The Leader's Girl

12. Carlos

You know that gut feeling? The undeniably loud one that screams and shakes you when something is off about a person?

I'd gotten bad vibes off of countless people throughout my life but nothing ever came close to the one I felt as I reached the bottom step of the stairs this morning. A well polished, immaculately groomed man with olive-toned skin stood tall in foyer, engrossed in what looked like a farewell to Jones. His attention had immediately been drawn towards me and the second our eyes met I experienced a wave of coldness shoot through my body forcing me to involuntarily freeze on the spot. His black hair was gelled back to perfection with streaks of white popping through, his glistening green eyes piercing through my soul as they reflected the sun's rays bouncing through the windows.

A snide grin seemed to tug at his lips as he took in my appearance, revealing a set of pearly white veneers. If I had to sum him up into a word it would be sleazy.

"And who is this?"

Jones' back was facing me and he stiffened, not even needing to turn around to know it was me. The discomfort only got worse as he approached. I tried to shrink myself as though it would make me disappear, feeling my stomach twist into a series of knots when he took my palm into his and pressed his lips to my knuckles.

"Alice," I said, the strength wavering in my voice.

"It's a pleasure, Alice. I'm Carlos." His Brazilian accent would've seemed smooth and seductively inviting had I not another voice yelling at me to get the hell out of this situation. I recoiled my hand when he held it for longer than necessary and mindlessly tugged at the rim of the t-shirt I had borrowed from Jones last night, suddenly wishing I was wearing a burqa.

"Weren't you on your way out Carlos?" Jones had already opened the front door, his body still rigid but keeping his vision trained on that walking shell of bad energy adorned in an expensive looking grey suit.

"Right," he tore his gaze from me, straightening his posture and strolling towards the entrance. "So, 8 then?" His eyes trickled by me one more time. "And I guess I'll put you down for a plus one."

"8 it is."

As Jones shut the door behind Carlos. I felt some life breath back into me but he didn't waste a second before shooting me a stern look. "You couldn't have stayed up there for five more minutes?"

"I was literally starving," I rebuked and on cue my stomach grumbled. "Plus, how was I supposed to know you welcomed a spawn of Satin into the house?"

He ignored my remark, shaking his head and disappearing down the hallway. Following closely in his step, the strong whiff of coffee walloped me in the face as I entered the kitchen. God I hadn't had a coffee in days and I was salivating at just the smell. Jones was standing by the window, mug in hand, peering out over the view. Need I say it was just as breath taking in the day light. The clear blue sky reflected onto the sea below as it caved in around the bay and you could make out all the different islands dotted off the coast into the South Atlantic Ocean.

"What did he mean plus one?" I asked, coming up beside him. The thought of attending anything within a ten mile radius of that guy threatened to ruin my very apparent appetite.

"He's hosting a dinner party of sorts while I'm back."

"A dinner party?" My brows scrunched together. My stereotypical imagination couldn't picture a group of drug lords sitting around a table eating steak and tasting wine. Though, to be fair, I also never could've envisioned them to be my brother or somebody who looked like Jones either so I guess a lot of my views are being tested at the minute.

"It's not exactly your typical suburban family get together," he breathed a chuckle, reminiscing in a memory. "It's a little more PG than that."

"Meaning?"