Chavez gulped, and yes, those beads of sweat were now running in rivulets down the sides of his face. “O-okay, Mr. Mercer, I’ll tell you everything. Please just give me some space.”
Sighing, I straightened, raising an expectant brow.
“It was me and Tompkins. You know. The, uh, the night he died. Your father hired us to go over and make it look like a robbery went wrong.”
I went preternaturally still. “Hewhat?” I seethed.
“Y-yeah. He and Mr. Reyes weren’t seeing eye to eye anymore. Mr. Reyes was thinking of expanding into trafficking—women and children—and that didn’t sit right with yourpadre.”
I cocked a brow at him again, the portrait of nonchalance, but inside my stomach was twisting. On one hand, thankGodthecrimes my father committed only dabbled in narcotics and the occasional torture and homicide.
On the other hand, he had a man killed, a man whose daughter could waltz in and take everything back if she wanted. The loyalty of the cartel remained with the Reyes family because my father treated everyone like shit, whereas Eddie had led a criminal organization with fair and just policies.
That loyalty? Well, it only shifted to us when my father forced his way into power by—presumably—taking out Eddie Reyes.
So did Eddie Reyes actually want to expand into trafficking, or did my father just want him out of the way?
A part of me believed that theory. I was freshly nineteen when he'd been killed, and I remember the cartel being completely floored by the loss of their leader. The devastation it caused rocked the boat so much that it was easy for my father to slip into the position of power.
Plus, there were parts of the business he left me out of, instead insisting that my brothers—both younger and older—were more cut out for it than I was. I never understood it, but I wondered…
I wasn’t sure how the fuck I was supposed to explain this to Sophie.
Better yet, saving Victor Chavez’s death for her would hopefully be enough to make up for the blood on my family’s hands—the hit my father put on hers.
14
Sophie
“Soph.” Callie snapped her fingers in front of my face, breaking me from my daydream of Maverick’s lips on mine. “What’s going on? You’ve been distracted since I sat down.”
I looked at my friend, feeling guilty that she came all this way to have hang out with me in my office, and here I was spacing out. I suddenly understood why she had gotten so wrapped up in her head when she and Liam were on and off.
Callie’s eyes glittered with light-hearted suspicion as I blinked my thoughts away. “Sorry, I’m just…”Just what?I couldn’t think of anything to say. I shook my head, hoping it would clear the cobwebs in my mind.
She smiled. “Holy shit. It’s that club owner. He’s getting to you, isn’t he?”
I frowned. “What? Maverick? God, no. Absolutely not. Don’t be ridiculous.” I didn’t sound convincing in the slightest, and it only made Callie’s smile grow.
“Can’t wait to tell Liam about this. We made a bet on whether or not you’d hook up. I won, if you can’t tell.”
Rolling my eyes, I said, “First of all, we haven’t hooked up. Not really. Second of all, don’t tell Liam about this. Remember how serious he got that night at the club? When I came back from meeting with Mav? He was all, ‘Soph, be careful around him. He’s dangerous.’” I dropped my voice to sound manly, mimicking Liam’s reprimanding tone. “While you giggled like a maniac. News flash: nothing really happened then, either. An accidental nip slip and I practically ran out of there.”
Callie cackled. While I loved seeing my best friend so carefree and happy, I wasn’t quite in the head space to find it amusing. “He did sound like that, didn’t he?” She paused to wipe a tear that had slipped out. “Let’s circle back to how you just gave him a cute little nickname, ‘kay?Mav?How many times have you seen him? Also, what do you mean by ‘not really’ hooked up?”
I flinched. Her third degree was unyielding; it’s what made her a good cop, and normally I didn’t mind it, but how was I supposed to tell her that I was wildly attracted to a man who was clearly a criminal, who fraternized with murderers and was probably one himself, who’dapproached me with my cop friendsand propositioned me to take out one of the men who killed my father?
Not to mention that some twisted part of me was turned the fuck on by all of that. And here I was about to go to his house for dinner, discuss all his dirty little secrets, and get off at the mercy of his fingers and tongue and cock?
Dios mio,why did I have to think about that? Now I was squirming. Which Callie noticed, of course.
“Sophie. Why are you being so weird about this? You clearly have the hots for him.”
“Because I met him under dangerous circumstances, okay?” I snapped. “And I don’t want you or Liam caught up in this bullshit drama. Yes, I’m really into him and he almost fucked me a few nights ago outside of a restaurant, where I crashed his date because apparently he turns me into a psycho, jealous Latina—which I swore I’d never be—yet here I am, just because he stopped following me around, and I wanted to know why. So I’m going to his house for dinner tonight and I’m nervous and excited and I don’t know what it means for me, but he understands me in ways I can’t even begin to describe, and I barely know him.”
I was breathing hard by the time the word vomit stopped, my pulse thrumming in my ears. My fingers gripped the edge of my desk like a lifeline as I tried to rein it in. Across from me, Callie exhaled slowly, setting her bottled water down with deliberate care. She leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest, her expression unreadable as she took her time, letting the silence stretch between us.
“Shit. Sorry. I shouldn’t—”
