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"Maybe. Probably." A movement I couldn't make out shook the bed. "Not that I would blame him. You've probably figured out a way to look like you're sleeping while slithering out of the room like a snake."
"Maybe I have."
He didn't respond, only to shake his head at me.
"Why do you work for him anyhow?" I had to ask.
"I don't work for him. I'm familia Mendoza. And what the boss says, goes." He seemed to shrug in the darkness. "So here I am."
"You need a new family. Your current one sucks."
He didn't answer right away, his head bowed towards the floor. Then, words murmured so low, I could barely hear them. "I wasn't always like this, you know. But life doesn't always give you a choice about what kind of person you want to be."
"Bullshit."
His head snapped upwards. "You have no fucking idea what life can be like."
I laughed, the sound cold. "You have no fucking idea what's happened to me."
"I know more than you probably think."
"Oh yeah? And how would you know shit?"
"El Caminante told me. How you were protected from Castro's tropas de choque in Cuba. First by Knight, then by him."
"You think Manuel protected me? How the hell can you be so naive?"
"Keep your voice down," Antonio growled softly.
"You know what he's like," I continued, quieter now, the words like acid on my tongue as I thought of that time in my life. "You think I was better off with Manuel than living on the streets?" At this, Antonio didn't respond, and I continued. "And that was after I grew up. Did your parents sell your virginity to the highest bidder? Inject heroin in you when you fought them? Then every time afterwards to keep you compliant until you craved the drug yourself? You might've been a poor boy from the streets, dealt with some shit in your days, but you can't say that I was protected. Not even from the people who were supposed to love me."
He was silent for a long moment, so long that if I hadn’t still felt his weight on the bed, I would have thought that he'd slipped quietly from the room.
Then, finally, "You're right. I didn't know."
His voice sounded... strange. It sounded like regret, or guilt. Possibly even shame.
Something inside me softened. While I knew that my life had sucked, I had no idea what his life had been like. It could have been just as bad, or even worse. I had no right to judge him.
There was a reason he was where he was, I was certain.
And he could've treated me much worse.
I reached out my hand, squeezing his, whispering, "I'm sor--"
His hand jerked out of mine and I felt his weight lift from the bed. "Don't feel sorry for me, Tatiana. I've made my choices, and I'll live with the consequences." His voice was cold once more. Now that my eyes had adjusted to the darkness, I could see the stiffness of his back, the anger back on his face. "Get some sleep. You're going to need it."
And with that, he left me alone in the room, the lock of the door clicking behind him.
I sighed heavily, my mind racing, wishing I'd taken advantage of his momentary softness to ask him about Honey. She was my first priority.
I tried to relax, to get some sleep. I would need my strength for what came next. But rage boiled up inside me as I lay helpless on the bed, somehow aware that Manuel was watching me through the video feed. I could feel it on me, slicing through my skin, intensifying the nauseous anxiety in my gut.
Only one thing was certain at this point: I was going to kill that bastard. He'd dared tattoo me--like I was a goddamn animal that belonged to him.
No. I was done belonging to anyone but myself.
I shifted my gaze towards the blinking light, staring straight into the lens, letting my anger rage. If he wanted to watch me, I'd watch him right back, thinking about all the things I was going to do to him.
