Page 17 of El Pecador (Saint-Sinner 2)

  “I do love you, Muñeca. I’ve always loved you and I always will,” I spoke the truth, silently praying like she was, to fucking believe me.

  “Yeah… you love me when it’s convenient for you. From the second I saw Yuly lying beside me instead of you, I knew. I knew you’d fucked me over yet again, and what makes that time so different from the others is I had no one to blame but myself. And still, like a desperate goddamn idiot, I called you, trying to give you the benefit of the doubt. Thinking maybe you left for work, but you’d be back. You’d come home to me because things were different now. We were different now.”

  I bowed my head in shame, taking a deep breath, trying to gather my thoughts.

  My emotions.

  My fucking memories.

  “Amira, that phone call saved my life.” I peered back into her eyes. “It was the first time I wanted to kill myself for leaving you there. If you hadn’t called, I wouldn’t be standing here in front of you right now.”

  She shuddered, now it was my truths that were too much for her to take.

  “I would have died right along with you that day, and in a way, I did. I didn’t just leave my heart with you in that bed, on those sheets, I left my soul with you too. I thought Emilio had ripped it from me, but he didn’t. You did, and I willingly handed it to you. It’s always been yours. I’ve always been yours. Do you understand me?”

  “How do you expect me to believe anything that comes out of your mouth? All you’ve ever done is lie to me. I didn’t even know where you went, Damien, and still, I was worried about you. Thinking about you. Praying for you. Until Mama Rosa said you left… you left Cuba… you left us…” She looked broken when she emphasized, “You. Left. Me.”

  It was then I realized she was just as much a prisoner of my sins as I was. Her memories of the man she fell in love with. The one that protected her, made her laugh, made her smile.

  Her confidant.

  Her savior.

  Her everything.

  Was the same man who fucking destroyed her in the end.

  “No amount of apologies or excuses are going to change the fact that you left me behind in Cuba. You didn’t even have the balls to tell me you were leaving. To even tell Mama Rosa, the woman who raised you. Raised us”—she pointed in between us—“like her own. Do you have any idea how much you hurt her? Betraying her like that when all she ever did was take care of you and be there for you! No. You don’t. You weren’t there! You left like a fucking coward, and I lost every ounce of respect for you because of it. She didn’t deserve it and neither did I! So there you go, District Attorney Damien Montero. There’s the truth. I hope becoming this bigshot, this man I don’t care to know, was worth it to you, because not only did it cost you me… it cost you her too.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Amira. You couldn’t be more fucking wrong. These last twelve years have been nothing without you! Nothing! You want to know why I left Cuba? Why I left you?” I countered, stepping toward her until we were only a foot apart. Looking deep into her eyes, I spoke with conviction, “Because I killed my fucking wife.”

  She gasped, jerking back with wide stunned eyes. “What? I thought… she…. what?”

  “You heard me. I killed Evita the same day you watched me say my vows to a woman who wasn’t you. I shot her point blank, one fucking shot to the heart, and I have never looked back. I have never regretted it and if given a chance, I’d do it again.”

  Slowly, shaking her head in confusion, she replied in disbelief, “Why? Why would you do that? You loved her.”

  “I love you.” I pointed at her. “And don’t you ever fucking forget that.” She eyed me cautiously when I added, “She wasn’t who she claimed to be. She worked for Intel—”

  “For the States,” she finished my sentence. The expression on her face understanding of where I was going with this.

  “So you see. I left you in Cuba because it was far the fuck away from me. You didn’t deserve a man like me, you never did, and you still don’t. Me entiendes?” I asked, “Understand me?” in Spanish. Tired of the charade, pretending to be who we weren’t.

  She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Fully aware of everything including our native tongue and why I was suddenly using it with her.

  “Does everything make sense to you now? Or do you need me to tell you about how I killed Salazar’s unborn son too? Except, I didn’t do that for anyone but you.”

  “Jesus Christ, Damien,” she breathed out, searching for more answers through my eyes.

  “I took away the one thing he ever wanted, and it was one of the few things I’ve ever done right. Aside from saving you, protecting you, falling fucking in love with you. I did it for you.”

  Tears started streaming down her beautiful face, one right after the other. It was the first time I’d seen her cry since fate brought us back together. She didn’t even try to hide it, she let them flow loosely. Wanting me to see the part she thought was long dead inside of her.

  “I did it for the innocence you lost, the future that was ripped away from you. For your family that you watched die all in the name of ‘Fatherland or death, we shall win!’ Or the sister you watched get raped by the fucking monster standing in front of you!”

  “You didn’t rape her! That’s not what happened. I saw it with my own two eyes, Damien. I was too young to understand what that was at the time, but it was the furthest thing from fucking rape. You were kind to her, I saw it!” she bellowed through the tears. “You didn’t want to hurt her, and you weren’t the one who did. I saw it, Damien! I saw how you were with her!” she fervently shouted in a sharp tone, trying to make me believe her. “You did it for my family. You did it for them! You didn’t want anyone to die. You thought… you thought Emilio would follow through on his word not to hurt them. He made you! He always made you do things you didn’t want to do! Hurt people you didn’t want to hurt! Take lives you didn’t want to take! Just like you said, it was all in the name of ‘Fatherland or death, we shall win!’ Except, you’re not a fucking monster like him, Damien! He just made you think you are!”

  I reached over to wipe away her tears, to hold her in my arms, but she stepped back, though this time there was no way in hell she could keep me away. In one swift movement, I gripped onto the back of her neck and before she even realized what was happening, I was holding her fragile frame in my strong and steady arms. Kissing away the tears from her face. She stirred beneath my lips, her body trembled under my touch.

  “Damien, please…” Her mouth quivered. “I can’t do this with you again. Please… you have to let me go.”

  “I fucking love you, Muñeca,” I breathed out against her lips. “Please tell me you at least believe that. I searched for you, for you and Rosarío. I spent years trying to make sure you were alright, but up until I first saw you again, I thought you were dead. The PI I had trying to find you found your death certificate a few months prior and that same night I took a gun to my head and didn’t hesitate to pull the fucking trigger, but he took the bullets with him. Don’t you see what’s blatantly in front of you, because everyone else can. I can’t live without you. Te amo, eres mi todo. Para siempre,” I added again in Spanish, “I love you, you’re my everything. Forever.”

  Our mouths were parted like we were trying to breathe for one another, sucking in air that wasn’t available for the taking. She peered up at me through her wet lashes, searching my eyes for the truth beneath the lies I once told her.

  I softly kissed her because I couldn’t not fucking kiss her.

  Claim her.

  Make. Her. Mine.

  “Damien, please…”

  “I love you. I fucking love you. I’m sorry, Amira. I’ll spend the rest of our lives proving to you how fucking sorry I am. Te amo, te adoro, mi amor, mi vida, mi todo.”

  She shut her eyes, turning her face from me as soon as she heard me say, “I love you, I adore you, my love, my life, my everything.” Breaking our connection

like she could no longer bear to see the man staring back at her. Professing his undying love for her as if we were still held captive in Cuba.

  Not by Emilio Salazar, but from our tumultuous love neither one of us could ever live without.

  “I don’t love you anymore.”

  “Say it to my fucking face then,” I growled, gripping her chin to look at me. “And stop talking to me in English. Stop pretending to be someone I don’t know.”

  She opened her eyes, once again staring deep into mine. Repeating, “Ya no te amo.”

  For some reason, hearing those five words in Spanish hurt more. Maybe because it felt like it was Amira saying it and not this woman I no longer knew.

  “I don’t love you anymore, and I haven’t for a really long time. That’s my truth. I need you to hear me and understand it. We’re done, Damien! Stay away from me unless you truly want to see what kind of monster you turned me into.”

  I didn’t stop her when she turned to leave this time. I stood there, watching the love of my life walk away from me, terrified she’d never come back. I couldn’t will myself to move, my feet sinking in the goddamn sand, the beach swallowing me whole. I let her leave because I couldn’t beg her to stay.

  Not when our blatant fucking truths were bleeding out of us this way.

  NINETEEN

  AMIRA

  “You’re lucky he agreed to meet with you again after the stunt you pulled in Detroit,” Roman chastised in the back of the Escalade limo that was driving us to a restaurant in downtown Miami.

  I glared over at him. “Fuck him. He’s lucky I wanted to meet with him again. I’m playing nice, alright? Exactly how you wanted. How about instead of giving me shit, you give me some credit, huh?”

  He sighed, grinning. Setting his hand on my bare thigh, exposed by the slit of my nude pencil skirt. “You know, these last few months you’ve been more of a brat than usual.”

  I glanced down as his callused fingers slowly started to slide up my leg, inching their way closer to my pantyline.

  “Just say the word, sweetheart. And I will—”

  I stopped his hand midway. “Not now.”

  “That seems to be your answer anytime I try to touch you lately. Or at least it has been for the last four months. Why do you think that is, Amira?”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  “Too busy to come? Who are you and what have you done with the woman I know?”

  “Roman, I get what you’re implying, and it has nothing to do with him.” I shoved his hand away, pissed that he was bringing up the one man I despised the most.

  I hadn’t seen Damien since the night of the fundraiser in California, when I left him broken on the beach almost two months ago.

  Not that I was counting.

  After that night, he stopped trying to get back into my good graces. Giving up on any hope that there was a future between us. No more Mariposa flowers were delivered to my random safe houses, no form of communication came, and the only way I knew he was alive was from seeing him on television. Speaking on behalf of his clients during a few press conferences that were aired live.

  Portraying the man who helped others but let me down.

  From the moment I learned the truth that Damien escaped Salazar, leaving me behind in Cuba, like I never existed in his life, it was as if my memories of him, of us, were just a figment of my imagination.

  Our connection.

  Our family.

  Our love.

  Meant nothing to him in the end.

  The man who saved me.

  Raised me.

  Protected me.

  Loved me.

  Left. Me.

  It was that exact moment, I left behind that same girl as well.

  She was gone and I had no idea where she was anymore, or if she truly ever existed to begin with. I thought she’d died with my love and devotion for him, but when I saw Damien during the last couple of months, he looked at me in the same way he always had. Bringing back hope and fear like she was still there…

  Living.

  Breathing.

  Lurking under all that resentment.

  Waiting to be brought back to life after his betrayal. Reviving for the first time since he left her that morning in her bed.

  He looked at me like nothing had changed between us.

  Not one damn thing.

  When in my reality, everything had.

  I had to keep reminding myself of the way he’d treated me, otherwise I’d fall for his words, and then what?

  More lies?

  More pain?

  He still looked at me like I was his whole fucking world, while I stared back at a man who had become nothing but a stranger now. A man whose kind, serene eyes and gentle lull of a few simple words, “Shhh… Muñeca, I’m here,” was buried years ago.

  Along with my parents.

  My sister.

  My past.

  I wish I could tell you I didn’t give a shit about him, but I was proven wrong.

  By him.

  That night on the beach changed something inside of me. In the same way it did hearing him share his truths…

  It was all overwhelming.

  More than anything, it was undeniably confusing.

  Exactly the way Damien Montero had always been.

  I couldn’t decipher what was the truth or what was more lies anymore. He would say anything to get what he wanted, he built an extremely successful career off of it. My heart wanted to believe him, but my mind knew better.

  Or did it?

  Once again, the bastard had me questioning everything and I had only seen him three fucking times since Cuba.

  Not that I was counting that either.

  “So tell me, Amira. Did you request a meeting with Vlad tonight because he lives in Miami?”

  My eyes widened. “Are you fucking with me? Of course not. I’m here—”

  “In hopes of seeing a certain District Attorney?”

  “Do you need me to come on your fingers to prove I don’t give a shit about Damien? Will that end this discussion? Then, by all means,” I snidely spewed, spreading my legs for him. “If it will make you feel more of a man and less like a jealous little boy, then make me come, Roman.”

  “That’s real mature.” He closed my legs. “There you go using your pussy again to prove a point. How has that worked out for you so far?”

  “Really fucking well actually. Are we done with the dramatics, or should I remind you who the fuck is in charge here?”

  “Amira—”

  “Don’t fuck with me, Roman. You won’t win.”

  “What do you want with Vlad?” he interrogated, changing the subject.

  “What I’ve wanted with every man I’ve met. To bring them to their fucking knees.”

  He breathed out a chuckle.

  “Are you going to be nice now?” I asked, smiling.

  “I’m always nice, especially to you. I love and worry about you every day, no matter where you are or who you are with. I’d like to say I know you better than anyone, however it may not be the case anymore. Damien came in like a fucking wrecking ball, ready to destroy everything in his path to get to you. Whether you want to admit it or not, he will always be a part of you and we both know why. You can’t change the history you two share or the love you will always feel for him.”

  “I don’t love—” The expression on his face rendered me speechless.

  “People change, and you’re the perfect example of how much they can.”

  “He hasn’t tried to see me—”

  “He’s just biding his time.”

  “What do you want from me, Roman? What is it you want to hear?”

  “The truth, because in the end it’s going to come out anyway. It just depends if you want control of it or not, and only you can steer your feelings.”

  We spent the rest of the drive in silence. I didn’t mind the quietness, I just gazed out the tinted window, watching as the lights of Miami flashed by in a b

lur. Listening to the rain pelt off the roof of our limo as we sped through the streets. I stared into my own eyes through my reflection in the shaded glass, no longer able to recognize the woman staring back at me.

  Lost in my own thoughts.

  In my own demons.

  The ride could have lasted a few minutes or a few hours, time just seemed to stand still. It felt as though every second that passed brought me to another moment in time. A place I revisited often, or even worse, I never left.

  “Damien! Damien! Damien! Are you watching? Do you see how fast I’m going!” I excitingly shouted, looking behind me on my bike at him.

  A few days ago, he’d bought me a pink bike with rainbow streamers hanging from the handle bars and a matching helmet. There was even a little basket attached to the front so Yuly could ride with me too. I’d never had a bike before, so I didn’t know how to ride one until that day. Damien said it was unacceptable for a ten-year-old girl not to know how to ride a bike, so he’d been teaching me since he brought it home that same afternoon. Today was the first day he didn’t have to hold onto the seat, allowing me to ride it on my own.

  “I see, Muñeca, but stop looking back at me and pay attention in front of you before you cra—”

  I abruptly turned my head around. “What?” Jerking the handle bars with me, causing myself to lose control of the bike. The front wheel shifted right to left as I tried to steady the frame to avoid a parked car in the neighbor’s driveway. My wheel hit the curved edge of the sidewalk, jolting my body to the side. My knees were the first thing to hit the concrete, skidding across the pavement as my bike landed on top of me.

  I instinctively screamed out in pain and shock, “Damien!” Laying there unable to move, the stinging and burning almost too much to take.

  Overhearing him breathe out, “Fuck.” He rushed over to me and threw the bike off my tiny frame like he was the Incredible Hulk. “You’re alright, I promise. You just fell,” he coaxed, remaining calm.

  He obviously had never fallen off his bike before because I was far from alright. There was blood gushing out of my knees when he slowly sat me up, mixed with dirt, grime, and I don’t know what else. I winced, biting my bottom lip as hard as I could when he positioned my legs out in front of me, inspecting the damage. I tried not to cry, reaching for Yuly to hide behind, but I couldn’t stop the tears from falling down my cheeks. Mimicking the bloody wounds on my knees, hands, and elbows.