Page 7 of Deceptive Desires

An unfamiliar warmth takes over my chest and spreads throughout my body.

“Hey, hero, what’s your name?” She sings it out, and I’m once again mesmerized.

“Roman Montclair,” I respond mindlessly. Only to falter when I realize my mistake. I never give my name to strangers. There’s little more powerful than knowing someone’s identity.

But I’m not too worried about my sunshine. I doubt she’s familiar with Syndicate affairs. Unless this Latina goddess is associated with one of the small cartels. I glance down again, but there’s no recognition in her features.

“Roman Montclair.” She tries it. “Hmm. It’s not bad. A strong name for a strong man. But I think I’ll stick with héroe. Because you saved me.”

I try not to laugh at the irony of the situation. She fell into my arms while I was tailing a man to torture. I didn’t even consciously catch her. And now she’s calling me her hero.

I’ve never been someone’s hero.

I’ve never been a hero.

I’m the villain. For the good side. But nevertheless, I’m the monster that lurks in the shadows. The one the other monsters fear.

And now, this goddess is proclaiming I’m her hero.

And for some reason, I want to be. I don’t want to correct her. I don’t want to prove her wrong and reveal who I really am. For just this one moment, I want to be someone’s hero.

No, not someone’s.

Her’s.

I want to be her hero.

“Okay, Celia. Let’s get you home. Do you live with anyone that can take care of you?” I ask, gritting my teeth at the thought of a man waiting at home for her. There isn’t a ring on her finger, so at least she’s not married. But I’m not sure even that would stop me.

Stop me from what? She’s just some girl I’m bringing home and never seeing again.

“Yes. My Gracie. She’s the best. My little Oscar the Grouch. She should be back from school soon. My little Spacey Gracie. She doesn’t like when I call her that.” Then Celia winks at me, as if letting me in on the inside joke.

I’m just bringing her home. Then leaving her forever.

I chant it to myself.

“What’s your address, sunshine?”

She rattles it off, and I head in that direction. It’s only a mile and a half away, and I can keep to side streets and alleys to avoid judgmental eyes.

“Héroe, you can’t carry me that far! It’s a hop and a skip away. You’ll get tired. I don’t want my hero tired.”

I scoff, offended. “Sunshine, I could carry you all day and never get tired. You barely weigh anything.”

She eyes me skeptically, then brings her hand to my neck. She traces the top of my tattoos lightly, and I hold back a groan. Her touch is so soft, but it sears into me as if it were a flame.

She trails her fingers to the back of my neck and runs her whole hand up through my buzzed hair. She plays with the short spikes with the tips of her delicate fingers.

I keep it short out of convenience, but I wonder if she’d rather it longer, so she had more length to run through.

“I like the prickle.”

I smirk.

Of course, my girl likes my hair how I do.

She’s perfect.