The Hustle (Irreparable #4) (9 page)

He hauls me into his arms, promising to do what I’ve asked. As my cheek presses into his chest, my heart swells. Not out of love for this man, but out of love for another.

There’s finally light at the end of the tunnel.

I’ve conned the master.

Eduardo will soon pay for what he’s done.

I will find my way back to Tug.

I
storm through the front door at my brother’s house, shouting for him and Tori. There’s an ire silence rippling through the air as I quietly climb the steps to their bedroom. The sound of a woman sobbing clouds the air and elevates in intensity until Tori appears from behind her bedroom door.

The horrific scene forces me to my knees as every trace of air is sucked from my lungs. She clings to Little A’s lifeless body, stiff as a board and dripping in blood. She drops him and that’s when I see the hole in her abdomen.

“I hate you,” she screams before collapsing in front of me.

I reach out to touch her, as tremors wrack my body. Nothing audible comes out when I open my mouth, but pain and regret and despair threaten to strangle me. As I place my hand on her head, I feel nothing as though she’s made of air.

My family is gone. Each and every one of them taken from me because I thought I was smart enough to beat Eduardo at his own game.

“Aidan,” I hear Brady’s weak voice from the bedroom.

My legs refuse to cooperate as I try to stand and I stumble back to the ground.

“Aidan . . . Aidan . . . Wake up.” My eyes flutter open to Peyton standing above me. The dream felt so real, but as I glance around, I absorb the relief of knowing my family is safe. But for how long? I’ve started a war with a man who wouldn’t hesitate to hurt the people I care about, yet, I’m too stubborn to back down. “Are you okay?” she asks. “You were screaming so loud it woke me up.”

“I’m fine,” I mutter, straightening in the chair.

Her mouth turns down as she leans against the desk. “Were you dreaming about him?”

I tilt my head in confusion as it dawns on me she’s referring to a son she thinks died. “Yes,” I answer. It’s not a complete lie.

“How old was he?”

“Are you hungry?” I ask, standing up.

“I could eat.” She smiles and makes her way to the door, allowing my changing the subject to smooth over easily.

“Good, there’s an Italian restaurant on the corner. I’ll order in.”

I reach for my broken cell phone and call the number programmed in my phone, ignoring Peyton’s penetrating gaze. She wants to push me to talk about Javier, but her shoulders fall and she leaves me alone in my office.

After I order dinner, I find Peyton in the kitchen, sipping a glass of red wine.

“I’m glad to see you’re comfortable,” I say, teasingly as I point to the bottle she opened.

“It’s an excellent Chianti. I figured it was a good choice for whatever you ordered.”

Her confidence has clearly returned as has the color in her cheeks.

“It is,” I say flatly, accepting the glass of wine she hands me.

“Come,” she says, guiding me to the couch by my hand. She plops down on the sofa and pats the spot next to her.

For a second or two, I stare at the spot as though she’s asked me to sit on a bed of hot coals. She pats it again and I sit, although aware of my discomfort. “I ordered ravioli di aragosta.” She makes a face. “Lobster ravioli.”

Her eyes stay on me as she sips her wine. She squirms as I empty my glass, maintaining her gaze.

“Tell me Aidan, who broke your heart?”

I nearly choke on the last swallow of wine. “That was rather blunt.”

She takes my empty glass and sets it on the coffee table, before holding my hands in hers. “I’m a rather blunt kinda girl, but I know a broken heart when I see one. You hold your pain in, and you think no one can see it, but I do. It’s larger than life. You need to get it all out, so you can move on.”

Her grip tightens, but I still manage to free my hands. “Perhaps I don’t want to move on.”

She shrugs. “You’re better off if you do. Trust me. I’ve had my heart broken twice.”

“That makes two of us,” I say bitterly. “But my situation is unique to say the least and I’d prefer not to discuss it. Let’s stick to subjects that friends talk about, shall we?”

“Fair enough.” She giggles, one glass of wine clearly having an effect on her. “Have you always lived in San Diego?”

“Yes, I grew up in Pacific Beach.” I rub my eyes, realizing I may not want to talk at all. Each moment shared brings us closer to a bitter, ugly end in which one of us suffers. Still I can’t fight her. “What made you move here?”

“I followed heartbreaker number two. He’s Navy. Dumped me before his first deployment and I haven’t heard from him since.”

“His loss.”

“It is and I wouldn’t change it. I love it here. I have a great job, and a place I love.”

Her smile transitions to a frown as her gaze shifts to the wall.

“Or you did, before some dumbass came into your life and turned it upside down,” I add with the indignation I feel. Peyton was living a typical happy, ignorant life until the day she walked through my door.

As her mouth opens to speak, the doorbell rings, rescuing us both from a conversation that could potentially hurt her more.

Distancing myself from Peyton is the right thing to do. How can I possibly give her what she deserves? If I get close, I’ll end up heartbreaker number three. Once Sid figures out who broke into Peyton’s place and ensures her safety, she has to go. I’ll fail her like I do everyone else.

I
n exactly one month, Eduardo will be gone to Sinaloa for four days. One calendar page until I can find Tug and explain everything. Only thirty more days that I have to pretend Eduardo’s touch doesn’t make my skin crawl.

He absorbs my smile from the across the table as we sit for breakfast with my family. Love is what he feels, but all I send him is hate and venom and wishes of death, although cloaked to perfection. Hidden enough that he conceives what I want him to and not what I feel.

With each day that he falls further in love with me, my ability to manipulate him gets easier. Before long, his trust will open the door for my escape, and although I’ll have to return to him, I’ll be able to, knowing Tug will not only know the truth but be safe.

“How was the beach?” I ask my father.

“Beautiful,” he answers, kissing Guadalupe on the cheek. “We didn’t want to leave.”

“It’s not so bad here, Alejandro.” Eduardo narrows his eyes as he looks at my father.

“No, it isn’t,” my father agrees, nodding politely. “But the sun and the salt air are relaxing.”

“I wonder if our sandcastles are still there?” Leticia asks Alejandro Jr.

“I’m sure the tide washed them away,” Alejandro answers, rolling his eyes at his little sister.

“Maybe.” Leticia shrugs.

“Can we go again soon, Mama?” Javier asks.

“Of course, son,” Eduardo answers for me. “Next month I have to travel to Sinaloa for business. You and your mother will come with me, and do you know what beach is in Sinaloa?”

“No.” Javier beams with excited curiosity.

“
Mazatlán, which is the best beach in all of Mexico. My parents used to take me as when I was just a little
niño.
When I’m done with work, we’ll stay there for the week at a fancy resort. We can go parasailing, swim in the ocean and visit the lighthouse at the top of the highest hill. How’s that sound?”

“Awesome,” Javier sings with a gleeful exuberance he should. Any child would feel elated to go on such a trip.

For me, the trip represents the demise of my hope, and a cap sealed tightly over my failed plan to reach Tug.

The expression on Eduardo’s face tells me that my squashed hope was his intention. Another test of my loyalty. To answer, I pat Javier on the top of his head and say, “How exciting. We’re going to have so much fun together as a family.” I send Eduardo a bright smile. “Thank you, baby. This is a wonderful surprise. I can’t wait.”

In my head I shout,
I hate you and I wish you were dead.

O
ver the remainder of the week, I do my best to detach myself from Peyton. Her house is nearly ready for her return, but I haven’t told her as Sid has yet to locate who it is that broke into her place. While I know JT and Mike can protect her, I feel responsible to find this person before I send her home.

The pictures Eduardo sent splayed across my desk taunt me, remind me that I was always right about Maria. The photos showcase how happy she is without me. The small gestures and touches in the photos belong to a woman who’s deeply in love with the man beside her. The photos with Javier haunt me the most. He looks at his father with awe and unyielding love—not like a stranger.