The need to never feel beautiful.
“Luisa,” Javier said quietly. His gaze held me even when I wanted to look away. “You know I don’t care.”
I anxiously rubbed my lips together before saying, “About what?”
“What you’re worried about.”
He reached out and ran the tip of his finger along the scar that one of Esteban’s men had left on my chest, the one that led all the way to my stomach. The scar he left before he raped me. Before they all did.
I could still see them, could still smell them, even when I didn’t close my eyes. They were always there. They had permeated my soul.
I shuddered and Javier abruptly took his hand away. A few heavy beats passed between us.
He swallowed. “We can get past this,” he said thickly.
I couldn’t answer because I didn’t know what he meant. There was so fucking much to get past now, how could we ever get ahead.
“It’s just skin,” he added.
“No.” I stared up at the ceiling fan. “It’s not just skin. It’s a memory. My skin remembers.”
He breathed in sharply. “Does it remember me at all?”
I turned my head to look at him, taken aback by the rawness in his voice.
“I hope it will,” I said.
I hope that more than anything, I thought.
He held my gaze and I could see that frustration and impatience mount. He was thinking that Esteban was out there still and all the damage was in here.
***
“Here you are,” Javier’s voice rose above the crashing waves.
I turned my head, hugging my shawl close to me as he walked out onto the beach barefoot, in linen pants and a dress shirt. He was holding two glasses of red wine. It was hard to get the good stuff in El Salvador, let alone the reserves that we owned back in Mexico, but it would do for now.
At the moment, it seemed like everything would do for now.
We’d been at the safe house on the beach for just over two weeks. Everyone was well-fed, well taken care of, but tensions were high.
With no action at all, the criminals needed an outlet and one was found wandering around the bedroom while I was trying to take a shower. Needless to say, Javier showed up and shot him on the spot. Diego was berated for letting his guard down for one second, though I wouldn’t and couldn’t blame the man. He’d done so much for me, for all of us, already.
Me, I felt myself spin the other way, toward fear, sucked in a big black hole I couldn’t quite crawl out of. I shut down and closed myself off from everyone, including my husband. It just wasn’t worth the risk.
Meanwhile word had gotten out that Javier was no longer in Puente Grande. The prison director was sacked, the warden was found beheaded in a ditch and a handful of guards went missing.
As predicted, Evaristo was on the chopping block for that fiasco. He promptly disappeared from the agency, having already put a new life in place. Javier found it grossly amusing that Evaristo had taken on the identity of a priest, Father Armando, but desperate times seemed to call for desperate measures. At the house he was still Evaristo but when he went out into the nearest towns for supplies or recon, he was Father Armando, complete with the whole black-robbed garments.
No one here seemed to be living anymore. We were just existing. Waiting. It’s funny how far revenge can drive you, you’re willing to give up so much for just one sweet taste.
I still wanted mine. It’s all I ever thought about. The more Javier, Evaristo and Diego scanned networks and emails and plotted and mapped, searching for him, the more despondent they got. But me, all I could think about was murdering the man who put us all here. After a while even my guilt seemed to abate, just long enough for me to believe I had the right to kill him as I saw fit. After that was done, then I would deal with everything else I had shoved aside.
Including my husband. Now Javier had handed me the glass of wine, reaching out to me when I’d been anything but receptive.
I took the glass from him, thanking him quietly.
He eased himself down on the log beside me.
“How is your shoulder?” he asked. Normally I’d say he was making conversation but I’d barely seen him lately. Most of the time I slept. Dreamed of blood.
I pressed the small bump on my collarbone where it had broken. I didn’t need a sling anymore, which was good. “It’s fine. I can’t lift my arm over my head or far out to the sides but at least I can use it now.”
He nodded and brought his attention out to the waves. They pounded against the shore, sending ocean spray into the air that only seemed to add to the heat. “It’s been dead-end after dead-end.” He sighed angrily. “I know you said revenge is a dish best served cold but the longer this takes … the more I fear we’ll never get him.”