Seduction (22 page)

O
NE MONTH LATER…

I’m the guest singer tonight for Between the Lines, a local band playing at a small club in downtown Corpus. I’m nervous as hell. A dozen white roses were just delivered to the dressing room—compliments of my adoring fiancé. He’s somewhere in the crowd downstairs, along with twenty of my very loyal friends, including my crazy Bandito buddy, Sargent, who showed up to support my professional debut.

I’m in awe of how quickly everything turned around for me after Craig proposed. With his love and support, I contacted my parents and reconnected with Robyn and Garrick. There are no more secrets—no more shame. I have a little work to do gaining my mother’s trust again, but the promise of two grandchildren has softened her up a bit.

A waitress opens the door and delivers the Shirley Temple I ordered twenty minutes ago. She smiles.

“Nervous?”

“Yeah,” I say. “How much longer do I have?”

She looks at her watch. “Half an hour.” She places the drink on the table near the vanity. “Need anything else?”

“A miracle.”

She laughs. “I heard your warm-up set a couple of nights ago,” she offers. “You’ll be a hit.”

“Thank you.” I hand her five dollars and she leaves.

Me a success? The chances of any musicians making a living doing what they love is pretty rare. But I’ll do whatever I can to make it possible. I applied for the Bachelor of Music in Performance program in the Department of Music at A&M in Corpus. I should receive word within a couple of months. Craig bought me a new guitar and I practice every day. On Fridays I still hit the Luau club in Kingsville.

I lean back in my chair, eyeing myself in the mirror. I have new blond highlights and I’m wearing my typical black eyeliner and thick mascara. My hands automatically slip to my stomach—nine weeks pregnant. I’m on a healthy diet and exercising regularly. Although I haven’t gained any weight yet, my doctor is pleased with my progress. I sigh in relief. Sometimes fear creeps back in, but I focus on the positive aspects of my new life. Memories of my days at Baylor and in Austin fade a little more with each passing day.

I do a quick warm-up, belting out several notes of a Christina Aguilera song I plan on doing tonight. My voice wavers a bit, so I take a sip of my drink and try again. I smile, check my watch, and take a deep breath.

A knock sounds at the door.

I don’t bother getting up. “Come in.”

I nearly fall out of my chair when I see Estevan in the mirror. No one has seen or heard from him since the night someone vandalized my bike. My hands shake violently. First instinct—scream, but no one will hear me over the loud music downstairs. There’s a pair of scissors on the vanity. I grab them, then whip around in my chair.

“Do you know how long it took me to find a way to get close to you?” he asks, standing only a few feet away.

I blink rapidly, in shock. “Why?” Is that all I can think of to say?

He blurts out a callous laugh. “Haven’t you figured it out already?”

I brandish the scissors like a knife, jumping to my feet. “Leave before someone finds you here.”

“There’s no one around,” he offers. “I snuck through the unlocked emergency exit in the back.”

I should stay calm, engage him in friendly conversation to buy some time. He’s insane—relentless—but always shrewd. Fear spirals down my spine as I try to steady my hands. “Is there something you want to say to me?”

“Tell me the rumors I’ve heard aren’t true.” His gaze locks on my hands, my engagement ring.

“Seems to me you don’t need to ask when you’re staring at the evidence.”

“A fucking cop?” He stalks closer. “What can he possibly offer you?”

I let out a frustrated growl. “Sit down—this might take a while.”

“Really?” He crosses his arms over his chest, seemingly satisfied with the direction our conversation is headed. “You’d settle for mediocrity when I can give you everything?”

This is where I draw the line in the proverbial sand. “The only thing you ever gave me was heartache. Let’s discuss what you stole from me, Estevan.” The thought of reliving those memories is absolutely appalling, but I’ll do it to prove my point, to let him know how
over him
I really am.

“I’ll save you the trouble,” he says, matter-of-factly. “I stole your virginity and killed your baby. Right?”

Heartless pig.
“Two things that weren’t yours to take.”

“But I did.”

I swallow, hard. That’s the first time I’ve ever heard him admit to it. The shock of his confession makes me stagger back a foot. “Now you know why I detest you—hate you is probably a more accurate description. So there’s no reason for you to stick around and torture us both. Leave. I promise not to say anything to anyone.”

He rubs his palms together. “Not what I wanted to hear.”

“Should I lie? Tell you how much I miss and love you? How I can’t live without you? Beg you to forgive me and take me back?”

He nods. “A respectable start.”

“Get out, Estevan!” I scream. Thoroughly disgusted, I make the mistake of looking down.

He takes me by surprise, snatching the scissors, then wraps his big hand around my throat. I stumble backward, wedged between him and the edge of the vanity. He squeezes hard enough to make me cough.

“Little bitch,” he says. “I chose you. Out of all the whores following me around, I mistakenly thought you’d be different.”

Tears gather in the corners of my eyes. I don’t care about myself; it’s my baby. He can’t find out I’m pregnant or he’ll kill me. “When we moved to Austin, you abandoned me. Why?” Anything to distract him.

“I asked you for some time.” He rubs his face with his free hand, then applies a little more pressure to my throat. “I gave you enough money to rent a hotel room for a couple of weeks.”

“And then what?” I ask. “Refused to introduce me to your parents, didn’t offer me a place to live. You left me alone for days at a time. Where was I supposed to go?”

He thinks for a minute. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

I kick my feet, trying to break free from his ironclad grasp.
Damn his strong quarterback hands.
“Did it ever?” I cry.

For some reason that stops him. His eyes grow wide with something indescribable—guilt maybe? Realization? “I loved you.”

My head droops. Hell, my whole body sags under the weight of his declaration. If that’s his definition of love, I’d hate to see…“Bullshit,” I say.

Both of his hands grip my neck now. I rake my fingernails down his cheeks, drawing blood—kicking him in the shin at the same time. His diabolical laugh is the last thing I hear before he slams me to the floor. Impact with the stone tiles knocks the breath out of me. He straddles my chest and I writhe helplessly, unable to scream or escape. Is this how it’s all going to end? My vision starts to blur. I can’t take a full breath…

“Get your fucking hands off her,
now.
”

I didn’t hear the door open. But I recognize that rage-filled voice. It’s like swallowing a shot of whiskey.
Craig.

Estevan presses harder on my trachea. I sputter and cough. Before I can finish a coherent thought, Craig rips him off me. Oxygen invades my deprived lungs and I choke harder than I did with Estevan’s hands wrapped around my throat.
My God. Breathe.
I flip onto my stomach and manage to crawl. When I look up again, Craig has Estevan by his shirt collar and is driving his fist into his stomach, then his face. Repeatedly.

“Don’t ever touch Marisela again, motherfucker.” He lands another brutal blow, blood spraying everywhere. The sickening crunch I hear makes my head spin.

“Craig…”

I gaze at the door. Lucas and Sargent? Then I see a head of dark hair bobbing up and down behind their massive frames. Macey? How did they know? I stare at my fiancé. How did he…

“Give him to me,” Sargent demands, stepping forward. “Best we take him through the back door.”

“Let go, bro.” Lucas is standing beside Craig now, trying to talk him down. “Another hit like that last one and we’ll need the forensics lab to take fingerprints to identify his ass.”

I grip the arm of the love seat and hoist myself off the floor. I feel dizzy. “How…” If it weren’t for Craig catching me, I’d have hit the floor again. “Don’t know what’s wrong with me. Sorry.”

I see the rage and desperation in his eyes. He sweeps me off my feet, then settles on the sofa, hugging me to his chest. “Good God, Marisela.” He strokes my hair. “I can’t believe I left you alone.”

“No, no,” I coo. “It’s not your fault.”

“But it is.” He gazes down at me. Is that a tear in the corner of his eye? “It’s over.”

He stares at Estevan. So do I. My ex’s face is bloodied and mangled. Both eyes are nearly swelled shut. His nose is undoubtedly broken. Sargent is holding him by the arm.

“Any preference for where this piece of shit gets dropped off?” my Bandito friend asks, looking at me. “I followed your boyfriend upstairs,” he explains. “I knew it couldn’t be good when he nearly knocked a cocktail waitress on her ass.”

“Thank you,” I say. “I’m glad I invited you.”

“Take him to Austin,” Craig starts. “Deliver him to Councilman Beltran—compliments of officers Hanson and Lafontaine.”

Sargent grins, then drags Estevan away. Lucas follows them out of the room.

That’s when Macey rushes in. “Baby girl.” She kneels in front of the love seat. “Always getting into trouble.”

I offer her my hand; she takes it. “Didn’t mean to this time.” I turn my attention back to Craig. “How did you know?”

He rubs his face, red-eyed. “You butt-dialed me. I heard everything.”

I close my eyes and inhale slowly. Saved by a smart phone. I can’t believe it. I forgot it was in my back pocket.

“Macey,” Craig says. “Inform management I’m taking my fiancée home.”

“But I’m perfectly fine. I don’t want to miss my set.”

“Sorry,” Macey says, standing. “This time, Troll Boy is right.” She leans over, kisses my cheek, then struts away.

Craig and I are alone.

“Thank you,” I manage to choke out.

He grazes my cheek with the back of his hand. “Do you want to go to the hospital? Is the baby all right?” Worry contorts his face. “I wanted to kill him.” He starts to shake all over.

I pull back so I can see his face. Every healing emotion—hope, love, passion, trust, forgiveness—warms my heart. I picture us growing old together, surrounded by our children and grandchildren. That’s when I know he’s truly the man I’ve waited for all my life. It felt right before, but in this moment, any doubts I still had evaporate.
Poof.
Gone forever.

“We’re fine,” I promise, cupping my stomach.

He kisses the tip of my nose, then covers my hands with his. “There’s one thing I need to know, Marisela.”

“Anything.”

“What’s that other Chinese tattoo mean?”

His determination to find out is commendable. In fact, he couldn’t have picked a better moment. I’m feeling unusually generous. No more secrets. “Brave angel.” I avert my eyes, embarrassed beyond measure.

He reaches, tipping my chin upward. “Who called you that?” His eyes are incredibly dark—so persuasive.

“My grandmother, a long time ago.”

He’s silent. Then he draws me into a soft, openmouthed kiss. Our tongues swirl together, gentle at first, then violently demanding. We almost lost each other—again. He breaks the kiss. “She’s right, darlin’,” he says. “You’ve braved too much for your age.” He pats my stomach. “And if we’re lucky, this little one will have half your courage.”

Without warning, he hugs me tight, then stands. “Let’s go home.”

I love the sound of that, knowing I belong somewhere.

To Jessica Jefferson—hugs and kisses

Much love to my husband, Jeff.

Big hugs to my agent, Jill Marsal, for nurturing my career and caring enough to call.

To my fantastic editor, Sue Grimshaw—we did it again!

My deepest appreciation to Victoria Vane, Kelly Graham, Meredith Mix, Carol Cork (hugs), Rudy Nino, J.J., Daniel Skrzynski, Melisa Zornes, Johnny Read, and Ross Reed.

I still believe listening is the greatest gift you can give a writer.

Surrender

Seduction

Sin
(coming soon)

PHOTO: DAVID JENSEN PHOTOGRAPHY, ANCHORAGE, ALASKA

V
IOLETTA
R
AND
holds a bachelor’s degree in environmental policy and a master’s degree in environmental management. Serving as an environmental scientist in the state of Alaska for over seven years, she enjoys the privilege of traveling to remote places few people have the opportunity to see.

Violetta has been in love with writing since childhood. Struck with an entrepreneurial spirit at a young age, at five she wrote short stories illustrated by her best friend and sold them in her neighborhood. The only thing she loves more than writing is her wonderful relationship with her husband, Jeff. She enjoys outdoor activities, reading whatever she can get her hands on, music, and losing herself in the worlds she brings to life in the pages of her stories.

www.violettarandromance.com

Facebook.com/violettarandromance

@ViolettaRand