“I don’t want to die!” He wails, now fighting me. His weak attempts only make this sweeter.
“Did you know my mother was supposed to fly out in two weeks to Chicago? We’d planned it, but it’d become difficult when she caught a small cold and we decided to push it back.” This time my foot kicks his chest and he falls over, trying to breathe through the burn. “She was supposed to meet my girl and love her as much as I do.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Your apologies mean shit,” I snarl, lip curling up in disgust. In pure hatred for this piece of shit not worthy of breath. Gino coughs when I remove my foot, but his reprieve is short lived when I lean forward and land the first punch to his face. I don’t stop after one and rain down blow after blow to his mouth, nose, and the corner of his left eye.
The skin becomes red, his flesh breaking just above his orb and still, it’s not enough.
My fist doesn’t pause. My anger won’t simmer.
“Por favor. No more.”
“I’ll only stop when you’re dead.” The car picks up speed then and I look up, catching Alejandro’s eyes in the rear view mirror. He nods and Emiliano turns in his seat, reaching back to open the van’s door. “Thank you.”
“Enjoy yourself.”
“Oh, I will.” Then I’m leaning the bitch over and smirk as his screams rend the open road. He’s cursing, crying, but nothing fills my heart with peace like the sound of flesh rubbing off on asphalt. His face leaves behind a bloody streak from one end to the other, and back again when we make a circle back. Gino’s body convulses in pain, fighting and squirming, and the scent of his piss infiltrates my senses when he soils himself again.
I pull him up, and half his face and scalp is gone. His eyeball is missing.
“...” he slurs, but it’s unintelligible and I scrunch up my face in mock concern.
“What was that?” His head lulls back, and spit mixed with blood dribbles down his chin. So nasty. “You want more?”
Head shaking, a few tears roll down his good eye. “No.”
“Si.”
“Please…compassion.”
For a second, I nod. Give him false hope before elbowing him in the one eye he has left and lowering him a final time out of the van’s door. I’m holding him a little above the moving asphalt. His squinting eye is trying to focus on me, his body no longer fighting.
“Javi, I—”
“Thank me.”
It takes him a moment, but he does. It’s low and weak and I shoot him twice in the head before dumping his body over.
It bounces off the paved road, lying still and waiting for the birds to arrive. They don’t take long; the scavengers wait nearby on trees and watch—wait for opportunities to present themselves.
“Are you heading straight to the airport from here?” Emiliano says as the sight of Gino’s corpse becomes distant, and I turn my face to meet his eyes. “Or are you picking anything up? We can handle the cleanup alone.”
“I'm taking Chulo. She loves him.”
“Then I’ll text Lourdes to have him and your bags ready. Let's get you back to Mariah.”
Closing my eyes, I nod and sit back. Relax a bit knowing I'm going home.
I miss you, Muñeca.
25
It's almost two in the afternoon and I'm restless. Unable to sit still while this invisible pressure weighs on my chest. What is wrong with me?
Something inside me is unable to rest, and for a Friday afternoon that makes no sense. Not when I have the weekend off and Malcolm demands I disconnect from work.
No phone calls. No helping with last-minute demands from clients.
My eyes flick to my cell phone, and I glare at the screen. Javier hasn’t called in days, and I’m fearing the worst while hoping for the best. This uncertainty is gnawing at my gut, and I’m going to punch him in the mouth before kissing him stupid the next time I see him.
No contact in days is unacceptable. You go silent when hunting. One of the few lessons my father imparted that I understand. Distractions can get you killed, and while I hate it—loathe the silence—I understand the why.
Touching someone’s mother is forbidden, and when that line is crossed you act swiftly and without humanity. No conscious thought.
I’m still going to give him hell for making me—
“You look like you need a coffee break,” my cousin asks, standing in front of my desk with a cup of coffee from my favorite shop, but all it does is make me miss Javier more. Wish that he were here bugging me instead; pushing me and taking my body as he did the night before I flew back.
I'll never forget that cabin deep in the jungle. The way he fucked me, then loved me and fed me a delicious dinner in bed afterward.
I want that man again. The side of him that only I'll see when the day is over and we no longer have to respond to titles and expectations.
I miss him. I love him.
“Thanks.” Grabbing the cup, I bring it to my lips and take a sip. My brows furrow and head tilts to the side; the brew is too perfect. Just the right temp and sugar versus caffeine ratio. It also reminds me of every cup Javier has brought me thus far.
Of his smiles when I’d grumble.
Of his knowing eyes when I’d bite back a caffeinated moan.
“Nice to see you smile.”
“Unless you have some kind of cake behind your back, shut it.” And the gloating jerk only nods toward my desk and the open light pink box that sits there. They’re from the same bakery as my drink, and containing the baked goods I’ve been craving for the past seven days of this week. “How?”
“Just thought you’d need a pick-me-up. You’ve been off for days.” He’s staring at me pointedly, and I feel a twinge of shame. This isn’t a life I don’t understand, I know to expect the unpredictability, but it doesn’t negate that when someone you love is involved, things change.
“That bad?” I ask sheepishly, giving him innocent eyes that he sees through.
“Do you want the truth or a bullshit-praising deviation of reality?”
“Touché.” Taking another sip, I breathe in deep and let it out slowly. “Has he contacted you?”
“Not in days, but we both know he’s fine.” The concern in his tone catches me off guard, and I raise a brow. “Just because I don’t cry into my cereal doesn’t mean I don’t like the guy, Mariah. He’s good to and for you. That’s enough for me.”
“So, you approve?”
“Do you need my approval?”
“No.” He laughs at my response while bringing his wrist up, checking the time on his watch. “Shut everything off; we have somewhere to be.”
On instinct, I check the notepad to my right and don’t see anything scheduled for this afternoon. “We don’t have—”
“Shut it down and gather your things. We’re cutting out early.”
“Sure thing, boss. Let me jump into action,” I say with false elation laced with sarcasm.
“Good. And hurry.” And to be a jerk, he takes my box of goodies because he knows I’ll follow.
I’m half tempted to flip him off but choose instead to roll my eyes and do as he says. There’s not much to do and I log off, tear the page off my notepad, and store the items no longer needed. Clear space, clear head.