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I lowered my feet from where I’d rested them on a vacant chair. “All right. Where is the mystery girl?”
“She wants to meet you at the car cemetery. She seems to share your sense of morbidity.”
“And his level of crazy if she meets with Nevio at a place where he could dump her body,” Alessio added.
Adamo gave me a hard look. “No bodies. What you did to Gigimo was enough. This is my last warning, Nevio.”
“She’ll live,” I said as I stretched out my arms. “I don’t see how she could piss me off enough to make me want to kill her.”
“You want to kill pretty much everyone,” Alessio said. “Do you need moral support?” I answered his mocking grin with my middle finger.
After a yawn and stretch, I rose from the chair, strode over to my car, and got in. I missed the comfort of my RAM. The hard suspension of the Mustang was a nuisance.
The drive to the cemetery took me thirty minutes. I tried to remember any French girls from my past, but my mind came up blank. It wasn’t surprising, though, considering I’d even forgotten my night with Rory, who overshadowed every other girl in my past.
A rental Toyota Yaris waited on the gravel parking lot next to the car graveyard. Over the years, Adamo and other racers had buried the remains of their cars in the dusty ground. Now dozens of cars emerged from the ground like dominos.
I came to a stop with my bumper facing the other car’s bumper and got out.
I could see a woman sitting behind the steering wheel. She didn’t look happy to see me. Maybe this would end in a tirade. Who knew what I’d done after I’d fucked her. It must have been bad if she hunted me down more than a year later to give me a piece of her mind. This could be fun.
Finally, the driver’s door opened and she got out. Adamo was right. She was tall and had good curves, but she definitely wasn’t dressed to impress today. She wore simple jeans and tight tee plus flip-flops and no makeup. I hoped she hadn’t forgone her face paint because she planned to ugly cry. She’d soon realize that crying didn’t work on me.
She hadn’t pulled the keys from the ignition so she was preparing for a quick escape. My interest was piqued. Her face didn’t conjure up any memories. I couldn’t even say if she was my type. I had been a mood fucker. One night, I picked the tall, model type who turned everyone’s head, and one night, the wallflower who gave you the blow job of a lifetime, risking lasting damage to her throat in gratitude for picking her.
She stopped in her tracks and looked at me, her expression filled with anxiety. “You don’t remember me, right?”
I shoved my hands into my pockets. “No, not at all.”
“I figured,” she said, her eyes darting to her car. I had a feeling there was someone in there. Did she bring her new lover for support?
Narrowing my eyes, I stalked toward the back door and opened it. She didn’t stop me, only watched.
I froze when I spotted a small child in a dirty child seat in the back seat. He was only in a diaper, which was probably enough in the blistering heat outside but not in the AC air inside the car.
I took a step back and glared at the woman. “I want a fucking explanation, and I want it ASAP, or this is going to become a very unpleasant experience for you.”
She came toward us and picked up the child, a boy I would guess from his facial features, from the seat. She held him as if he was a dirty mutt she’d found on the street and couldn’t wait to drop off at a shelter.
I had a fucking bad feeling about this.
She held him out to me in her outstretched arms. The boy stared at me with wide eyes.
Fuck it.
“He’s yours.” She tried to hand him over to me again. I took a step back, staring at the kid, then at the woman.
She put him down on the hot desert ground, and he crawled toward her legs, trying to be picked up again. The ground was probably blistering.
“Put that fucking towel under him or pick him up,” I snarled.
She reached for the dirty towel on the floorboard, thrust it on the ground, and set him down on it. “Stay,” she said impatiently as if he were a disobedient dog.
She met my gaze. “He’s your son.”
I shook my head. My son? What the fuck? I’d forgotten a condom on occasion in the past. Was this really coming back to bite me in the ass now?
“How do I know he’s mine?”
