10. Chapter 10
I’m in full panic mode as Reaper drives towards the bakery, me in the middle again, Spot on the outside. My pops is the only one I have left in the world and I love him to pieces. What would I do without him?
“Hurry,” I say, my words coming out all creaky.
“Yeah,” Reaper replies, but he doesn’t speed up.
“You’re not hurrying fast enough,” I shriek.
“I’m going as fast as I dare. We get stopped by cops, it’ll take us longer to get there.”
“That didn’t stop you when you kidnapped me.” My body is coiled up, everything vibrating. I can barely breathe.
“Guess so,” he replies. “I lost my cool.” He stops and says almost to himself. “I don’t lose my cool.” He glances at me then back to the road. “I’m fucked.”
“This isn’t about you,” I holler.
“Chill baby,” he says softly as he grips my knee and squeezes it. “Your pop will be fine.”
He parks in the alley and I climb over Spot as I leap out of the truck, my key for the back door waving in the air. I struggle to get it in the lock because my hands are shaking.
“Let me do it,” Reaper says as takes my keys and calmly unlocks the door.
I run inside, Spot leading me and Reaper bringing up the rear.
“Pops!” I yell.
“In here, Ximina,” Pop’s muffled voice floats back at me.
I run into the cooler to find him stacking butter. He turns. “What are you doing here?” Then he sees Spot and wrinkles his brow. “What’s the dog doing here?” Then he looks behind me and his confusion turns to outright hostility. “What in God’s name are you doing here with my daughter?” He snatches a rolling pin off one of the shelves and hefts it as he glares at Reaper.
“Pops,” I say grabbing the rolling pin before he starts swinging. “Reaper’s here with me.”
He looks from Reaper to me. “Why?” he asks coldly.
“Miguel’s dead. Murdered.” The word sticks in my throat.
He stares at me, then Reaper. “You fucking animal.”
I have never in my life heard my pops swear, so I get scared. Not sure for who though. “He didn’t kill him!” I yell.
“I didn’t kill him,” Reaper echoes.
Pops grabs me and shoves me behind him. “You touch my daughter,” he seethes. “It will be the last thing you do on this earth.”
I hug my dad around the waist and press my face between his shoulder blades. “I know it doesn’t seem like it,” I tell him. “But Reaper’s one of the good guys. At least where this is concerned. He’s helping me out.”
Pops tension doesn’t slacken, but he grabs my hands and squeezes them, then hauls me out from behind him. “I want the story. Now. And not the edited version.” He glances between me and Reaper. “And just so I’m clear, that means from the moment your paths crossed until you walked into this cooler.”
Something settles in me and I feel back in control. My pops has always been there for me, solved my problems when I couldn’t. He’s the rock that keeps me anchored.
“It’s gonna take a while,” I tell him. “I’ll make some coffee.”
Pop glances at the clock. “Got an hour before the doors open.”
“Maybe you should close for the day,” Reaper suggests.
Dad glares at him. “Maybe you should mind your own business.”
I bustle around the front, putting on the coffee, trying to ignore the hostility rolling off my pops as he stares down Reaper. I don’t know what I thought was going to happen when I introduced Pop to the guy who’s been extorting from him, but I guess I thought it would be sunshine and roses. Yep. The whole nine yards. Wedding dress. Pop walking me down the aisle. Grinning as he handed me off to Reaper. The three of us camping together, fishing. Stuff like that.
I sigh as I grab mugs and start pouring. I’ve gotta quit getting ahead of myself. “Sit.” I wave a hand at the table in the corner. The one staff usually sit at when they take their breaks.
Neither man moves.
I roll my eyes. “Sit down. Both of you. I’m bringing you coffee so be happy.”
“What does that even mean?” Reaper asks.
“Pfft. It’s a thing.” I place some creamers and sugar packs on the table, then bring over the mugs. Pops and Reaper sit across from each other and when I go to sit next to Reaper, Pop grabs my arm and hauls me around the table plunking me down next to him.
We take a moment fixing the coffee. Reaper takes his black. I look down at the sweet creamy concoction I just stirred up and think maybe I should drink mine black. Then we could drink out of each other’s mugs in the morning.
“Let’s hear it,” Pops commands after taking a big swallow of coffee.
Reaper catches my eyes. “You start, X. This is your show.”
I barely get out the whole I-approached-Reaper-for protection bit before Pops explodes. “What in God’s name was going through your head?” I’m glad I’m too old to be spanked because if I were 10, my butt would be so sore.
“It’s not—” Reaper starts, looking at me.
“Don’t you talk to her. Don’t even look at her,” Pop snarls stabbing his finger at him.
They glare at each other and I’m worried fists are going to start flying so I say, “Pop. Reaper’s the man I’m going to marry so you’ll have to get along with him.”
Reaper spews the coffee in his mouth and Pops knocks his over. “That’s never going to happen,” Reaper says flatly.
At the same time, Pops says heatedly, “Over my dead body.”
“That can be arranged,” Reaper retorts.
I scowl at him. “Not funny!”
At least Reaper looks sheepish.
I get up, grabbing Pop’s cup. I toss a wet towel to Reaper who deftly catches it. “Mop up,” I order.
He tries but Pops snatches the towel from his hand and finishes the job.
“Here’s a fresh cup,” I say to Pops as I place it in front of him and sit next to him. “Now. You are going to listen to everything so save up all your murderous thoughts until we’re done. Then after, we’re gonna rationally discuss what to do next.”
Pops clams up but as I talk, his face undergoes various shades of red and I think his hair gets greyer. By the time I’m done, his eyes are glassy.
A minute passes, then Pop says gruffly, “Can I talk now?”
Reaper and I nod.
“So you’re saying that whatever is going on has nothing to do with this criminal?” He tips his head towards Reaper.
Reaper crosses his arms and stares blandly at my Pop. “I’m not a good guy and I’m not going to pretend otherwise, Paulie, but at the same time, whoever killed Miguel also trashed your daughter’s apartment, which means they won’t hesitate to do to her what they did to her ex.” He pauses. “You want the details of what was left of him or can you imagine the worst and then understand it was beyond that?”
“Oh,” I whisper.
His eyes soften as he looks at me. “Sorry. Was making a point, not trying to scare you.”
“You haven’t made your point yet,” Pops says gruffly.