Thirty-Three

Sebastian has this smug fucking face. The guy is almost attractive, I'll admit—like, a good haircut away from being someone's gym crush. Obviously, he's not my type. My type is small and soft with big eyes and plump lips—things nowhere to be found on Sebastian's face.

So I punch it.

His head whirls to the side and he flexes his jaw, swearing before he spits. When he trains his eyes back on me, they're menacing but watery from the pain—and vengeful. Shit. Some na?ve part of me low-key thought I could knock him out, but I think shit's about to go down.

Barreling into the foyer, Vicente is yelling at me in Spanish. I have no clue what he's saying, but it may be a good thing for once. I tenderized his protégé's face with my fist, so chances are, he's not doling out compliments.

My hand hurts.

"I will ruin you!" Vicente bellows in English, getting in my face. His cheeks are red, tomatoey-so, and this irate reaction is precisely how I would expect a father to react in defense of his family. Except Sebastian isn't this man's family. He's the guy who touched Vicente's daughter, who tried to destroy her life, and I don't give a fuck how much my hand is throbbing; I want to teach Vicente how a real father reacts.

"Do it," I hiss, refusing to cower. I'll crush him. I don't know how but I'm big and fit and I've watched Valeria do enough Muay Thai to—

"Stop!" Valeria screams, skidding into the room and flinging herself between her father and me. "Lander." Her hands grab my cheeks. "Let's go home."

Her eyes are glossy, gutting me. Behind the sparkles and glimmers of brown, behind the affectionate gaze that I alone have the privilege of seeing, there"s a note of anguish. Maybe it was always there.

Valeria was right: Tonight has changed everything. For the first time, I understand how entirely extraordinary she is. She endures all-consuming pain from this bastard every day and still manages to make thousands of people feel pleasure.

And here's the thing about pain.

There's an entire field dedicated to curing physical pain—the kind that comes with bruises and bleeding and a wealth of other grisly things. More often than not, there's a prescribed path to healing: ice packs, stitches, surgeries, whatever.

Valeria's pain is different. It exists beneath her skin. It's the kind that lives in hearts and minds, the kind without a one-size-fits-all fix. I may not know how to make it stop yet, but I do know bruising these men or making them bleed won't help. If it were that simple, she would have done it herself.

Best I can do is live beneath her skin—in her heart and on her mind. Maybe if I take up enough space there, I can block out some of the pain.

She once asked me for any and all love I could send her way. I'll always give her what she asks for.

So, I kiss her.

I kiss her long and obscenely, with everything I have. I kiss her in a way I'd normally never kiss anyone in front of their father—even a sorry excuse for one. When I'm done, I hold her face and look over her shoulder at the men who hurt her so deeply, and I shrug.

"Yeah, Valeria," I agree. "Let's go home."

It should be the end of it.

But as we're leaving, Sebastian mutters in English, "Pussy. He'll let a woman drag him out of here."

Then, the most remarkable thing I've ever seen happens.

Valeria punches him next.

And physical pain may merely call for an ice pack and aspirin. He may not even feel it in a couple days. But right now? It's amazing.

"Motherfucker!" Sebastian shouts before rattling off more words in Spanish, muffled by fingers failing to catch the blood spurting from his nose and onto the floor of the elegant foyer.

Holy shit. Unlike my Duolingo, Valeria's Muay Thai has paid off in spades.

"What have you done?" Vicente yells at her while tugging Sebastian by the shoulder to straighten him—like he's an embarrassment for doubling over after taking one to the face.

"He'll live," she answers, shrugging—cold as fucking ice.

If Vicente was angry before, he's livid now. "You're finished here," he hisses, voice breaking and spittle flying from his mouth. "Pack your bags, Valeria."

Her eyes narrow, taking in the malicious expression on her father's face. At first, I'm bracing for the worst. Tears. Panic. A fight.

To my surprise, Valeria bursts out laughing. Laughing. She's shaking so hard, it's her turn to double over, hair falling over her face. Tears are welling in her eyes, but she can't stop.

When she composes herself, she's still sniffling down a laugh. "Pack my bags?" She snickers. "That's so dramatic. God, you're annoying."

"Valeria!"

"I hate you," she declares, her tone unwavering. "I don't even feel bad saying it. You've made my life miserable. You're oppressive, old-fashioned, and sexist. Mom may have been selfish leaving me with you all those years ago, but I'm not surprised she got out by any means necessary. I'm thrilled to do the same. Don't ever expect to see or hear from me again. Do whatever you have to—I'll figure it the fuck out."

Valeria leaves and the echoing sound of her footsteps fades into an uncomfortable silence. Vicente stares past me at the front door where his only child has exited his home—and his life. His face is pale and vacant. I don't know the man, but I know his stupor is unprecedented.

I just watched a family collapse. Not just collapse, but disintegrate.

Before I can dwell on it any longer, Valeria reaches back in and pulls me out of the house, not sparing her father another look. We emerge into the night for a second time, and Valeria releases a weighty, measured exhale as we head to my car.

"Baby, I'm sorry—"

To my surprise, she slams her hand against my arm. "Are you out of your mind?" she demands, frowning at me. "Lander, look at your hand. It's swollen."

I do—and she's right. "I've never hit anyone before," I confess, wiggling my aching fingers.

"I could tell," she snaps while ushering me to the driver's side. "And I can't believe you almost hit my father. I could murder you. Get in."

Once I'm seated, I flex my hand. No issues holding the wheel, luckily, but it's still a clusterfuck. I can't believe I nearly punched her dad. She may be upset with him, but of course she cares about him.

I start driving. "I'll apologize if—"

"He's a diplomat," she interjects. "Attacking him would result in jail time. And I'll only say this once: Lander Dawson, you are not allowed to go to jail and leave me."

Confused, I take my eyes off the road to look at her. "You're mad because you're concerned about me? Not because I threatened him?"

Valeria scoffs. "Were you not listening? I hate that fucker."

I can't take it anymore. We've only been driving for a minute, but I pull over into an empty space by the sidewalk and kill the engine. "You're fine with what happened?"

"The only thing I'm not fine with is you hitting someone, Lander. One of the reasons I like you is because you don't have to resort to hot headed, macho shit—even if you use the threat to mess with people."

I take her hand and I'm grateful when she doesn't push me away for being a Neanderthal. "I'm sorry. Obviously, I missed the mark by hitting Sebastian."

Valeria's expression eases. "Sebastian getting punched in the face twice was a long-time coming."

Agreed. "But I have to ask: You punched Sebastian so hard, he's going to shit teeth tonight. That day in the elevator, why didn't you hit Blake when he touched you?"

"I don't know," she admits after a beat. "Obviously, I'm capable of defending myself…but I've never been in a situation where I thought violence was the answer until tonight."

"Until you had to defend your boyfriend?" I ask, grinning. "Baby, I'm honored."

"Oh no," she warns, practically sneering. "We're not good, Dawson. I still have beef with you."

"For what?"

"I'm pissed you made me run after you." She lets out a slow exhale through her clenched teeth before whispering, "I'm so fucking uncomfortable…"

"Your shoes?" I question, glancing down. "I can massage your feet tonight."

Her eyebrows rise, and I don't understand until she shifts pointedly in her seat.

"Oh shit," I blurt out. The plug. I've been so worried about her father, I completely forgot what I put in her before I dropped her off. "Does it hurt?"

"It's too intense," she admits before swallowing audibly. "Can you please take it out?"

I nod. "Absolutely. Let's go home."

"No, now."

"Now?"

"Please," she insists, just short of begging. Her hand squeezes mine. "I'm so worked up, Lander. I want it out."

"Baby, we're in a car," I remind her, looking around at the sleepy, suburban neighborhood surrounding us. "Anyone could come across us."

"And?"

"And I'm not showing your gaping asshole to anyone," I counter.

Her expression is bewildered. "Lander, I show my asshole to everyone!"

…Well, she has a point, but still. "Let's go home. We're twenty minutes away."

"Twenty minutes? Nope. Get it out of me."

"Valeria, we're not doing this here. Normally, I've got, like, zero sexual inhibitions, but I'm not playing with your asshole in a car."

"I'll let you fuck me here," she offers, trying another tack—a horny tack—one I love, but I'm not giving in. "Right here in your fancy car. Better yet, I'll let you fuck me against the hood."

My jaw lowers and my hands go to the back of my neck, because at the end of the day, I'm human. Even if I won't give in, the temptation is there. "Valeria…" I warn.

"I'll be fast," she promises, pressing her hand against my chest. "My asshole is amazing. It's so tight. Your big, fat cock will be coming in no time—"

"Stop it, you fucking professional," I grit. "You think I'm going to fall for that? Please. I know a put on when I see one."

"Just fuck my asshole, Lander!" she blurts out, exasperated.

I raise an eyebrow and the abrupt way she clears her throat and plops back in her seat tells me she finally realizes how bizarre this is. It's the middle of the night, we're in a neighborhood we don't know, and we're literally having a heated debate about whether I can remove a silicone butt plug from her. And her argument—the best her brilliant brain can come up with—is that if I do, I can fuck her out here.

It's official: We've lost our minds.

"Baby, look at me," I encourage, tilting her face with a gentle finger on her chin. "I know you're uncomfortable, but you've proven a thousand times over that you can handle anything. This is no exception."

Her eyes are watery, but she doesn't deny it. That's my fucking girl.

"I'll speed," I promise her. "Trust me. All the other men in your life may have let you down tonight, but I'm not going to. I'm never going to."

"You promise?"

"I promise." I grab her hand and kiss the back. "Fifteen minutes. Trust me."