Hector snapped his fingers, and two short middle aged women with aprons on brought dishes out to fill the table. The wrinkles were deep in one woman's face as she smiled at me, but her eyes didn’t match. They were begging me to help her. I looked down almost instantly. I couldn’t cause any waves, and I had to ignore the part of that which thrived on being any women’s crutch. Addi looked at me just as concerned, with her hand on my leg under the table.
Fuck.
Women had an uncanny ability to make a worried face my direction, and every criminal aspect of me quickly became rehabbed and out on parole for good behavior.
I touch the woman’s hand and smiled, like it cured anything. I wanted it to be a cure. Her smile brightened so much I could almost see past the deep wrinkles, pigmentation patches of a darker tone, and all the history she was wearing right on her face. She rubbed her hand on top of mine without a word, not that I'd understand, saying it all with her eyes. She was seen, and that was enough for her.
Everyone's cure is different. Mine is damaged women. Hers was simply a few minutes to notice her.
What was Addi’s cure? Makeup remover and foreplay until she realized I could love even the ugly parts?
I wanted to be whatever her cure was.
After we ate, I sank deeper into business, while Maria poured drinks and his idiots brought out a metal case, each laying them on the bar top, waiting for Hector to orchestrate the rest.
“I hear you don't carry any protection, my friend. Do you think my products are valuable enough to be protected?”
Hector spoke in a nice silky tone, making even the insults feel like compliments instead.
“I don't plan to use it.”
He walked closer to the cases and opened them with so much personality I almost thought it would be full of money. Instead it was guns laid in cut outs, and this was the moment of dread. I was going to be forced to become weaponized, and the tiny voice in my head (in Layla’s voice) chanted, “Criminal… Something about Layla believing that made my guilt expand.
A clash between innocence and my corruption.
I watch his fingertips brush the metal plate on the handle of a gun that looked like it could put more than a hole through you. “A gift. You protect my supplies, and I protect you, mi familia.”
I tried to wipe off any expressions my face was probably twisting into, while I prolonged speaking by pushing the glass to my lips and sucking down the bourbon. If only it was endless and refilled automatically, I wouldn't have let myself breathe between breaths.
Against my better judgment, my hand dropped from my mouth, the glass too, and words crept from my throat, like the smart ass I am. “If something happens, I handle my problems. I don't run away from them. No dice. Not carrying.”
I felt his grip at the back of my neck when he dragged me closer to the cases, “It wasn't a question. You will take this beautiful gun, and if anything happens to my supplies, you won't have a chance to think of running.”
I felt his rings dig into me, and I knew with certainty he wasn’t taking no for an answer. There was no quitting my kind of job either. You knew too much and put everything at risk walking away. I was at his mercy now and hoping Addi didn't wipe my criminal traits away because I needed them now more than ever.
I picked up the gun, heavier than it looked, and shoved it in the back of pants hoping it didn't shift or I wasn't doing it right. This was a new level of charges I was adding to my record.
He slapped my back with a hard thud. “That's it. No big deal. You'll take my plane tonight and go to Miami for the drop. I want you there.”
I thought I was swallowing excess moisture, but really my throat was dry and I was experiencing another emotion I avoided ever knowing what it tasted like: fear.
Addi
The two men in the crisp black suits drove us to our hotel, but they didn't pull away once we were safely on the sidewalk in front. I glanced behind me, grilling the too dark tints, hoping to see something that made sense.
“I gotta go to Florida. Tonight. Now actually.”
Hunters voice was an even monotone, no emotion, and his eyes didn't even move to my direction when we walked inside. He even purposely walked quicker to the elevator, trying to escape my judgment. He knew I'd beg to go, and he had a hard time saying no to me altogether.
“Excuse me? Are you crazy? Those people are...” I glanced around us, while he kept jamming his thumb into the up elevator button. “...are legit. They aren't small time.”
He stepped inside, keeping his back to me, while his hands put stress on the rail and his shoulders hunched over like his head. He looked like a wilted flower, still rooted into the ground but giving up slowly, and you didn’t know what you were doing wrong.
Less water? More? Is it too bright on the window’s ledge?
I wrapped my arms around his waist and pressed my cheek into his back, clinging to him trying to help him stand up straighter. I left room for the gun I watched him shove against his back earlier. For someone the Sinners called criminal—a label they deemed worse than a morally broken Sinner—Hunter seemed awfully uncomfortable with going this far.
His voice had more character when he almost whispered, “I don't have a choice, Addileigh. That's not how this works.”
“Can't you just work for yourself?”
“It's his drugs, Addileigh. Do you think I make them myself?”
I felt my eyes well up, and everything became blurry, as I tried to conquer my worry for a man who probably still loved someone else.
Just as a salty warm tear ran down my cheek, my phone rang a doomsday tune, and I knew it was Mister. I didn't move an inch when Hunter’s curt tone made demands: “Just answer your phone. It's my problem.”
I pulled it from my pocket, still leaning against Hunter, forcing him into feeling my presence.
Mister.
I pushed my phone to my ear and waited for him to speak once he realized it was no longer ringing. “I've been texting you. You haven't been to class.”
His desperation was heavy, and he was whispering, which meant he was getting sloppy; his wife must be in earshot.
“I'm not your girlfriend or daughter,” my voice was equally saturated in disgust as Hunter’s. It never worked, how much I didn't want him now only turned him on more. Mister loved the chase, especially when my taste was probably still lingering somewhere in his mouth.
“Don't be like that. I need to see you.”
I felt my eyes roll at the thought. This guy couldn't take a hint, and nothing was getting him to forget me.
“Hard pass.”
“Addileigh, you're gonna be in big trouble if you keep that attitude up.” I heard the unmistakable jingle of his belt unbuckling, and I knew my words were only making it worse. I should have blocked his number the minute I told Hunter how I felt.
Hunter needed me to pick him, putting actions behind my words.
“Look, I don't think—”
He cut me off before I could even think of the next words. “I know you aren't trying to end our arrangement, Addileigh. I could write one email to the dean, and you'll be thrown out of Amherst.”
I pulled away from Hunter, and my worry came crashing back. Nothing I would say to our dean would be taken seriously. I already confessed to none of the scandal being true, even though it was too late to make a difference. Oliver moved to Boston to be with Layla already. I strategically left Mister out of it, and now I was having serious regrets.