Born Sinner by Cora Kenborn

Chapter Fourteen

Lola

It’s well after midnight,and the black blanketing the sky matches the one filling my apartment as I walk inside. As expected, just as we pulled into the parking lot, RJ’s headlights followed suit behind us.

Apparently, we both like playing with fire.

Now, not only do I have my designated babysitter back on duty, it seems the powers-that-be have called in reinforcements.

Three to be exact.

A fortified wall of emotionless sicarios who don’t give a damn what I want or think.

Super.

Although I can’t see anything, my confidence is in control and leading the charge, while common sense lounges somewhere three or four rungs down the ladder.

Another of my father’s warnings filter through my head as I cross the threshold into the living room. Arrogance can be your strongest asset or your weakest flaw.

Arrogance is why I don’t bother turning on the lights.

Or maybe the mouse just wants to be caught.

“You’re late.”

I stumble into the wall, letting out something between a gasp and a shriek, when the lamp beside the couch clicks on. Harsh yellow light spills across the room, illuminating the man sitting on my couch. His favored slicked-back dark hair is wild and chaotic, casting a stark contrast against the pristine white leather and giving him a sinister glow. Three buttons on his shirt are open at the collar, highlighting the strained muscles in his neck that lead to one hell of a pissed-off scowl.

Adrenaline deflates from my chest, and I sigh in both relief and irritation. “¡Ay Dios mío, Santi! What the hell?”

“Pack your shit,” he deadpans, his expression tight.

“Excuse me?”

“Did I stutter?” Rising to his feet, my brother crosses the room, all six foot four inches of him looming over me like a warden. “You’re leaving for Mexico tonight.”

I stare up at him, blinking rapidly as if the movement will force clarity into those five words. “What?”

“You heard what I said.”

“I have a life here!” I shout, my panic escalating as I move in front of him, blocking his path. “My own life with my own friends. I don’t want to leave it.”

“I didn’t ask what you wanted, chaparrita. You’re leaving, and that’s final.”

Final.He growls the word like papá. As if his command is the damn gospel. As if I’m not an adult with a brain and free will. Granted, an adult who disobeyed him and got herself roofied and branded, but that’s beside the point…

I fling my arms around like a broken windmill. “Do I not get a say in this?”

“No.”

I want him to yell. Instead, he remains rigid and stoic.

“Santi!”

“This is not up for discussion.” He steps forward, and I automatically step back. “I warned you to stay away from Sanders, and you wouldn’t listen. Now they know.”

“Know what?” I demand. “And who’s they?” He’s talking in circles, and I’m tired of standing on the outside of them, trying to decipher my family’s cryptic talk.

“Dante Santiago,” he bites out between clenched teeth. “My contacts in New York saw him pay Senator Sanders a visit a few days ago. Care to guess the main topic of conversation?”

My stomach plummets to my feet. “Me?”

He doesn’t confirm nor deny. Instead, he paces in front of me, another trait he inherited from our father. The more he paces, the faster he talks. “Your cover is blown, chaparrita. They know María Diaz is an alias. They know who you are, and now they’re going to use you to get to me and papá. We can’t take that chance, so you’re going back to Mexico where the cartel can protect you.”

I can’t stop staring at the dark circles flashing under his eyes every time he passes me. Jesus, it looks like he hasn’t slept in days…maybe weeks. I noticed it at the pizzeria, but it’s gotten worse. His obsession with this feud between our family and the Santiagos is consuming him.

“There’s nothing I can do to change your mind?”

“No.” When he faces me, I recoil. The brother who used to laugh with me as we snuck cookies from the kitchen in the middle of the night disappears behind the hardened mask of a criminal. “You’re in over your head, Lola. You’re drowning, and you don’t even know it.”

A surge of fury courses through me, prompting me to hurl my purse against the wall. “Damn it, Santi! I’m eighteen, not eight! You can’t force me to leave the country. I’m just as much of a Carrera as you are. For Christ’s sake, I just punched a guy in the face for trying to get into my pants.”

Which was absolutely the wrong thing to say.

Santi’s dark eyebrows shoot up to his messy hairline. “You what?”

“Focus, please,” I huff, redirecting the conversation. “The point is that you can’t keep ordering me around like this. You’re my brother, not my father.”

He gets deathly quiet. The strained kind of quiet where you know you’ve fucked up. The kind that fills the air with so much static it crackles. “You’re right,” he says calmly. “I’m not.” His jaw tics as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. Without a word, he presses a single button.

“What are you doing?” I whisper.

His narrowed eyes snap to mine. “Proving a point.”

Within seconds, he’s speaking into the phone in rapid Spanish. It’s my native language, so, of course, I understand every word, yet somehow it all gets muddled in my brain, hovering in that space between willful ignorance and denied truth.

Before the fog in my head can clear, he presses another button and holds the phone between us.

“Cielito,” a deep, heavily accented voice rumbles.

Oh fuck.

“Papá?” I have no idea why his name exits my mouth as a question. There’s no mistaking Valentin Carrera’s voice. I’ve witnessed grown men piss themselves at the mere sound of it.

“We had a deal, cielito.”

“I know, papá, but—”

“No buts,” he clips, cutting off my protest. “Your mamá and I allowed you to attend school under the direct supervision and discretion of your brother. Santi has informed me that your alias and safety have been compromised.”

I glare at my brother. Snitch. “But, papá…”

“¡Silencio!”

I jump at the harsh command in his tone. My father has never raised his hand to me, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t terrifying. I may be papá’s little girl, but even I know when to shut the hell up.

“I almost lost you once at the hands of Dante Santiago,” he continues. “I will not risk my daughter’s life again. Your brother and I have many enemies, cielito. Enemies who would love nothing more than to see you suffer for our sins. So, you will pack your shit, and you will board my jet with RJ and return to Mexico City immediately.”

Oh great, a traveling companion.

I don’t know what possesses me to ask, “And if I don’t?”

Dumb, Lola. Dumb, dumb, dumb.

Even Santi lifts an eyebrow.

“Lola…” It’s a grave warning. My father only uses my given name when I’m about to fall out of his good graces. It’s a dark place no one wants to find themselves, whether family, friend, or foe.

I swallow hard. “Sí, papá.”

“Santi,” he growls. “Take me off speaker phone.”

Obeying, my brother disappears into the kitchen to discuss cartel business with our father in an unnecessarily hushed tone. He could act out their entire battle strategy in an interpretive dance for all I care. I’m not interested in anything they have to say. I’m too devastated at the blow I’ve just been dealt.

My taste of freedom.

My chance at a normal life.

All gone because of a stupid obsession.

I wander around my apartment, soaking in the last moments of normalcy I have left. Sighing, I trail my hand over the white leather couch Santi cursed to hell for over an hour as he carried it up two flights of stairs. I dust my finger along the top of the flat screen TV, still hanging crooked on the wall after RJ refused to use a leveler.

All snapshots of independence soon to be a distant memory.

Stopping next to the window, I move the curtain to gaze out at the empty parking lot, when a flash of color catches my eye, causing my stomach to somersault.

A yellow Post-it Note is stuck to the glass. With a shaking hand, I tear it away and read the familiar slanted handwriting.

When the mouse strays, she gets punished. Slowly, painfully, until she begs for mercy. This time, it won’t be steel that draws it from her. The hunt is on, dulzura.