"You can't be serious—you fired her?" Anton asked, staring at his stubborn friend.
"She wouldn't last anyway," Guemo replied coolly.
"That lady just got here!"
"My point exactly—better she leaves before she gets too involved in this family's mess." He lit a cigar, unbothered.
"Guemo..." Anton sighed accessing him kindly "this isn't about getting her involved in the family's mess. What did she say or do?"
"She's my staff Anton" Guemo snapped. "I don't need a reason to fire her"
Anton smirked slightly. "Didn't you tell me she walked in on your meeting in the barn?"
Guemo's shoulders stiffened. "And?"
"You really think your uncle will just let her walk out freely? You don't want another Louis episode."
"Louis had one job and clear instructions," Guemo's voice darkened. "He made his choice."
Anton studied him quietly. Despite his cold, detached exterior, Guemo wasn't like his uncle—at least, not yet. Somewhere beneath that armor, there was still a heart.
After a pause, Anton said softly, "Okay…"
The silence between them stretched. Guemo tilted his head, waiting for more. Deep down, he knew Garcia wouldn't let Mora live—but oddly; the idea of hearing her scream didn't seem so unpleasant anymore.
"She's pretty," Anton finally said with a teasing grin. "It's a shame."
"What is?" Guemo exhaled, his death eyes still on his cigar
"That these are the finer things you keep missing out on"
"Women!?" Guemo smirked "Never been a fan bro"
Anton chuckled "Yes…the whole Mexico knows"
Guemo raised a brow at that statement. Apparently his mother's meddling this time was to ensure it was a woman who looked after him. He'd always preferred young boys. They were easier to control and that gave people-or the one's that knew them a misconception about his sexuality.
"Funny," he muttered, tapping the ashes into a glass bowl. "Anyway—any news?"
"About?"
"The shooter"
Anton's face hardened. "You already know who it is, Guemo. Why stall?"
Guemo's death eyes glistened with hurt.
"There are still some things I need to get in order before I execute everything"
Anton nodded.
"Where's Gustavo?" Guemo asked
"Outside," Anton replied, rising from his seat. "I need to head to Amatitán. The guys there are demanding higher wages and more protection for their silence."
Guemo chuckled dryly. "It's moments like this I thank God for this illness. You told Garcia?"
"Won't dare. I don't have that enough men to clean up that kind of slaughter house"
Guemo smirked as Anton reached for the door. "Anton," he called.
Anton turned slightly.
"How does she look?"
Anton blinked. "Who?"
"My nurse," Guemo clarified.
Anton grinned. "Brunette. Curvy. Gypsy kind of beautiful. You know if she survives today… I'd love to take her on a date—if you don't mind."
"Nah," Guemo said, a sly smile tugging at his lips. "Seen better in my days."
Anton chuckled and left. Moments later, Gustavo stepped in.
"She's gone?" Guemo asked.
"Yes, sir. She's heading down the hill now," Gustavo replied.
"Good," Guemo said, his jaw tightening. "I have work for you"
…
Mora sat under a head wrap for five long hours. She was sure if she stayed any longer she would die from suffocation. Her father warned her about this. She twisted at the ropes that cuffed her hands, tugging until her wrists ached, desperate to loosen them. After a while exhaustion won. She gave up, convinced night had fallen; the thin fabric that had let in a slice of daylight hours before now swallowed every sliver of light. The small oxygen supply she'd been managing felt suddenly inadequate. Her breaths came shallow and fast. Slowly, helplessly, she drifted toward a black, heavy sleep — a coma closing in.
She felt a hand pull the bag away but it was too late, she had already passed out.
Morning found her on the cold barn floor, the head wrap gone, her hands untied. A plate with food and a glass of water sat within reach. She hadn't taken anything but breakfast since the day before; reflex and hunger made her snatch at the food without any caution of it being poisoned. After she ate, she forced herself to look around. She was in a barn—straw under her, rough wooden beams, a smell of dust and horses. Anger and fear tightened in her throat.
So this was how she was going to end because she ease dropped?
Did he ask her to go so he could kidnap her and gloat before finishing her off?
Was this how he liked handling his victims?
The barn door creaked and Guemo rolled in, Gustavo closing the door behind him. Sunlight cut through the cracks in the walls and hit Guemo's face. He's death eye looked at her like she was an irritation caught in his shoe.
"Hope your night wasn't too shabby," he said, casual as if they were discussing the weather. Mora looked up from the floor with more disgust than fear.
"Glad you liked your breakfast," he added with a smirk that made her skin crawl.
"Am I supposed to ask what you want? Get it over with," she said through clenched teeth, the cold and the memory of the night making her voice thin and hard. "But I'll tell you now-I didn't hear anything."
Guemo's grin darkened. "You really think this what this is about?" His tone dropped. "The next time you speak to me like that, spending a night in the stables will be dessert" he said coldly. He rolled his chair towards the door, then paused, looking back at her with a mock-solemn face
"Oh—Morena," he called, mimicking her words from the day before. "Stay where you're needed until I say otherwise. I hope we have an understanding." With a sly grin, he left her there, on the dirty floor, humiliated and disgusted, disgusted with him, with the whole situation, and with the way her own fear had felt like a betrayal!
…
Mora stepped out of the bathroom still damp. Her emotions dragged behind her like heavy chains. With her towel loosely hanging halfway over her bare body, she used a larger portion to dry her hair, her mind already spiralling around how she could quit this job without losing her head. The humiliation from earlier on made her skin burn with anger.
Drowning in the thought of her own emotions, she barely noticed when Guemo rolled in. The sudden bang of the door startled her. She gasped, fumbling with the towel to cover herself completely.
"You don't knock?" she snapped
"In my own room?-and I'm blind" he said dryly, manoeuvring his wheelchair towards the corner of his bed.
What was she even was scared about? She wondered. Technically, he couldn't see anything but that didn't stop the situation from being awkward.
She loosened the towel again, letting the thick fabric fall comfortably around her as the fire warmed her skin. Reaching for her lotion, she noticed something else—he hated using the bulbs or lamps. He preferred the soft, primal glow of the firestones at night. The room fell into a heavy silence. Mora could feel the air shift, thick and tense. Mora wondered why he stopped his movement.
Then came a low, strained groan from his direction. She turned—and froze.
Guemo was shirtless.
Her breath caught. She was right. He's physique was divine. He had a layered set of pack sculpted carefully; every bridge and depression perfectly emulated the results of years of workouts. The mane roughly scattered across his bare chests stirred some dampness between her legs. She immediately shut them tight. Mora put yourself together!
"Are you ok? She asked still flushed.
"Do I look okay? I want to take a bath," he grumbled, tugging at his pants.
Mora's already red face flamed more as he spoke. This was part of the job, sure—but the mere sight of him half-naked had already gotten her under heat. She didn't know what will happen when she had to give him a bathe.
"O–okay," she stammered, tying her robe quickly before walking over. Kneeling beside him, one thigh slipped slightly through the slit of her robe, brushing against the coarse fabric of his jeans making that aching jolt back in.
The air thickened with tension. Neither of them spoke. Her hands trembled as she began unbuttoning his jeans, one by one. Her heart hammered louder with each click. Her fingers grazed the light hair that ran narrowly down his groin. With a swift action, she undid the last button quickly, casting her head to the far end of the room as she pulled down his pants.
She froze.
Oh dear God—he wasn't wearing underwear.
For a brief, ridiculous second, she found herself staring like she'd just discovered a sacred relic. Why is it always the gay ones that come so... abundantly blessed? She scolded herself internally.
"Enjoying the view?" His voice came low and teasing, a faint smirk curling his lips.
Mora jerked her gaze upward, flustered but refusing to back down. "Please," she scoffed. "I've seen better in my days." Her tone carried that same bite he'd thrown at her during their first meeting.
She could've sworn he almost chuckled—but by the time she looked again, his face was unreadable.
She pushed his chair gently toward the bathroom, filling it with warm water before helping him in. He wasn't completely paralyzed—she could tell from the way he cooperated, supporting some of his own weight. Still, his body was heavy, and by the time he settled into the tub, she was panting.
"I'll definitely need Gustavo's help if I'm doing this again," she muttered under her breath.
"Then what am I paying you for?" he shot back dryly.
"You're a huge man, Señor Guemo," she hissed, checking the water temperature again.
"You'll figure it out," he murmured. Then, after a pause, added, "I like cold showers."
"Sorry" she apologized insincerely. These were things he should have mentioned on their first meeting rather than being rude and kidnapping her. The events of that came rushing back to her mind —the anger she'd buried boiled up again. She clenched her jaw.
Just as she stood up to leave and give him privacy, his voice stopped her.
"Where are you going?"
"To leave," she replied. "To allow you privacy"
"Miss Morena…" he adjusted himself slightly, his voice calmer now. "Can you get me my diary? It's on the bedside cupboard."
She fetched it, curious, and when she returned, he gestured for her to sit at the edge of the tub.
"Write this down. Title it Job Description."
She did as instructed, and he began dictating:
"Bathing, feeding—when needed, escorting me on walks and daily outings, restroom assistance…"
She interrupted, rolling her eyes. "I know all that. You're not fully paralyzed, and you don't need eyes to know where your body parts are."
"But I need them to know if they're clean," he said, deadpan.
Was he teasing her? The nerve of this man.
Avoiding the thought of reliving the barn event, she bit back her retort, reached behind him for a sponge, she began washing his hair. His long, dark strands loosened completely, falling over her chest as she worked. The air around them grew still again. She dipped the sponge, ran it gently down his chest, her fingers gliding over hard muscle.
Their breaths synced for a moment—hers trembling, his controlled.
Just as she was about to continue, his hand shot up, grabbing hers.
"Get out," he said sharply.
She blinked, startled. "Excuse me?"
"I said get out!" His tone was harsh this time, his face twisted in disgust—or something like it.
Mora stared at him, stunned. There was definitely something wrong with this man and God so help her, she was getting tired of wondering what it was.