Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 80139 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80139 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
“Then why?”
“Because life is made at the crossroads,” she said.
I frowned.
“When roads meet, choices are made. One way or another. Good or bad. Toward light or away from it. You may not always know where a road leads, but you will know something about why you chose it.”
I crossed my arms. “That sounds like church.”
“It is bigger than church.”
I rolled my eyes again.
“You will have decisions to make, Cruz. All your life. Some small. Some so large they will feel impossible.” She squeezed my hand. “When you stand at those crossroads, you must try to make the right ones.”
“What if I don’t know which ones are right?”
“Then listen harder.”
“To what?”
“To God. To your conscience. To the voice inside you.” She smiled. “To me.”
I didn’t understand.
Not then.
I only understood that she wouldn’t tell me my father’s name. That there was a man somewhere in the world who might know about me or might not, might care or might not, might come someday or might never come at all.
“Leaving without saying goodbye, Cruz?”
I stand beside the stolen car with my hand still on the door handle.
For a split second, I’m twelve again at the kitchen table, Mamá’s hand around mine, her voice telling me life is made at the crossroads.
Then I’m a grown man with blood still visible under my nails, a fake passport in my pocket, a dead grandmother inside the house, and the woman who helped mold me into a criminal standing at my back.
A crossroads.
Of course.
I should have known.
I turn.
Adriana stands near the side gate, one hand resting lightly against the iron latch.
Cream silk blouse. Dark trousers. Hair pulled back. Sunglasses tucked into the front of her shirt. Red mouth. Gold earrings. No visible weapon.
But Adriana never needed to be armed to be dangerous.
She stares at me. At my bruised jaw. My split knuckles. The dirty shirt. “You’ve looked better.”
I don’t reply.
She glances toward the porch.
Zabala’s body isn’t fully visible from where she stands, but the blood is. Enough of it.
“Did you kill him?” Her tone is nonchalant, as if she’s asking if I broke a glass.
“Yes.”
A faint smile touches her mouth. “Finally.”
“Finally?”
“I couldn’t stand the motherfucker.”
I stare at her. “Señora Valentina is dead.”
Adriana’s face doesn’t change. “Unfortunate.”
My blood boils. This woman practically raised me, and Adriana is dismissing her like she was an inconvenience. Like a flat tire on the way to work. Not a living, breathing human being who put more good into the world as a brothel keeper than this snake of a woman could ever hope to do.
But I take a deep breath. Because letting my emotions get the best of me is exactly what Adriana wants right now.
I take one step toward her. “Did you send him?”
“No.”
“Did Vega?”
“Zabala was following orders.”
“Whose orders?”
She simply sighs. “You’ve made quite a mess.”
I grit my teeth. “Yes.”
“But not an irreparable one.”
I almost laugh. “There’s no repairing this.”
“There is if you come with me.” She extends a hand.
I stare at her. “You expect me to believe that?”
“I expect you to listen.”
“You expect me to go back to Vega.”
“Yes.”
“After Robin.”
“Yes.”
I raise an eyebrow. “After Zabala.”
“Especially after Zabala.”
I shake my head once. “I’m not a moron, Adriana. I know what Vega does to traitors.” I look toward the street. “How many men are coming?”
Her smile deepens. “That depends on what you do next.”
I scoff. “Right.”
“Vega is willing to overlook your role in Robin Bellamy’s breakout.”
I say nothing.
“And Zabala’s death.”
I laugh at that. “You’re good at lying, Adriana, but not that good.”
She twists her lips. “Señor Vega understands mistakes.”
I let out a humorless chuckle. “I’ve heard the screams outside his office. I’ve heard the cracking of bones, the pleas for mercy. Don’t try to tell me he understands mistakes. You’re not here to save me. I know that. You’re here to sweet-talk me into coming back with you so he can deal with me himself. Not happening.”
She sighs, and for a moment, her eyes look almost sad. “There was a time when you were smarter than this.”
“There was a time when I thought you were human.”
Sadness turns to anger. Then, instantly, back to a smile. “You’re understandably upset.”
“I’m done.”
“With Vega?”
“With all of it.”
She steps closer. “You’re not done with me.”
Every lesson my body learned from her wakes at once. The old electricity. The deep memory of her hand on my cheek, her mouth near my ear.
Vomit rises in my throat.
How many times did this seduction work?
Too many.
She would touch me.
Kiss me.
Reward my obedience before I agreed to obey. Make my body betray me.
She reaches for my face.
I catch her wrist before she touches me.
Her eyes flare.
“Don’t,” I say.
She squints. “You used to like my hands on you.”
“I used to be a child.”
She tilts her head. “You were old enough to know what you wanted.”
“No.” I tighten my grip. “I was old enough for you to use what I wanted.”