I knew Axel must have fucked her. No one needed to tell me. A man and a plenty cute lady all alone in an apartment? At this hour?
The ache that bloomed inside me then was sharp and deep and stupid. I wanted to tear Mateo's skin off my body, claw at it until I could bleed freely again—Luis blood, not this polished Mateo make-believe.
I wanted to storm the house and demand to know why she'd let Axel in again. But I couldn't. Because I knew why.
The thought that I would also pin her on the wall, thrusting hard into her from behind until she was screaming: "¡Oh, sí, Luis! ¡Qué papi tan malo!" at the top of her lungs should have calmed me a little and compensated me, but now, I couldn't even do that.
Why? Because I had been subjected to the absurd task of helping her marry another man.
Argh…
Get a hold of yourself, Luis. What does a little pain matter when victory is yours in the end?
