Page 33 of Play Dirty (Villalargos University #1)

Chapter Twenty - Seven

Shiloh

L istening to “Moonlight,” by Chase Atlantic, through the car speakers, I trail close behind Nico. I watch him weave through traffic with ease, his hands leaving the bike's handles as he lets go. Arms open as he soars through the streets.

Free.

That must be the feeling he chases, as the wind wisps past him.

I used to think he was the strange one, but here I am following him from a distance, one car behind.

My heart is slamming against my ribs like it wants out.

Nico’s motorcycle glides through the city like it knows exactly where his secrets exist.

He doesn’t speed.

He doesn’t look back.

But I swear he knows I’m here. Like he can feel the weight of me tailing him, aching to be close, even if I don’t know what I’ll say if he discovers me. I just need to see what he’s hiding. Can I trust him? Everything is so confusing now. I slap my hand on my forehead and groan.

What are you doing, Shiloh?

The further we drive, the more the streetlights start to flicker. The palm trees disappear, and the cleaner parts of the city are left far behind. The neons turn into muted colors, empty lots with tagged walls. I swallow the lump in my throat.

My pulse spikes as I read the sign welcoming me into Bajo Bay .

I’ve only ever heard the name at parties, when you’re looking for drugs or to make someone disappear, or when Daddy is scouting for talent. Bile rushes up my throat at the thought. How many students has he sponsored and fed his cock to?

Does mom know?

Maybe she does, and that’s why she’s always drunk and distant, spending her time traveling. Never home.

My hand tightens around the wheel, and my knuckles turn white from the pressure.

The thought has my eyes burning from the tears.

I snap back to the reality of Bajo Bay, to the decay in the streets.

The people hustling, women standing on the corner smoking cigarettes, watching as my car closes in.

I’m sure it sticks out like a sore fucking thumb.

No one actually comes here unless you’re from here, and even the residents want out.

Nico parks near a boarded-up corner store, and a small yellow and weathered house sits beside it. A little boy, no older than twelve, plays outside, kicking a soccer ball. He drops it the moment his gaze lands on Nico. Pulling out my phone, I zoom in and take a very blurry picture of the moment.

I cut my engine two blocks away, hoping he doesn’t recognize the Mercedes and focuses on the little boy instead of me. My breath fogs the windshield, and my hands won’t stop shaking.

Still, I get out.

He dismisses the young boy and heads down an empty street.

I trail behind him on foot, slow and quiet with my heart in my throat.

The street smells like wet concrete and motor oil mixed with sewage.

There’s a pulsing bass in the distance, music from a rundown bar or club tucked beneath the Bay’s edge.

I focus o n Nico when I hear shouting and then a bottle shattering. During the commotion, I lose sight of him. I quickly turn into the alley only to realize it leads to nowhere.

Suddenly, a sound comes from behind me, making the hair on my arms rise.

Footsteps closing in.

Fast and hard.

My heart ricochets in my chest, and I scan the alley looking for anything I can use as a weapon, and opt for a discarded beer bottle.

Picking it up from the ground, I try to hide as a rough hand grabs my hair, yanking me towards him.

The smell of liquor and cigarettes invades my system.

Vomit rises up my throat, my heart beats so fast I’m afraid I’ll go into cardiac arrest.

I scream and then swing, but my hand is smacked into a brick wall, and the bottle falls from my hand.

When another hand claps over my mouth, I use the body as something to press against, lifting myself off the ground and using the wall to kick my feet off.

“Pretty little feisty thing, you shouldn’t be out here alone.

” A deep voice slurs near my ear, causing my stomach to sour.

I thrash like a wild animal evading capture, my sneakers scrape the pavement, but he’s stronger.

He slams me into the wall.

I twist my head to try to scream again– but the pressure of his hand on my mouth is crushing. I hear a sharp whistle and something like the click of a switchblade.

My stomach drops.

Then—

A sound.

Nico.

His fist smashes into the side of the man’s head, causing him to let me go, stumbling.

I fall to my knees. Nico stands over him, eyes burning and the switchblade shifting between his long fingers.

“Navajas,” the man slurs, as Nico kicks his face, causing him to fall over and cough up a mess of blood and spit.

“She’s yours?” He groans out.

Nico still doesn’t reply; he just grabs the guy by the back of the neck and slams him against the wall. “Don’t you ever touch her,” he growls. “I should cut off your filthy hands.”

Smashing the blade into the man's finger, a guttural scream fills the air. I’ve never seen so much violence. I’ve never seen him so angry.

Nico punches him again. Then another.

Blood splatters the brick wall before the guy collapses with a whimper.

All I do is stare, stunned into silence, and yet warmth collects inside me at the same time.

My lungs are barely working, my palms are scraped, and the adrenaline is pumping inside me at full speed, flooding every nerve ending.

Nico finally turns, his hands bloody and his jaw clenched tight. He steps forward, and I move back until I hit the wall. He looks confused.

“Are you afraid of me, Blondie?”

Afraid.

More like mortified. Aroused.

Conflicted.

Words fail me, and I blink. “Don’t be afraid, I would never hurt you. Are you okay, Blondie?” I say nothing. Not even as his body completely steps in front of me, stealing the air from my lungs when he cups my face into his hands. “Did he touch you?”

I blink hard. I bite down on my lip as I shake my head. “Good.” He steps closer, his leg between mine as he inspects me, making sure I’m truly okay. My heart swells, growing in size as I see the warmth in his darkened gaze.

“You followed me.” It is not a question, it’s a statement. I mean, it’s pretty obvious that I did. “Why?”

I let out a shaky brea th, my hands opening and closing at my sides. The pain coming from my left hand is a low, distant ache in my bones. “You’re hurt.”

Bringing my hand between us, I rub my wrist. “I tried to swing a bottle of beer, and he slammed my hand into the wall.”

“Asshole, I should—” I stop him, my hand flattening out on his firm chest, feeling the way it slowly rises. He looks down where I’m touching… “Shi, you shouldn’t be here.”

“I know, but I needed to know.”

He arches his pierced brow, “Know?”

“I don’t know, so many strange things are happening. I don’t know if I'm losing my mind, and honestly, I’m not sure who to trust.”

He pulls away, taking a deep breath. My hand falls, smacking gently against my thigh. “Don’t trust me, Shiloh.”

Nico doesn’t stutter; his words are low and like gravel. Pained. “You should leave, it's not safe for you here.”

“I’m not leaving.”

We remain at a standstill. For once, he looks at me. The look in his eyes is pained and full of sorrow. As if internally, he’s battling his need over his trauma, so I look away, shattering the trance. Snapping the link between us, as painful as it is…

“Where did you park?” He asks, breaking the silence, already working on shutting me out.

How stupid of me to think that things could be different after that day.

I scoff lightly, to think I could fix whatever parts of him are torn to shreds from my father was wishful thinking at best. But he slams the door in my face.

His words ring in my head. ‘Do you know how fucked it is to love someone you can’t even look at?’

I didn’t understand, but I wanted to.

But that could never happen in a world where love isn’t on the table… I decided a long time ago that if I can't have love, then I’ll have power. Truth i s power, so here’s to the truths still hiding inside him waiting for me to shine light on them. Waiting to unravel.

“I’m not leaving.” I fold my arms in front of my chest, watching as his nostrils flare. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he gives in, and I see the tension physically leave his body when he offers me his hand.

“Give me something, Nico,” I plead, my voice low, almost a whisper. “Just make it real.” My hand slips within his. The weight in my chest is that of coming home.

“Come, I’ll show you real.”

My heart leaps from his words. Hand in hand, he guides us out of the alley, and the little boy runs towards him.

“NICO!” He shouts before slamming into him, the little boy's arms wrapped around his waist. An elderly woman steps out of the yellow house, her brown eyes sparkling as she sees our connected hands.

“Ahh, this must be June.” She mutters in broken English. My heart sinks, and I quickly pull away my hand. Shame burns through me, causing warmth to spread through my cheeks. I’m sure I look like a tomato, and the grin on the little boy's face confirms I do.

“No abuela, this is not June.” Nico corrects her, and the woman raises a brow. Disapproval written all over her face, fuck. She must think I'm like a side piece or something. “I’ll explain later, but first food. I’m starving, and Blondie has never had a home-cooked guisado.”

He rubs his hands together, looking like a starved man as he winks.

My stomach flutters from anxiety as I walk through the door, and the warmth radiating inside relaxes me.

My eyes scan the small entrance, so quaint and homey.

So many pictures, when I notice something that catches my attention and raises my suspicion.

A picture of a woman.

She looks like the woman in the newspaper clipping. My gaze snaps back to Nico, and the resemblance is uncanny. Before I can respond, he whispers in my ear, his hand resting on the small of my back. “That’s Fernanda, my sister.”

I gape at him, my mouth parting as I look at the man who holds more than my heart, confirming what I’ve always known.

Nicolas Reyes is a liar.