“Dario.” I huff. “Listen, Peachy. He has someone very important to me. I have to find him. But I’m learning I don’t know shit about my twin.”
“Ms. Jones, I know. There’s an APB out. Sorry.”
There’s no time for apologies. I grill her as palm trees glide by in the darkness. “Where’d Dario like to frequent for lunch when you worked together? Did he mention any places he went on downtime? For the past few years, I’ve seen my hermano play video games and online gambling. Nothing more.”
“Dom, I’m so sorry. These are questions the team is currently dissecting.”
We hang up as I glide along the windy path to the front of my house. My heart falls at the sight of all the dark windows. As I start to get out, a prompt on the radio faceplate notifies me of a call from Yasiel.
Damn, I don’t have time for his mouth, but something warns me to answer. “Aye, Yasiel, when Aria tutors you for math, has she ever mentioned meeting D—”
The kid’s sour tone cuts me off. “Education isn’t why I called you, Dom.”
“Escúchame, Yasielito! You must answer my questions. During tutoring, does she ever mention meeting Dario? And where they might meet?” I strangle on the words. It’s hard to believe history is repeating itself—that she’s seeing him and me.
“Oh, I must answer you! Aria and I zoom on Tuesdays and Thursdays. She’s beautiful and nice. You ain’t shit, Dominic, rushing her off the way you did. I’m the pobrecito? You knew I was pissed when you blew me off after those Colombian pendejos. Now, you blow me off again. Can’t say a word, huh?”
I cut in. “When did I blow you off, Yasiel?”
“Ten minutes ago. Fuck this; fuck you.” He has to be snatching the phone away from his ear as he mutters how I compared myself to an uncle. He disconnects the call.
I dial his number, and it rings. I growl out a message. “Answer me, por favor!”
The second time I call, the connection launches another voicemail. “Joder!” I holler, squeezing my cellphone. When it lights up in my hand, I press the speaker. “Hello!”
Yasiel snaps, “And another thing—”
“It wasn’t me, Yasiel. You saw Dario. Was Aria with him? Was she okay?” A few beats of silence skyrocket my heart rate.
“Dario? You saying he brushed me off? My bad. Aria seemed a little off, but she was okay—still pretty.” He shares the street corners where he’s at. “How far are you, Dom? He was acting weird.”
“I understand.” I move my hand over to the back of the passenger headrest and navigate out the driveway. “I’m coming from my place. Be there soon. Stay with the knuckleheads I’m always preaching about. I need to call the cops.”
“Nah. You’re too far, Dom. I’m Cubano. We handle our own shit.”
“Stay away, Yasiel.”
Once again, the call clicks off. But instead, this time, my phone has powered off. All the attempts I made to call Aria over the past few months come to mind. Dario has to be behind the disconnect, and he’s the reason my iPhone is inoperable now.
Chapter Seventy-Nine
Aria
Dario slices a bright light in front of my spotted gaze. My teeth chatter, heart missing every other beat in my chest. Tiny goose pimples ride along my skin, though I doubt it’s because he removed my clothes, leaving me in panties and bra only.
“Your blood rate was elevated. It’s called vasoconstricting. One of the first cases I was on, doing surveillance with Carrington, there was a perp who bled his victims. I learned the term then. When the vasoconstricting process fails, mami, your heart rate slows. Only a matter of time now.”
Dario lifts a half-filled bucket with a dark red liquid. That’s where the drip-drop was coming from—my blood. I silently sob.
He gestures toward his ear with a wicked smile. “You’re not gagged, mi amor. Lemme hear that beautiful cry.”
“I hate you,” I murmur.
“Good for you. Now back to the cellphone.” Again, a bright light burns my retinas.
“That’s a tiny tracker. Dom appears to be headed in the right direction. Also, I disabled his phone. I’d wager he didn’t call 911, but this is my world—these are things I know. He tried Carlotta. Spoke to Peachy. Don’t get your hopes up. Putas don’t make good detectives.”
“Screw you, Dario.”
His hand slithers along my hip. “I could be screwing you, LeAnna, but you don’t act right. Oh, also, Dominic called the niño pobre.” In a rhythmic one-two step, Dario moves to the side. The edges of my vision are frayed, but in the center is Yasiel, lying in a heap on the floor.
I screech. “Nooooo! Is he—”
“Not yet. Dominic will watch you both die. Since he treated this pendejo like a hermano!” His boot slams into Yasiel’s ribs.
“No!” My vision fades as tears blind me. “Let me down, Dario. Your problem is with me. Fight me. Not him.”
His sensual lips snarl. “I already won.”
My spirit flickers as if existence and Zion are merging into one. At first, I rationalize that I’m looking at myself in a dream until a hand reaches up and cups my face. My refection isn’t five-year-old ReAnna. She’s the same age as me.
“You will not let him win, Le,” my twin says.
I clasp the back of her hand, holding her to me. “You’re not dead?”
She shakes her head. “I’m alive. You never missed a piece of you, LeAnna. Guilt consumed you, but you have no idea what it feels like to mourn part of your soul dying. I have no desire to feel that if you let him win. Don’t let him win.”
“Don’t go . . .” I croak, the feel of her sinking into me—the glow of her skin fading peacefully. “Don’t go, Re. Reanna, please stay.”
“You’ll bleed out, here, Le. Return to him. Use your voice, sis, win.”
Sucking in air, Lalaland crashes around me. Every surface of my skin hurts. I hadn’t felt my wrists screaming, being held over my head before, but I do now. Blood cakes my lips and jaw. Biting my eyes closed to the hurricane of a headache, I speak. “Why do they call you El Santo? The Saint. The Good One.”
“I’m the good one, LeAnna.”
Dario’s attractive face comes to fruition. The bristles of his jaw offset by a devious, delectable mouth. I keep my eyes there, recalling how I craved the taste of him. “But you’re killing me. I love—”
“C’mon, chula.” His mouth descends on mine. “Lie better.”
The thought hits me—the only ammunition I ever had or needed. I snap, “I’m repulsed by you, Dario. Even if I’m still pregnant with your baby.”
Concern flashes across his face as he looks me up and down.
“Would a saint murder his child?”
“You hate me, LeAnna?”
Body swaying, wrists screaming, I shriek, “Yes!”
“Then I could keep you captive until you’re full term. Gut my baby outta you!” He clinches my stomach.
“Do it!” My eyes land on movement over Dario’s shoulder. To stay conscious, I play on the possibility that Dominic is wielding the wrench his brother tossed earlier.