What I wasn’t was drunk, not anymore.

“I’m not drunk anymore.”

“Good.” He put a knee to the bed but didn’t put me down. “Now, mamita, where the tat is, I can’t be on top so you got two choices, either you ride me or I get creative. Your choice but chose now.”

I swallowed.

“Hector –” I started.

He cut me off, “Now.”

Oh my.

He meant business.

And I liked his business.

So, I whispered, “Creative.”

He grinned, slow and sweet.

Then he got creative.

Chapter Nineteen

Ibuprofen and Midol

Sadie

“Preciosa, wake up.”

My eyes opened and I saw Hector sitting on the side of the bed. He had on jeans and a tight-fitting, navy t-shirt and he looked awake and alert.

I glanced at him through slitted eyes.

He had worked last night, late, then he’d vigorously shown his appreciation for my tattoo just like he said he would.

And, really, how bizarre was that? It was my tattoo but apparently Hector was more excited about it than I was, as in loads more in a macho-man, badass, f**k me until I screamed his name type of way, of course.

Though, I didn’t scream his name when he made me come but I gasped it and I did this loud.

Nevertheless, he hadn’t tied one on last night, mixing margaritas with Fat Tires and tequila shots. He was likely not hungover like I knew I was at that very moment. He was not having a life filled with daily multiple-traumas. And lastly, he didn’t have an opening at his gallery tomorrow night.

So he could be awake and alert on a Sunday morning.

I was hungover. I felt it in my stomach and my head, so I was going to sleep.

To communicate all of that, I mumbled, “Sleep.” Then turned and burrowed into the pillows.

Once I did this, the covers were pulled down and I made a peeved noise but he ignored this. His hands went to my waist, he twisted me, pulling me up and across his lap, settling me there and his arms came around me.

I decided to ignore his latest smooth move and shoved my face in his neck, burrowing into his heat and hoping he’d get the message.

“Sadie, look at me,” he murmured and the way he did made my heart squeeze painfully.

I took a deep breath wondering what was happening now, pulled my face from his neck and looked at him.

“Jimmy’s downstairs,” he told me.

I let out the breath.

That was it?

Another visitor?

Boy, Hector was a popular guy.

“Jimmy?” I asked.

“Detective Marker.”

My body went tight.

Hector’s hand went to my neck and slid up into my hair.

“Harvey Balducci was murdered last night.”

All of a sudden, I felt even sicker.

“Oh my God,” I whispered.

“Jimmy wants to talk to you.”

That’s when I understood and I felt something lodge in my throat, so big, it threatened to choke me.

“I didn’t do it,” I blurted and, as I was concentrating on swallowing, I didn’t notice Hector’s brows draw together.

“Sadie –”

I cut him off, beginning to feel panic slide through my system. “I didn’t do it. I swear. I didn’t.”

The arm Hector had around me got tight and I watched his eyes start to narrow.

“What the f**k?”

I kept on, “I don’t like Harvey, he’s a jerk and I want him to stay away from me but I didn’t kill him, Hector, I swear.”

I’d begun to tremble, my body shaking, Hector’s hand came out of my hair and locked around my waist. Then he gave me a gentle but firm shake. I stilled and looked at him. His eyes were now fully narrowed and he looked angry.

“What the f**k are you talkin’ about?”

“You said Detective Marker is here to talk to me –”

“Jimmy’s here to make sure you hear it from someone who gives a shit. He’s here to make sure you’re okay. He’s here to let you know Ricky got bonded out this morning. And he’s here to ask you a few questions. He’s not here because you’re a suspect. Your phones are tapped, practically every move you make is followed by cameras and you’re never f**kin’ alone. Even without that, no one would think it was you. Jesus, Sadie, what’s in your f**kin’ head?”

I felt fear replacing the panic in my system at the first part of his speech so I missed most of the other stuff he said.

“Ricky was bonded out?” I breathed.

I watched, fascinated, as the anger slid out of his eyes and a different kind of anger replaced it (don’t ask me how I knew this, I just knew) and then I saw a muscle leap in Hector’s cheek.

“Yeah,” he said. “I guess Donny and Marty were moved to brotherly love once Harvey’d been poisoned while on the inside.”

I closed my eyes.

The doorbell rang.

Hector muttered, “Fuck.”

I opened my eyes again and he was looking at me.

“Get dressed and come downstairs. We’ll talk later about what was in your f**kin’ head,” he finished.

Great, just great.

He stood up, taking me with him and putting me on my feet.

I was realizing for the first time that I was na**d as the day I was born when both of Hector’s hands came to my neck, fingers sliding up in my hair, thumbs on the undersides of my jaw and he tipped my head back to look at him.

He touched his mouth to mine softly, eyes open the whole time and when his head moved back half an inch, he said, voice low and powerful, “He isn’t gonna f**kin’ touch you.”

He watched me until I nodded, my head moving against his hands.

Then he was gone.

I pulled my head together, quickly got dressed (in the forbidden skirt but I shunned the Stella tee and put on Hector’s flannel because it covered more), ran to the bathroom and let out a surprised, muted scream when I looked at myself in the mirror.

Eighties Rock Video Bimbo was scary the night of but she was hair-raising (literally) the morning after.

And Hector had seen me like that!

And kissed me!

Oh… my… God!

I took a deep breath, calmed the mental flip out, washed my face, found Hector’s brush and was tearing it through my wild, bimbo-groupie, morning after hair when there came a knock at the door.

Before I called, it opened and Hector came in. I just stared at him as he walked up to me, put a cup of steaming coffee on the side of the sink, turned to me, grabbed my wrist, opened my palm with his other hand and planted four white pills in it.