Page 35 of No Sweeter Poison

“Dahlia,” I knock first but realize the music is too loud for her to hear me. I push the door open. “Are you ready…?”

Dahlia’s bent over her vanity, elbow on the surface for balance, as she drags a felt tip liner across her closed eyelid, the swell of her ass on full display in her black latex dress.

My God, the body on that woman. She can bring a good man to his knees with hips like that.

Thick strands of deep red hair are curled and pinned into a messy bun atop her head while stray curls have been let loose to frame her face. I watch her through the mirror as she closes the eyeliner and reaches for mascara. When she sees me, she spins around and knocks over a perfume bottle.

Her scent permeates the air. A mix of blackcurrant and pear that fades to a subtle rose and jasmine. If she didn’t look so close to sticking her mascara tube through my eye, I might just take a bite out of her.

“Don’t you know how to knock?” Day before yesterday I called Diego and had him give Dahlia her phone back. The only thing it can do is call Karina, Lettie, Diego, and me as well as play music. She taps the screen on her phone and pauses the music. “I could’ve been naked.”

“Nothing I haven’t seen before, Dee.” I lean against her dresser, cognizant of the fact that her underwear and lingerie are partially visible and spilling out of an unclosed drawer. I roll down my shirt sleeves and start to put cufflinks on. “Are you almost done?”

Dahlia’s eyes follow me as I make my way across her room. As soon as she sees where I land, she practically bolts across the space between us and scrambles to gather up her things.

“Almost, can you leave now?”

“I’ll wait for you. Here,” I extend my left arm. “Fix this for me.”

She grits her teeth, the color in her eyes shifting between light amber and a shade like molten lava. She secures the cufflink and I move onto the next one. Without prompting, she closes that one too.

Returning to the vanity she says, “Wait for me outside.”

Suddenly, I remember with absolute clarity, why I invited her up to my apartment that night. I watch her body move in that dress and I can’t look away. The seductive curve of her waist, how the light catches the glitter on the tops of her breasts, and her ass like a perfect upside-down heart just waiting for someone to bury their—

“What changed your mind?”

Shit. Was she talking to me?

“About what?”

Dahlia paints her lips a deep shade of blood red then turns around to face me. “About letting me out.”

I don’t respond right away.

The last few weeks have been difficult for her, that much is obvious. Dahlia belongs to a completely different world. One where she can go to the grocery store without having to look over her shoulder and eat at a restaurant with friends without needing a bodyguard to supervise in the kitchen. Everything is simple. Safe. Being thrust headfirst into an environment like this couldn’t have been easy. And maybe I could’ve been more compassionate, more understanding in the beginning.

Maybe I’m trying to make up for it now.

“I want you to understand that you aren’t a prisoner in this house.”

“You only returned my phone two days ago. Everything else I have, my passport, my wallet, everything I’d need to get out of this country, is in your possession. I haven’t seen it since you sent Diego back to my hotel to grab my stuff.” She cocks her head at me. “I cannot leave. Explain it to me, then…how I’m not a prisoner in your home.”

“It’s a matter of safety, Dahlia. You saw something you weren’t supposed to and now there’s a price on your head because of it.”

It’s with quiet, sorrowful resignation that she says to me, “And who’s fault is that?”

My back stiffens. Words fail me. She grabs a black purse and tosses her makeup and perfume inside. She slings it over her shoulder and passes me on the way to the door.

“We are not okay, Alejandro. I’m not happy here. And don’t for one second ever forget that.”

D iego steps onto the sidewalk, crooked grin on his face, and says, “Ah, yes. I love the smell of sin and champagne on a Saturday evening.”

“Remember what I told you,” Lettie says from the backseat. “Don’t talk to anyone, don’t tell them your name or who you’re staying with—”

“Be mute and invisible.” Dahlia fiddles with the diamond bracelet on her wrist. “Don’t worry I got it.”

Lettie opens her mouth to say more but sighs instead. We lock gazes and her expression is downcast, the corners of her pink lips dropping in a frown. I extend my hand to her and help her climb out the backseat of the Lambo.