Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
RAFAEL SANTOS
“What are you supposed to be?” I try, and fail, not to stare at the glistening skin of my enemy, I really do. But she looks so soft and hard at the same time, like a velvet covered sculpture, and my fingers ache with the need to touch her.
She shifts on the balls of her feet, looking down at the red corset and matching ruffly shorts that do nothing to cover her ass, along with the black fishnet tights and black, red-bottomed heels. She looks sinful, and she fucking knows it.
If she wasn’t my enemy, I’d turn up the charm and do whatever necessary to take her home tonight. As it is, I’m trying to keep my hatred and rage buried deep enough so I don’t burst into flames at the sight of her.
Currently, I’m not doing so hot.
“Jessica Rabbit?” She points at the bunny ears like that’s supposed to be obvious, and I fight off an eye roll.
“I think you look sexy as hell!” Faith knocks her hip against Valentina’s. “Come on, McCrae! We’re going to be late.”
“I can’t believe you got him to go. He’d never do anything like this if I asked.” I can’t decide if it’s hurt or annoyance in Valentina’s voice.
McCrae walks into the entryway. “I’m going to protect you.
You were shot at not long ago, and we still don’t know by who.
” He rolls his shoulder as if the mention of it sends a fresh ache.
There’s a deafening silence that follows his words, and I look around the room for signs they know more than they’re letting on.
Seeing none, I allow myself a single breath of relief before snapping back into character like the second skin it’s become.
I don’t bother suppressing my laughter as I make a show of looking McCrae over. “Well, don’t you look cute?”
He glares at me, biting back some smart ass remark, no doubt. Tension still fills the small entry, but everyone’s making a clear effort to ignore it.
“I think you look great!” Faith beams at him, her red and white Harley Quinn makeup and the baseball bat in her hands swinging lightly making her look every bit the psychopath.
“What are you?” Valentina’s voice remains even as she looks at McCrae.
“A bodyguard,” he grumbles.
I motion at the ghost-face mask. “A ghostly one? Kinky.” The mask hides his expression, but I know he’s shooting daggers at me all the same. Get in line, buddy. Everyone here has hateful eyes for me—it’s getting to the point it turns me on.
Especially from Valentina.
No, bad. I cannot think like this. It’s fucking disgraceful.
McCrae refuses to comment, and I know it’s because he knows he’s been caught—he’s clearly more gone for Faith than even I realized, and the way Valentina’s eyes bounce between McCrae and Faith, I think she’s finally realizing it too.
I wonder if it hurts. I fucking hope so.
My cheeks ache from smiling so wide. She’s losing the things she considers hers, hurting from their loss, and I don’t even have to lift a finger to make it happen.
“You sure you can’t come?” Faith looks at me a final time, and I just wave her off.
“Halloween isn’t my thing.”
Tonight’s my chance to search the house for answers.
McCrae pauses a second longer, like he can sniff out my alterative motive before he reluctantly folds, following after Faith as she prances out the front door.
“He’s got his hands full with that one.” I say it more to myself than anything.
“They’re just friends,” Valentina hisses, staring after them. She then pins me with a venomous glare that looks a lot more like a scared, trapped animal than it does an angry one.
I don’t bother hiding my smirk as I step a fraction closer, emboldened by the streak of luck. “Just like we’re friends?”
Her eyes flash for the briefest second, and I know my words have hit their mark. But instead of saying anything, Valentina turns on her heel, stomping away. I watch her go, her ass recoiling with each step, the ruffles of her shorts fluttering.
I can hate her and still appreciate her ass. Right?
Once they’re down the driveway, the taillights completely faded and gone, I return to the silence of the house, hating for the first time how quiet it is.
When I first moved in, I began my search in the main rooms of the house, later, Valentina’s room when she was either gone or asleep, but McCrae’s space has always been a secret—an impenetrable force, protected at all times.
Besides, the last few weeks, I haven’t had a chance to do anything but work, sleep, and watch.
McCrae’s kept close tabs on me, like he suspects something, and I haven’t wanted to give him anything to report.
Does Valentina suspect anything? Does she think I’m capable of bad things?
I run my hand over my face, sighing roughly. Why do I fucking care what Valentina thinks? I am capable of bad things—I’ve done more horrible things than I’ve ever thought possible.
Annoyed by the thought that seems to plague me more and more every day, I stomp into McCrae’s room, throwing open the door to finally get a look at the bastard’s private space.
I stare at the room, taking in the sparse details.
It’s tidy but not clean—clothes litter the floor in various piles, a pair of dusty boots propped against the door frame, out of the way but a health hazard regardless, the smell of cow shit pungent.
There’re books stacked on every surface—the bedside table, the desk, the dresser—some old, some new, and I can’t help but be curious what a grouchy bastard like McCrae reads.
The bed’s made, a dark grey quilt covering the black sheets, and I roll my eyes.
It’s so typical that McCrae would have black sheets—he likes to play the sad, goth, misunderstood type.
But I imagine it’s more so you can’t see the blood so clearly covering his hands.
Rage flares anew, and I begin looking through the drawers on his dresser, his desk—anywhere that might hold a clue to what really happened that day.
They killed Marco and Javier, and although I hate them for it, those details aren’t unknown to me. What is unknown is what happened to Jose. He was just a boy, barely eighteen, and couldn’t have been a true threat to them the way Marco and Javier were.
So why did they kill him? And what did they do with his body?
Desperation bleeds into the corners of my mind—I have to find something, anything. Finding nothing, though, I slam the last drawer closed, the items on the desk rattling.
One of the books stacked on the desk falls to the floor, the pages fluttering open, and I pick it up, returning it to its place atop the stack. As I do, though, I notice one of the pages, full of scribblings.
I open the book, noting the date at the top was only a few weeks ago. A journal? He keeps a fucking journal?
I read the entry:
Flipping through, I find years’ worth of notes, similar in nature, all addressed to Augustus. I feel a deep-rooted pang of sadness. These are the words of a regretful man, but that doesn’t line up with the bitter, angry one I’ve come to know.
The words all seem too similar to something I’d write to my own little brother, full of regret and wishes past, and even though I hate him, I also appreciate him. Just a little.
I slide the journal back into its place and quickly back out of the room, closing the door behind me. There’s no answers here.
The answers lie with those who keep them. I just have to figure out a way inside.
“That’ll be twenty-two dollars.” I begrudgingly hand over the tattered bills, watching the witch behind the counter chew her gum like her life depends on it.
This is admittedly one of my more stupid ideas, but after finding nothing at the house, and the lingering feeling of being left out just wouldn’t leave me, I decided a masked night on the town was too good of an opportunity to pass up.
I haven’t been able to show my face in Moztecha for fear of running into Adalene or her…friend? No, that’s not right. Faith said they’re living together.
I smile at the thought. She found her way out of the darkness and into her happily ever after.
Good for her.
I’ve nothing against Valentina’s brother—I know now he had nothing to do with my brother’s deaths, and I want only good things for Adalene.
It’s a small ray of sunshine in an otherwise bleak world.
As I walk through the gathered crowd flooding the normally dead main street of Moztecha, I look for the bright red flag that is Valentina Reyes.
Will she be glad to see me?
My jaw pops as I grind my teeth. Again, why do I fucking care?
Still, when I see her tight little ass weaving through the throng of people, more than one set of eyes admiring her, a pang of something akin to lightning burns through me.
Hatred. It has to be. The other option is jealousy, and that would mean I’m dead. Because I refuse to feel jealous in any realm Valentina Reyes exists in.
Still, when a man approaches her, I become painfully aware she’s alone, McCrae and Faith nowhere to be seen. I remain distant, straining to hear what he’s saying, but when he puts his meaty hand on her ass, I see red.
It’s instinctual and has nothing to do with Valentina—I wouldn’t allow any man to grope an unwilling woman. Not anymore—I refuse to stand by while others get hurt.
Cutting through the crowd, I allow my anger to fuel my steps, each one eating up more of the space between us until I’m directly behind Valentina and the man dressed as a beer can, whose hand still grips Valentina’s ass like he owns it.
“I said, get your fucking hands off me.” Valentina’s voice shakes, and whatever restraint I may have held on to snaps.
“Baby, there you are!” I slide an arm over Valentina’s shoulders, and she stiffens as her eyes whip to mine, confusion consuming her powerful features a second before recognition dawns in her eyes.
She tips her head, her hand reaching out to touch the skeleton mask over the top half of my face before it drops.
“Hey,” she whispers. It’s a sad, weak sound, and for a split second, I want to burn the world for her.