Page 75 of Bad Blood

“Coffee?” Lola asks, as I collapse into the chair in front of her desk.

“Does it come with a toxicsweetener?”

“I imagine sharing a bed with my brother is toxic enough,” she answers with a slow grin.

I blush to the roots of my dark hair. “We don’t… We haven’t—”

“Of course not,” she clips, sensing my discomfort. “I’ve only known you for five minutes, and I already know you’re not stupid.”

“Just a viper,” I say slyly.And desperate.

“Well, we can’t all be perfect.” She gives me the ghost of a wink.

“I’m so far from perfect, it’s unreal,” I say with a sigh, thinking of Ella.

She pauses and starts nibbling on her lower lip. “He doesn’thurt you, does he?”

Not physically.

“Actually, don’t answer that.”

“Tell me about him,” I ask, curious again. “All my experiences so far haven’t exactly been—”

“Complimentary?” She laughs. “What did you expect? When it comes to the Santiago Cartel, our father taught him to hate first, love never.” She wanders backs over to me and leans against the side of the desk. “Unfortunately, the main thing that drives Santi is family. Considering who your father is, I don’t think it bodes well for the success of your marriage.”

“I don’t want our marriage to be golden,” I tell her. “I just want to survive it.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Santi

Leaning back in my chair,I pinch the bridge of my nose in a futile attempt at warding off the headache that’s been brewing for the last hour.

Instead of taking it as a cue to shut the fuck up, Monroe drapes himself across the opposite end of my desk and lets out a huff. “I have to admit, Carrera, I thought you’d be happier about the Senate vote.”

Glancing up, I stare at him through parted fingers. Type insleazy politicianon any search engine, and Monroe Spader’s plastic smile and pock marked face would pop up like an STD.

I have no clue how thisidiotagot appointed to the Atlantic City Gaming Commission. With his cheap suits, parted and slicked back brown hair, and black rimmed glasses that refuse to stay on his face, he looks like he should be hanging out next to a white van passing out candy rather than issuing gaming citations.

Then again, good things happen to bad people. Especially when their brother is banging the Governor.

“What do you want, Spader? A parade? You didn’t fuck up simple instructions. Dropping my hand, I give him a slow clap. “Congratu-fucking-lations.”

“Someone’s in a bad mood.” Settling back into his chair, he reaches inside his suit jacket and pulls a half-eaten bag of peanuts. Shaking a handful into his palm, he tosses one into the air, missing his mouth by a good six inches.

“In case you’ve forgotten, my casino was shot up the other night. You were there, I believe…until you weren’t.”

“I don’t stick around for fireworks, Carrera.” Tossing another peanut in the air, he curses as it bounces off one of the lenses in his glasses. “Speaking of fireworks, how’s that new wife of yours treating you?”

I’m suddenly regretting my choice to have him attend my wedding—even if it was strategic. “She’s an unhappily married woman, as expected.”

“Gotta admit, that was one hell of an outfit she—”

“Is there a reason you’re still here?” I ask, cutting him off. I’m not discussing Thalia with him. I don’t even want him speaking her name. A second glance at his lecherous smirk almost has me reaching for my gun.

I don’t want him thinking of her at all.

She’s mine.