Page 64 of Blood in the Water

What had I gotten myself into?

24

CIEL

The sun glowed brightly behind my blackout curtains, casting my sheets in the soft midmorning light. God, I loved sleeping in. Stay up late and sleep the morning away. Kept me away from people, allowed me plenty of quiet time to do my work. I didn’t have to speak, didn’t have to interact, and could stay to myself—the best lifestyle.

“Mierda,”I whispered. Jesus, my eyes hurt. I blinked rapidly, trying to clear the fog and sting. Had I fallen asleep in my contacts? Why would I do that?

Wait… how did I get here?

I shot straight up, and theheadachepunched me in the temple. A groan escaped my throat but got stuck in my windpipe and dissolved into a massive coughing fit.

Goddamn. Why does everything hurt so bad?

I inhaled deeply, trying to quell the overwhelming urge to cough. Why did my clothes and my sheets smell like smoke?

Wynn.

The warehouse. Drugs and fire.

A woman.Ángel.

I blinked, trying to remember her face. Red hair. Bright eyes. A concerned look on her face. Her fingers wrapped around my hand, my body curling against hers in the back of my van.

I ducked my head into my hands and squeezed my eyes shut as everything flooded back in startling clarity.

Next came the embarrassment. What had I even said? There’s a reason I try not to speak. A reason I don’t bring attention to myself around others. Because somehow, I always ended up as the fool, and the others in the cartel never let me forget it. Here I had gone again, running my mouth to a stranger no less.

Abeautifulstranger.

My fingers stretched at the memory of her touch. Her hand had been the only thing that eased the headache before I passed out.

I shook my head, trying to clear the shame that settled in the pit of my stomach. At least I was home, and that woman was probably long gone, whoever she was. Probably a doctor Wynn had examine me before leaving. It didn’t matter now. The penthouse apartments were our common safe space. One of the few places in the world where we could relax without constantly looking over our shoulders. It was a fortress filled with bulletproof glass, countless weapons, and state-of-the-art security systems. Obi and I had designed it entirely ourselves. No one was allowed here but us.

With a deep inhale and exhale, I threw the covers off and stumbled on wobbly legs to the bathroom. I quickly pissed, took a shower to get rid of the smoke smell, changed out of my contacts and into my glasses, then pulled on a pair of sweatpants.

I’d get some food, rest for a bit, then organize the photos I’d taken the night before and email the proof to my clients.

What I saw last night came rushing back. The Italians with their warehouse full of Russian drugs and additives with which to stretch the product. The new head of the Vero Family killing four of his men in cold bold, claiming them to be traitors. Why? What was going on with the mafia?

The Russians would not like this, but I didn’t get paid to stop conflicts from happening. I got paid to deliver proof. Whatever happened between them was not my concern so long as that money got deposited into our account.

Jesus, I wanted to collapse in my bed for an entire day of rest to heal up my scorched throat and pounding come down.Fuck cocaine.

It was not the first time I’d encountered the drug, but definitely the first time I’d inhaled it in a burning building while on the run for my life.

Food. Work. Bed.

I heard the voices as soon as I stepped outside my soundproofed room.

“Yes, we will find him. I promise,” Wynn said quietly. I’d never heard him sound so…concerned. A strain to his voice. He was the youngest of us and yet still managed to find the perfect balance between detached and focused. He rarely let his emotions show as a result of his complicated past. So who the hell was he talking to?

“Please, Wynn,” a small voice—one I didn’t know—pleaded. “I can’t do it by myself. I can’t lose him.”

I turned the corner to find Wynn crouched in front of our massive couch, with a red-haired woman sitting before him. Her arms folded over her middle, and as she looked up and locked eyes on me, everything came screeching to a halt.

“It’s you.Ángel,” I choked out, voice raw from the smoke. Her red-rimmed eyes went wide as an invisible hand reached between us to squeeze my heart. All the breath in my lungswhooshedout like a punch in the gut. The sight of her crying had my heart twisting.