Jax (Titan #9)(33)

Seven reached down, found her sunglasses in her purse, and slid them into place. Then she tore the plastic off the blanket, needing far more room than she had, and went about folding the blanket correctly.

And failing.

Then trying again.

And failing.

And again, trying more.

Then, again and again, failing.

Until her last fold. As she studied and smoothed the corner, Johnny took his hands and wrapped them around hers, awkwardly holding her own still in her lap. Together, they sat there, holding hands, holding her in place, as tears slipped free and she concentrated on breathing.

Hawke stood up without saying a word and took the blanket from under their hands. And she was free. It was so stupid. She was trapped and stressed but, thank God, surrounded by people who got her as much as she got them. He walked away and returned empty-handed without mentioning a thing.





CHAPTER EIGHTEEN


Hernán Suarez closed the handwritten accounting books as his personal financier hovered close by. Classical music played in the background, and the decadent smell of dinner wafted from the kitchen behind the private dining enclosure while he reviewed the day's numbers and had dinner with Esmeralda.

This was their time to connect and his time to inspect the daily tallies from the cartel's various moneymakers, most of which were diversified internationally, with the bulk funneled through the United States.

"All remains good?" Esmeralda asked in English. That was the language of business. When they were in bed, at home, or at the market for a stroll, they always spoke Spanish. But they'd learned to differentiate that part of their life with one single barrier—language.

Hernán wasn't sure what made him more excited. That his wife wanted their fortune to grow because it meant power—not more money, though that was an obvious benefit—or if he liked to see the dark side of her, the devious one. It made his blood run hot and his heart grow. They were partners made to work and to love.

Having perused what he needed to see, Hernán gave a nod and closed the leather-bound portfolio. He ran his hands over his fortune, basking in the decisions they had made over the past few days. "It does, my dear."

Her sweet, sadistic smile could give a heartless man a cold chill as easily as she could spin a siren's song silently around an unnoticing victim. "Excellent."

They didn't want any changes with Mayhem, and she had assured it by planting a seed of doubt and greed. Men could be so simple.

Hernán's perspective and strategy had a businessman's slant. But Esmeralda's… she was much like his father, capable of psychological ruthlessness, and her cold hands reminded him of this even by touch as she put her hand on top of his. "Are we ready for the next course?"

She didn't care about the books as she held his palm down to the pencil-coded bankbooks. Hernán tilted his head over his shoulder as they both lifted their hands, and the financier walked over and removed the leather-bound records.

Hernán stroked Esmeralda's wrist as the next course of their meal was ushered in. "Is there anything you want?"

The question was posed religiously, and whenever she had an answer, which wasn't often, he made it happen. Most times, she made it happen herself. But there was a delicious aspect of providing for her when she didn't need to be cared for. His grip on her forearm tightened, hanging onto her as hard as he could, knowing that no matter how painful the grip might be, it wouldn't break her.

Her bottom lip parted from the top as she clung to the squeeze of pain he offered as a quick gift. When he released, she rubbed the blotchy red mark on her beautiful almond skin, and her lips curled in relaxed pleasure.

"One thing," she whispered, eyes barely focused on him.

"Yes?"

"La hija." Children.

Not business at all. They hadn't had that discussion in some time, and it was the one thing he couldn't give her. Children. But he'd promised if it was something she wanted, it was something she could have. He would find her a way when she was ready.



Esmeralda pushed her long, dark hair over her shoulder and eyed one of the servants, who came over and topped off their wineglasses then scuttled away. She wrapped her fingers around the base of the glass, letting her manicured nails trace up and down the crystal stem as she swirled the expensive vino, lost in thought.

Hernán knew where her mind was but not the dark twists and turns it always took. "You're still worrying about the meeting with Mayhem?"

She tilted her head, not answering with words as much as she did a silent look.

If Mayhem changed the distribution, there was no question that they would lose money, and that was his concern. Hers was more control. She didn't like plays to be initiated outside of their direction, even when they brought better circumstances to their family. It had taken many, many conversations with her before they came to an agreement. It was an agreement, because for as much as he was the head of this organization, she was his wife, his partner, his world. Hernán would give anything to her.

"If Hawke shores up the rift we made with Johnny, then we find a new hole to tear open. That's business, right, mi vida?"

Esmeralda picked up her glass and took a long sip. Then they both watched as their plates were traded out for the next course.

"What if they subbed out their distribution?" She picked up her fork and held it over her plate, clearly thinking of various options that Hawke could take while still honoring the agreement between Suarez and Mayhem.