Born Sinner by Cora Kenborn

Chapter Twelve

Lola

My mother has a saying…

Chasing butterflies only leads you into repetitive circles. Pretend they don’t exist, and they’ll flutter back into the palm of your hand.

At ten years old, I took those words at face value. I spent hours sitting cross-legged on the bright green lawns of our estate, my arms spread wide and my palms up.

Waiting.

A butterfly never landed in my hand. They always darted around me, close enough to admire, but just out of reach.

I realize now—as most things with my family—it was a metaphorical warning.

Butterflies are just like boys. Chase them, and they fly away. Leave them be, and they come to you.

A valuable lesson I wish I’d remembered days ago. Four to be exact.

A full ninety-six hours since I’ve seen or heard from Sam.

After our alleyway encounter, he just disappeared—as if successfully breaking me meant there was no more game to play.

He’d won. I’d lost. End of story.

Only it wasn’t—at least for me.

I always have the last word, but he left me speechless while he rode away like some kind of dark knight. So instead of pretending he didn’t exist, what did I do?

I chased a butterfly.

I became the stalker. Driving by his apartment at all hours of the night just to catch a glimpse of him. Casually, inquiring on his whereabouts around campus. And shamefully, standing in the alleyway outside the Foxhole, waiting for him to reappear.

I spun in so many circles, I made myself dizzy.

After four days of silence, I decided it was time to put Eden Lachey Carrera’s motherly advice to the test.

That’s how I ended up here, at a dive college bar, sharing a plate of nachos with some frat boy I don’t even like.

I suppose Alex-what’s-his-name is nice enough—cheap as hell—but nice. However, I’m not interested. Not even those All-American dimples can divert my attention away from the man who owns my thoughts.

I used to crave normalcy—a clichéd, bland existence. Thanks to Sam and his filthy brand of debauchery, I now crave rebellion. I hunger to push boundaries and test my own limits. I wait for the sun to go down so I can dance in darkness.

His darkness.

Sighing, I toss a half-eaten tortilla chip onto my plate and pull a fresh water bottle from my purse. Unscrewing the cap, I drink slowly so I don’t have to talk to my date.

“You know they have water here, right?”

Resting the rim of the bottle against my bottom lip, I give him a half-hearted smile. “I have a rule against drinking things that aren’t sealed.” At his furrowed brow, I add, “A girl can never be too careful.”

But she can definitely be too desperate—something I hope to rectify tonight.

There’s an awkward silence as Alex spins his phone in lazy circles on the table. “So, what’s your major?”

It’s all I can do not to roll my eyes. This is what it’s come to—small talk with a cardboard placeholder.

“Don’t have one yet,” I say, sliding out of the sticky booth. “I’m only a few weeks into my freshman year.” Before he can offer up another mundane question, I hold up one finger while already walking away. “Be right back. Have to use the ladies’ room.”

Of course, I’m headed nowhere near the ladies’ room... Again.

Weaving my way around scratched tables and barstools, I disappear down a secluded hallway toward what I hope is the back door.

One that leads to another darkened alley, maybe…?

Nostalgia is a ruthless bitch.

But before I can take another step, a firm hand is wrapping around my arm and dragging me into an alcove.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

Gritting my teeth, I tug my arm out of RJ’s claw-like grip and spin around ready to spit fire. “Outside.”

“Don’t think so.”

If I have to deal with one more male ego…

“Don’t you have something better to do than babysit me?”

Wrong thing to say, Lola.

Even bathed in shadow, I see the hard clench of his jaw and the warning in those onyx eyes. “Yeah, I do—like run this goddamn East Coast operation for your brother. Unfortunately, little chaparrita decided to swim with the sharks and got herself bit.”

I recoil at the sharp accusation in his tone. RJ Harcourt is as efficient as they come. He doesn’t believe in wasting time or resources doing mundane tasks or…

Chasing butterflies.

I cross my arms over my chest. “That’s not fair.”

“Life isn’t fair, Lola. If it was…” His voice trails off, leaving the rest unspoken.

Left to ambiguous interpretation.

Only, he forgets how well I know him. How I see through that iron façade of his, right down to his hidden truth.

If it was, Santi would be here with you while I called the shots, I think, silently finishing his bold presumption for myself.

I know he’s loyal to my brother, but there has always been an unspoken, underlying rivalry between them. RJ is a year older, and after a childhood filled with death and loss, he's much more streetwise. Whereas Santi boasts birthright and stealth, RJ operates on survival and brawn.

They’re a dormant volcano just waiting for the right storm. Carrera men crave power not servitude. I worry what will happen when they inevitably clash.

Speaking of volcanoes…

“Shouldn’t you be on a date of your own?” I ask with a conspiratorial smile.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Heaving out an exasperated sigh, I slump against the wall. “Don’t try and play innocent with me, RJ. I’m better at it than you.” I should probably drop it in order to avoid waving any more red flags, but I don’t. “You know exactly what, or should I say who I'm talking about. Long, curly, brown hair? Legs like a ballerina? Tits the size of—”

He clamps his hand over my mouth. “That’s enough.”

I smile against his palm, remembering his obsession with his phone the other night and knowing who was most likely on the other line. The same woman I’ve been seeing him in dark corners with for weeks now.

“Who is she?” I mumble into his palm.

“Nobody.”

I cock an eyebrow, my words still muffled as I counter, “Didn’t look like nobody to me.”

He presses harder, flattening my lips. “You know nothing, Lola. You got me?”

In response, I stare down at the hand still smooshing my face and wait.

Letting out a rough growl, he draws back and shoves it in his pocket.

“Yeah,” I tell him, elated to not be the only one in this family with secrets. “I got you. What Santi doesn’t know won’t hurt him. You gotme?”

RJ grunts out a reluctant affirmation.

“Good.” I nod. “Now that that’s settled, how about you head back to Newark?”

“And do what?”

“Tell my brother I left my date early and am now safe and sound and alone in my apartment.”

It’s his turn to cock an eyebrow. “And you think he’s gonna buy that bullshit?”

“If you’re the one shoveling it? Yes.”

I can all but hear the scales tipping back and forth in his head. It’s a gamble—one that requires a lot of trust and faith. Two unfamiliar words when it comes to Carrera men.

Finally, RJ exhales on a harsh breath. “You’ll go straight home after this?”

Right.Despite what he wants me to think he’s agreeing to, we both know he’ll be following me home anyway. The man is secretive, not suicidal.

Just like a few nights ago at the club, I give him a mock salute. “Scout’s honor.”

He shakes his head. “You’re trouble, Carrera.”

“Takes one to know one, Harcourt.”

Raking one hand over the top of his closely cropped dark hair, he ruffles mine with the other. “One of these days, you’re gonna go looking for it in the wrong place, and instead of causing trouble, you’re gonna fall neck deep in the middle of it.”

“Duly noted,” I say, giving him a small smile. I have no interest in pressing my luck, so with a quick pat to his chest, I speed walk back to the table.

Alex glances up, his forehead wrinkling as I slide back into the booth. “Everything okay?”

“Fine,” I say, waving a dismissive hand, as if I haven’t been missing for over fifteen minutes. “Long line. You know how it is.”

By the look on his face, he doesn’t, but then again, neither do I. I’m just trying to keep him from asking questions he doesn’t want the answers to.

“So, María, what do you say we—?”

“I’m really tired,” I blurt out, padding the statement with an exaggerated yawn. “Do you mind taking me home?”

“We’ve been here less than half an hour.”

I offer a lukewarm smile. Yeah, and my chances of catching a butterfly is slim to none at this point. It seems my mother’s sage advice doesn’t apply to a certain rebel without a conscience.

I’d be wasting both of our time if I pretended otherwise.

“I’m sorry. I have a really bad headache all of a sudden.” I tilt my head, trying to appear apologetic. “Raincheck?”

He’s not happy as he snatches a twenty dollar bill from his wallet and then slams it face down onto the table.

That makes two of us.

Something aches all right, but it’s definitely not my head.

* * *

This was a huge mistake.

I’m barely present as Alex pulls his blue Prius into the parking lot outside my apartment building. I should have never agreed to this date.

I should’ve learned my lesson about stepping outside the lines a week ago.

“Thanks. I really appreciate—” My words are cut off by a pair of demanding lips.

My palms shoot forward against his chest, but just before I push him away, a taunting voice whispers inside my head…

Don’t chase butterflies—provoke them.

So, dancing on a very thin tightrope, I do the unthinkable.

I let it happen.

Alex-what’s-his-name’s kiss is wet and uninspiring, a pathetic substitute for the forbidden one I can’t stop craving. The cruel touch of a man and his gun—both of whichone I dreamed of last night in such vivid detail, I woke up blushing from the sheer depravity of it.

Nothing like the fumbling, hurried hand attempting to unbutton my dress.

No. This is all wrong.

“Stop!” Shoving him away, I tumble into the passenger’s seat, wiping the remnants of his sloppy kiss away with the back of my hand.

“Come on, baby,” he urges, diving his hand into my long hair and twisting the strands around his fingers. “Don’t play hard to get.”

Damn, that hurts.

“I’m not trying to.” Wincing, I pull away, only to get yanked across the console. “But I also don’t put out on the first date.”

Or at all…

“That’s not what I heard.”

I glare up at him, his smug accusation as cold as my brother’s soul. “What the hell did you hear?”

My date leans in, his breath hot on my cheek. “Everybody’s saying you fucked Troy Davis at Sam Colton’s party.”

Emotion clouds judgment, and I don’t think; I swing, a damn impressive right hook catching him across the chin.

“Son of a bitch!” he yells, releasing my hair to cover his face. “What the fuck?”

Holy shit, I have no idea what the hell just happened. It’s as if the brand on my hip has infected my blood with venom. I’m drunk with power and feeding off the poison coursing through my veins.

Maybe I’m not as innocent as everyone thinks.

“I’m getting out now.” I smile sweetly, the glassy confusion in his eyes fueling my sadistic enjoyment. “And if I hear a word around campus that anything happened between you and me other than a kiss goodnight, your football career will be over faster than Troy’s.” And if Troy’s unfortunate warehouse destination is any indication, his life as well. “Are we clear?”

Alex’s face blanches. “Get out of my car, you crazy bitch.”

Opening the passenger’s side door, I blow him a kiss and make my way toward my apartment, a strange smile on my face.

Maybe I didn’t catch a butterfly tonight, but I caught the scent of something way more potent.

My own darkness.