Chapter 23 Kitty
TWENTY-THREE
KITTY
The doors to my sisters’ rooms pummeled the mansion’s exterior wall as they darted outside.
“What the fuck was that?” Neev shouted into the maelstrom.
Raisin cried, “Oh, my god, what’s happening?”
I had no answers.
I didn’t think Stan did either.
He was busy peering over the balcony railings at Martinez, who was mostly visible thanks to the glowing tip of a fat cigar.
As cool as a pepino, he reasoned, “That little scene is why you needed to be in this house tonight, mis invitados.”
Did he overhear my confession? Holy fuck!
Stan tensed. “Los Nuevos?”
“Los who?” Neev muttered. “Who’s new?”
“That little display was on my dime.” Martinez stepped deeper onto the terrace as he studied the cityscape ahead that now had raging fires in several places.
It never occurred to me to move away from Stan’s side.
In this mayhem, he was the one connection to home that we possessed.
He was a Valentini. Jennifer was too. He represented safety and home and our ticket out of here. My conscience could return when I’d fled an active war zone.
“Why would you bomb Cancún?” Stan demanded, his tone like gravel.
“Sometimes, when the trash visits your hometown, it’s your duty to take it out and burn it.” He finally glanced away from the disaster zone that had been the gorgeous city we’d visited tonight. “You should sleep.”
I sputtered, “You can’t expect us—”
“There is no point in staying awake. Upheaval will rain over the city, triggering a frenzy. Looting will begin soon. The army will move in to control the situation and a curfew will be implemented.” His tone softened. “I understand that you are scared, but you are safe here. Friends.”
The gleam from the glowing tip of his cigar gave him a faintly demonic cast.
“You bombed your own people?!” Stan growled.
“It’s a controlled explosion.”
He motioned to the multiple blast locations. “What about that is controlled?!”
Martinez’s silence lasted long enough that my sisters and I shared a look. Eventually, he cleared his throat, and in the time-honored tradition of a man who was in over his head—he changed the subject. “You reserved a room at the Mar Blanco hotel, did you not?”
“Y-Yes.”
“Did you leave your passports there?”
Wondering where he was going with this, I nodded. “In the safe.”
“I shall have Miguel take you to the consulate in Puerto Vallarta tomorrow.”
“Why?”
Martinez pointed at the growing hellscape. “Because the Mar Blanco is no more.”
That dire invocation imparted, he made a retreat, stepping calmly into the house as if parts of the city weren’t burning.
On his fucking command!
“Did he say what I think he said?” Raisin whimpered. “Our hotel was in the blast?”
“H-He must have known we were coming sooner…”
Raisin grabbed my shoulder. “Do you think he paid for the upgrade on our tickets?”
I shook my head. “Doubtful.”
“A man like Martinez doesn’t move without being ten steps ahead. He learned you were here somehow,” Stan intoned grimly.
“Why didn’t he tell us that was why he brought us here?!” Raisin whisper-hissed.
Stan’s hand slid up my arm in a soothing gesture. “We should go back to bed.”
Neev squeaked, which spoke of how fucked up this was because very little riled her. “How are we supposed to sleep?”
“Seems like Martinez knows what he’s talking about. Might as well rest before tomorrow.”
“Can’t we go to the nearest airport…” Raisin swallowed. “That potentially wasn’t bombed?”
“No. I’ll call this in and get the jet sent over,” Stan surprised me by answering.
Lucas would have grunted at us that he had shit to take care of that OnLY a MaN CouLD HaNDLe before storming off.
My brain screeched to a halt.
Because this whole thing…
Am I angry at Lucas and repressing it or something?
“Um, duh.”
I scowled at Neev. “What?”
“You thought that out loud, sis,” Raisin chided, but her voice sounded less like she was conferring with bats. “Think you’ve been angry at him for a long time and have always tried and failed to repress it.”
“It’s why you give him so much shit,” Neev said with a cackle. “Still, you get an A+ from me because I’m pretty sure you’re the only reason his head fits through the door. You know Ma thinks he puts the sun in the sky every morning.”
Embarrassed to be airing our family’s dirty laundry in front of Stan, and doubly embarrassed at this bizarre new trait of me thinking out loud, I mumbled, “Sorry—”
“Don’t be.” When I peeped a look at him, I saw his lips were curved in a faint smile. “We both have older brothers called ‘Luc’ and they have both been put on this Earth to drive us insane.”
I huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, well, now’s not the time for me to realize I need therapy. I guess we should go and catch some Z’s…”
He nodded, but I noticed his jaw tightened when I stepped away.
My sisters waved their tremulous goodnights at us, but whether it was because she was still too drunk to care or because she was used to being looked after by us, I knew only Neev would be getting any sleep.
Ah, to be the baby of the family.
No matter what she said, once her head hit the pillow, that was her—out for the count.
I only headed toward my door once I heard the locks click on theirs.
“Kitty?”
I turned to look at him over my shoulder. “Is there a cure? Or an antidote?”
He frowned. “For Red?”
“I’ve seen what it does, Stan. We get a case in every couple of nights. Something like that, it’s heinous to witness the aftermath of.”
“Is there a cure for molly?”
Disappointment welled inside me. “That’s not an answer.”
Before I could ream him a new one, what could only be called a ‘mini’ explosion had me jumping as I whipped around to seek out the source of the noise.
Stan sounded relatively calm considering the situation. “Martinez was right yet again.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Army’s arrived.” His mouth flatlined. “What do you want from me, gattaredda?”
“Nothing.”
“You never need to lie to me. Your mouth tells me one thing, but that disappointment in your eyes says something else entirely.”
You never need to lie to me.
Like this was about more than today.
Hands squeezing into fists at my sides, I half-warbled as the words poured out of me, “If my dad hadn’t died, I’d have been bartered into a marriage I didn’t want by now.
I’d have had kids, multiple, to a husband I likely hated who made a living off of hurting others, and the idea of being a nurse, my vocation, would have been laughed at by said hated husband as he joked about me to his friends over a game of poker.
“I might give Lucas shit, but he’s never forced us down that path. And for whatever sins he’s committed, imagined or otherwise, I need to thank him for that when I get home.
“But women’s lives are bartered with on the daily—not just in our world, but in every society. We’re paid less, worth less. Our health doesn’t matter in comparison to a man’s. We’re jeered at, mocked, reviled when we literally bring life into this horrible, horrible world.
“We’re not allowed to control whether we carry our rapist’s baby, and every street we walk down could lead to something we’re not prepared for.
And I’m saying this as a white woman. With so much privilege that I can’t begin to comprehend what my sisters of other colors and creeds go through.
” I felt the weight of my speech like Atlas bore the burden of the Earth on his shoulders.
“My already dangerous world, Stan, you made more dangerous.”
The statement sank like a hot stone through butter.
I could almost hear the bang as the collision happened.
But he said nothing.
And the silence wasn’t exactly silent thanks to the chaos in Cancún.
The breath hitched in my chest. “It doesn’t matter.”
When I made to leave, he rasped, “No, there isn’t a cure, Kitty.” As my heart sank, he continued with one word that had me pivoting around to stare at him with hope. “Yet.”