And that was that. That was why eleven-year-old Eliana Garcia, who had a nasty mouth but secretly wished she could be like the Disney princesses she sometimes saw on TV, had reached out and taken the knife. That’s why she’d started to carry it with her. Because now someone besides her absent sister and her drunken, whoring mother cared about her.
She’d been such a fool, Ana thought, wishing she could reach out and tell Eliana that, but of course, she couldn’t. All she could do was watch as the dream fast-forwarded through more days, Miguel playing a major role in all of them.
The fifteen-year-old boy had been an anomaly to eleven-year-old Eliana. Protective of her when she’d always taken care of herself. Tough but completely willing to crack a joke to cheer her up. Insistent that Eliana was more than her mother, that she should get good grades in school, that there were plenty of good people who cared about her and would protect her and give up their lives for her if only she was willing to let them.
“Didn’t I save you in that drive-by? Didn’t I risk my life to pull you to safety?”
“Sí, pero—” Eliana began, but Miguel shushed her.
“No, Eliana, no ‘but.’ When you’re part of a gang, that’s what you do for each other. Usted hombre arriba. You man up. You protect one another. Eso es familia.”
Family. It was what she longed for. It was what she missed most now that Gloria was gone. “But I wasn’t in your gang, Miguel. I’m still not.”
“That’s okay, mija. Don’t matter to me. You belong to me. Only I can’t be everywhere at once. If you belonged to the gang, you’d belong to all of us. And that means we’d all die to protect you, chica. You’d never have to be afraid again.”
But Eliana hadn’t been convinced. She was as afraid of the gang members who ran the streets as she was the men her mother brought home with her. She knew they dealt in drugs and firearms and stolen cars. To her, that seemed far removed from what a Disney princess should want out of life.
Over the next few months, however, the closer Eliana got to Miguel, the more she became resigned to the hard truth—she was never going to be a Disney princess and, if she wanted to live, she was going to have to accept that.
Ana had finally quieted. Unable to resist, Ty zoomed in on her face, wondering at the difference sleep made.
Awake, Ana was all snarling, snapping energy, triggering an intoxicating rush of adrenaline that kept a man on his toes and fearing for the safety of his balls—he certainly knew that firsthand.
Asleep, she was captivatingly feminine, with dark lashes fanning her cheeks, her plump lips slightly parted to expose the tip of her pink tongue and strong, white teeth. She didn’t exactly look vulnerable; more like someone a man could be vulnerable with. A woman strong enough to lean and be leaned on. A warrior princess who’d be as fierce in bed as she was on the battlefield.
It was when she was quiet that her true strength came out; the rest was all show, and anyone could see that. If she joined Belladonna, he would teach her that hiding the monster within was your best chance at unleashing it and destroying your enemy.
He should know. He was a monster, after all. She’d figure that out, too, eventually.
But for now … for right now … he wanted to release his firm hold on reality.
He wanted to pretend that he was human again. That his future didn’t involve coercing and endangering and using this intriguing woman in front of him, but rather pleasuring and giving to her. That she could give him all that she was, fierce fighter and tender lover, and that he could do the same, with no fear of repercussions or regret.
In a way, it was his own dream, but one he gladly entered while awake. One awash with vibrant color, intoxicating smells, and luxurious texture. He should have died multiple times now, but for once he was glad he hadn’t.
Because he wanted Ana.
And in his dreams—in this dream—he could have her.
One minute Ana was dreaming about herself as a powerless child and the next she was dreaming about sex, not just for the sake of having it, but because she craved it. Because for the first time in her entire life, a man was making her crave it.
That man was Ty Duncan.
They stood mere feet away from each other. Instead of the pitch-black hair and dark eyes he’d had back at the coffee shop, his hair was lighter and his eyes were now a sea-swept blue. The difference in coloring made him appear younger. More approachable. So did the look of yearning in his eyes. He stared at her as if he needed her to breathe. To feel. Quite simply, to exist.
Had anyone ever looked at her like that? As if she was everything to him?
He might cherish every part of her, if only she’d let him.
He remained silent, though. Watchful.
“Afraid I’m going to hurt you?” she asked, thinking of how she’d smashed his face into a wall and grabbed his balls. But that had been in real life. This was a dream. Perhaps he didn’t remember. Or perhaps for this dream-Ty, none of it had actually happened.
“I am afraid you’re going to hurt me,” he said quietly. Yet somehow, they both knew he wasn’t talking about her hurting him physically, but on a deeper emotional plane.
She didn’t wake up. The slow burn of arousal continued to coil through her body. She raised her hand, cupped his neck, and tugged his head down.
Though his eyes widened slightly, he pressed his forehead against hers.
“You’re cold,” she said, noting again how low his natural body temperature was. It was simply an observation, not a complaint, and his features relaxed.
“Maybe to you. But I feel anything but cold right now.”
“I know what you mean,” she confessed, relishing her ability to talk freely for once. “Me, too.”
“You’re hot,” he agreed. “But I’m wondering where you’re the hottest.”
“You know curiosity killed the cat, right?”
He laughed and she jolted slightly, awed by how much his entire demeanor softened. Dear God, she’d thought he was amazing when he’d been in full badass mode. When he let down his guard and laughed? Hell, it was entirely possible she’d climax right then and there. Instead, she instinctively squeezed her thighs together, trying to dull the empty throbbing in her core.
He took a swift breath, his eyes heavy-lidded. Slowly, ever so slowly, he reached out and trailed his fingertips lightly against her hip. “Doesn’t matter. I’m willing to take my chances.”
She couldn’t speak. She quivered as his fingertips shifted to her outer thigh.
“So will you?”
“Will I what?” she breathed, not taking her gaze away from his fingers.
“Will you let me find out where you’re the hottest?”
Swallowing hard, she asked, “Don’t you know?”
She was stunned by her own daring. She was actually teasing him. Flirting. Encouraging his sexual attention. She’d never done that with a man. At least, not so naturally. On occasion, she forced herself to go to a bar and find a man to have sex with, but to her those interludes had always been about proving something. Not sexual anticipation or pleasure. This way was so much better, she realized.
“I could guess,” he said reluctantly. “But I’d rather take it step by step. Unless you want to just tell me.”
Tell him and end this, he meant. Even in her dream, he was being a gentleman.
“No,” she said. “I don’t want to tell you.”
He grinned. “Good. So let’s get started—”