Page 47 of Blurred Red Lines

“It depends, son. Is theputastill in your possession?”

I grew up hearing the man’s rapid-fire Spanish barked in harsh commands to everyone from my mother to high ranking soldiers. However, the moment his broken English slithered through the phone, attempting to sound worldly and refined, I found the revolt in my throat almost palpable.

“I know you didn’t cut your happy ending short to ask me that, did you, Alejandro?”

His low chuckle unsettled me. “You getone, Valentin. Another disrespectful comment will cost you a lieutenant. You’re fond of this Mateo Cortes, yes?”

I remained silent. Responding would only jeopardize my crew and my friend. One-upping my father wasn’t worth the risk. Mateo was the closest thing I had to a friend, and in this business, loyalty wasn’t to be taken lightly.

Alejandro took my silence as compliance. “This woman, Valentin…she weakens you.”

“I’m handling her.”

“How? By shielding a cunt while Muñoz bullets hit your men?”

“Don’t call her that.” I gripped the phone, slamming my fist onto the desk with the other as I cursed myself for letting him provoke me into reacting.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,Valentin. You fucked this woman, didn’t you?”

I had to think fast. The moment Alejandro Carrera knew Eden mattered to me, she’d be a marked target. The words boiled like acid on my tongue as I choked them out. “I wanted it, so I took it.”

His laugh of approval chipped away at my soul. “Bien! This woman…she fought you, yes?”

I pulled at my collar, jerking three buttons loose to breathe as I lied. “Yes, Father.”

“My boy.” The sense of pride in his voice swirled the coffee in my stomach and threatened to bring it back up. “Now, kill her.”

I didn’t cry out or protest. I wouldn’t give my father the satisfaction of my begging. On some level, my subconscious expected the words to come as almost a natural progression of his pride in Eden’s fictional rape. I was literally the son of a sick bastard.

Instead, I placated him as my mind raced a hundred miles an hour crafting different plausible plans to keep her safe. “Fine, Father. But I need you to find out why the Muñoz intel seems to be always ten steps ahead of me, and why they’re so interested in her. Before I take care of her, I need to know how she fits into their plan. Somehow, she’s the key to their sabotage.”

I had no clue what I was saying, but hopefully it bought me enough time to figure it out.

Quiet for what seemed like a lifetime, Alejandro sighed low to show his annoyance. “Very well. Gerardo will see what he can find out.”

“Thanks, Father, I—”

“But, Valentin, there are no promises. I’ll put my top man on this, but whether he finds information or not…theputahas forty-eight hours.”

Before I could respond, the line went dead. As with most conversations with Alejandro Carrera, the last word always began and ended on his terms.

Forty-eight hours.

Grabbing the phone again, I dialed Mateo.

I hoped it was enough to buy a miracle.

* * *

Standing outside the safe house, the gun weighed heavy in my palm as I watched her through the window. Helpless and weak, she lay exactly where I left her six hours earlier on the bed, shackled with a defeated look painted across her gorgeous face.

Up until now, my life held no confusion. I counted clarity among one of my many virtues, knowing exactly who I was and which side of the law my foot was planted on. Gray areas didn’t exist in my world.

Until her.

Flipping the cold metal over and over in my palm, sweat gathered on my brow as her worn tank top shifted and rode up her ribcage. Indecisiveness festered in that gray area the moment Eden Lachey crashed into my life. Clarity ceased to exist, and the cut-and-dried life of a criminal wasn’t as easily separated from a conscience I thought I’d long since abandoned.

Fuck, why didn’t she pull that tank top down?