Chapter 19
“Hispanic male. Looks to be in his mid-thirties,” Stevens says, filling Mack in as they approach the first victim any of us have seen in weeks with the telltale web carved into their chest.
“We can’t catch a fucking break.” Mack lets out a sharp breath, then tilts his head. “Shit, is it just me, or does this poor schmuck look a little like Diego?”
To punctuate the joke, Mack jabs Martinez in his ribs, but he’s the only one laughing.
“Funny. And next time the vic’s a balding, soft-around-the-middle knuckle dragger, I’ll make sure to point out your twin,” Martinez shoots back.
“Aww come on. You can’t take a joke anymore? You’re going soft on me these days.”
“Whatever, Mack. Fuck you.”
I ignore the pissing match and line up my shot, happy to have pictures to take to keep me occupied while these two bicker back and forth.
The shutter clicks, and I continue staring at the victim through the lens. He does bear a striking resemblance to Martinez, from his low trimmed haircut, to his dark eyes, right down to his build. I study the carvings on his chest, noting that these seem deeper than usual. As if there was less control this time.
More… anger.
I snap another shot before zoning out again. My thoughts wander back to the night one week ago, when my world collided with Damien’s. Reconciling that version of him with this one brings on an immediate tension headache. But my body responds strangely now as I hold an image of him in my head. My skin prickles with goosebumps. Yes, at the thought of how insane I must be that I even let him touch me, but there’s also the fact that I enjoyed it.
That I more than enjoyed it.
I came on his fingers for fuck’s sake and haven’t stopped thinking about it since.
If he’s sick, a depraved monster, then what the hell does that make me?
My camera lowers, and before I can lock in on another shot, Martinez and I make eye contact. Mostly, we’ve avoided each other like the plague. I’ve caught him talking shit about me on more than one occasion, spilling the details of the secret we spent months concealing to our colleagues. So, when I don’t force my gaze in a different direction this time, he lowers his head in shame.
Fucking asshole.
No sooner than I can lift the camera, I hear footsteps coming closer. And much to my disappointment, it’s Martinez. With his lack of an expression, it’s hard to tell what energy he’s leading with, but my expectations aren’t high.
“Hey,” he says quietly, but I don’t respond. As far as I’m concerned, the only thing I’m interested in hearing is an apology for bringing our private lives into the workplace.
He sighs, scratching his chin before continuing.
“Listen, I know I’ve been a dick lately—”
I scoff before he can even finish, thinking of at least five phrases that would better capture the level of dick-tivity he’s ascended to. And lately? Try always. He’s always been a dick, but that’s on me for putting up with that shit.
“I just—”
“Fuck off, Martinez.” I mean to keep my voice low, but when Stevens and Mack glance over, I’m guessing they heard. “You’re aware that I know you’ve been talking shit about me to the guys, right? People I work with? People whose respect I’ve spent far too long trying to earn?”
“Shit, Layla. I’m trying to apologize.”
When I finally meet his gaze, I sigh in frustration. And fuck him for trying to look sorrowful, like he actually has a soul.
“I would’ve given you more time, more room to breathe before trying to talk things out, but… there was a notification. It popped up on my phone this morning, reminding me about tonight.”
Without having to rack my brain, I know he’s talking about Dove’s engagement dinner.
“I guess it just got me thinking about us,” he adds, and I can’t help but to flinch at that word.
Us.
I’m quieter when I speak again, more in control of my emotions. “I’m not interested in whatever this is you’re trying to pull, so just… don’t.”
When I attempt to get back to work, he speaks again.
“Is this really how you want things? Tension and animosity every time we’re in the same room?”
My head whips in his direction. “You act as if that’s on me.”
He takes a step back, narrowing his eyes. I’m grateful others have arrived to assess the scene, making it less obvious things between us have gotten more heated.
“Are you seriously trying to play innocent right now? You’re gonna pretend I didn’t walk into the club that night and find some guy hanging all over you?”
A pulse between my legs has Damien’s touch feeling far too real. I almost tell Martinez had he noticed me just a few moments earlier, he would’ve caught Damien and I doing far more than having a too-close-for-comfort conversation.
“We aren’t together, Diego. We’ve never been together. So, as far as I’m concerned, you showed me exactly how single I was that night. All I did was follow your lead. If you never gave a shit, why the hell should I?”
This time, I don’t wait for him to answer. I lift my camera and finish doing my job, which he should do as well. There’s no sense in us discussing things, fighting to revive a relationship that was never worth fighting for in the first place.
“Fine. If this is how you want it, I’m good with that. Just remember I tried to fix this shit.”
Finally, after far too many minutes in one another’s presence, he’s gone. The camera clicks, and not even a full minute later, there’s a symphony of deep laughter behind me. Even without looking, I know Martinez has run back to the boys’ club to continue his work of turning them against me. But I face them anyway, casting a look in their direction just to let them know I hear them, I know they’re talking about me, and I’m not fucking scared of them.
It would take a lot more than a group of cavemen with small dicks to break me. Besides, if they knew I could have any one of their asses gutted and carved with a mere word, they’d tread lightly.
I realize I’m smiling a little, imagining each of them bleeding out from their throats. But as quickly as I’ve drifted into the fantasy, I pull myself out of it, knowing it’s unhealthy despite how absolutely satisfying it would be. But as a true test of self-control, I focus on work, getting the last of my pictures so I can get the hell out of here.
Being in the presence of Damien’s handiwork probably isn’t the best thing for me right now for too many reasons to name.
But if my dark thoughts are any indication, what’s even more true… is that it could definitely be bad for Martinez and his merry band of dickheads.