luxury I was awarded came from money made from the blood of our adversaries. Of people with drug addictions. It was life. It was my life. Tanner Ayers had walked a similar path. Only his days consisted of hatred. Hatred for those who didn’t fit into his perfect WASP box. And he loved his ideology so much that he wore it on his skin for everyone to see. Symbols of hate and oppression. Racism and prejudice etched on his flesh in stark black lines.
What must it be to live with that level of hate in one’s heart? Was he even capable of love? Or was it as foreign to him as the country he now looked upon from the window?
He must have seen that my attention had drifted to him along with my wayward thoughts, because he glared at me. The brief flicker of sympathy I had just felt for him again melted away with that one look . . . but then, for a fraction of a second, his hatred fell, disappeared from his eyes, and his gaze moved to my lips. Tanner’s mouth parted and he exhaled a quick, frustrated breath.
My heart kicked into a sprint. My face heated as if I were suddenly before a blazing fire. But then Tanner ripped his gaze from me and turned to look back out of the window. I saw him breathing heavily and clenching his fists so tightly I thought he might snap his bandaged fingers.
My mind cleared the second the car stopped. A second car had followed behind. More guards. My father had many enemies, and any trip out of the heavily guarded hacienda was a risk. My father kept me safe, but sometimes that safety was an iron cage. The trips to the village were one of my only outlets.
Vincente got out of the car and opened my door. Tanner followed and walked around the car to stand beside me. I had never been more aware of his presence than I was right now. Since yesterday. Since he’d put his hands on me. And I’d put mine on him. I regretted kissing him. I regretted giving him any of my attention these past few weeks.
Guards gathered around me as we walked to the village. The minute we entered the small square, people came out of their houses. I nodded to the guards to start handing out the money we had brought. They did, and the people reached for my hand in thanks. I hugged the children I saw each week, listening to their stories of what they had been learning in school. Money went to the teachers, the parents, and the elderly.
I looked behind me, wondering where Tanner had gone. He was standing at the back of the crowd, watching. His arms were crossed over his wide chest, his tight white shirt stretched over the heavy muscles. He wore a scowl on his face, yet there was almost an echo of bewilderment in his expression too. People stared at the large American who was covered in ink. Some of the children even tried to speak to him. He ignored them. I had expected nothing less.
He was silent, hanging at the back, as we walked through the factory, then in the school. He didn’t say a thing the entire time. No slights or slurs. Tanner just watched with fierce intensity. I had no idea what he was thinking.
It bothered me that I seemed to care.
When we climbed into the back of the car and pulled away, I glanced over to him. He was watching the outside world go by. Dusk was falling, casting the rolling golden fields in a shroud of orange light. “My favorite time of the day,” I whispered. I saw him tense as I spoke. I didn’t care. I would speak when I wanted to. I was Adelita Quintana. And I had a voice. I was sick and tired of men telling me when I could and couldn’t speak. That my thoughts and opinions did not matter in this world. “You may feel that we Mexicans are nothing but the dirt on your so-called superior American shoes, but you are wrong. We are people of integrity, hard work, and family.” I pointed to the fields. “And even you, White Prince, cannot deny the beauty of this Mexican sunset.”
Tanner exhaled and slowly turned his head to me. I saw the hunger in his eyes the minute our gazes collided. I swallowed at the sudden thickness in my