Page 9 of Rio

"You think I'm entitled?"

"I've had to work twice as hard for half the respect, but for people like you it's guaranteed, just because of your wealth."

“Must you always hold that against me?”

I feel like she has a deep buried pain.I can see it, just like I could see it in Mama, in the early days, when the old man ripped all our lives apart.

She looks at me, eyes sharp.“Do you so badly want to get me in your bed, Knight?Is this the part where you try to get to know me, pretend to care, and listen, so that you can salve the hurt and—”

“No.”I shake my head, slightly confused, trying to figure her out.She could so easily tell me to get lost, but she hasn’t.“I would like to end up on that bed, with you,” I say carefully, “but that’s not my main driver for wanting to be here.I just want to know more about you.”

She looks at me as if, after all this time, she still needs a reason to validate why she shouldn’t let me in, but she can’t find one.

“I want to know what makes you look at me like I’m a grenade lying at your feet.”There.I said it.

She opens her mouth to protest, but I hold up my hand, halting her.“You hate the Knights.Allegedly you hate me because I’m a Knight, and yet not only have you allowed me to come into your hotel room, and offered me a drink, but we’re playing strip poker, your idea, not mine.And now I’m shirtless, while you’re panty-less.”My cock, on cue, twitches again.“All that to say, if you didn’t feel anything towards me, we wouldn’t be here, likethis.”I wave my hand between us.

She swallows, her eyes narrowing.For a second I don’t think she’s going to answer.

“I despise myself for wanting you.”

Not the words I was expecting.They hit hard, like a gut punch I didn’t see coming, and which knocks the breath from my lungs.My quickfire quip would be to grin, and tell her that I knew she wanted me, but there’s a solemnity in her eyes, something raw and unspeakably fragile.Something that makes me take notice, and want to peel back more layers, and get to know her better.

“Why?”I barely recognize my low whisper.

“I mistrust men like you, and families like the one you come from.I’ve grown up hearing the very worst about these people, and I know one thing: the rich cannot be trusted.”

“If this is about the old man and AO Eletronica, we outplayed him and managed to get Dani’s father’s—”

“It’s not just that.It’s about the stories I heard, from my mom, growing up in a favela on the outskirts of São Paulo.”

“You grew up in a favela?”I flinch because she’s hit me with something that I can’t reconcile with the image of the woman I see.I don’t care where she grew up, but her words surprise me, because it’s the last thing I expected her to say.It’s the way she says it, as if it’s a confession shrink wrapped in shame.

It kills me.She shouldn’t feel ashamed.It’s a shock, for sure, that this polished, glamorous, supremely smart and confident woman—grew up in a favela.My brain short circuits for a while but I’m filled with admiration and disbelief.

“You’re shocked, and you’re disgusted.”

“No.Not disgusted.In shock, yes, because I would never know.I’d never have guessed.”

“That I clawed myself out?”

“No, because you have balls, and confidence and grit.That’s what attracts me to you, but you telling me about where you grew up, well, that’s a big surprise, a shock, even, but in the best way, not in a way that makes me think less of you, Raquel.You have the wrong impression of me.Give me time to help you see me for who I really am.”I’m scrambling to not piss her off because I can tell she’s judging me, and watching how I react.I get up and sit back in the chair.“Tell me more,” I say softly.

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

“I can’t tell you—”

“Tell me what you can, please.”

She sits down again, her expression softening, like she didn’t expect this.She shrugs, and I sense that this doesn’t come as easy as her verbal left hooks.Being vulnerable is hard for her, like it is for me.

“My mom was a teacher by day, and in the evenings she helped out a small volunteer clinic.It was just a tiny operation in our neighborhood and it offered free legal support to the underserved.It was run by a retired judge and a few former law students who wanted to help the people no one else would.As I grew older, I would sometimes go along with her.”

“That’s where you got your love of the law?”

She nods.“My mom taught me that knowledge is power, and that fighting injustice wasn’t about shouting louder, it was about knowing the system better than the people who built it.”She gives me a bitter smile.