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He’ll bleed out if I don’t get him some help. If I let him live, he may come back. If I kill him, it won’t be in self-defense. My dilemma is real.
There’s only one choice here, which I’ll probably hate myself for. “Marisol, call the police. Tell them what happened. I need to get in touch with someone.”
Marisol rushes to my office, the only room in the house with a landline. While she’s gone, I pull out my phone and call the number I hoped I would never need. “Mr. Madden, I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon, if ever.”
“Believe me, Mr. Otero. I wish this call weren’t necessary. Marisol and I were just attacked in my home by the same two Pastrana cartel members that torched her car.”
The man’s fury crackles like lightning, evident in his tight voice. “Is my granddaughter alright?”
“She’s fine. Just a little shaken up. We’ve called the police, but one of the attackers will probably live.”
I don’t say anymore, letting my unspoken request linger. As I figured, Otero doesn’t wait for my encouragement or permission to decide what he’ll do. “Not for long. Hasta luego, Mr. Madden.”
The old man hangs up, leaving me to hope I haven’t just sold my soul to the devil. Ultimately, I decide if that’s what it takes to keep Marisol safe, then I’ll happily go to hell when the devil comes to collect.
Marisol has barely stopped shaking when police, paramedics, and FBI storm the castle. Only slightly behind them are Dillan Knot and Birdie Crenshaw.
I’m made to cage Piper, and then Marisol and I are separated to give our statements. After reciting mine for the first of what I’m sure will be many times, the crew suddenly packs up. I don’t question the strange turn of events, but this has Otero’s influence stamped all over it.
If I had to guess, the old man called out the head of the Pastrana family for not keeping his men in line. Pastrana would have been motivated to make this all go away, including the man who may or may not survive.
Once the chaos has cleared, Knot and Birdie finally enter the house, stepping over the discarded police tape. Knot gives me an exasperated head shake. “I let you out of my sight for two hours.”
He scans the area for damage, whistling at the amount of blood on the floor. I ignore him and let Piper out of her crate. Once Knot has satisfied his curiosity, he says, “You two get out of here for the night. Birdie will arrange for someone to repair the door and bullet holes and clean up the blood.”
“You know what? I’m not going to argue. I’d offer to give you my credit card, but I figure you could get that information faster than I could get to my wallet.”
Birdie ignores my subtle dig and turns toward Marisol. “Miss Borrero. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Birdie.”
“Please. Call me Marisol.”
“Sure thing. I’ve got you booked into a suite at The Main in my name. No one will bother you since I’m only associated with boring things. Now you two go. We’ve got this.”
I don’t think twice, and I don’t look back. I take Marisol’s hand and pull her to my room, where we pack overnight bags. We’re on the road five minutes later.
After a room service dinner and taking Piper out one last time, we’re lying in bed, mentally exhausted from the clusterfuck of our day… several days.
Marisol rolls from her back to her side, not grimacing as much as she has been. The white bandages starkly contrast her dark skin since she’s not wearing any clothes.
“I’m sorry, Austin,” she breathes, sounding miserable.
“Don’t you dare,” I growl at her.
I roll over to hover above Marisol, keeping my weight off her middle. “You do not get to apologize for actions you had no control over.”
She shakes her head, ignoring my simple dismissal. “I knew the risk and let you kiss me anyway. I was selfish.”
Tapping her cheek because she refuses to look at me, I say, “I could have walked away at any time.”
She starts to argue, but I cut her off, coming nose to nose with her. “At. Any. Time.”
Marisol huffs but then smiles ruefully. “You have a disturbing lack of self-preservation.”
I grin right back, fingering a lock of hair that’s escaped her bun. “No, what I’ve got is an incurable addiction to your taste, and your dark eyes, and your laugh. I don’t care how we got here, but now that we are here, I’m not letting you walk away because you feel guilty about the journey.”
I lower my face to capture her lips. “You’re mine now, dammit, and I have no intention of letting you go.”
Marisol’s eyes narrow at the possessive claim… until she issues one of her own. “Marry me.”
Feeling roguish and full of dirty promise, I answer, “I plan to.”