The Vargas Cartel Trilogy (Vargas Cartel #1-3)(103)

His hand sliced through the air and darkness swirled in eyes. “Fucking save it. I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

“Why are you leaving? We need to talk.”

“We’ve talked, but you’re still riding the fence while I’m all in. I picked you over my family, and you still can’t decide how you feel about me. You’re in. You’re out. You have Stockholm syndrome. Well, you know what? I’m sick of it.”

“You can’t blame me. In Mexico, you put out a million mixed signals, and then you pushed me away—”

“Mexico.” He yanked on the roots of his hair. “Fuck what happened in Mexico. I had a job to do, and I was conflicted as f*ck. I wanted you even when I knew I shouldn’t touch you.”

“Why?”

“Because regardless of what happened between us, I knew how it ended.”

“And how was it supposed to end?”

“Exactly the way it did. With you running back to Evan. Tell me. How long did it take for him to convince you to marry him? A day? An hour? Ten minutes?”

“How dare you,” I screamed. “I did what you asked and now you’re pissed. If you wanted me, you shouldn’t have let me go. You shouldn’t have thrown me at Evan with your blessing.”

“I had to let you go.”

“No you didn’t,” I protested, whipping my head back and forth. “You could’ve asked me to stay. You could’ve fought for me. You didn’t do any of that.”

His mouth twisted into a sneer and he pointed his finger at me. “Are you trying to tell me you would’ve given up everything to stay with me? Your family? Your friends? Finishing your degree? You would’ve been happy disappearing forever? Because that’s what we would’ve had to do.”

My shoulders sagged as the anger drained from my body. I wanted to wrap my arms around him and tell him I loved him, but I held back. “No, you’re right, but things are different now. I choose you. I chose you. I’m just confused. I’m not sure how to navigate everything.” I was more than confused. I was driving blind, in a blizzard at night on an unlit road without GPS.

“You say that now, but the next time something happens you don’t like, you’ll run again, expecting me to chase you and convince you to change your mind.”

“That’s not true.” I reached for him, but he held up his hands, putting a symbolic wall between us. We didn’t need any more walls. We had too many already.

“I’ll be back later. If you’re still here, we’ll talk.” He shut the door before a response filtered through my brain.

I leaned my head against the door and closed my eyes. “I’ll be here,” I whispered.





Chapter Twenty




Ryker



I did everything I could think of to avoid going home and facing Hattie. Fuck, I didn’t even know if she’d be there when I went back. I didn’t make much of an argument for her to stay. I practically shoved her out of my life.

I drove in endless loops around the city. I stopped for dinner at my favorite burger joint. I went to a bar around the corner from my condo building and drank too many drinks to drive home safely.

I called Ignacio. He didn’t answer. I didn’t know what I would’ve said to him anyway. We talked on an as-needed basis, which translated into once a month. Granted, we had talked more frequently since Rever became my temporary roommate. Rever didn’t think Ignacio knew where he was, but as usual, Rever underestimated our dad. Ignacio knew everything. I wouldn’t be surprised if he knew about Anna’s pregnancy, or Rever’s freelance drug smuggling.

Around ten o’clock, I called my mom. I hadn’t talked to her in months. When she found out I planned to help Ignacio get Rever out of prison, we had a huge fight. Until tonight, neither of us had tried to mend our relationship. Both of us were too stubborn for our own good.

“Mom, it’s Ryker.”

“I know who it is. You’re the only person who’d call me at this time of the night.”

I chuckled. “It’s not that late.”

“Do you know how old I am? I need at least eight hours of sleep or I’ll have bags under my eyes the size of Rhode Island.”

“You’re exaggerating. You’re the most beautiful fifty-five-year-old woman I’ve ever seen.” It was true. She’d modeled in her late teens and early twenties.

“Your compliment lost some momentum when you qualified it with my age,” she grumbled, but I could hear the smile in her voice. For a former model, she didn’t have a vain bone in her body. Unlike some women who did anything to hang onto their youth, my mom embraced her age. She exercised, she ate healthily, but she didn’t do anything too drastic to remedy the lines around her eyes or erase the gray from her hair.

“You’re right.”

“I’m always right.”

I sighed, knowing what I needed to do. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

“Sorry for what?”

“For fighting with you.”

The silence stretched, and for a second, I didn’t know if she’d accept my apology. “You don’t need to apologize. We can agree to disagree, but it doesn’t change how much I love you. How’s your brother? Did everything go well?”