Chapter Twenty-Seven #2
I swallowed, picking a piece of sauced beef with one of the toothpicks. “I have this disorder where every insult I get materializes into compliments in my head; it’s like—so rare and incurable.”
“There’s no such thing.”
“Do your research,” I said, digging into the vegetables and pasta to find what combination they would form in my mouth. “Oh yes.” I threw my head back. “I’m having a literal food orgasm right now.”
Elio relaxed in the booth, shaking his head like he was done with me. I smiled inwardly; at least he wasn’t looking out the window with that wary expression anymore.
“This place is perfect! They bring tradition into the taste of their food. Dog would love it here. I’ll bring him sometime to have food orgasms together.”
“You lack table manners.”
“No. I just love being free, not uptight and proper like you.” I grabbed another chicken wing, waving it around him as I said, “I know there’s a food craze in there somewhere; you just gotta let loose.”
“Like you let yourself loose to the extent of”—his gaze flickered to my chest—“piercing your nipples?”
“There, there, is that what’s bothering you? Can’t get it out of your head? Is it making you hard again? You should have looked away.”
“You didn’t give me a choice. How did you sit through that? Who put it on you?”
Dropping the bone of the chicken wing, I smiled coyly at him. “A man. A hot, sexy, tatted, and pierced man. He was really good with his hands. His name was Julio.”
The man opposite me just shook his head. “Why would you put yourself through that?”
“You got an opinion about my preferences, I don’t wanna fucking hear it. My body, my choice.”
“I’m not trying to give an opinion. It looks painful, and I wondered why you would endure it?”
“The pleasure that comes with it is worth it.” I smiled, pulling the French fries towards me. “Besides, I was a sex worker, as you might already know, if you’ve pieced the whole being sold thing together.”
He frowned immediately. “They forced it on you?” The edge to his voice had me clarifying.
“Nope, I saw some other girls getting it; I liked it but didn’t dare to do it then because I was young. But I did it after I left; one of the best decisions I ever made, and from your expression earlier, I could tell you liked it.”
“I didn’t.”
“Pfft. Right, you didn’t.” I picked up the glass of water, bringing it to my lips as I stared at him from underneath my lashes, ending my statement with, “But your cock did.” I drank.
“I’m not talking about this anymore.”
I chuckled, setting the glass down. “You raised the issue.”
“It was clearly a mistake. You need to work on your conversational skills because, somehow, everything you say has to end in some sexual comment. It’s worrying.”
“Aww, you’re worried about me?”
“No … you make me want to plant a bullet in my skull,” he said, turning his head back to the window, his dull demeanor settling in an instant, like every conversation we just had never happened.
My stomach bottomed out with guilt at his response, and I dropped the topic, sitting up and raising a new one. “So, my captors were asking for information about some gold. Apparently, there’s a lot of gold to be gained by whoever finds the painting…” I said, gauging his expression.
He hesitantly looked away from the window to me, looking indifferent. “Is that so,” he stated.
I sighed. “You knew, didn’t you?”
He didn’t respond.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I had no reason to.”
“Seriously? I almost got shot because of a fake painting. That’s enough fucking reason to.”
“How do you know it’s a fake?”
“Street did some research, and they discovered all about the quest shit, the gold, and Arturo’s little chihuahua.”
“Congratulations,” he said.
“You’re so nonchalant about this. It’s infuriating.”
“Okay,” he mumbled, looking out the window again. He looked like he was physically here, but his mind was elsewhere.
“Can I have the ID card? The one you took from the buzzcut guy?” I asked.
Without looking at me, he lifted himself a little, searching his pocket for the ID card and dropping it on the table.
I cleared my throat. “Thanks. I still don’t think there’s any need to hunt down the rest of his family.”
“Hm,” he responded.
Deciding to use Spanish, I asked, “Where’s your mind?”
He turned his head towards me, staring for a few seconds before he answered, “Everywhere.”
I sat up, knowing I was not good at this, but I still had to let him know, one way or another, why I was mad.
“Listen, I appreciate that you killed that guy. He would have killed me if you hadn’t done it.
But the boy—he was still young, and I know your logic is to kill them so they wouldn’t have to go through grief, but …
you’re not only stopping them from grieving …
you’re stopping them from a future they could have had.
A life. Maybe even better than the one we have. ”
When he didn’t reply, I continued, “I know this business comes with a lot of blood on your hands, but sometimes, it’s better to have a limit so you don’t completely lose yourself.
Draw the limit at hurting children, or hell—any innocent person.
You can kill a father, but you don’t have to kill the child.
Grief is normal. It hurts, but it’s normal.
You can’t stop people from feeling it by killing them.
You’re only causing more damage to yourself. ”
“Thank you,” he said, shocking me.
“Are you just saying that so I’ll stop talking?”
He shook his head. “I understand where you’re coming from. You’ve opened my eyes to many things today.”
I blinked blankly at him before frowning. “Right, glad you … yeah. Good talk.”
He nodded, looking out the window, locking up his posture in a way that told me he didn’t want to talk anymore.
I sighed, grabbed the ID card from the table, and continued with my food.
The ride was quieter on our way back, and I felt pretty uncomfortable … he had barely said a word to me after everything I said about the boy. He seemed locked in his mind, and I wondered what was going through that head.
It wasn’t until after he pulled up at a shady motel that I leaned away from the window, looking over at him. “Why are you stopping here?”
He unbuckled his seatbelt, and I watched him grab the gun from the console, opening the chamber as he said, “You’re going to drive back to the compound alone.”
I stifled a yawn. “What are you talking about?”
He removed all the bullets, leaving just two inside. “You’ll drive back to the compound alone,” he repeated. “There’s something I have to do,” he said, finally meeting my confused gaze.
I frowned, looking out the window at the worn-out building. “What do you have to do here?”
“Nothing you should concern yourself with,” he said as I turned back to look at him.
“I know you have no reason to help me do this, but when you get to the compound, please find Casmiro, tell him to go to my bedroom and check the floorboards in my wardrobe. I left something in there for him and Angelo.”
All the sleepiness slipped from my eyes, my senses alert. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
He opened his side door, about to leave me there, but paused. “I can’t believe you’re the one I’m asking to do this … but—tell my brother I’m sorry and that I tried.”
“You tried what—”
He was already getting out of the car, closing the door behind him.
I sat alone in the humming vehicle for a few seconds, watching him walk around it towards the motel, wondering what the hell just happened.
Two bullets … obviously he’s going to kill someone … He wants me to deliver a message to Casmiro and tell Devil he’s sorry?
Two bullets … one for the person he wants to kill … whoever that is, and the other for …
Realization dawned like ice water down my spine, and I was dashing right out of the car after him.