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Rebecca's pov

  "A brothel?"

The look on Emeliano's face was priceless. I tried so hard to stop the crook smile that was begging to tug at my lips, he had this look of surprise, shock, guilt, worry and mostly, confusion.

I straightened on my seat. "Yeah, A brothel, like a home where sluts sell their body to-"

"I know what a brothel is, why are you even asking me this?" He asked me.

    "Well, you see- um, last night when you called me a slut, I did some real thinking," He sighed, but I ignored him and continued. "So, I was like, why let people touch me for free when I can earn good money like every other slut out there. Come to think of it, I'm cheap... So, next time you feel like getting it on with me, it doesn't cost much-"

"Stop! Just stop it okay?" He looked frustrated now, maybe he wasn't so bad after all.

"Why? I mean, I'm just trying to live up to your-”

"I didn't mean to call you a slut... It just slipped-”

"Yeah it slipped as well as the other times you called me a whore."

He looked surprised.

"Yes Emeliano- you think I don't know the meaning of guarra? It's Mexican for whore. So I don't think it slipped."

"There's a difference, last night I called you a slut because I was angry, the other times-"

"Why? Why were you angry?" I asked him, hoping he would finally open up to me, which is actually a very long shot.

"I got a really bad news last night, and I wasn't really in a good mood, you showed up and I released my anger on you, because," he paused. "Just forget it."

"No, I need to know why you were angry. was it because of Marcos?"

His eyes snapped to mine in a moment, which only confirmed that it was indeed because of Marcos.

"No." He lied.

"His wife?"

He clenched his jaw and looked away from me. "No." He said again.

I relaxed back on my seat, studying his movements. "Are you and Marcos having this drift because of a woman?"

"Where the hell are you getting all these assumptions from? It's nothing like that, Marcos and I have been on each other's neck since we were kids, no woman caused this."

"So why the hell are you holding me hostage?"

"Why the hell does it feel like you're interrogating me."


"I'm not interrogating you, I'm simply asking you a question.”

He remained silent for a while.

"Why are you asking me a question you already know the answer to? You're only here because you disrespect-”

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