Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 80139 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80139 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
“Look at him,” Mercedes says. “So serious. So handsome. Like he’s carrying all the sorrows of the world.”
“Maybe he is,” Esmeralda says.
“Or maybe he’s trying to look interesting.”
I can’t help it. I grin.
Because now I can see it too. Cruz sitting on some moss-covered rock beside a babbling brook, his gaze fixed on the water as he contemplates the cruel intricacies of life. Maybe with his shirt open at the throat. Maybe with wind ruffling that black hair.
I swallow.
Nope.
Absolutely not.
I am not thinking about Cruz by a babbling brook. I am not thinking about his shirt open. I am not thinking about his dark features, his full lips, his too-beautiful face, his soulful eyes.
Not happening.
I sit up straighter and wrap my fingers around my coffee cup. I cannot let my guard down.
He helped me. Yes. He got me out of that dank cell. He drove me through the night. He brought me to a place he believes is safe.
But he also worked for Vega.
He still knows things he hasn’t told me. And I have too much at stake to be stupid.
Whatever is happening in Colombia isn’t separate from what’s happening back home. I feel it in my bones. I set my cup down.
“Cruz.”
He meets my gaze.
“Can I talk to you privately?”
Cruz nods. “Sure.”
“We need to figure out our next move,” I say. “We can’t stay huddled up here forever.”
“You can stay as long as you need,” Señora Valentina says.
I smile at her. “I know. And thank you. Truly. But I don’t want to put anyone here in danger.”
Mercedes waves a hand. “Danger is always coming and going. At least this time it brought a handsome man and a pretty girl.”
But I can’t forget the truth.
Vega is not some jealous boyfriend who might show up and shout on the porch. Adriana is not just a bitter woman angry that her hostage escaped. These people have money, men, weapons, connections. They can reach into police departments. Immigration offices. Prisons. Families.
They reached all the way to Texas.
They reached into my life.
And if they find out Cruz brought me here, what will they do to these women?
To Señora Valentina, who lied for us without hesitation?
To Mercedes and Esmeralda, who are laughing now because they don’t understand the full shape of the threat sitting at their kitchen table?
Or maybe they do understand.
Maybe women like them understand danger better than anyone gives them credit for.
Still, I don’t want to be the reason anyone gets hurt.
Cruz pushes his chair back. “Come on,” he says quietly.
But before either of us can stand, Mercedes slaps her palm on the table. “Wait.”
Esmeralda gasps. “Oh, yes. Wait.”
I look between them. “What?”
“We do this with every new person,” Mercedes says.
“Do what?” I ask.
“A reading.”
“A reading?” I repeat.
“Yes.”
I blink. “Like tarot cards?”
Esmeralda wrinkles her nose. “In a way.”
Mercedes rises from the table and goes to a drawer near the stove. “But we use regular cards. No need for that fancy shit.”
Señora Valentina sighs, but she doesn’t stop them.
Cruz rubs a hand over his mouth. “This is new.”
Mercedes returns with a deck of cards, sits down, and shuffles them. “Who first?” she asks.
“Him,” I say, pointing at Cruz.
Cruz lifts a brow.
Mercedes grins and sets the deck on the table. “Cruz first.” She taps the deck. “Cut.”
Cruz hesitates but then reaches forward and cuts the deck once.
His hand is big against the cards. Strong fingers. Scarred knuckles. A small nick near his thumb I hadn’t noticed before.
I shouldn’t be noticing his hands.
Mercedes takes the top card and lays it face down on the table. She looks at Esmeralda.
Mercedes flips the card.
Ace of Hearts.
For a second, no one speaks.
Then Mercedes slaps Cruz’s arm.
Cruz frowns. “What?”
“Oh,” Esmeralda says. “Oh, Cruz.”
“What?” he asks again, this time with impatience.
Mercedes turns the card toward him. “Ace of Hearts.”
He sighs. “I can see that.”
“It means love,” Esmeralda says.
“Love,” Mercedes repeats, drawing out the word.
Cruz looks at me.
Oh, God…
No.
No, no, no.
Of all the cards in that stupid deck, there is absolutely no way they just drew that one for him.
“It just means a beginning,” Cruz says. “Luisa used to do this when I was little.”
Mercedes points at him. “I’m doing the reading. It means what I say it means.”
Esmeralda leans toward me, smiling. “Ace of Hearts predicts he will find the love of his life.”
Cruz looks down.
He’s blushing again.
I have to look away. I stare at the table. At my coffee cup. At a scratch in the wood. At literally anything except Cruz Moreno and his handsome, blushing face.
This is absurd.
A card means nothing. A random card from a regular deck pulled by two women who clearly enjoy making Cruz uncomfortable doesn’t mean fate has entered the kitchen.
Please.
I’m not the love of anyone’s life.
I’m a woman who followed a lead she shouldn’t have followed, got herself captured, mouthed off to dangerous people, and is currently hiding in a brothel wearing another woman’s clothes.