43. Robin
ROBIN
Star Bellamy, my mother, who was not at the airport, who did not wrap me in her arms the second I stepped off the plane, decided she wanted to cook a big meal at the main house for the whole family to celebrate my return.
Celebrate.
As if I’m returning from a vacation. Like we should have cake and balloons.
Though I admit the house smells amazing. My mom is a wonderful cook. Her Mexican food is delicious, and she loves preparing it. Sometimes she doesn’t even let her private chef in the kitchen, though she is helping tonight.
I want to be annoyed. I want to stand in the doorway with my arms crossed and reject the whole thing on principle because my mom doesn’t get to pretend she cares that I’m home.
But the house smells like roasted pork, toasted chiles, garlic, warm tortillas, melted cheese, cilantro, lime, and smoky rich mole.
My stomach, traitor that it is, growls the second I walk inside.
Mom made red enchiladas and green enchiladas, arranged in two enormous pans like she expects half of Texas to come through the door.
She made crispy carnitas—my favorite—slow roasted from the moment she got word I was coming home, according to Raven.
There’s mole poblano in a heavy pot on the stove.
Guacamole sits in a massive bowl beside chips and stacks of fresh homemade tortillas.
It’s too much.
Everything in this family is too much.
Too much money. Too much pride. Too much history. Too many secrets buried under land that should have been just land.
When Mom leaves the kitchen and looks into my eyes, for a moment, she actually looks motherly. “Oh, Robin,” she says and she hugs me.
I let her.
Because even at age thirty, and even when you’ve never felt close to your mother, after being abducted and abused and not sure you’d ever see your family again, being held by her feels good.
Damned good.
She trembles against me, sniffling, repeating, “Oh, Robin. Oh, Robin. Oh, Robin.”
Maybe she does care.
Maybe she always did, just badly.
Or maybe she needed a distraction from her baby in the hospital, her husband’s suicide attempt and subsequent aphasia, and everything else.
I don’t know.
I’m too tired to know.
So I let her hold me. When she finally pulls back, her eyes filled with tears, she swallows. “I’m so glad you’re home.”
“Me too,” I say.
She sniffles again and then heads back into the kitchen. Savannah and Daniela follow her to help. Daniela is studying to be a chef, and Savannah is also a great cook.
I hate cooking, and because I’m still exhausted, even after a shower and short nap at Vinnie and Raven’s, I don’t go to the kitchen. And for once, Mom doesn’t make a snide comment about it.
I eat a chip dipped in guacamole and nearly burst into more tears because it tastes so much like home.
Then I almost choke because…Cruz.
Cruz isn’t here. And I feel like home should include him.
No.
No, no, no.
I need to talk to someone about Cruz. Daniela has emerged from the kitchen with fresh guacamole, so I grab her arm and lead her over to Hawk, who’s looking at his phone.
“I need to talk to you two,” I say, “in private.”
I don’t ask Raven or Vinnie. I love them both, but Raven will feel too much on my behalf, and Vinnie will immediately move into murder mode.
Besides, they have Belinda to take care of.
Raven is sitting with her looking through a fashion magazine.
I don’t ask Falcon either. As much as I love him, he’s an ex-con, and his first instinct will be the same as Vinnie’s.
Hawk is different.
Not softer.
God, no.
Hawk is a blunt instrument with a pulse.
But he’s my brother in a way that feels uncomplicated even when everything else is a mess. He and I understand each other. And Daniela understands things most people don’t. Shame. Fear. Complicated devotion.
I pull the two of them into the smaller sitting room off the side hallway, the one Mom never uses because she says the light is bad.
I close the door.
“What is it?” Hawk asks right away.
Daniela smacks his arm lightly. “Let her breathe first.”
He exhales, but his jaw is still tense. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I say.
Daniela sits on the sofa, and Hawk sits beside her, close enough that their knees touch. I stay standing. If I sit, I might not get back up.
“I need to tell you something.”
Hawk furrows his brow. “About Colombia?”
“Yes.”
He frowns. “About the guy.”
I swallow. “Yes.”
Daniela’s eyes soften.
Hawk leans forward, forearms on his knees. “Cruz? The guy who helped you?”
I nod.
“The guy who worked for Vega.”
“Yes.”
Hawk’s jaw flexes. “What about him?”
I wrap my arms around myself. “He wasn’t just guarding me,” I say. “He’s the one who took me from Texas.”
“He’s the one who fucking kidnapped you?” Hawk rises. “I’m going to kill him.”
“No.”
He turns on me. “No?”
“No.”
“He took you.”
“I know.”
He crosses his arms. “And you’re saying no?”
“I’m saying no because I’m not done.”
Daniela reaches for Hawk’s hand. He resists for half a second and then lets her pull him back onto the couch.
Good.
Anchor him, Daniela.
“There’s more,” I say.
“Of course there is,” Hawk mutters.
“He got me out. He didn’t have to. He could have left me there. He could have turned me over. He could have kept following orders, and instead he got me out, drove me through the night, took me to the only safe place he knew.”
“Where?” he asks.
“A brothel.”
Hawk goes rigid. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
“It’s not like that,” I say. “The women there raised him. His mother was—”
“Of course she was.” Hawk shakes his head.
“Stop it, Hawk.” I rub my forehead. “They let us stay there. Risked their own lives. And one of them—I guess she was the madame—she—” I choke up.
“What happened?” Daniela asks softly.
“She was killed. Her name was Senora Valentina. One of Vega’s goons shot her.” I gulp. “Then Cruz killed him. To keep me safe.”
Hawk looks away, jaw working.
He doesn’t want to feel sympathy for Cruz.
I understand.
Neither do I.
I see Hawk’s mind working. I’ve dissected everything myself so many times, and I know exactly what’s going through his head.
A Vega man kills another Vega man. Bad man kills worse man. Captor rescues captive. Enemy saves sister.
Nothing fits.
I know the feeling.
“And then?” Hawk asks.
“And then Cruz told me something.”
The part I came in here to say.
The part I still don’t know how to say.
Daniela stands and walks to me. “Robin.”
I look at her.
Her dark eyes are gentle, and that nearly breaks me.
I take a breath. “Cruz was the one who drugged Eagle.”
Hawk rises again. “What?” he says through clenched teeth.
“He gave Eagle the drugs, made it look like he relapsed.”
Hawk stares at me.
Then his eyes change.
“Eagle,” he says.
I nod.
“Cruz did that.”
“Yes.”
Daniela covers her mouth.
Hawk turns away.
For one second, I think he might punch the wall.
He doesn’t.
Probably because this is my mother’s sitting room.
Maybe.
He faces me again. “Why?”
“Because Vega told him Eagle was close to figuring out something he didn’t want known.”
“About what?”
“Vega.” I swallow. “And Dad.”
Hawk’s expression darkens. Daniela looks between us.
“Of course,” Hawk says softly.
That scares me more than if he yelled. “What does that mean?”
“It means what I’ve known for a long time.” He drags a hand over his face. “Dad isn’t the man you think he is, Robbie. He never has been.”
I drop my jaw. Cruz hinted at something similar.
“What do you know?” I demand.
Hawk shakes his head. “You know Dad and I don’t mesh.”
I grab his shoulders. “What aren’t you telling me, Hawk?”
Daniela takes Hawk’s hand once more. “Please,” she says, bringing him back down to the sofa with her.
Hawk looks at her and then back at me. “Robin, I’m sorry. This isn’t about Dad and me right now. It’s about you and what you’ve been through.”
I draw in a breath. Exhale. Close my eyes. Count to ten. Hawk is keeping something from me, but I need to let it go for now. Not forever, but for now.
I open my eyes.
“I need you to understand that I know what Cruz did,” I say.
“I’m not excusing it. I’m not romanticizing it.
I’m not sitting here pretending he’s secretly innocent because he has a tragic backstory.
” I start pacing. “When I was in Colombia, things happened fast. Too fast. He was dangerous, and he was kind. He was my captor, and then he was my escape. He lied, but he also told me the truth when he didn’t have to. He touched me like—”
Hawk’s off the couch again. “He fucking touched you?”
And Daniela’s trying to anchor him again. I’m not sure it’ll work this time, so I sigh. Best to rip the bandage off.
“We had sex. It was complicated, but it was consensual.”
This time Hawk does punch the wall. The plaster cracks beneath his knuckles.
Daniela goes to him. “Honey, please.”
But Hawk’s eyes are on fire. “With the man who helped kidnap you?”
I flinch.
“Hawk…” From Daniela.
“No, don’t Hawk me.” His voice is low but furious. “Robin, what the hell?”
“I meant for it to be transactional.”
The room goes very still again. Hawk looks like I’ve slapped him. Daniela’s face fills with pain. She knows. She’s been in the same situation.
“It was before I knew everything,” I say quickly. “Before I knew about Eagle. I was trying to survive. I thought maybe if he wanted me, if he cared, if I could make myself matter to him… It might protect me.”
Daniela’s eyes soften. “Oh, Robin.”
I shake my head. “But it wasn’t like that. That’s the problem. It started in my head like that, but it didn’t feel like that. It felt…”
I look away.
Real.
I can’t say the word.
Not with Eagle still in the hospital.
Not with Hawk looking at me like he wants to burn down the entire continent of South America at the same time.
“It felt like something more to you,” Daniela says softly.
My throat aches.
I nod.
Hawk makes a rough sound and turns away again.
“I know,” I say. “I know how it sounds.”
“How it sounds?” He turns back, eyes blazing. “He was also the one who kidnapped you in the first place, Robin.”
“I know.”
He squints. “I don’t know why you’re even feeling anything for this guy.”
I wrap my arms tighter around myself. “I don’t either.”
Hawk exhales hard. “He put Eagle in the hospital.”
“I know.”
“He dragged you to Colombia.”
“I know.”
“He worked for Vega.”
“I know.”
“Then what is there to feel besides rage?”
Daniela stands between us, not physically, but somehow emotionally. “I understand,” she says quietly.
Hawk looks at her. “Daniela.”
“I do.” Her voice is gentle but firm. “Not because Cruz is innocent. He isn’t. But because feelings sometimes don’t make sense.”
I almost laugh.
Then I almost cry.
Hawk shakes his head. “That’s not—”
“It is,” she says. “Sometimes the person who hurts you is also the person who saves you from something worse. Sometimes your body trusts before your mind can make sense of it. Sometimes your heart attaches itself to the one hand reaching for you in the dark, even if that hand has blood on it.”
Hawk stares at her.
Something passes between them.
Something I don’t know. Maybe I’m not meant to know.
But they made it. Whatever impossible, forbidden, complicated thing happened between them, they found a road through.
Daniela looks at me. “I understand why your heart is broken right now.”
I swallow. “It shouldn’t be.”
“But it is.”
I look down at my hands. They’re shaking. “I can’t be with him.”
“I know.”
I shake my head. “I can’t bring him into this family. I can’t sit beside Eagle knowing Cruz is the reason he almost died.”
“I know.”
“I did the right thing.”
Daniela’s eyes fill with sympathy. “Maybe you did.”
Hawk drops his jaw. “Maybe?”
She doesn’t look away from me. “Doing the right thing doesn’t always make it hurt less.”
I press my lips together to keep from crying.
I’m not sure what to say next, when—
The doorbell rings.
All three of us freeze.
Hawk frowns. “Who the hell is that?”
“Maybe our mother booked an entertainer for my welcome home party,” I say, trying to sound jovial but failing.
Hawk frowns at me.
“What?” I say. “Fireworks. A mariachi band. A magician who makes trauma disappear.”
The doorbell rings again.
Hawk is already moving. “Stay here.”
“No.”
Mom appears near the dining room entrance, wiping her hands on a towel. “Who is it?”
“That’s what we’re finding out,” Hawk says.
Vinnie’s voice comes from somewhere behind her. “Hawk?”
“Got it.”
Hawk reaches the front door first.
I glance through the side window.
Every drop of blood in me turns cold.
Because it’s Cruz.
Hawk opens the door. “Who the hell are you?”