Chapter 19
NINETEEN
The moment Daniel strode into Martín’s restaurant, the man flinched, and the blood drained from his face. The reaction must have stemmed from the look on Daniel’s face. Or maybe it was because he’d caught sight of the fists balled at his sides.
For a split second the old urge rose up in him—to make Martín pay for selling him out, to remind him what betrayal earned. His fists tightened, itching for it.
But Julia’s face flickered in his mind, steadying him. He drew a slow breath, letting the anger settle in his chest. Then he walked past Martín into the kitchen.
Sebastián stood at the sink rinsing a stack of dishes. He glanced up, nodded once, then shut off the water. He yanked the apron over his head and tossed it onto the counter.
Daniel went up the stairs ahead of him; once inside his brother’s room, he closed the door.
“We’re leaving?” Sebastián said.
Daniel nodded.
Sebastián grabbed his backpack off the floor, started shoving in clothes. Neither of them owned a lot of stuff; their lives had revolved around what they could carry with them since they were kids. “When?”
“Tonight. We’re meeting Julia by the lake.”
He straightened. “She’s coming with us?”
Daniel leaned against the door frame. “I should hope so. Seeing as how she’s gonna be my wife and all.”
The kid dropped the socks he was trying to roll up. “You’re getting married?”
“I gave her Mom’s ring. She said yes.”
Sebastián said nothing for a long moment, and Daniel knew he was thinking about that ring, which was the only thing they had left of their mamá.
Or of their family. It was only theirs due to a stroke of luck.
Before they’d gotten in that van, their mother had stashed all their valuables on her children, believing that two little boys would be less likely to be robbed than her or their dad.
Since then, Daniel had sold everything else to survive. But not that ring.
Sebastián said quietly, “You really love her.”
He met his brother’s eyes. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I really fucking do.”
He meant it, but he also couldn’t quite believe he meant it.
He couldn’t believe that in a few short months he’d known her, he’d gone from a guy who’d sat in her driveway with a pistol in his hand, with every intention of hurting her with it, to a guy who was counting down the hours before he could get her before an altar and God and making her his forever.
He didn’t even know what it was about her that had so thoroughly turned his head.
If someone put that same gun to his head and demanded to know why he loved her, what would he say?
Because she was beautiful, obviously; every time he looked at her, things started knocking in his chest. Watching her dance was an almost religious experience.
It was like she was part-human, part-butterfly.
It blew his mind that with just her body she could make him feel things that there weren’t words for in any language.
The only time his mind was similarly blown was when her body was beneath his.
But if that gun really was to his head, though, if he had to list one reason for loving her, it would be a purely selfish thing. It would be because she made him want things, too. Real things, things he’d never had the chance to want until now.
He wanted to make babies with her and watch them grow. He wanted a place with her he could finally call home. He wanted to live, and not just survive.
Sebastián went to the chest of drawers, the room’s only furniture other than the bed, and started emptying it. He slung his backpack over his shoulder, then wrapped one arm around Daniel. “Te quiero, hermano.”
Daniel swallowed down something that felt suspiciously like a lump in his throat. “I love you too, hermanito.” Then he pushed his brother away and said, “So you wanna go say goodbye to what’s-his-face?”
Sebastián shook his head. “We’ve already said our goodbyes.”
Daniel steered him out the door in front of him. “Let’s get the fuck outta here, then.”
Sebastián turned and said to him over his shoulder, “So, wait. We’re all going to be living together under one roof? You, me and Julia?”
“Uh huh.”
“And you two are going to be having sex, like, all the time, right?”
Daniel nodded seriously. “Pretty much constantly.”
‘Right. So I’m gonna need not just my own room but an entire half of the house to myself. And the walls will need to be completely soundproofed—”
Daniel shoved his brother out the door and slammed it behind him. “Jesus Christ, do I look like a fucking realtor today or what?”
* * *
They finally let her out of that room in the dingy warehouse in Holman Square over two hours later.
While being escorted out, she asked to use the bathroom, and Weck guided her to one at the end of a hallway.
It was small, just two cubicles and one metal sink.
Fluorescent lights buzzing eerily overhead.
She turned on the tap, pooling water in her hands and dashing it against her face.
At some point, she realized she was crying.
The hot tears mingled with the cold water, so at first, she couldn’t feel them.
She turned the tap off and allowed herself half a minute for self- pity, her head bent over the sink, her knuckles clenched into fists against the metal bench top, weathering each sob like a passing storm.
Then she straightened, dried her face with a paper towel and inhaled shakily through her teeth.
Her reflection floated in front of her like a mirage.
Her skin looked waxy and taut, and her eyes were set in dark sockets.
She balled up the paper towel and chucked it in the bin.
When she reached her car in the parking lot, she saw that dusk was settling in.
He’d be waiting for her. She pushed the speed limit all the way back to Lake Forest, her hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly her nails dug into her palms. Images kept flicking through her mind.
Daniel’s head resting on the pillow beside hers, wearing his soft smile.
Sasha Sokolov’s head, with its neat, blackened hole and watermelon innards.
The bloody lump of Floyd Monaghan’s head in the bottom of the black trash bag.
And she had to grit her teeth against another wave of nausea.
At the end of the lane up ahead, she saw him. Leaning against the hood of the parked ’Cuda, between the shafts of light coming from the headlights. Legs crossed in front of him. White singlet, tattered jeans. The glow of the lit end of a joint illuminating his perfect face.
Sight for sore eyes didn’t even begin to cover it. All the other images faded into darkness, leaving just him. The man she loved.
She abandoned her car in the middle of the lane, engine still running, and sprinted towards him.
He stood up, tossing the joint. She launched herself at him and he caught her as if she weighed nothing at all.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face against his shoulder.
When she looked up, she saw Sebastián sitting in the ‘Cuda’s passenger seat. The door was open, his legs hanging out. Tequila sat panting at his feet.
He smiled and gave Julia a wave.
Her heart crumbled some more. “I’m so, so sorry,” she sobbed.
“Why?” He kissed the side of her neck. “’Cause you’re a little late? Who gives a fuck?”
She could feel the vibration of his voice in his chest. She tried to permanently record this moment, absorbing each detail. The scent of his skin. His stubble against her cheek. The pressure of his firm hands wrapped around her body.
“I love you,” she whispered. “Please don’t hate me.”
He cupped her head, tilting it back to see her face. He smiled. “I could never hate you, baby.”
You will, she thought, and with a certainty that felt like a knife wound to the gut.
She kissed him, hard, like it was the last time she ever would. He kissed her back, just as urgently, but then he seemed to sense something was wrong and pulled away.
Behind him, she noticed shadowy figures drawing near.
From the beach, from the woods on either side of the lane.
In the gloom, all she could make out were the bright white letters on their dark jackets.
CPD. DEA. DOJ. FBI. A mob of three letter acronyms converging on them.
She remembered their acronym for Daniel.
CPOT. Consolidated Priority Target.
He dropped her like she was hot. Then backed away from her until his legs hit the fender of the ‘Cuda.
The acronyms were all yelling things at them: “Hands where we can see them!”
“Get on the ground!”
“Slowly!”
Julia lifted her hands, but Daniel did no such thing. He reached behind him, and she had a sudden fear he was going for the gun he sometimes carried in his waistband.
“Daniel, no!” she screamed.
But it was too late. A dozen law enforcement officers converged on him like a pack of wolves. They dragged him to the ground, knelt on his back and legs, and shoved his face into the road grit.
She saw a blur of movement from the car. Sebastián had darted out of the passenger door and was rounding the front of the car.
The gunshot sounded like cannon fire. It was the loudest thing Julia had ever heard. It seemed to shred through the night, leaving tatters in its wake.
Deafened, everything seemed to play out before her like a silent movie.
Sebastián’s body, caught in the car’s headlights, falling backwards, hitting the ground.
Tequila barking, tail between her legs, running to and from in agitated circles.
Daniel’s mouth open in an unheard roar. Behind her, red and blue police lights started strobing in unison, turning the forested lane into a sudden club scene.
Five agents restrained Daniel; one of their knees pressed his cheek. Yet, amid the chaos, he found her gaze.
And the look in them was one of pure hatred.