All Chapters of Seducing My Husband's Brother : Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

PURITY •••••••••• My finger brushes over that faded red dot for the umpteenth time, this very minute stain capturing my attention more than it should. The note is small and rectangular, torn from something bigger, with rough yet designated edges, like it was ripped with purpose. It has a certain brown shade to it, giving it an aged feel, but that only makes it perfect. That faded dot sits just beneath the last line, not quite a fingerprint, not quite a smear, only a dot. Dried and old. Once again, I tell myself it's just ink. Nothing more. Snapping my mind away from that tiny, negligible detail, I read the message yet again. 'If you ever wonder whether you mattered, yes. More than you know.' My lips pull until I feel the resulting strain on my facial muscles. I rub my fingertips along the written letters, almost as if doing so would allow them to sip into my bloodstream. The writing is nothing showy, just dark blue ink pressed onto paper using a ballpoint. Nothing special, no e

PURITY •••••••••• I remember it like it was yesterday when Marco burst out from beneath the wardrobe floors. I'd already started having serious doubts about his whereabouts because I saw him walk in and shut the doors after him. Just when I began to doubt my own eyes, he sprung out as if it was completely normal for a wardrobe to be built that way. He fucked me senseless in the rubbles Ryat left in his wake, and I know it's wrong to center one's self-worth around sex, but in that moment, I felt desirable. I felt better than the trash Ryat passed me off to be. Having slightly escaped death—yet, instead of acting up and avoiding me like any other sane man would, he took me for the umpteenth time in a row—he became, in my eyes, the most fearless man in the world and his sexual appeal doubled real quick. It's a casual factor to why I feel really safe around him. That's why the excuse of his disappearance being because of Ryat's presence doesn't quite add up. He enjoyed the danger

RYAN •••••••• "Love keeps no record of wrongs." I'm not one to pray. Never have been. Or at least I stopped pretending at the age of thirteen. The only reason I was in that chapel that fateful Mexican afternoon was for business. Pure business. ~~~ The chapel is an old structure with cracked walls and paintings that have thinned over the years. Its appearance stands in sharp contrast to the parish it's attached to. Well, that tells you just what kind of place it is. Dark. Dirty. Deceitful. It's just a front that people use to conceal shady businesses like bribery, cash drops, document handoffs, untraceable packages... the kind of things you don't want anyone asking questions about, and I'm here for one such document today. I step into the chapel with my coat still on, my pulse steady, my eyes already scanning the environment. The air smells like wax and old stone—clean in a way that lies. Places like this always do. They pretend innocence while swallowing sin whole. They pro

PURITY••••••••••~~~BACKTRACK [Pátzcuaro, Mexico/Early December]:Capilla de Nuestra Señora del Silencio. A mouthful, I know. That's probably why the locals decided to nickname it La Capilla Vieja—The Old Chapel.Breathing through my nose, I tighten my hold around the handle of the suitcase. "Walk in. Locate buyer. Hand suitcase over. Leave." I repeat my aunt's instructions like a recital.No. Aunt Renata didn't put me up to this. I did this to myself. Blame it on that tiny part of me that craves the rush of adrenaline that comes with dangerous situations. The part that gets off on being under the heat of life threatening situations and whatnot.Subconsciously, my free hand closes around the cross on the chain around my neck. Cruz de Penitencia.Papá got us out a long time ago, when I was only a little girl. Aunt Renata decided to remain—a decision that has cost her a lot—yet she didn't hesitate even once when I showed interest."We de la Cruz were made for this," she said, pressing

PURITY •••••••••• The De la Cruz is a feared name in most of Mexico, especially in the Golden Triangle. My family, since way before I was born, has always served as segundo al mando for the Del Infernos. We were ruthless—or so they say. I was only afforded the opportunity to witness my father hold that position for ten years, after which my mother's relentless nagging made him quit that life. Although what influenced Papá the most was the death of my abuela. I was there. I saw it. It was horrible. Abuela Marina's head was sawed off while she was alive. It was the most graphic thing I had ever seen. She protected us, though—kept us locked in the wardrobe while she tried to distract the men who came to attack us. If it was not for her bravery, I would probably have grown up in chains and been sold off, living as a sex slave by now. And my brother? They rarely keep the male. I've been through it. I've been through hell. I know what it feels like. It feels like the plate sitting