“I don’t know. You tell me!” I unintentionally shout.
He frowns and tilts his head, eyes examining me from top to bottom. He doesn’t say anything for a long while. Girls swoon and whistle as they pass. Guys come up and pat him on the shoulder, congratulating him on another win. The world passes us by before he finally decides to speak.
“I did nothing wrong.” Yeah, right. “Liv, Liv!” He chases after me as I walk away.
“What?” I snap, turning around and pushing him away from me. When I pull my hands away, blood smears them. I quickly look around, nervous and expectant. I close my eyes and take a step back, willing myself and the blood away.
“What is it? What do you see?” His voice is ultra-soft as he steps closer. He takes my wrists in his hands, thumbing my fingers away from my palms. I slowly release them, and the blood is still there. “Shit. I’m sorry.” He uses the inside of his shirt to wipe the blood away.
I stiffen and start crying. He’s actually wiping blood away from my hands. That means something. And it makes me burst into tears.
“Hey, hey, hey. Don’t cry. Baby, why are you crying?” He bends down and gently swipes his thumbs under my eyes, catching tears from my eyelids. They wipe away tears running down my flushed cheeks. “Liv, talk to me. Please.”
“I want to go home.” I step out of his hold, and his hands drop. “Let’s go home.”
He looks hurt but straightens and nods, watching me with concern. “Okay. But I’ll just be dropping you off. I have some things to do tonight.”
My stomach drops. Images of That Night in Miami flash behind my eyes, and I jump forward, taking his hands and tugging.
“Liv, what are you—?” he starts, looking scared and really puzzled.
“No. I want to go with you.” I need to be by his side so he doesn’t do anything stupid. Again.
His face hardens, and he shakes his head no. “I don’t think you should come with.”
“Why not?” I narrow my eyes. “Are you hiding something?”
Tell me you are so we can fix this. Please. Let me in, idiot, I plead with my eyes.
But he just sighs heavily and shakes his head. “I guess not.” He chews on his lip, then nods to himself. “Okay, I have a few friends to introduce you to anyway. Not the best guys, but they’re okay.” He smiles toothily. I want to knock them out, knock some sense into them.
Half an hour later, we pull up in front of a Spanish restaurant named Maria’s Refugio, but it doesn’t look open.
You have to be kidding. Maria’s safe haven? Is this a refuge place for criminals?
“Doesn’t look open,” I comment to Grey as he opens the car door for me. I step out and shiver against the cold December wind. He puts his jacket on me, rubs my shoulder as we walk in.
“The guys are in back playing poker,” he says and opens the door using a key under a potted plant. He guides me in and walks to the back, pacing bistro tables and chairs with familiarity.
“Do you come here often?” I quiz him, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
He shakes his head, then shrugs, glancing at me with a small smirk. “Every once in a while. I can’t be all soft and cuddly with you every day, babe.” Apparently.
We enter the kitchen and walk past stoves and metal tables, ending up in front of a wooden door. He opens that, and we enter a sort of storage room. And then a huge metal door that I’m guessing is the freezer. He does a little knock, and I stare at him, wondering if we’re walking into a trap. I close my eyes, will the thought away.
The door makes a grinding sound as it’s pushed open.
We enter.
Ice runs down my spine as I take in the scene. Misplaced crates and beaten-up boxes clutter the room. There are two stone steps that lead to a miniature poker table, with men wearing leather and scars and nasty scowls. The one dim light swings back and forth as the man who let us in walks back to the table.
“Finally, we were thinking you were too pussy to face me again,” the guy who let us in says. I squint through the dim lighting and note he’s younger than the rest of the men, who look like they have seen some things in their time. He grins at Grey.
“As if, Ricky. I can whoop your ass blindfolded,” Grey jokes, and the other men whistle and make noises, some laughing while others are too focused on the game to react.
“Who’s the pretty lady?” a man sitting in the dark, away from the light over the table, asks. His voice is thick with a Spanish accent; I almost didn’t understand him.
Grey takes my hand and walks us closer; my heart beats out of control as we get closer. His face begins to shine through the light, and I hold my breath as I see who it is. I’ve researched his name, his family’s crimes, memorized the scar running across his dark eyes that have seen dead bodies and boats filled with all kinds of narcotics.
“This is my girl, Olivia,” Grey introduces with a smile, like he doesn’t know who he’s talking to. Rather, what he is talking to: a monster.
“Olivia,” the man says. The way he says it, rolls his tongue, making the others chuckle, makes me freeze with a stomach full of sickness. My skin prickles with goosebumps. I hate the way he says my name. Hate the way it sounds on his tongue.
“Liv, this is Ale, short for Alejandro,” Grey says, and my stomach drops.
He has a nickname for this man? How well do they know each other? Something tells me that I don’t want to know.
Chapter Thirty
Pure, unadulterated fear courses through me, slowly winding its way through my veins, gripping tightly and forcing me into a silent shock. I’m unable to run away, screaming in fear. Unable to do anything but allow Grey to pull us toward this monster, toward the danger. I want to scream: do you not see the danger this man poses? Does his scar not tell you he isn’t someone to befriend or give nicknames to?
But all I can do is sit down in the plastic fold-out chair beside him, listen to him introduce me to the other, less scary men, but still scary enough to make me flinch just the slightest as they say hello to me. They seem friendly enough. If I didn’t know they were friends with the head monster staring at me right now, I’d think they were kind. Most likely not involved in the mob too.
I think I’m going to vomit.
Grey rubs my lower back, whispering in my ear, “You okay?” Oh, so now he notices my discomfort? I look into his eyes and discreetly ask: Do you see my fear too? Or is that blinded by your stupidity?
I give him a nod with a blank face. Face away from him. I stare at the table, where large amounts of bills are stacked, poker chips and jewelry thrown into the pot in the middle of the table. I feel frozen, like the real Bambi caught in the lion’s den. And he’s ready to pounce whenever he wants to. Lunge at me and tear me apart, piece by piece…and Grey’s brought me right onto the big lion’s lap. I feel so…sick.
“¿Te gustaría algo?” a feminine voice says in my ear. (Would you like some?)
I jump and sit back, looking over my shoulder. A few men laugh at my reaction, and I blush hard. An older woman wearing a yellow dress gestures to me with a pretty china pot and a matching tea cup.
“¿Te gustaría un poco de té, cariño?” Lorenzo asks, voice deep and drawling. Dripping with venom. (Would you like some tea, honey?)
I shiver at “darling” but shake my head. “No, gracias.”
“Ah,” Lorenzo says as he lights up a cigar, blowing huge clouds of smoke in the already dense air. I swallow thickly. “¿Tu hablas Español?” he asks, squinting his dark eyes. I squirm just the slightest with his eyes looking me up and down like that. “You speak Spanish?”
Afraid to open my mouth and speak, I nod.
He nods slowly…then asks, “¿Cómo aprendiste?” (How did you learn?)
“Años de aprendizaje. Mucha practica,” I tell him, my voice wavering. Low, frightened. I fidget with my bracelet, hands in my lap. A larger hand touches my wrist, and I jump. Grey frowns down at me but doesn’t say anything, only squeezes my wrist a little as if
to say, “You good?” No, you idiot. I am not good. I’m surrounded by criminals! (Years of learning. A lot of practice.)
“Me gusta eso. Dedicación. Dice mucho sobre una persona,” Lorenzo’s deep, scratchy voice says. Like he’s smoked one too many shipments of illegal cigars. (I like that. Dedication. It says a lot about a person.)
Yeah. So does a mugshot…
“You all right? I can ask Maria to come back, give you some tea. You look kind of pale,” Grey leans over to whisper in my ear.
No shit! I scream in my head.
“Oh, no. I’m fine.” I shake my head.
“Are you?” he begins, reaching for my hand.
“Yo, Grey, might wanna pay attention. Ricky’s reaching for your shit,” a man to Grey’s right announces.
“You little snitch bitch,” Ricky roars before punching the man’s shoulder. The man only laughs along with the other.
“Ya sabes lo que hacemos con los soplones, Oscar.” Lorenzo points his cigar at the man, giving off a hearty laugh that literally makes me shiver. (You know what we do with snitches, Oscar.)
Soplones, soplones, soplones, soplones… (Snitches, snitches, snitches…)
“Liv—” Grey reaches for my hand.
“I have to go.” I stand out of my chair so fast it tips over. Everyone watches me in deadly silence. My stomach churns, and I turn around and rush out of the room in fear and sickness. I run past Maria asking if I’m asking all right, offering me tea, and onto the sidewalk. I empty my stomach on the concrete and burst into tears of relief to be out in the open. Away from that God awful man, in that suffocating hiding spot.
“Olivia! Oh my God, you’re sick.” Grey runs out of the restaurant as I stand up straight, wobbly. Light-headed. He grabs me and pulls me to his car, opening it. His eyes are wide with worry, his face flushed with fear.
“No. I am not going in that car with you,” I tell him, pointing an accusing finger. He really thinks I’m okay with this? With him just casually hanging out with a murderer, a mob boss?
“What the hell are you talking about? Come back here.” He grabs my hands and spins me around. Dried blood coats my hands, and I stumble away. Closing my eyes, I can hear the blood-curdling screams, the gunfire, the ambulance, the heart-monitor going flat, beeping so loud. I’m afraid and pale and dying and—
“What is going on with you?” He cups my face, and I melt into his palms before I look into his eyes and glance at the safe haven’s sign behind him.
“Do not touch me, you fucking idiot!” I scream and push him away. A couple passes us, speeding up at the sight of vomit on the ground and me losing my mind.
He swallows and looks me up and down. “What the hell? Why are you calling me an idiot? Why are you acting so weird?”
I laugh maniacally and nod to myself. “I don’t know. Maybe it has something to do with the mob boss sitting in that restaurant!” I scream.
His eyes widen. “Keep your voice down.”
“Why should I? He’s a murderer!”
He slaps a hand on my mouth, eyes hard and voice soft. “I’m serious, Liv. You don’t want to be yelling that out.”
“Why not? He’s a bad guy.”
“You don’t know him like that.”
“Nor do I want to!” He sounds absolutely insane. How well does he know this man? Why is he protecting him? Is he an undercover FBI, befriending this man so he can bring him in or something? No. He was in a gang. Why wouldn’t he protect a fucking crime lord?
“Listen—” he starts.
“No, you listen.” Taking a step back, I inhale sharply and scream, “You are messing with fate yet again. After escaping that fucking gang, after I nearly lost my life, you are messing with that man! A dangerous criminal! I can’t tell if you’re fucking stupid or just really itching to have your life taken away. What? You want to be a big bad man so bad, you’re willing risk your life?”
He laughs tightly, eyes exploding with anger. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Then enlighten me, please,” I exclaim.
“He…” He sucks in a large breath and closes his eyes briefly before staring daggers into my own. “He’s just a family friend.”
“A family friend. Right. No, no, please continue to speak complete bullshit to me!”
“I’m telling the truth.” He throws his hands up in the air.
“I have met your family. They would never associate themselves with that criminal,” I spit.
“He’s not a criminal!” he seethes, looking like he wants to shake me.
“Then what do you call all the deaths he’s ordered? The shipments of illegal drugs? The prostitution ring he has?”
“Had.”
“What?”
“Had, Liv,” he reiterates, teeth grinding like metal. “He’s retired, Olivia. He doesn’t associate himself with that stuff anymore. He’s…he’s a changed man.”
“Bullshit!” He really is dumb, believing that that man is just suddenly changed from being one of the most wanted men in America to a decent man.
“I am telling the truth!” he exclaims. “He dropped out of that life over twenty years ago.”
“And why would he do that?” I ask.
“Because he lost his daughter because of it.” He looks hurt when he says it, like he knew her personally. I eye him for deceit, to see if he’s continuing to lie to me. But all I see is sincerity. Pain. Like he was throwing flowers on the girl’s casket.
“And you’re willing to lose me because of it too?” I step forward, and he frowns, watching me scowl at him. “You’re willing to risk everything, your fucking life, because of him? What has he done, and what is he being sought out for? The police will not give him a second chance, a pardon because he’s ‘changed.’ They want his head for all the ones that he took, probably his damn self.”
He closes his eyes and breathes sharply, because he knows I’m right. “My grandfather knew him. Was in the…life with him. He’s like an uncle to me.” His eyes fly open, and they rip through me like soft knives. “He would never let anything happen to me. To you. I’ve told him how much I love you, how much you mean to me…”
“Please do not talk about me to a psychopath.”
“He isn’t. Trust me.”
“No. I will trust the news articles, the photos, the videos—”
“Don’t you think I wouldn’t be here if I thought, even for a fraction of a second, that he would hurt you? Hurt me?” he snaps, losing his patience. Teeth grind, and his disorder slips through. He wants to strangle me for pushing him too hard. But too fucking bad. He is tempting fate for a man who supposedly is better after having families slaughtered.
“I don’t know anymore. It seems you’ve lost your fucking mind,” I whisper.
He blinks, steps back…then forward. “That hurt, Liv.”
“Good! I’m preparing you for the earth-splitting pain when you’re lying in a hospital bed with a tube shoved down your throat.” I turn on my heels, ready to take the bus, call Jaimie down to get me. I’m sure Julia can survive an hour without her girlfriend.
“Listen to me!” Frustrated and angry for not being listened to like the spoiled brat he is, he grabs my wrist and pulls me around. Time and time again of him doing the same thing to me in the past flood my mind, and I scream and yank at my wrists in defiance.
“Let me go, Grey!” I struggle, tugging and tugging, but it’s no use. He is too strong.
“Shut up and just listen to me!”
I stomp on his foot, and he winces in pain, letting my hands go.
“What the fuck—?” he hisses.
“I thought you were done with that life, Grey!” I scream at the top of my lungs, upsetting the atmosphere and the people walking by. His face softens as he watches tears fly down my face. Watches my hands shake with dried blood on them from touching him earlier. “I thought you were smart enough to distance yourself from the danger and the guns and the criminals…thought you cared about me en
ough to respect my one wish…for you to be done with that toxic life. But I guess not.” I turn around, unable to look into his eyes.
“Liv.” He walks around me, and I bite my inner cheek to keep from screaming out. He takes my hands, looks deeply into my eyes. “I am done. He just—he helped me when I really needed it. I’m just thanking him.”
“By giving up your life?”
“No, of course not. I’m done with that life.”
“Sure doesn’t look like it.”
“I am. I swear.” He laughs, dimples mocking me.
“This isn’t a laughing matter!” I snap, and he stops, regretful. I shake my head, the tears free-falling now. Faster and faster. “What could he have possibly helped you with that you would risk getting involved with him…a killer? A monster?”
His jaw locks at my adjectives for the man, but he doesn’t comment on them. “He…” He licks his lips, looks up at the stars covering the black sky. He looks back down, a few stars in his eyes. “He helped me with getting…getting Dean to confess.”
My stomach twists.
“W-what?”
He bites his lip, closes his eyes. “Him and a few of his…friends threatened him. Helped me kidnap him and get him to confess. I—I couldn’t let that prick stay out in the world, plotting to take me down and hurt you.” He drops my hands and cups my face. I am frozen. Close my eyes to avoid his as his thumbs rub against my skin. “I would have killed him, but I—I know I would have been caught, or worse. And I—I wanted him to rot for what he did, in a jail cell, not in a ditch.”
I open my eyes, queasy and mouth dry. “You weren’t lying when you said you’d kill for me in the car earlier.”
He doesn’t answer, but he shakes his head slightly.
“Let go of me.”
“What?”
“I said to let go of me.” I grip his wrist and pry them from my face. “I don’t. I can’t—can’t be around you.” I turn on my feet. I feel unsteady. I am unsteady.
Grey: Everlasting (Spectrum Series Book 6) Page 22
