Page 52 of Bad Blood

Until then, I’m stuck with Carrera, for better or for worse.

As if it couldbeany worse.

There’s no wedding breakfast afterward. No celebratory drink to mark the occasion. Instead, he leaves me hanging in the lobby while he conducts a brief exchange of words with the man in the blue suit. Afterward, I’m led down a flight of stairs to a private underground garage where a black Aston Martin DBS is parked.

Trust him to drive a car as beautifully brutal as he is.

“Get in,mi esposa.” Swinging my door open, he all but hustles me into the passenger seat.

I wish he’d stop calling me his wife. It’s revolting.

I watch him slide in next to me. “Where are we going?”

“Time for another wedding gift.” With that, he accelerates down the driveway and sets a course for the Garden State Parkway.

More silence.

More lost words.

My heart is sinking like the sun overhead as we cross into Manhattan.

“If this is a concession from you, it’s a really shitty one,” I tell him. “Thanks to that wedding photo, I’m now as unwelcome in this city as you are.”

“Pariahs in matrimony,” he murmurs.

“Who was that man at the wedding?” I blurt out as we’re driving up 9th Avenue.

“One of my security guards.”

“No, the short guy. The limp lettuce in between the meathead sandwich. Looked like a rat in a suit.”

“Rodentsarethe mostloyal and dedicated animals.”

He’s mocking me now. I can tell.

“Oh, forget it,” I say, as he pulls up to the curb a hundred feet from my apartment block. “What are you doing now?”

“I’mnot doing anything. You, however, are going to get your things.” He cuts the engine and yanks at his silver necktie so as to loosen his top button. At the same time, he reaches for his gun and rests in on his lap. “You have thirty minutes, and then you won’t be returning.”

That’s what he thinks.One week. Seven days. One-hundred and sixty-eight hours, and I definitely will be.

I go to grab the door handle and feel his heavy hand on my thigh.

“Remember the rules, Thalia. One week of happy, fake-smile honeymooning, or my half of the arrangement is off. You know damn well your sister isn’t going to be the only member of the Santiago Cartel in your apartment right now. Fake it, or fuck it up.Comprendes?”

Without answering, I push his hand away and exit the car, catching sight of myself in the window.God, I look ridiculous.

Ripping off the black bustier, I chuck it back on the seat, and lose the pigtails. I go to slam the door and catch him staring at me.

“Cartel pervert,” I hiss, flicking him my middle finger.

“Yourcartel pervert,” he corrects coldly. “Signed, sealed, delivered.”

“Not in this lifetime,” I mutter under my breath as I cross the street, aware of his dark gaze on me constantly.

Entering the building, I head straight for the elevator. I’m so nervous I could die.Is Ella ever going to speak to me again? Is Edier going to line me up against a wall and shoot me?My knees keep doing a weird shaking thing, so I kick my high heels off to give me a shot at some semblance of balance. I’m still frantically scrubbing off the last of the crazy makeup as the elevator doors slide open.

Scooping up my heels, I go to exit, and then freeze. Two of the most lethal men in New York are leaning against the far wall, waiting for me. From their stiff stances and sour expressions, I’m guessing this isn’t a friendly fly-by. Sam looks like I just took his Bugatti for a test-drive and hit every street light post from here to Central Park, while Edier’s face is as impenetrable as his father’s these days, but his brown eyes are dancing with rage.