“I tried! I thought you wanted us away from you, Skull! I tried to make it back to you!”
“You never would have been away from me if you had told me everything from the beginning. I never would have had a traitor in my ranks. You never would have taken my child away from me,” he adds, and with each statement, he advances on me until finally I’m backed up against the wall and there’s nowhere for me to go. He wraps his hands around my neck, exerting enough pressure that I think he might choke me. My eyes go wide and I’m afraid to move. This is not the man I remember. This Skull, he’s cold, hard, and deadly. This Skull is full of hate, and it’s all directed at me.
He leans in close, his breath filtering out against my ear and down my neck. It sends shivers through me, a mixture of fear and need. “If you had told me the truth, my beautiful tigresa, none of this would have happened.”
“I did it to protect you.”
The pressure on my throat increases until the air refuses to come. My hands go to his in reflex. His black eyes are shining with emotion, but instead of the love or need I’ve dreamed of seeing there, they are full of anger.
“Instead, you made me a tramposo! You had me cheat on our wedding vows!” His hands clench before letting off the pressure. I take the air back into my lungs, but concentrate on his words.
“We were never married!” I scream out, not wanting to think of Skull with another woman, the idea nearly gutting me. Doesn’t he know how much it cost me to let him go? Doesn’t he care that I tried to protect him and keep him safe? How did this get to be all my fault? I’ve been without him for years, too, and I didn’t go to another man. I didn’t even think about it.
“We never will be, now. I would not have you now even if you begged me, Beth. Me das asco,” he hurls at me. He doesn’t know I’ve learned Spanish since I’ve been gone, or he doesn’t care. Probably the latter. But I know. I know, and his words still any fight I have inside of me.
I disgust him. As he walks off, slamming the door and locking it, I sink to the floor and do what I’ve done all day.
I cry.
I close the door on Beth’s cries. Her tears won’t do her any good. I’m not the man I was. I will never be him again. I go to the nursery to check on Gabriella. Gabriella. She named mi hija after my mom. Was that just a trick, too? A card she could play when her back was against the wall?
Gabriella is sleeping in her crib. My daughter. My hands shake as I reach out to brush a stray curl from her forehead.
“She’s beautiful,” Annie says, coming up behind me.
Sabre and Latch brought her here to keep her safe, but to also help me make sure Gabriella is taken care of when I can’t be with her. I wasn’t grandstanding talking to Beth. I have so much anger at her right now that I want to punish her. I want her to hurt like I hurt. Like she made me hurt.
“Si. She reminds me of mi madre.”
“She looks just like you.”
I smile at the words as pride slides through me. She does. She looks like me. It feels good having that acknowledged.
“Did you put the monitor in my room?” I ask her.
“Yes, just like you asked. But I’ll be here until Sabre and Latch get back with Lucy.”
“Thank you, Annie. You are a diamante among inmundo perlas,” I tell her, but I don’t wait around for a reply. Instead, I leave and head out of the building.
I make my way to the club’s garage. Once inside, I open the trapdoor to the basement. I climb down into it and turn on the light. Standing in front of me chained from the ceiling by his hands and dangling a good two feet from the floor is Pistol. His face is a bloody mess, swollen beyond recognition. His knees have been taped and semi-repaired by Dr. Torres. She’s a fucking hot piece of work. Why couldn’t I have fallen for someone like her? Hot sex, uncomplicated… if only I could feel any of that beyond the pain I feel right now.
The florescent fixture buzzes and then clicks before lighting all the way. Pistol is naked. He’s missing most of his toes now, and his ass has been cut by a mixture of my knife, broken bottles, and other objects. I figured, if he’s going to fuck with me, I might as well show him how to take it like a man. Blood has run and dried down his legs. His ribs are purple, but nowhere near as scary-looking as it was last week. I know a couple are broken, but he’s still breathing, so they must have not punctured a lung.
I stand there watching him, taping my hands up. I think he opens an eye. It’s such a fucking mess, who could be sure?