I open my eyes and look down to see Beth looking up at me, her eyes luminous and a devilish smile on her face.

“Get up here,” I practically growl at her. She stands and then straddles me on the sofa. “You’re”—I kiss her on the lips—“a seriously bad”—I kiss her on the neck—“girl.” I kiss her on the top of her breasts. Then I lift my head and look into her eyes. “I love you so much,
linda
.”

“I love you too,” she says, her cheeks glowing.

“I think I need to show you exactly how much,” I tell her as I stand, picking her up at the same time. I carry her to the bedroom and lay her down. “Don’t move,” I say trying to look commanding.

I quickly strip her clothes off and shuck my own as well. They’re just in the fucking way, after all.

“Come here,” I say as I scoot her down until her bottom’s at the edge of the bed. I kneel and gently bend her legs so her heels are on my shoulders. Perfect.

I run a hand up her torso, feeling her smooth stomach and her pebble-hard nipple. I massage her tit as my other hand opens her up and I run my tongue up her center. She cries out at the sensation and I feel a really stupid surge of pride. It’s a guy thing. Nothing turns us on like knowing we can turn our woman on.

I focus my attentions on her clit, the texture of my tongue making her writhe. She’s grinding against my mouth, and I’ve got a handful of the best tits this side of the equator. My dick is rock hard again. I reach down and stroke myself a couple of times as Beth begins to plead with me, “God, Juan, please make me come. Please.”

I give her one last lick and pinch her nipple then reach over to the nightstand and pull out a condom. At the rate we’re going, I’ll have to ask one of the guys to make a trip to the store for me tomorrow.

I stand up, looking at her hazy eyes as I roll on the condom. I lean down, put my hands under her arms, and scoot her farther up the bed. Then I lie between her legs, hooking one of her knees over my arm as I tenderly kiss the inside of her thigh. She runs her fingers through my hair and smiles down at me.

I come up level with her and kiss her lips. “
Te amo, mi corazon
,” I whisper.

“Forever,” she answers as I plunge into her and we both fly higher than any drug could ever take this mafia prince and his girl.

Afterwards, I lie with her in my arms, softly stroking strands of her hair as she dozes, one soft leg thrown over mine, her arm across my abs, her head on my chest. I take a snapshot in my head, something I’ve done many times since I was a teen who lost his world. I take snapshots of the bad things and snapshots of the good, few as there’ve been. I take a snapshot of this and file it away in my head. It’s in a drawer that’s labeled simply “Beth,” because all my memories of her go in that drawer, and it is the most precious selection of mental photos I have.