Page 80 of Total Abandon

ZEKE

Logan’s eyes jerk up from the green baize cloth of the pool table as I walk into the games room in his Brooklyn Heights brownstone, his brows knitting together. “Where the fuck have you been?”

“I need to talk to you.” I fold myself down into the dark green Chesterfield in the corner and swipe a hand down my face.

“You look like shit.”

“Thanks,” I growl, watching as he wedges the rubber bottom of the pool cue on top of his boot and waits. Talk about stating the obvious. I have barely slept in days and there are more empty liquor bottles in my garbage than I care to admit. I’ve put on a brave face when Diego’s around and the rest of the time I’m a jumbled mess of anger and something slicing in my chest I can’t name. Every time I think of her, it rips at me, scorches my flesh, and leaves me breathless.Her.I can’t even bring myself to think her name. “I’ve decided I don’t want to risk giving Miguel the opportunity to act.”

Logan blinks, his hands tightening around the cue. “You want to shop him to the authorities without blackmailing him?”

“Yes.” The evidence in my hand against the man who calls himself my father is damning, and what’s worse is that this is just one example of what has to be many years of career thuggery. Andrés and Nicolas Cabellero were both burned alive in their beds before they even reached five years old. Diego’s age. The thought makes me physically sick to my stomach. They were nothing more than revenge fodder for their father's involvement in an attempted coup of cartel leadership. Pawns to be used and disposed of to deliver a sentence worse than death—the loss of your children. Their mother killed herself with a shotgun six months later and their father drank himself into an early grave not long after that.

Time has passed and my father’s notoriety and sway in Columbia has faded. Witnesses to the planning and execution that weren’t willing to speak at the time have since grown old and remorseful for the barbaric murders and have agreed to testify. Even I’ll admit I’m moved by it, enough that I want him to answer for his crimes. But there is a selfish part of me that has recognized all along that there is a risk Miguel will make good on his promise to burn Paraíso to ashes after we take this to him, regardless of the consequences.

“Is that it?” Logan indicates his head at the file in my hand and I silently hold it out to him.

He racks the cue against the wall and strides around the table, hesitating for a second before he takes it from me. Turning his back, I hear the gentle flip of pages. The tension in the room rises as the minutes pass. When he’s finally done, he turns back to me with a grim set to his familiar features. “The company will never recover from this.” His lips pinch into a hard line.

“This was never about the company, and you know it. But if you want it, I’m sure you can turn it around,” I hiss, my throat itching for a drink of something stringent and burning to mask the fury toiling in the pit of my stomach. Guerra Industries can perish for all I care. My eyes flick to the fully stocked bar in the corner of the room, but I know I need to keep a level head. I’ve indulged in enough mindless oblivion. It’s time to get back to the land of living.

Logan slaps the file down on the pool table, sending yellow and red balls flying in all different directions. The sigh that falls from him is so deep it sounds like it’s been ripped from his soul. “Jesus, okay, so what next?”

“I call the state’s attorney and we let him liaise with the FBI for now.”

“You haven’t already made the move?” Logan asks, his dark gaze sliding back to mine.

I sit forward in my chair, resting my elbow on the tops of my thighs. “She’s your mother too, hermano. You get a say in this and I won’t act without your blessing.”

He doesn’t speak for a moment, and we just hold each other there with locked eyes. “And what about this mess with Chloe, do I get a say in that?”

The name sends a visceral jolt through my body and I shoot to my feet, nostrils flared. “No.”

The singular flat word reverberates off the bookshelves lining one side of the room. He tilts his head in stony reprimand. “You’re in love with her, Ezekiel. It’s painfully obvious to everyone but you.”

“Si quiero tu consejo, te lo pediré,” I snap, turning on my heel as my chest burns.If I want your advice, I’ll fucking ask for it.

***

The woman next to me laughs, her long lashes fluttering lightly against high cheekbones. I wait for the responding interest, but only cold, slicing black exists inside. Forcing a pained smile onto my face, I urge myself to look closer. Blonde, naturally beautiful, generous curves in the right places and from the brief discussion we have had so far, a brain to go with it. I should be pleased she’s showing obvious signs of interest, but the soft hand that lands on the sleeve of my tuxedo makes me recoil.

I’m at the annual charity fashion show hosted by the Walker family for organizations that provide support to abused children.Aside from it actually being a good cause, I’m here because I need to flush Chloe out of my system and a room full of models and beautiful women is the perfect setting to do that.

Pretending I don’t see the woman clock my reaction to her touch, I slide one hand into my pocket and brush my thumb over the canary diamond ring I’ve been carrying around for days as I cast my eyes around the room. Brunettes, blondes, slim, curvy, mature, young—this place is a bachelor’s buffet. And yet, I’m bored. My eyes catch on a flash of red hair and I zero in, my heart kicking up a notch. It flattens when the woman turns, and instead of big, sparkling ocean blue eyes and freckles, I’m met with plain brown irises and an unassuming smile.

I’ve been fighting back a foreign swell of emotion for days. I can feel it creeping up on me with snatching fingers, ready to pull me under at any moment. But I don’t fuckingwantit. I don’t want to acknowledge what rears up at me in the face of all these women I should be appreciating.

None of them are Chloe. None of them make me equal parts rage and want to wrap them in my arms and never let go. None of them make me laugh harder than I ever have in my life. None of them chew me out and flip me off or tell me if I’m being an ass. And the realization finally washes over me that none of them ever will. She’s burrowed her way into my heart and redecorated it just to her taste.

I love her.

I love her despite her crazy. I love the way she laughs, the way she spits venom. I love her outbursts and her temper. I love the way she thrives on disorder. I love the way she looks when she’s messy and free. I love the way she looks at my son. I love the way she looks at me when she thinks I’m not paying attention.

And looking back, I should have realized it a long time ago. The signs were there, clear as day. The way I look for her in every room. The way I want to tear the world apart when I think about life without her, or life with her belonging to someone else. The way I want to protect her, claim her, worship her. I even had one of my fucking bedroom walls painted red when we got back from Ohio,just so she might be comfortable in there if I ever got her into that room.

I'm in love with her.

“Zeke?” My attention is pulled back from the hole I'm spiraling down at breakneck speed. Turning to the blonde, I push my drink at her with shaking hands. “I have to go.” And the moment her fingers take my glass, I’m moving. Faces and people fade into the abstract as I zero in on the exit. I'm out the door and into the glossy foyer of the downtown function hall when I hear a deep voice I recognize calling my name.