The tremor shivered through my body again.
“Sadie, do you understand what I’m sayin’ to you?” he asked again, his tone no less firm but it had grown slightly soft.
I was staring at him but I forced myself to nod. I couldn’t trust myself to speak.
His arm went tight around me, sliding partly up my back, hand catching under my shoulder blade, bringing me to him. He kissed me, slow, sweet, mouths open, tongues tangling, toes (or at least my toes) curling.
His mouth broke from mine and he murmured, “Now, we’ve had our talk. You know where I stand. Can we watch the game?”
I nodded again. His arm loosened, I turned, rested against him and stared, unfocused, on the game.
Blooming heck.
I wasn’t in a mess of trouble, I was beyond trouble. I was in so deep, I was over my head and the water felt so warm, snugly, comfy, lovely that I was beginning to wonder if I minded drowning.
Chapter Twelve
I Think I Made Hector Mad
Sadie
My sleeping body jerked awake when I heard the loud noise from somewhere too close for comfort.
Then it froze when I heard the crash.
I had nearly a nanosecond to assess my position tucked tight against Hector’s warm body, his arm around my waist, my cheek on his left pectoral, my hand resting dead center on his chest, Before that nanosecond was over, his heat vanished and a blast of cold hit me.
I lifted up on an arm, my heart racing, pulling back my hair with my other hand and seeing Hector’s shadowy body moving beside the bed.
He had the bedside drawer open, I heard a soft thump as he put whatever it was on the nightstand and then his hand immediately came out, his fingers closing around my wrist. He lifted up my arm and I felt him press something in my hand.
“Stay here. You feel a bad vibe, hear something you don’t like, you dial 911,” he whispered. Then he tagged whatever was on the bedside table and disappeared from the room.
I stared at the door and heard noise, voices and visions of Marty or Ricky blowing Hector’s beautiful head off danced sickeningly through my head.
I threw back the covers in a flurry and tiptoed across the room to the side of the door. If someone was going to come and get me, I wasn’t going to be sitting in bed waiting for them.
I pressed my shoulder against the wall by the door and assessed my options.
I had Hector’s cell phone in my hand. This was lame.
I could get one of his boots. I could seriously clobber someone with one of Hector’s boots.
Or I could get one of my spiked heels. I could poke someone in the eye with the spiked heel. That would sting.
On that thought, I heard raised voices, Hector’s and a female’s. They were yelling at each other in Spanish. Although this was yelling, it was not bad vibe yelling, it was irritated yelling.
I took a deep breath and crept out the door, down the hall and the yelling kept going, mostly the female.
I made it to the top of the stairs and looked down.
There was a light on and Hector was standing at the foot of the stairs, his back to me, the King Skull on display, a gun held loosely in his hand.
In front of him were three Hispanic women. One of them (the one yelling who was also gesticulating wildly with her arms) was short and gorgeous. She looked like a younger, less round but no less fiery version of Blanca.
A relative.
I let out a breath and put my hand holding the cell phone to my chest.