I grab her chin, uncaring of how my fingers dig into her soft flesh or how they are bound to leave their mark.
“The word of monsters means nothing,” I spit out.
“That’s not true,” she counters steadfastly, her gaze never wavering from mine. “Many would call you a monster, yet no one would dare question your word. Not even my brother. If Alejandro thought my safety would be in question in any way, then he would have killed you before I stepped one foot on U.S. soil.”
The menacing low laugh that rips through my throat pales her olive-toned cheeks.
“If you believe that, then you’re an even bigger fool than your brother. There are many ways to make someone’s life a living hell and still leave a person physically intact, so as to not to warrant the wrath of the families. Do not speak of things you do not know. It only makes you sound ignorant.”
She pulls her chin from my grasp, tilting her head away from me and towards the passenger’s side window.
“Men like you think they hold a monopoly on suffering and pain. Just because you are experts in doling out misery doesn’t mean you know one thing about true anguish. Proclaiming that you do only makes you sound ignorant.”
I stare at the back of her head, suddenly wanting to pull her silky brown hair and crane her neck back to look at me. It’s so fucking long that I’d have no problem in spinning it twice around my wrist.
“And what does a cartel princess know of suffering?” I sneer in contempt.
“Who I am has nothing to do with it. Everyone hurts. Some people just hide it better than others.”
“Hmph,” I grunt, turning my attention away from her.
She talks of pain like it’s her secret confidante and lifelong companion, but I’m not fooled. What could she possibly know of true suffering, when all her life she’s been sheltered and spoiled, living the life of grandeur and decadence at the expense of innocent lives? Her family feeds off lost souls and reaps the profit of their demise. She doesn’t know the first thing about misery, and her professing that she does only serves to make me hate her more.
“Can I ask you a question?” she finally asks after a long, heavy pause.
“I don’t see how I can stop you.”
“When did your sister leave?”
My brows pull together, wondering where she is going with this.
“Yesterday morning. Around the time you got into Boston.”
“I see. And why didn’t you go with her? Why didn’t you accompany her to Vegas like Alejandro accompanied me here?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but Iris asked me not to,” I grumble, annoyed with her interrogation. “Unlike you, my sister didn’t want a babysitter when being hand-delivered to the devil. Iris wanted to face hell alone. On her own terms.”
“Do you always do what people ask of you?” she continues on, unphased by my dig or the vivid picture I just painted for her.
“No. Only for the ones that matter to me.”
“So, you gave her your word?”
“Yes.” I grind my teeth.
“I see.”
“And what exactly do you see?” I tilt my head towards her again, finding her back is still facing me, her gaze fixed on the passing scenery.
“That you’re a good brother.”
“Hmph.”
“And that even when it goes against your very nature, you keep your word when given. Just like Alejandro said you would.”
When she looks over her shoulder back at me with a gleam of triumph in her eyes, my jaw ticks. By conning me into confessing that my word is my bond, she is now assured that her life is safe in my hands, despite what I think of her and her family.
“You’re clever. I’ll give you that,” I relent with a frown.
“Is that a compliment?”
“Take it however you want to. I don’t care.”
“Then I’ll take it as a compliment. It’s better for my ego that my husband thinks I’m clever and not a na?ve, ignorant fool,” she says with a thin smile, throwing my own words back against me.
“You have a good memory.”
“I’m sure everyone does when they’ve been offended.” She shrugs nonchalantly.
“Is your confidence so frail that you need to keep track of every insult someone throws at you?”
“No. My self-worth cannot be damaged by simple words alone. However, most brides do care what their husbands think about them. Why should I be any different?”
“Trust me, Rosa. My perception of you should be the least of your concerns.”