Lorenzo, when I find him at the far rear of the trucking yard between a pair of long-retired trailers, looks dangerously irritated.
He gestures at the crumpled bodies at his feet. "They didn't know anything," he says in English, "other than they were headed across the border."
"They're headed for the Club," I tell him.
He frowns my way. "Yourclub? In Vegas?"
"Correct."
"And Rafael?"
"He's not here," I answer. "I doubt he ever was."
"So now what?"
"They're going for the girls," I tell him; he hasn't met any of the women except Scarlett, but he knows of them. Long hours of travel means you get to talking, and I know he's grown particularly close with Solomon, after our adventures in South America and Europe.
"We've neutralized the threat, have we not?" he asks.
I shake my head. "According to my source in there—" I jerk my head at the warehouse, "this group was only half the plan. Rafael is working with Pugli, it would seem, and Pugli pulled strings to get the border guards to look the other way while this pack of assholes crossed over. The plan was to meet up with another group already Stateside—Pugli's men, I would assume."
"Any idea when?"
"Seventy-two hours," I answer.
"Back north we go, then." He sounds exhausted at the prospect of the drive back north to Vegas—a journey of more than fourteen hundred miles.
He scrapes a hand over his head, removing his faded red, ripped-brim ball cap and scrubbing his hair until it stands on end. A thin red line mars the stubbled skin at his throat, a dribble of dried blood trailing down over his Adam's apple. From me—my knife.
The rage has dimmed from a nuclear meltdown to a mere inferno, and I have only a vague memory of pulling my knife on him. I'd been sure Rafael was in here; I should have known better.
I step closer to him, my eyes on that tiny ribbon of red. I lock eyes with him and touch the cut. "I'm sorry, Lorenzo."
He captures my hand—his is huge and hard, imprisoning mine in the cage of his fingers. "It's fine. I understand."
"Ren," I murmur. "It'snotokay. I just…I am soangry. Not at you, just…”
He frowns down at me. "Of course you're angry,meu amor. How could you not be? After all that you have suffered at Rafael's hands? I know you." He lifts my hands to his lips and kisses my knuckles. "I am with you. Always. No matter what."
I shake my head, hating the way his lips upon my fingers makes me feel: soft, shaky-kneed and breathless, warm-belliedand hot-blooded. "Ren. I…" I yank my hand free of his, reaching for the anger that fuels me. "I cannot be her for you. Not yet."
"Who, Sophia?"
I whirl away, holstering my sidearm and reloading my MP5. "I cannot be Sofia for you, Ren. I cannot be…" I flex the fingers of the hand he kissed. "That. I have a job to do. I have an enemy to kill. My men left their women at the club assuming they'd be safe, but they're not. As much as I want to hunt down Rafael and bleed him out slowly, I must protect my people." I turn back to look at him. "I only wanted to say that I'm sorry I put my knife to you as I did. It was wrong and I should not have. I know you are with me." I have to swallow hard, clear my throat. "How could I not know?"
Lorenzo once more closes the gap between us, standing so close that my breasts brush his chest, his tall, broad frame occluding the world beyond us. His dark eyes search my face, and for a moment, I wonder if he's going to kiss me. I shake all over at the prospect—It has been such a long time, after all. And I am a woman, with a woman's needs and desires. They have been long suppressed, those feminine needs, but they're there. And the more time I spend with Lorenzo, the more they bubble up to the surface, despite my best attempts to keep them bottled up.
"Not yet," he murmurs, more to himself than to me, I think. He slides the pad of his thumb across my lips, his eyes following his thumb’s path with a wistful expression. "Come. I’ll steal a car with working A/C, this time."
2
BENEATH A GOLEM’S SKIN
LORENZO
Iam sick of driving. Sick of the endless miles. I don't even remember when Inez first called me. It feels like a lifetime ago. But ever since then, whenever it was, I have been constantly in transit. All over Brazil, Ecuador, Colombia, Italy, Germany, and now the States.
We literally arrived here in Fresnillo earlier today after more than twenty-two hours of driving, and now, having been here less than three hours, we're going right back the way we fucking came.
