Chapter 6

Casey hadn't thought about the man in over six months. It took her a second to realize who he was when he suddenly appeared next to her in the pouring rain, on the pool deck, water dripping down his tanned face and running into his collar. She was damp herself, but sitting comfortably underneath her patio umbrella lounge set. Her fearful gaze flickered toward Alonzo, who was standing underneath the overhang of the towel cabana. He didn't move or indicate in any way that she might be in danger of the man standing arrogantly next to her, as though he had every right to invade her space, so she figured she was safe enough.

She looked back up and forced herself to try to remember him. Her memory was not always the best, not since the car accident that had cracked her skull open ten years ago. Sometimes she had difficulty remembering things, which seemed to annoy people. Her bad memory coupled with her sometimes impulsive words and other little quirks tended to get her in trouble.

"You're an associate of Ignacio's." She finally managed to come up with. "We met at that club several months ago."

He jerked his head in a short nod and moved to sit across from her at the small table, his eyes never leaving her face. She thought it was a little rude of him to sit without an invitation, but in their world, guys like him were used to doing whatever they wanted. Which Included invading the spaces of women. Sadly, she was used to it by now. The man continued to stare at her as though she were available or something, though he should know by now that she was married.

Now she definitely remembered him, remembered the way his eyes roved over her as the men conducted business in the club. How she'd hated every moment of that meeting. Ignacio had forced her to go as punishment because she'd mouthed off to him earlier in the day, told him she wouldn't leave the house. He knew she hated leaving the safety of her bedroom.

Casey picked up her mimosa and took a long sip, forcing the tremble in her hand to steady out before placing the glass back on the table. She saw his dark gaze flicker to her drink for a moment and then back to her face with a raised eyebrow, saw the judgment there. He was probably calculating the time, 9:30am. Her own eyes narrowed and she dared him to say something. He didn't live with Ignacio Hernandez, couldn't possibly understand what her life was like. What the fuck was he doing in their house for a meeting at that time of morning anyway?

"A little early, eh nena?" he asked, his deep accented voice caressing each syllable.

She stared at him, determined not to give in to the urge to unleash on the man. Strange, she rarely allowed herself to feel anything other than cold dispassion. Especially toward Ignacio's business associates. Yet, something about this man assuming she was a morning drunk rubbed her the wrong way. Woke something up inside her. And calling her nena? She knew her Spanish well enough to know he was calling her a combination of baby and party girl all rolled into one. An endearment if they'd known each other, but an insult otherwise. She eyed him, completely taking him in for the first time.

He wore his thick, black hair short and spiked up, shaved to the scalp at the sides around his ears and collar. Almost militaristic, except it was a bit too long on top. His features were broad with deep, pitted scars marring enough of his face to make her heart lurch. How had she not noticed that before? The scar next to her eyebrow twitched in sympathy and she resisted the urge to reach up and brush it with a fingertip. She'd erased that particular tell years ago. She forced her eyes to linger on his face, the way his relentless gaze lingered on hers. His high cheekbones, prominent forehead and sculpted lips would have made him quite handsome except the scars and his demeanor gave him an almost feral look. She knew without a doubt that the assumption she'd made about this man six months ago was wrong. He was not an underling or a bodyguard, he was the boss. And he was not to be lightly dismissed.

Finally, she dropped her eyes and went for her drink again. His hand reached across the table, landing on her wrist, stopping her. She jerked in surprise nearly spilling the drink. His skin was warm against hers. Her heart pounded against her chest as she took in the feel of another man's touch against her flesh. She hadn't been touched by a person in over a year except the woman that did her hair and nails. And the hapless bodyguard with the now broken fingers. She glanced unsteadily toward the windows of the house, but the downfall of rain obscured anything past a few feet. Even her bodyguard couldn't see exactly what was taking place on the tabletop from the way they were sitting. His hold wasn't tight and she knew she could slip her hand away if she wanted. Instead she lifted an eyebrow in question looking at him fully again. Instead of judgement she now saw pity. Her second least favourite emotion.

"Why?" he demanded.

She took a quick breath in, savouring the fleeting touch and then pulled her hand away. Deliberately she picked up her champagne flute, tipped it against her lips and emptied it. The man across from her made an annoyed grunting sound. Her heart responded with an erratic thump. She set the glass back down and pressed her hand against her chest, rubbing a little. She was surprised at how her body reacted so quickly, so readily to the presence of this man.

Then, maybe it wasn't so surprising. She spent so much time alone, that maybe she was like a sponge, ready to soak up any kind of attention. She turned to him and tilted her head, studying his broad shoulders under the dark shirt he wore, unbuttoned at the top, and the way he sprawled his legs out as though relaxed in her presence. Only she suspected he wasn't truly relaxed. He seemed to be absorbing everything about her. And he was hyper-aware of her bodyguard. She could tell by the tension in his body, the placement of his hand next to his hip, near his back and the way he relaxed in positon so he could see both her and the man over his shoulder.

"I use it to wake up," she finally told him, her soft voice carrying to his ears alone. She was ashamed of her substance use, though her bodyguard knew everything about her, right down to her underwear size. It wasn't like she had any secrets from Alonzo. He was the one that kept secrets from her.

"What do you mean?" he asked, dark eyes cutting to her face, demanding more of an explanation.

Casey blushed. "I¡­ sometimes get bad headaches. I was in a car accident when I was eighteen and there was head trauma. I had surgeries, but there was only so much doctors could do¡­ there was some brain damage¡­ not much! Don't look at me like that. But now I get migraines and I take prescriptions for my head, only they don't always work and the pain just gets to be too much, more than I can bear. I can't sleep because of the pain, but I just want to sleep the pain away." She knew she was talking too much-­ she did that sometimes when she was nervous. Started babbling and couldn't seem to stop. It was why she often chose not to talk, so people wouldn't get to know this side of her. But he'd asked the question. "Well- sometimes I also take stuff to help me sleep too, pills and¡­ and alcohol together. It helps my head. But when I get up in the morning I feel fuzzy. I guess I just need to de-fuzzify."

"Fuck¡­" he murmured, his gaze darkening. He was quiet for a moment before he said, "That's dangerous shit, Casey. You do this often?"

She wanted to deny it. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him she hardly ever did as she'd just described. In fact, she'd never admitted out loud that she took that dangerous combination before. Of course, Alonzo knew, which meant Ignacio also knew. And neither man had put a stop to her drug use, so she assumed they were okay with it. She didn't know what else to do. She had terrible headaches almost every day that medication barely controlled and Ignacio would only let her see his personal physician. A man who wasn't a neurologist and not even remotely specialized in migraine therapies. She was forced to manage the pain as best she could. And then there were the prescriptions Ignacio and his doctor forced her to take, for her health.

She bit her lip and nodded.

"How often?" he demanded in a growl.

"I don't know," she whispered, shifting in her chair, sitting up straighter. "Why do you care?" she asked suddenly, piecing him with her eyes.

He turned fully toward her, placing his arms on the table and closing the distance between them until the small table felt like no barrier at all. She knew it was significant that his back was to her bodyguard, opening him up to possible attack. In the dark world of mafia, men of his standing just didn't do that sort of thing. She glanced nervously around them, but they sat in a private cocoon of rain and patio furniture. His thick brows lowered in a frown as he studied her features, taking in her vulnerability, the side of her she tried so hard to hide from the world.

"Fuck if I know," he told her. "But I want your promise never to do it again. Even if you're fucking head feels like it's going to explode right out of your damn skull. You call for help instead. Got me, nena?"

Tears filled her eyes suddenly and she looked away from him so he couldn't see. It had been so many years since someone had cared enough about her to make such a demand. Anyone that had cared enough had died in a fiery crash on the side of a highway. Just distant, fuzzy memories. People she knew she loved, but couldn't quite remember.

He reached out and snatched her hand, pressing it hard between his long, brown fingers. She flinched at the intensity of his touch and saw her bodyguard shift uncomfortably out of her periphery. She flicked her wrist, waving Alonzo back, hoping he would stay. He was her husband's man, after all. She didn't know what his actual orders were. He subsided though and continued to stare at nothing.

"My name is Reyes. Vow to me you will not harm yourself again, nena. No more sleeping pills, no more mixing pills and drinks."

A shiver ran through her from head to foot. She forced herself to meet his dark eyes, knowing it was what he was demanding of her. She frowned a little. Though he was highly compelling, she didn't want to make a promise to a man she barely knew and definitely didn't trust. "I'll try-­ Reyes," she whispered, his name feeling foreign but good on her tongue.

He let her go, releasing her hand from his warm grip, apparently satisfied with her answer. Wanting to put distance between them, she stood and walked out from under the umbrella and into the rain. Without looking back, she slipped off her heels and robe and dove into the pool. The water enveloped her body in a cool embrace, reminding her once more what it felt like to be alive. This is why she loved swimming so much. She needed the reminders so she wouldn't slip too far into the shadows. She didn't watch as he walked away from her, but she felt as though he were taking a piece of her with him. She didn't know how it was possible. It was like waking up after a lifetime of slumber.