Seduction Page 11

  He chuckles. “Making up for lost time,” he answers softly. “I want you to know how much you mean to me, Marisela.” A server arrives with warm spinach salad and caviar. She pours the Champagne, then leaves. “Isn’t she going to check my ID?” I ask.

  “I took care of that,” he says dismissively.

  “How?”

  “Don’t worry about it, darlin’.” He hands me the blue flute, then raises his own glass. “To everything I’ve missed before you came along.” We tap glasses and both take a sip.

  What’s come over my boyfriend? I gaze at him, unblinking. He’s wearing a black evening jacket with a white button-down shirt, no tie, and black jeans. I love his boots. Who opened up Cosmo magazine and conjured this perfect man? “You’re scaring me.”

  His hands fasten possessively on mine. “Don’t be scared. Enjoy it, Marisela.”

  I plan on it, believe me. We’re sitting across from each other, but the table is narrow and intimate. There’s a small bouquet of blue and purple irises in a vase and three tapers between us. As if he knows what I’m thinking, he slides them away. He picks up one of the mother-of-pearl spoons offered with the caviar and gives me a taste. It’s so salty, but delicious. He eats some, too.

  Twenty minutes later the main course arrives, an eleven-spiced Texas axis venison with grilled quail and asparagus, followed by pear-raspberry crumble for dessert. We linger at the table for an hour and finish off the Champagne.

  Craig looks at his watch. “It’s nine, baby. I have another surprise for you.”

  I look over my shoulder. Where’s my fairy godmother? “What is it?” I ask joyfully, feeling warm and tingly from the Champagne.

  “We’re headed to the I-37 Raceway in Pleasanton on Sunday. There’s a party for all the racers at Howl at the Moon tonight. We’re invited.”

  I swallow. How did he know about my love for motorcycle racing? I have some nationally ranked AMA friends who travel the circuit regularly. My ex among them. “That’s incredible.” I clasp my hands together. “Should we go back to the hotel and change?”

  He stands and looks down at me. “Nope. I want to keep you in that dress for as long as I can.” We leave the restaurant.

  Howl at the Moon isn’t that far from our hotel. I’ve heard great things—it’s popular for its dueling piano shows and wild parties. I smile the minute we get inside. I look around. There are high wood-beam ceilings with huge ceiling fans, a raised stage with two baby grand pianos, tables all over the place, and a long, wide bar. The dance floor is jammed and the musicians are playing “Don’t Stop Believin’ ” by Journey. Half the crowd is singing along. Craig takes me by the hand and leads me toward the back.

  I see several tables pushed together occupied by guys wearing racing leathers. As soon as we approach, three men stand up and shake hands with Craig. He wasn’t joking. He’s friends with racers. It’s almost too loud to think straight. Craig positions me in front of him and makes introductions.

  “Marisela, this is my cousin, Lucas Lafontaine, and our friends Mason Percy and Arturo Romero.” We shake hands.

  Lucas is nearly as tall and handsome as Craig. I shake my head—Viking genes. There are at least thirty people here. Over the next half hour we meet everyone. There are a couple of girls from Austin, Sarah and Jenna, both racers. And they know my old circle of acquaintances through Estevan. Some of them are here, which makes me extremely nervous. I don’t say anything to Craig.

  We sit next to Lucas and order one of the house specialties called Buckets of Booze. I nearly fall out of my seat when it arrives: an 86-ounce Adios Mofo (Long Island tea mix, Blue Curaçao, lemon-lime soda, and sweet and sour). There are half a dozen neon-colored straws in the bucket. I’m starting to think Craig wants to get me wasted so he can take advantage of me. I laugh and take a long drink from a blue straw.

  The band starts playing a Bob Marley tune and I want to dance.

  Craig adamantly refuses to join me. “Only when I’m buzzed, baby.” He smiles. “Go ahead—I’ll watch you from here.”

  I’m pleased he’s confident enough to let me dance alone. Another thing I’m unaccustomed to. Jenna offers to go with me. We hold hands and merge with couples on the dance floor. Eventually we end up near the front of the stage. Two songs later, I’m paired with a guy named Dominic. He’s nice. We finish our third dance and he leaves.

  Then I see a face that sends shivers up my spine. I freeze. Oh. My. God.

  I knew it, felt something the minute I met those girls from Austin. Texas might be big in every sense of the word, but when it comes to the racing circuit, it’s small.

  Estevan is dancing with a girl near the bar. I need to get out of here. I’m not thinking right. The Champagne—that Adios Mofo concoction. I eyeball the front door. Craig is too far away; I can’t see him through the crowd. I race for the entrance. There’s a bouncer. He’ll protect me until someone can alert Craig. I fight against the crowd to reach the doorman, but the surge of new patrons headed inside forces me back. I feel like a salmon fighting to get upstream. I look frantically at the bar. Estevan is gone. Shit. Someone grabs my arm. I whip around.

  “Marisela.” It’s Estevan—he’s drunk—and I’m alone. He snaps me close. “Let me go!” I fight to get away, but he’s so strong and determined. We’re almost at the door. I tug with all my strength. He flashes the blade in his left hand. “If you start anything,” he growls in my ear, “I’ll cut your face.”

  He’ll do it. I have a small scar on my inner left thigh covered by my tat where he stabbed me before. I don’t care; if he gets me outside alone…I yell. But no one pays attention—they think I’m partying. He drags me outside. I stumble. He doesn’t care.

  We’re through the doors. I open my mouth to scream, but Estevan rams his tongue in my mouth to silence me. He jams the blade against my stomach, then breaks the kiss. “You taste like a whore,” he whispers, his arm wrapped tightly around my waist. “You’re gonna walk with me to my hotel.” I feel the steely tip of the knife through my dress. “Understand?”

  I nod.

  “Good.” He releases me and grabs my left hand. He squeezes hard. I yelp, but start walking. I trip on purpose. He lets go and waits for me to stand up again. We’re only a couple of blocks from the club. I stare in the general direction, praying Craig will show up.

  “Get up, bitch.” Estevan hovers over me.

  “I can’t,” I lie, “I twisted my ankle.”

  “Fuck!” he hollers. He kneels and examines me. “It looks fine. Get up.”

  “Please,” I beg. “Why can’t you leave me alone?”

  He grabs a fistful of my hair and forces my head back. “If you don’t walk, I’ll drag you the rest of the way.”

  Tears blur my vision. There’s so much hatred and violence in his voice.

  I hear a bloodcurdling scream. I look up in time to see Craig’s foot connect with Estevan’s head. The knife flies out of his hand before he hits the pavement. Lucas and a couple of other guys from the party are here, too.

  “Baby.” Craig lifts me to my feet. He’s all over me, gripping my arms, hugging me, then holding me away so he can check me for injuries. “Are you all right?”

  Bitter tears stream down my face. I’m breathless and scared. “How…how…did…you…”

  He presses me to his chest. “Jenna saw Estevan drag you outside. Goddamnit. I’m an idiot. I should have never let you out of my sight.” His body goes rigid.

  “No,” I say. “It’s not your fault.”

  He lifts my chin and kisses me. “If anything happens to you…” His expression goes dark, then he lets go of me. “Stay here.”

  He stalks to where Estevan is out cold on the ground. A small crowd is gathering nearby. Lucas and one of his buddies lift Estevan.

  “I’ll take care of him,” Craig says, staring at my ex with hatred.

  “No,” Lucas says. “Stay with Marisela—she shouldn’t be alone.”

  Craig inhales, his hands shaking. �
�All right.”

  Lucas and his buddy carry Estevan away. I take a deep breath. “What are they going to do with him? Shouldn’t we call the police?”

  Craig returns to my side. “Let’s go back to the hotel, baby. Can you walk? Want me to carry you?”

  I laugh dazedly. If I were any other girl I’d let him, but I can’t. It’s a matter of pride, even though I’m so weak-kneed I don’t think I can walk two steps.

  Without waiting for an answer, he scoops me up. I don’t resist and snuggle against his hard chest. I feel safe wrapped in his arms, shielded from the rest of this godforsaken world.

  —

  We’re back in our room by midnight. I convince Marisela to sit on the couch while I fix her a drink. A shot of Crown will settle her nerves. I join her—my mind whirling. I want that son of a bitch dead.

  “Drink, baby.” I hand her the shot glass.

  She coughs after downing it. I smile. She doesn’t usually drink liquor. She hands me the empty glass and I set it on the end table. My hands are shaking I’m so pissed. “I think it’s time for full disclosure, baby.”

  No more secrets. I can’t protect her if she won’t confide in me. I have connections in several police departments between Austin and San Antonio. Enough to help her. Her demeanor changes. My face burns because I know what she’s afraid of.

  “You can tell me anything—it won’t change how I feel about you, Marisela.” I hold her hand. It’s clammy. I didn’t realize how hard it would be for her to relive her abuse. I have to know. My stomach tightens at the desolate look in her eyes.

  “What good will it do?”

  “I need to get inside this guy’s head—understand how far he’s willing to go.”

  She frowns. “My ex doesn’t have boundaries, especially where I’m concerned. It’s a matter of pride for him. His family emigrated from Mexico fifteen years ago. Women are systematically discriminated against in his family.”

  My email alert goes off on my cell. I pick it up. Holy shit. If a photograph is worth a thousand words, this one qualifies. Lucas sent the pic. Estevan stripped down to his briefs with rapist scrolled across his chest. I try to control myself. I can’t.

  “What is it?” Marisela looks concerned.

  “Nothing.”

  “You expect me to answer your questions, but won’t address mine?” She crosses her arms over her chest. My defiant little Texas beauty.

  “All right.” I hand her my phone.

  She stares at the screen, then covers her mouth with her hand. “Oh. My. God.”

  I press my hand to her cheek.

  “Who did this?” she demands.

  “Lucas.”

  “Why?”

  I take my hand from her face. “To teach that bastard a lesson.” My blood is starting to boil over again. Up until this point, I only assumed she’d been raped. Her reaction is confirmation. “When did he rape you?” I can’t let her shut down. She needs to let me share this burden with her.

  “Five months ago,” she says coolly. Too disconnectedly. “We’d been dating for a month. I was a starry-eyed little fool—completely obsessed with my quarterback boyfriend. I gained instant popularity, had hundreds of friends, got invited to all the best parties…” Her voice trails off. “Imagine what that felt like for a girl from little old Odem,” she adds.

  I nod, but don’t say anything. I want her to control this conversation.

  “At first, everything seemed perfect. Flowers, dinners, and parties. Then, one night after a big game, we attended a celebration in Austin. The hottest party I’d ever been to. Everyone was drinking. Snorting coke, popping Skittles, smoking dope. I split a bottle of wine with my girlfriend. I was feeling pretty good when Estevan invited me upstairs.”

  I fist my hands.

  She sniffs. I hate seeing her cry, but I let her go on. “We kissed a few times and I relaxed. In his twisted mind, once I joined him on the bed, he considered that a green light.”

  I close my eyes, trying to block out the vision her words conjure.

  “He slapped me around…tore my skirt off and held me down. It was over in fifteen minutes. To tell you the truth, I was so buzzed I hardly remember it.” She curls into a tight ball, facing away from me.

  Another wave of fury hits me. I should have destroyed that motherfucker while he was lying on the ground. Shit. I’d like to take him out to a field and shoot his ass, leave him for the vultures. “Why’d you stay with him, Marisela?” I ask gently.

  She shrugs. “He took my virginity. My mother raised me in a very strict manner—I thought we’d get married eventually. He begged my forgiveness the next morning, convinced me he didn’t know what he was doing because he was so high on coke and booze. I believed him. A few weeks later, things really deteriorated. He humiliated me every chance he got. And no one did anything about it because he was the king of Baylor. After we moved to Austin, his hometown, it only worsened. Estevan Beltran gets his way wherever he goes. Everybody worships him because he can throw a football like a pro. He’s destined for the NFL. Welcome to Texas.”

  Not my Texas. Not the place where she lives now. I’m sick with hatred for this prick. I groan. She looks at me, her eyes wide and glassy.

  “I’m damaged goods, Craig.” Her bottom lip quivers. “Ready to leave me?”

  “No, baby,” I murmur. “I’m ready to love you.”

  Chapter 14

  Craig Hanson just told me he’s ready to love me. His words pierce my heart. I twist around on the sofa. I should be angry—not at Craig, at Estevan…at life…at God. What did I do to earn Estevan’s hatred? Why was I destined to suffer months of isolation and fear? I need to get mad, purge all the pain from my body.

  Craig looks alarmed. Maybe he didn’t mean to say what he did. I understand completely. I’m not returning the sentiment. I wish I could say it, but I can’t. Those three little words cost me dearly before. I loved Estevan. As soon as he found out, he stomped on my heart. That will never happen again.

  I grab Craig’s phone and look at the picture again. It’s a Facebook post. Crap. “Using social media as a weapon is pretty underhanded,” I say.

  “And effective if you have a few thousand friends.”

  I sigh. Estevan has earned it. Whatever fallout he catches as a result, well, maybe it will teach him a lesson. To leave me alone. “Do you think he’ll come back?” I ask.

  Craig grips my shoulders. “Maybe.” I look into his eyes; his pupils are dilated. “He won’t get far if he does.”

  I’m afraid to ask what he means. I know he has a lot of friends. Hell, he used to be a cop. That’s nobility in Corpus. “It’s your turn now,” I say. “Tell me your darkest secret.”

  He smiles a little. Maybe I worded that wrong. “Tell me the top five” seems more appropriate for a guy with Craig’s background. “Too hard to pick?” I tease.

  I swear he looks like a devil sometimes. “You want to know what happened when I was a cop, don’t you?”

  I lower my head, ashamed to admit it. Of course I do. What girl wouldn’t? It’s crazy—newsworthy shit. “You’re not proud of it, are you?” I query, worried about the smile on his face.

  “No.” It fades instantly. “Far from it.”

  I nod. He leans back and crosses his arms. This is the toughest trust-building exercise I’ve ever participated in. My own sister doesn’t know everything about what happened to me—she made some good guesses, though. Putting faith in Craig is hard, but if he’ll do the same, a little tit-for-tat, I might feel better about it.

  “I responded to a domestic abuse call. The usual scenario—two frightened kids, a battered girlfriend, and a drunk asshole. The girl was beautiful.” He rakes his fingers through his hair. “The attraction was mutual from the moment we laid eyes on each other. Neither one of us said anything. After her ex got sentenced, the case was officially closed. Then I contacted her. The rest is pretty easy to figure out.”

  “Is it?” My voice is terse; jealousy pricks my h
eart.

  “Marisela,” he groans. “Please don’t expect me to tell you things that will make you hate me.”

  “I can’t hate you.” I palm his cheek. How can I? We’re both so deeply flawed. Two imperfect creatures brought together by fate—or something more powerful. I don’t know. “You dated her?”

  “Yes.” He looks away. “Her name is Amy. I cared about her and the kids. Enough to stick around longer than I usually do.”

  I’ve never seen this behemoth of a man squirm. My God. He really liked her. “You cared more than you wanted to?”

  “Yeah, how’d you guess?”

  Something about the look in his eyes—the change in his breathing. “Not that hard to do with that look on your face,” I answer.

  He appears hurt or haunted. Is there a difference?

  “Amy’s ex appealed his case. Months later, he was paroled. Guess where he ended up?”

  I don’t want to.

  “In her bed.”

  Should I comfort him? I won’t share my sympathy with his memory of another woman, any more than I expect Craig to help me get over Estevan. “I’m sorry.”

  “No.” He waves his hand as if deflecting my pity. “I’m over it.”

  Are you? I ask silently. The thought makes me bite my lower lip. I taste blood. Crap. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and see blood.

  “Marisela?” Craig is all over me. He wipes stray hairs from my face and then kisses my injured lip. “She’s nothing to me. None of them are.”

  A storm is brewing behind those dark eyes. A big one. Did he love her? He stands, then paces. Next, he stomps to the front door and punches it. It’s metal. When he moves away, I eyeball the fist-sized dent he left. I gulp. Estevan is lucky he’s alive.

  “Listen, baby,” he says hovering over me. “Why don’t you take a shower? I’m going to grab a drink at the bar in the lobby. Okay? I need some air.” He’s frustrated.

  “Sure.” A bath sounds good. And if he needs a breath of fresh air to clear his head, who am I to stop him? He leans in and kisses my forehead.