We’re silent as Moon leads me back to the house. He grabs two of my pills from a kitchen cabinet and watches me take them. I’m too overwhelmed and don’t argue because my head is pounding. He leaves me alone in his room so he can attend his conference call.
I curl up in his bed, inhaling his scent and wondering how this went so fucking wrong. It was Moon’s actions and not mine that killed Penny. Moon’s fucking games. Manuel Estephon is thought to be the number one killer on American soil and directly tied to the Mexican drug cartels. If Moon is to be believed, and I don’t know what to believe anymore, Kennedy is tied to Estephon.
Moon’s war means cops will die. I can’t allow that to happen. I have no idea where to turn or who to turn to. Just Estephon’s name fills me with dread. At Estephon’s orders, five young men were beheaded a few months ago. Gruesome, horrific deaths that were blasted over the Internet. And Estephon got away with it. Does Kennedy have any idea who he’s dealing with? Fuck. Of course he does. Kennedy is a very smart cop.
I need to get out of here. I’ve been pretending to be Cinderella in the goddamn castle with her Prince Charming when, really, I’m Persephone and Moon is Hades. The orgasm he gave me was the pomegranate seed. There is no orgasm on earth strong enough to keep me within the walls of Moon’s hell.
The pain meds eventually dull the ache in my head, though I can’t sleep. Why did Moon tell me all this? Even with a fuzzy head, I try to put the pieces together and find a way out of my nightmare. I’m here of my own free will. Moon hasn’t forced me to stay. Gomez and Moon have never harmed me. Harry’s the one who caused me to hit my head. Then I have some wild story about being forced off the road. I can’t prove who’s behind it. Kennedy following me to lunch won’t wash as a threat either. Even if there’s actual video of him inside the restaurant, he has as much right to be there as I do. Oh, and a look. When I worked the streets, I hated those calls—he stared at me, she stared at me. When adults say shit like that, it’s nearly impossible not to roll your eyes. If I take what little I have to the police, I’ll sound like a fool. I’m willing to admit to myself that I am a fool. Telling the police about my foolishness is another story.
I don’t understand why I’m part of this at all. Okay, so Moon had me brought to his house after the incident in the garage. It doesn’t explain why I’m suddenly a player in his deadly game. Yes, men look at me and want in my pants. My looks do the job without needing a tramp stamp to advertise. On the force, I wore a Kevlar vest and kept my hair in a tight bun. I never put on more than minimal makeup. I was taken seriously, and when I went on patrol, people saw me only as a cop.
Now my life is different. As a PI, I sometimes take advantage of my assets and I hate it. Does Moon only see me as ass and tits? He has access to countless women. Not just prostitutes, or as he calls them, escorts. I’ve seen the society pictures on television. The women he dates are the top of the social elite. I don’t have half their beauty or refinement.
Since the day I met Moon, I’ve been creating sexual fantasies about him. I hate to admit that I’m no different than a lot of women and find bad boys attractive. Hell, Moon blows the other bad boys out of the water. I’ve been trying to give him the benefit of the doubt and convince myself that he may not be as bad as he’s portrayed. I knew he wasn’t exactly crime free, but when it came to murder, drugs, and guns I thought maybe he’s misunderstood. If that isn’t stupid, I don’t know what is.
No matter how hard I want to, I can’t just turn off the switch and not desire Moon. I’m an alpha female. I’ve been searching for that special man who can handle my kick-ass persona. Moon’s that man, but I can’t have him. Our worlds are too far apart.
The bedroom door opens and Moon stands in the dimmed light. He hesitates before walking into the closet. I hear him change clothes. Well, not exactly. He’s minus his clothes and wearing boxer briefs when he comes out. He turns off the lights and pushes back the thin coverlet and sheet on his side of the bed. I don’t know what to do.
“You should be sleeping,” he says into the quiet room after he’s made himself comfortable.
I should be angry and give him the silent treatment, but that’s as stupid as everything else flashing through my head. I owe him for rescuing me the other night. No, not with my body. I can at least be civil. “I tried. The pills don’t seem to be working. I’m wide awake.”
He rolls over so he’s facing me. “Come here,” he says and pulls me closer.
“Moon.” It’s not quite an objection. I don’t understand all these feelings that are jumbling my brain. I try not to think about my earlier orgasm. That road leads to heartache and endless frustration.
“You need a massage. Your body’s been through hell. It’ll make you sleepy.” He begins running his hands over my skin before finishing his statement. I turn fully to my belly and he moves his hands beneath another of his dress shirts that I’m wearing. I moan when he lightly massages my injured shoulder. The shirt is pulled tight over my breasts, so I lift a little and let it slide up more so he can work. I shouldn’t allow this, but I can’t fucking stop it. I crave his touch. It’s all I’ve thought about since waking up in his home a few days ago.
His hands feel so damn good. I lie still and let him work his magic. I don’t actually know when I started crying. Once the tears start, they won’t stop. I let them fall against the pillow and try to muffle the sound of my sobs.
I fought against Moon’s world for three years. No, actually longer than that. Practically my entire life has been about living on the right side of the law. I know there are dirty cops, and now it’s been thrown in my face. Don’t even get me started on Mexico and buying your way out of traffic tickets or any of the other ways their legal system is corrupt. Just look at the notorious drug kingpin El Chapo. He escaped prison through an elaborate tunnel just days ago and they still haven’t found him. He had help on the inside as well as on the outside.
This is the United States. Moon can’t have too many cops on his payroll; it’s impossible and I refuse to believe it. These thoughts pound through my head and more tears fall as Moon’s hands and fingers work my sore muscles. They leave a path of heat that makes it impossible for me to distinguish lust from pain. I cry harder.
Suddenly I’m on my back with Moon looming over me.
“Don’t cry, baby.” He wipes my tears, and I turn my face away and cry harder. He slides down so his body is alongside mine. Words are all I have and I strike out at him. “Why the fuck did you tell me about your war? You know who I am. Did you plan to kill me all along?”
He pulls me in tighter. “No, baby. You needed to know who I am. You’re naïve.” My body stiffens, but he keeps talking. “I’m not saying you haven’t dealt with the bad in this world. But my life… it’s an entirely different level of bad. It’s evil. In my world, the good guys don’t win.”
He rolls so I’m splayed over him and his chest is now my pillow. His fingers thread through my hair. My dirty hair. I almost laugh. I can’t though. This man has kissed me and loved me with my bruised and damaged face. How many men would do that? Even my parents would look at me in horror. Not Moon. He has a way of making me feel special like no other man has managed.
This is why people love him and keep his secrets. I knew from my class that no one has been able to breach the walls of his organization. He helps the people who are loyal to him and they give him absolute respect.
I’m finally gaining control of my emotions and I’m able to ask about the more important part of what’s bothering me. “Why me? Why turn my life upside down and bring me here the first time? I don’t buy the fucking Alex Gomez story you fed me. There’s another reason.” I’ve turned my head and all of this is said without his muffled chest hiding my rising anger. Anger is good.
Moon rolls us until I’m back on my side. He stands and crosses the room until he disappears into the closet. He comes out a minute later and turns on the bedside reading light. He places a large album on the bed. “Pick it up,” he says s
oftly. I’m in no mood to do anything he asks, but the look in his eyes lets me know I should pick up the album. Moon’s knee hits the bed and he situates the pillows before joining me and sitting back against them. He reaches over and literally pulls me up so my back is against him and I’m wrapped in his arms.
He takes the album from me and flips through several pages until he comes to a full-page picture of three teenagers. One is Moon, another is Gomez, and the third a young woman. Her skin is lighter than Moon’s, but her Mexican heritage is evident. What astounds me is that if my skin were darker, we could be sisters.
I don’t understand. “Who is she?”
Moon’s finger slides over the image. “Alex’s sister.”
“What happened to her?” I’m so afraid to hear his answer.
“She lives far away from our ugliness. It’s the only way we can keep her and her family safe.”
I still don’t understand. “So I look like Gomez’s sister?” I refuse to call him Alex. It makes him more human to me and I don’t want that.
Moon gives a faint laugh and gently squeezes my arm. “I was in love with her. Alex told me he would kick my ass if I ever touched her. I took him at his word. Family is everything to us. I wasn’t good enough for her. She married a man who takes good care of her and keeps her away from our world.” He stops talking and kisses the top of my head. “Alex saw you and decided to play matchmaker because I did as he asked and stayed away from Theresa.”
“That’s fucked up,” I whisper. Now I know why Moon laughed so hard when I told him I might want to date Alex.
“It is. And he was so incredibly wrong. I’m not good enough for you either. You deserve so much more than I could ever give you.”
Four days. What if we’d met back when we were teenagers? Would that have made a difference in Moon’s life? Alex’s sister is not a criminal and Moon didn’t change for her, so I guess that’s my answer.
I haven’t said anything, so Moon continues. “Theresa is actually nothing like you. She’s traditionally Mexican. It’s not that Mexican women aren’t strong. It’s a different type of strength, though. You’re her opposite. You have fire; whereas, she wants to cook and clean and take care of her husband and children. Her ambition is to raise daughters just like her and a son to be just like his father. Those aren’t bad qualities; they’re just not what I look for in women. When I was young and in love, I felt differently.”
“Did you love her very much?”
His chuckle is low and sexy. “My wet dreams were made up of all things Theresa.” Moon’s head tips down and the side of his face rests against my hair. “Don’t ever tell Alex I told you that. He’s still entirely too protective of her.” His breath ruffles my hair and I’m aware all over again that it needs to be washed.
My mind is wandering, and the pain meds are finally beginning to work. I’m safe and warm and exactly where I want to be.
“Is she the reason you haven’t had sex with me? My orgasm doesn’t count,” I mumble sleepily. He’s holding the album, and I’d love to look at more pictures, but my eyes won’t stay open.
He sweeps my hair back and kisses the side of my cheek. “A severe car accident, an aching shoulder, and your second concussion in a week aren’t enough for you?”
“Add a black and blue face and I see your point.”
“No,” he whispers in my ear. “I don’t think you do. I’m so bad for you, baby.”
“That’s why I need to leave here. You’re wrapping me inside your cocoon where I’m safe and cared for. This isn’t me.”
“Two more days. Carlo is coming in the morning. He’ll throw a fit if you aren’t here. My conference call generated some business and I won’t be around tomorrow. The day after that, you are all mine. You need this time to fully recover too. I know you can take care of yourself, but those are my terms.”
There wasn’t even a small part of me that wanted to argue. The damn drugs take away my free will. I won’t be taking them tomorrow. “I’ll go stir-crazy,” I whisper.
“You’ll have a visitor, so don’t worry about that.”
I yawn. I’m incapable of thinking about a visitor. Moon places the album on the nightstand and turns off the light. After he readjusts the pillows, he spoons me. I’m too tired to do anything about his erection. The breeze from the ceiling fan keeps us cool even while we lay mostly skin to skin.
I fall asleep in Moon’s arms.
Chapter Nineteen