SEDUCING MY SISTER'S KILLER

Chapter 2 - Sleeping With the Enemy

"Why am I in your bed?" I snapped, sitting up so fast the room spun like a carousel from hell.

My head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton and beaten with a baseball bat. The last thing I remembered was Carlos's fingers on my wrist, his dark eyes studying Sarah's bracelet like it held the secrets of the universe. Then everything had gone soft around the edges, the world tilting sideways as his voice became my only anchor.

Now I was drowning in Egyptian cotton sheets that probably cost more than my rent, surrounded by the kind of luxury that screamed blood money. Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed a penthouse view of Colima's glittering skyline, and the predawn darkness made the city look like a fallen angel's kingdom.

This was his private suite. I could tell by the way every detail whispered of the man who'd killed my sister,expensive taste wrapped around a core of calculated violence. The walls were lined with art that belonged in museums, not bedrooms, and everything from the marble floors to the crystal decanters spoke of power absolute and unchallenged.

A glass of water sat on the nightstand beside me, condensation beading like tears on its surface. The gesture was almost... thoughtful. It made my skin crawl.

"Good morning, beautiful." Carlos stepped out of the shadows near the window, and my breath caught despite everything. He was dressed in dark slacks and a white shirt that hung open at the collar, revealing a glimpse of the tattoos that marked him as Diego royalty. His hair was slightly mussed, like he'd been running his fingers through it, and there was something almost vulnerable about him in the morning light.

Almost.

"You fainted," he continued, his voice rough with what might have been concern. "Weak stomach?"

The mockery in his tone made my teeth clench, but I forced myself to play the part. Marie the mystery woman, not Marie the sister of the cop he'd murdered. I stretched languidly, letting the silk dress ride up my thighs, and watched his eyes darken with interest.

"Too much wine, not enough trouble," I said, my voice husky from sleep. "Though I'm starting to think you might be both."

His laugh was rich and warm, the sound of a man who found genuine pleasure in the moment. It was terrifying how real it felt, how easily he could make me forget that those same hands had pulled the trigger on Sarah's life.

"I like trouble," he said, moving closer with that predatory grace I was beginning to recognize. "Especially when it comes wrapped in red silk and mystery."

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, testing my balance. Whatever he'd given me,if he'd given me anything,was wearing off. I felt more like myself, more in control. More dangerous.

"What makes you think I'm mysterious?" I asked, standing slowly. The dress had survived the night mostly intact, though it was wrinkled beyond salvation. "Maybe I'm exactly what I appear to be."

"And what's that?"

"A woman who knows what she wants."

His eyes burned as they traveled over my body, taking in every curve, every imperfection. "And what do you want, Marie?"

You dead. Your empire in ashes. Justice for my sister.

"Coffee," I said instead, letting my lips curve in a smile that promised sin. "And maybe some answers."

For breakfast, Carlos had prepared eggs Benedict with the casual efficiency of a man who'd grown up with staff but learned to fend for himself when necessary. The domestic gesture should have been charming. Instead, it felt like watching a tiger play house.

"You cook," I observed, cutting into the perfectly poached egg.

"My mother insisted all her children learn to survive without servants," he said, settling across from me with his own plate. "She said depending on anyone else was a weakness we couldn't afford."

"Smart woman."

"She was." Something flickered across his face: grief, regret, loss. "She died when I was fifteen. Car accident."

The lie came so smoothly I almost believed it myself. But I'd done my research on the Diego family. Elena Diego had been murdered by a rival cartel, her body found in pieces as a message to her husband. The fact that Carlos sanitized the truth told me everything about the image he wanted to project.

"I'm sorry," I said, and meant it despite everything. Losing a mother was something I understood intimately.

"Tell me about your family," he said, deflecting with the skill of a man who'd learned early that vulnerability was currency you couldn't afford to spend.

"Not much to tell." I took a sip of coffee that was probably worth more than most people's grocery bills. "Parents died young. Just me and my," I caught myself before I could say 'sister.' "Just me now."

He studied me over his coffee cup, those midnight eyes seeing too much. "You're lying."

My heart stopped, but I kept my expression neutral. "About what?"

"There's someone else. Someone who matters to you." He leaned forward, his voice dropping to that intimate whisper that made my skin prickle. "I can see it in your eyes. The way you hold yourself like you're carrying someone else's weight."

Sarah. Always Sarah.

"We all carry ghosts," I said carefully. "What about you? What ghosts follow Carlos Diego?"

His smile was sharp enough to cut glass. "More than you can imagine."

He didn't know who I was,I was sure of that now. But he was drawn to me, pulled by the same magnetic force that made my pulse race despite every logical reason to run. The chemistry between us was real, undeniable, and absolutely f*****g terrifying.

"I want out," he said suddenly, the words falling between us like broken glass.

"Out of what?"

"The blood. The business. All of it." He ran a hand through his dark hair, and for a moment he looked younger, more vulnerable. "My father built an empire on corpses, and I'm expected to be his crown prince. But I'm not him. I don't want to be him."

The sincerity in his voice made something twist in my chest. This wasn't the monster I'd imagined, the soulless killer who'd ended my sister's life without a thought. This was a man trapped by legacy, suffocating under the weight of expectations.

"We all want out of something," I said, watching him closely. "The question is what we're willing to sacrifice to get it."

My phone buzzed against the marble table, the sound sharp and intrusive. Antonio's name flashed on the screen, and I felt the real world crash back into this bubble of dangerous intimacy.

Marie, I found something on Carlos. You need to get out of there. Now.

I silenced the phone without reading the message, but Carlos had already seen the name.

"Antonio?" he asked, his voice carefully neutral.

"A friend." I slipped the phone back into my purse, my mind racing. "He worries."

"About you spending the night with strangers?"

"About me in general. He's... protective."

Something shifted in Carlos's expression, a flash of something that might have been jealousy. The possessiveness in his eyes sent heat spiraling through my veins, even as it terrified me.

"He's in love with you," he said, not a question.

"Maybe." I stood, smoothing down my wrinkled dress. "But love doesn't always get what it wants."

"No," Carlos agreed, rising to follow me. "But it's worth fighting for."

The way he looked at me when he said it made my breath catch. Like he was talking about more than Antonio, more than abstract concepts of love and want. Like he was talking about us.

I was already in. Deeper than I'd planned, deeper than was safe. But there was no turning back now.

That night, I knelt beside Sarah's grave under a sky heavy with storm clouds. The headstone was simple granite,we couldn't afford marble angels or elaborate monuments. Just her name, her dates, and the inscription I'd chosen: "She died seeking truth."

"I met him, Sarah," I whispered to the darkness. "I looked into his eyes and he didn't flinch. Either he's a monster who feels nothing... or he really doesn't know what he did to you."

The wind picked up, rustling through the cypress trees like whispered secrets. I pressed my palm against the cold stone, feeling the weight of my mission settling heavier on my shoulders.

"He wants out. Says he's not like his father, that he doesn't want the blood on his hands." My voice cracked, and I hated myself for the doubt creeping in. "But I saw your body, Sarah. I saw what he did to you."

I remembered his soft smile over breakfast, the way his eyes had lit up when I laughed at his joke. Then I remembered the video footage of him entering that warehouse, blood fresh on his knuckles, satisfaction written across his face.

Which Carlos was real? The charming man who cooked me breakfast, or the killer who'd ended my sister's life?

"I won't let him fool me," I promised the darkness. "I won't let him make me forget why I'm here."

But even as I said the words, I felt something crack inside my chest. Something that had been solid and sure was beginning to splinter, and I wasn't sure I could stop the fractures from spreading.

I stood slowly, brushing dirt from my knees, and walked back toward my car. The cemetery was quiet except for the whisper of wind through stone angels and the distant rumble of thunder.

I didn't notice the black sedan that pulled out behind me as I left, its headlights dark, its driver patient as death. Inside, Arturo Diego raised a camera and snapped picture after picture of the woman who'd spent the night in his brother's bed.

"Who the hell is she?" he muttered, his voice carrying all the menace of a storm about to break.

The hunt was about to become a war, and I was caught in the middle with blood on my hands and love poisoning my heart.