He sticks the key in the ignition and before he can turn it, I say, ‘”Why haven’t you turned on me for a fast payday?”
“That was where I was leading you, sweetheart. I haven’t and I won’t, because like I’ve said over and over, and will continue to say: I was never here for the money. That’s not what I’m about or who I am.” He cranks the engine to a deep roar.
I lean against the seat, staring forward, and all I have is what I already knew. Kyle isn’t what he seems, but then neither am I, and I’m not sure what that makes my next move, or his.
Chapter Ten
Myla
It’s a short drive and we are at the new Alvarez Clothing location, where a shopping center frames the left side of a two-story red brick warehouse, while the front door is hugged by enough space to hold two hundred cars. “It’s very large,” I comment as Kyle parks us next to the front door, in a reserved spot, while no more than fifteen vehicles scatter the rest of the lot.
“Not what you expected?”
“We aren’t doing mass distribution right now, so no,” I say. “It’s not what I expected.”
“Alvarez is doing plenty of mass distribution, and opportunist that he is-”
“He told me he wouldn’t-”
“You talk to him about his business?” he asks, and suddenly he is facing me, looking at me; disapproval in those fierce green eyes.
“No,” I say, “but I’m no fool. I know who he is. I know what he does and I don’t want to be connected to that.”
“You’re connected to it as long as you’re connected to him.”
“He promised me this would be legal.”
“Of course he did,” he says dryly. “But in case you didn’t know, money laundering is not legal, even if the clothing in the warehouse is.”
My defenses bristle. “I’m pretty sure you working for him isn’t either.”
“I’m guarding you, sweetheart. There is nothing illegal about that.”
“What else are you doing?” I ask. “Because you still haven’t told me who you really are and what you want.”
“What am I doing?” he asks, once again avoiding a direct answer. “Getting us the fuck out of the car before Juan nags me again and ends up dead sooner than I plan.” He reaches for his door.
I blanch. “Wait. What? Sooner than you plan?”
“He’s a dead man walking, of that I can promise you, but right now, he’s a buffer between us and Alvarez, so he lives another day. Stay here. I’ll come around for you.” He gets out of the car.
Okay. New direction here. He can’t be FBI. He wouldn’t be planning on killing Juan if he was. Would he? Wanting a chance to ask something else, anything else, before I can’t, I grab my purse and open my door. Twisting to get out, I find Kyle towering over me, so close I can’t stand up, the warm Texas sun lifting his spicy scent in the air, while I’ve apparently stirred his temper. “What part of “wait” do you not understand?” he demands.
“I can get my own door.”
“And get out of the car, just in time for someone to grab you?”
“Oh, I-”
“Oh is right,” he says. “You wait when I tell you to wait.”
“Right. Asshole mode now in full force.”
“You haven’t seen asshole yet, sweetheart. This is me keeping you alive.”
He’s taken me full circle back to my worries in the garage. “Is there a threat to my life I don’t know about?”
“You’re his woman. Isn’t that the only answer you need?”
That jolts me and I react instantly. “Fuck you, Kyle,” I say, before I can stop myself. “And move so I can get out.”
“That was a test,” he says.
“Isn’t everything with you?”
“Don’t react to anything I say like it matters to you,” he warns, taking a step backward and giving me space.
The test was not the test I thought it was, and I feel the blood drain from my cheeks. “Damn it,” I murmur, inhaling and shutting my eyes a moment, envisioning myself stepping into the invisible box that I live in when I am her, when I am his woman.
“Myla,” Kyle says, and I open my eyes, standing to face him.
“I get it. I failed the test.”
“You failed one, but you passed the one that matters.”
“What? No, I-”
“Passed.”
“What test?”
“Think about it,” he says, taking yet another two steps backwards, aligning himself with the door, but I am thinking about his second test and the meaning hits me. I reacted with honest distaste to him calling me Michael Alvarez’s woman, I’d fret that, but really, he was right. If he wants to hang me out to dry, he could do so with little or no, facts.